#no information as to Where he’s going; if he’ll be back; anything

[thevirgincherry]

PAWFECT !

ft. og4!leon s. kennedy x fem!reader

tags. hybrids, they’re treated like dogs so power dynamics, spaying, creampie, p in v, smut, daddy kink, fluff, pussy inspection

note. SHUT UP. all nyxs fault all her doing. og4 leon btw it wouldn’t work otherwise!! ignore typos n just bad fic over all I was tweaking .. omg forgive me . honestly just snippets of leon n his puppy girl!! super short

“Baby,” Leon says, it’s the closest to cooing he’ll ever get, “smile for me, baby, c’mon.”

You blank him, rolling over to stare at a small hole in the wall. The refusal to do what he says is a stab in the heart.

“What happened to my good girl?” He hooks his fingers in your mouth, forcing your lips into a grin as he bares your half-formed canines. “There it is, look at that.”

For the first time in your docile existence, you bite Leon. You bite your daddy and he yelps like a little girl—This has one of your ears twitching, the urge to run to his aid is likely strong but you stay put like the stubborn little bitch you are.

The vet said your grudge would last a day or so. That puppies can be temperamental creatures, but they’re soft at heart. A nice way to say that dogs are dumber than a box of rocks - you included. You’re the stupidest of them all and that’s what Leon likes about you.

Your grudge lasts two days, then three, then four, then five—A week long extension. And it’s not just the cold shoulder. It’s the food bowl that sits on the ground covered in a film of dust, out of use. It’s the side of his bed that remains empty as you burrow into your pink doggy bed that you outgrew long ago—There was never any use for the thing, you started to sleep in Leon’s bed the night you came home with him. Man, he used to hate when you whined at the bathroom door while he took a shit, but now Leon would do anything to have that back.

Worst of all, it’s the lack of sex. Leon did this for your good—You like playtime, it’s your favourite part of the day, even better than breakfast or lunch or dinner. You also love being bred, like the warmth, makes you sleepy. No more heat cycles, no more condoms. It’s a win-win. Call him cruel all you want, the shit makes you go insane—He got through, like, twenty rubbers in a day. Think about all those costs, then think about a single procedure, weigh ‘em up and you’ll see what led him to tie your tubes.

Leon makes a call to Rebecca, she comes with a stethoscope and Claire in tow. He’s in for an earful. Hybrid rights activist his ass, you’re his pup and Leon can do what he wants with you. An endless supply of creampies is what his girl dreams about, and he only does what’s best for you—He knows you, when you get over this slump you’ll appreciate all he’s done for you.

“And where does it hurt?” Rebecca’s eyes soften as you place a hand over your heart, blinking up at her with big eyes for added effect.

Oh, baby—Oh, honey— Both of them kneel by your side, scratching behind an ear each, showering you in enough affection to last a century.

“She’s acting,” Leon informs them, only to be met with outrage, “I regret it, swear on my life,” says Leon, who does not.

“You should, look at this sweet girl, what if she wanted to be a mommy.” Claire rubs your tummy, pads of her fingers digging into the pudge, your foot thumps against the floor as your body goes lax. When you look for affection from Leon, he rubs your clit instead of your belly.

“She doesn’t go outside, not gonna be a mommy either way.”

“That’s not the point, Leon, it’s cruel,” she argues, “she’s not a sex doll, are you baby? No, no, you’re not a sex doll, you’re a good girl, yes you are.” He fucking hates the baby voice. If you wanna get knocked up so badly, you should be spoken to like a big girl, but you can’t even make it to the potty on time so how is Leon meant to trust you with a litter?

“It makes it easier to deal with her cycles, I mean, she won’t get them at all now—“ Rebecca’s actual scientific evidence is shut down by a single glare from Claire.

“Get rid of your balls, how would you like that?”

“She likes my balls, can’t do that to her—Anyway, there’s no space for kids,” Leon says shortly, “I’d have to sell ‘em and she’d get all depressed.”

“She should have the choice, Leon, an option at least.” Claire doesn’t know that you can’t pick between dry food and wet food, that you break down when you’re given a choice, even if presented gently.

“Yeah, well, it’s too late.” And hooray to that.

“You’re mean,” she tells him, and he knows, he’s so mean—So selfish. Doing what’s best for his pup is so mean of him. Big Bad Leon crushing your puppy dreams in the palm of his hand like a page out of a diary.

“Mhm, okay, bye now, Claire, you should get going—Thanks for coming, Becca.” Leon escorts them to the door, he gives Claire a gentle push over the threshold and slams it in her face. “So fuckin’ annoying, tellin’ me what to do, and you just let her say that to me baby.”

Your face is indifferent, devoid of the usual warmth you carry in your expression. Dopey bitch. Don’t even know left from right and you think you know what’s best for you?

“So you’re gonna be like that?” Leon asks, and you blink at him, gaze steely. Fine. Two can play that game. He gets his dick out and twiddles it like his thumbs, your mouth waters the moment it comes into your eye line. “Baby, you could’ve held out a little longer.” He laughs quietly when you come to nose at his cock with shining eyes. “Yeah, you’re my greedy little bitch, aren’t you, baby? Yeah, you are.”

“I didn’t mean to make you upset.” He strokes your head tenderly as you mouth at his cock, slicking him up in thick drool from tip to base, icing him like a goddamn cake. “Baby, you know I didn’t mean it—Are you listening?” A whine slips from the base of your throat when he redirects your attention to his face.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry, baby, you wanna play ball, don’t you?” That gets your tail wagging. “Yes you do, I know you do, c’mere—“ Now he’s doing the fucking baby voice as he deposits a ball at a time into your wet mouth, your teeth scraping the sensitive skin of his sac, tracing your tongue along the seam.

This is forgiveness he supposes - you choking on his balls like you’re trying to swallow them whole. Peace is restored wholly when he fucks you that night. “Daddy can do this now,” Leon tells you as he fills you with enough seed to stock up a sperm bank.

You don’t like Ada because Leon likes her, and you don’t like Ashley because she likes Leon. Girls bring out something feral within you, a strain of rabies that has been dormant in your system, waiting for anger to thaw your veins—You ruled out Claire, Rebecca and Jill as threats the moment you gave them a sniff.

Ada left his apartment with a ladder in her stockings and the indentations of puppy teeth in her ass cheek. She was on top - it was a no brainer to go right for her ass. Leon gets it, he wants to sink his teeth into her the same way. She squealed like he’s never heard before and he thought for a minute he fucked her real good. He didn’t even get to cum, she hopped off and made a beeline for the door and you scampered after her, one of her red heels chewed into a sopping leather mess in your mouth.

(Ada doesn’t like dogs, but she likes Leon.)

Ashley waltzes in. “I’m so good with dogs, Leon! I love them, I used to have this great big Labrador, he was so good, Leon! Like he even sat and rolled over when I asked him too—He reminds me of you, actually.” Then she bends over to pet you on the head, but the close proximity between her and him is not to your liking so you bite the hand that saved his life a couple times, a hand that is worth more than his D.C apartment - furniture included.

“Told you she’s tricky.” Leon lifts you up, tosses you over his shoulder so you’re no harm then he finds himself missing your sweet face so you’re swung back over to be cradled in his arms like the big baby you are.

“Ouch, Leon, she’s really mean.” Ashley soothes the pain by flapping her hand in the air, a fruitless endeavour, the cold air from a nearby open window causes it to sting.

“Nah, she don’t bite that hard, do you, baby?” He pushes a finger into your mouth and you nibble on it with a significantly decreased bite-force. “See? Just teething.”

There’s Sherry, you love Sherry more than she does Leon, you run around her in circles and situate yourself on her tiny lap and lick at every inch of her tiny face. You let Leon give you a good scrub before Sherry comes over, put on a fresh set of clothes that aren’t his old t-shirts with ragged collars from all the teething you do. Heck, he even manages to put you in some cute undies.

They come and go, but you stay. And each time a woman leaves his place, you sit your pussy on his face and scoot around— He asks you: “What the fuck you are doing, baby?” Muffled into the fat of your pussy of course, but you never respond. He brushes it off as you scenting him—Whatever pups do when they’re feeling territorial.

And who is he to complain? Your pussy makes him happy. Leon sucks your clit into his mouth, reaches around to pinch the base of your wagging tail between his index and forefinger, stroking up and down to have your thighs tightening around his head.

You circle your hips into him, drool pooling in your mouth and dribbling down your chin as you chew on your favourite stuffed toy, whimpering into the spit-soaked fabric while Leon works your drippy hole open with his tongue. The tip of his nose grinds into your swollen clit, and you only budge once you’ve waterboarded him with your squirt.

Then you very generously provide him with a clean-up service, lapping at the sticky wetness coating his cheeks and suckling on his nose. That always makes him laugh. More often than not it’s a gradual transition into a play fight, you nip at his fingers and your ears twitch, a playful smile brightening your face.

The two of you roll around and Leon, being the bully he is, pins you to the ground, holding your wriggling body down as he slides his sweats down and slots his cock right into your twitching pussy. He grabs your tail to pull you back on his dick, and you might be one stupid bitch, but you’re cock-smart—You know what he wants and push your ass back against his thighs, wet skin smacking as you pick up the pace, faltering only when Leon takes ahold of your ears and uses them as fucking handlebars.

He can’t help himself, they looked too cute, flopping about all over the place. Looked like fuckin’ Dumbo. It doesn’t hurt you—No, it’s the opposite, you cum so hard you pass out in a heap the minute he lets go.

“Thank you, baby.” Leon pats your head as you shove two pussy-wet fingers into his mouth. “That’s so sweet, baby, can daddy take a look at what you’re doing?”

You smile at him shyly, like you didn’t just force-feed him slick, he catches the shape of your tail wagging low between your thighs, then you roll over onto your belly—Leon gives the fold of your tummy a sweet kiss first, then you turn over, taking your hand out of your panties to let him take care of the rest.

The seat of your panties is basically pasted to your pussy, strings of slick breaking as Leon peels them off. “What’s got you worked up, baby?” He spreads your ass, dipping his nose into your tighter hole as his tongue runs along your slit.

Leon raises his head, he parts your fat lips with his fingers and your cunt clicks when he digs a finger into your tight hole, it pulses around him, begs for more, for something thicker. The hood of your clit is pulled back by his thumb and prodded with his tongue, and your labia is parted by his nose, dragging up and down your soaked pussy. When he’s done messing around, Leon lays his tongue flat on your pussy, licking fat stripes up and down the centre of your cunt, dusting kisses on your throbbing clit until you gush down your thighs.

Man, you don’t even need a heat to get you wet. See, it all worked out in the long run, he’s pretty sure you don’t even remember what went down merely a week earlier.

“Come sit on it, princess,” he hums when you lick into his mouth, sucking on his tongue sloppily, a steady stream of drool slicking up the bottom half of his face. You’ve got a lot of love to give and he’ll take it.

You’re well-trained when it comes to cock and not much else, easing down on Leon’s dick while you brace your hands on his shoulders, pussy tightening when he scratches behind your ears. He plants his feet on the ground, lifting off his heels to fuck up into your plush cunt, squelching every time he bottoms out, cute tits bouncing as you sit pretty on his cock like a pencil topper.

The absence of a knot is always a bother to you. When he cums, you wait expectantly for his cock to swell and stretch you out beautifully, tear your pussy in half—It never comes so you paw at his face to express your disappointment, like you’re telling him to do better.

Maybe there's surgery for it. There’s one for everything these days. From cropping to defanging - a manufactured knot shouldn’t be out of the question. He’d do it for you, he would, even if it was a dodgy procedure in the same alley as coat hanger abortions and junkie meet-ups.

Not really. Leon wouldn’t really. He quite likes his dick how it is, and once you get over the initial anticlimactic flop of his knotless cock, staring out the window like a disillusioned star - you’re back on it less than a minute later.

A lack of understanding for his refractory period causes Leon discomfort as you force yourself down on his soft dick, he sits through it to make up for all the places he falls short. You rut your hips into him, trembling with excitement as he hardens inside of you, cock shaping your insides into something pretty. Then you show him that you love him via a spit shower, which Leon is not too fond of, your pussy on a platter would be ideal, but he doesn’t stop you.

Sometimes you suck his cock till your tongue feels like sandpaper. Sometimes you sob so hard when he leaves for work you throw up and he spends half an hour scrubbing mushy kibble out of the carpet. Sometimes you eat things you aren’t supposed to, and sometimes you are one nasty piece of work, but Leon loves you anyway. ‘Cause you’re his piece of work.

#leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy imagine #leon s kennedy smut #leon s kennedy x you #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #resident evil x reader #resident evil smut

[ddollipop]

CURB THIS SICKNESS. . . ! — ( SOFT YANDERE!PLAGUE DOCTOR OC X READER. )

#. synopsis! — there's a virus outside that's snuffed out the lights of many. . . and lucian refuses to let you meet such a miserable fate .

#. contains! — f!reader , explicitly nsfw content , multiple orgasms , vaginal fingering , implications of paranoia , cum swallowing , oral sex , cunnilingus , blowjob , vaginal sex , obsessive behavior , frequent usage of endearment terms (love, darling, angel) , missionary position , bathing , established relationship , slight choking , slight hair pulling , creampie , biting .

#. word count! — 5.1k .

#. oc carrd! — click here to find more information on lucian + other original characters of mine that i might write for in the future! xx .

When the virus began to spread in all directions from its alleged location of origin, —you were certain you’d be dead before winter. If not from sickness, then certainly from another disease, or at the hands of some twisted maniac just searching for someone to slaughter that nobody would care enough to miss. You thought it was only a matter of time before you succumbed to hunger or thirst or the changing chill of autumn, or maybe something completely different: but something was bound to happen, and you were sure of it.

And it did. . . But it was nothing like what you had in mind.

Lucian may have seemed like something out of a horror story passed down through generations, still clad in his working attire the night he scooped you up in his arms from a shabby alleyway like a stray kitten, but he was surprisingly gentle (and perhaps unusually quiet.) He wasn’t very talkative, but he cared for you in a way you were completely unaccustomed to, —prepared you a warm meal, brewed you chamomile tea, ran you a hot bath, and gave you a place to sleep for the night. He said you were slightly fevered and a bit malnourished, but all things considered, it could have been worlds worse.

“You’re lucky,” he hummed, a gloved hand smoothing over your jaw, “the pestilence hasn’t taken hold of you.”

Even back then, that wasn’t why you felt lucky. . . No, much to the contrary, you felt lucky because this man had taken you in without expecting anything of you in return, and he sought to keep you safe from the rot of the outside world. Thus, little by little, you stopped caring much about going out there. 

His place is a bit quaint for two, but it’s homey, and it smells perpetually of lavender. Over time, he’s shifted the sleeping arrangements, and now you rest in his arms each night; about as close as one can get to being a lover without having the label.

A part of you is sure you could get it if you asked, but to you, it doesn’t matter much. At the end of each day, he comes home to you, and that’s what counts. You take care of the housework while he’s away (not that there’s ever much to do.) For as odd as he is, his living space is free of most things, —no trinkets unrelated to his work (which you are not keen on touching), and he’s meticulous about picking up after himself and keeping all his items in order, so your unofficial duties are few and far between. Otherwise, the rest boils down to cooking meals, washing clothes, and keeping yourself entertained while he’s away. . . Like some kind of glorified trophy wife.

And sure, this will probably get old eventually, but for now, this is what you’re working with. He likes to have you close and to know where you are, —to know that you’re safe and not out getting infected by anyone or anything. If you’re at his home, you’re safe from all the filth of the outside world, and heaven knows it’s so nice to come home and lie next to a body so utterly unmarred by the grime of society.

You’re sure once the virus has stilled, he’ll ease up.

But tonight is not that night. Lucian all but stumbles through the door, and you can hear his rapid breathing through the long, beak-like shape of his mask. He seems startled and frantic, and you rush over, a concerned expression crossing your features.

“Lucian? Are you alright?” You ask, reaching out to put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

In an instant, he snatches your wrist and grabs for the other, holding one in either hand. His grip is fervent, but far from painful, and you become more confused the longer he goes without explaining the state he’s found himself in.

“Lucian—”

“Darling,” he cuts you off, “you mustn’t get near the door.”

“Okay,” you nod in compliance, “but why?”

“The pestilence has taken hold of this city,” he replies. “The air out there, you wouldn’t believe the thickness of that putrid aroma. It’s suffocating.”

Before you can ask if there’s something you can do to quench his worries, he tugs you away from the entrance and into the bathroom. He removes his gloves and sets them aside, reaching down to begin running a warm bath. Then he looks to you, almost expectantly.

“Strip, please,” he encourages, —saying it like he’s desperate for the act, albeit not necessarily under the context you’d prefer of him.

“Lucian—”

“Darling,” he hisses, “please, do as I ask of you.”

His bare hands cup your cheeks.

“Please,” he repeats.

It’s hard to deny him when he asks like that and has been so good to you, and it’s not as if he’s asking for a lot. He’s just having a bad night, and if scrubbing yourself down will help ease his mind a bit, you’re willing to put in that sliver of extra effort for his sake.

Lucian sighs in relief as you begin to disrobe.

“Thank you,” he comments. “I really don’t have a clue what I’d do if you fell ill. . . I don’t think my heart could handle such a thing.”

You slip the last of your clothing off and step gingerly into the filling tub. It’s not long enough to stretch out in, so you bunch yourself up neatly to fit the space and look up at him once more.

“I feel fine,” you assure.

“I’m glad,” he replies. “Even so, it’s much better to air on the side of caution. The human body is a dangerously fickle thing, and it can be incredibly fragile. I’ve seen as much firsthand more times than I can count. In its infancy, this virus is little more than a common cold, but progresses into something fatal at a rapid pace.”

You simply nod as he kneels next to the tub, rolling his sleeves up.

“Your breathing is ragged, Lucian,” you state, “you should take that mask off and get some fresh air.”

“After,” he answers quickly.

He reaches for the half-used lavender soap bar and lathers it on his palms, then reaches out to smooth the suds over your arms and neck. His motions are a little rough and all too urgent. This is far from the first time he’s accompanied you for a bath, but it is the first time he’s ever done so and been this aggressive in his approach (if only as a result of his own anxiety.)

For the time being, he seems to avoid your breasts, instead reaching for one of your legs to hike it up out of the water. He repeats this process with the other, cleaning you until he seems satisfied. When he makes no move to revisit your chest, you take the soap from his hand and lather it yourself, placing it in its previous spot before leaning back slightly and allowing your hands to travel where you’d have liked for his to go.

Lucian watches but doesn’t touch. Your fingertips nudge at your nipples, feeling them harden under the minstrations, your bottom lip slipping between your teeth. If nothing else, he should be getting the hint by now.

Surprisingly, you’ve never had sex with him in all the months you’ve spent curled up in his arms, sleeping in his bed. He’s watched you take care of yourself on a number of occasions, has helped with his fingers another few times, —and allowed you to wrap your hand around him once a few weeks prior; but anything beyond that has seemed to be off limits. You’ve chalked it up to his shyness, or perhaps his distaste for human contact as a result of the pestilence; but tonight feels distinctly different.

Even in his previous state of frazzlement, Lucian seems all too content to sit back and watch you fondle your own breasts, soapy fingers clutching and releasing in tandem. You’ve always liked for him to watch you do things like this. Though his mask obscures the view of his face, you just know his eyes are trained on you, soaking up every movement, and you like to think he’s drooling at the way you grope yourself for his enjoyment (and for your own.)

“Lucian?” You prompt, half-lidded eyes glancing over to him.

His shoulders straighten as you say his name.

“You’re very beautiful,” he says, words almost too muffled by the mask to be made out.

“You think so?” You smirk a bit.

“I do.”

Ah, but that’s nothing new, and it’s nothing he hasn’t shared with you before. On the very night he took you in and washed your hair, he smoothed his gloved hands against your scalp and mumbled about how pretty you looked, even with dirt still caked on your skin. Even covered in filth from the alleyways you’d been sleeping in, he thought you were nothing less than stunning, —a real vision to behold, and he’s never skimped on such compliments.

You pause for a moment, reaching out to grasp for his hands. He allows the gesture, though he seems a bit confused, leaning in closer to the rim of the tub as you position him to your liking.

“Do you think I feel feverish?” You inquire, placing one of his hands on your neck and another on one of your breasts.

He makes no move to pull away, firming his grip up almost instantaneously, as if he’s been itching to feel you this way.

“Perhaps a bit warm,” he mumbles, taking a moment to roll your nipple between two nimble fingers, “but body temperature is known to rise during times of. . .” he trails off, clears his throat, then utters: “arousal.”

You trail your nails down his arm, letting your head tip back again. His hands are a bit calloused, but they feel so good against your skin, and you let a few moans slip past your lips. It’s not often he touches you like this without his gloves on, but the flesh-on-flesh contact is electrifying.

“Not to worry you, but I do feel a bit strange,” you huff slightly.

Through the slightly tinted bath water, Lucian can still watch your hand as it travels between your thighs.

“I’m just a throbbing mess,” you hum, giving him a pointed stare; “but you’ll take care of me. . . Right, Doctor?”

It may just be your imagination, but you could swear you heard his breathing shudder at that request. You’ve never been this forward with him, but something apart from the facial expression that’s still hidden away tells you that he likes where this is going. His fingers clamp down on the column of your throat, squeezing just enough to make taking in air a bit more of a struggle, but not anywhere near hard enough to be fatal.

The bit about being a throbbing mess was by no means an exaggeration on your part, so you take matters into your own fingers for the time being, drawing circles on your clit beneath the water.

“Of course,” he finally finds the voice to agree, “—I’d do anything to keep you from feeling unwell.”

That is what you like to hear.

“Anything?”

“Anything.” 

His grip tightens on your throat again, for emphasis, and with that, he seems to come slightly undone.

“Darling, that’s why I’ve demanded you stay here in my home, —our home. It’s safe here, free of contaminants and filth and anything that could cause you harm,” he says, the words spilling out like he’s been holding them back since he first set his sights on you.

“The world outside is ill, not just this rotten city. I’m working tirelessly to combat this pestilence, but as things stand now, the safest place you can be is here. With me. You understand that, my love. . . Don’t you?”

You’re only half listening, but you nod in agreement anyway. Whatever he’s saying, you trust his opinion on the matter.

“Of course,” you gasp, almost slipping a finger inside yourself to the tune of his melodic voice.

“I knew you would,” he continues, loosening the grip on your neck again. “You know I only want what’s best for you, that everything I do is to ensure your safety, —to eliminate the possibility of you ever falling sick.”

“Of course,” you repeat, head growing cloudier by the minute. “You’ve always taken such good care of me, right from the very beginning.”

God, he’s so elated that you’re seeing things his way. The way this makes him feel is almost too much to handle.

“I try so hard, darling, I truly do,” he says, both hands coming up to cup your cheeks.

“Please, Lucian,” you mumble desperately, “I need you tonight.”

He complies, shedding his long coat and draping it over your shoulders once you’ve stepped out of the tub. The chill of the air against your wet skin leaves your nipples hard and sensitive, and as he leads you to the bedroom, you hope he realizes just what it is you’re asking for. His fingers are a plentiful start, and you just know they’ll feel so good stuffed inside you, curling to hit all the right places, —but they’re nothing compared to the cock he’s stingily hidden away for all this time.

Tonight, you want him in all his glory in the glow of the lanterns on the walls. You want to strip him bare and gag on the length between his thighs, feel him twitch against the roof of your mouth, tease every vein that runs up his shaft. It’s not enough to grind against him while you’re half asleep or hump his clothed thigh until you’ve left his pants damp and your pussy sopping, just begging to be fucked by this man who might just love you more than he could ever fear any virus that lurks outside these walls.

“Don’t fret,” he tells you, though it sounds more like a command than a gesture to soothe any worries, “just lie back. I’ll be sure to give you. . . A proper examination.”

You could cum just hearing that.

With half your body pressed against the headboard and his coat nearly slipping off your body completely, he sets to work in his underclothes and mask. It’s by no means an uncommon sight, but there’s something distinct about him this late evening; the way his black attire contrasts so beautifully with the stark paleness of his skin and the mystery it shrouds him in that you’re just dying to sink your teeth into. Everything hidden beneath that cautious wardrobe and that long mask. . . You’ve gotta have it. It’s a necessity.

His fingers, ungloved, begin softly with your calves, tracing senseless lines.

“I’m not so fragile,” you remind him.

For as oblivious as he can be, Lucian takes the hint, and by the time he’s reached your thighs, he’s content to give them the same treatment as your throat.

The way he splits you apart is almost painfully clinical, a thumb on either side of your lips, peering through the eye holes of his mask to admire the way your folds glisten in the orange lantern light. A few prodding strokes leave you biting your lip again, body waning in anticipation for the moment he finally turns his hand over and sinks the longest of his fingers inside you, —slowly, but deliberately. It’s impossible to see his expression, but you hope his mouth hangs open a little at the way your cunt suckles on his finger, encouraging him to prod more and maybe stuff another few inside for you to grind against.

There’s something about the warmth of his fingers that gets you off almost in equal amounts to the way he moves. Another finger inside, and you whine, halfway to an orgasm from this alone.

He’s not particulary rough in his execution, but there’s a clean meticulousness in every movement that leaves every cell in your body craving more, begging for anything he can offer. Months upon months of wanting, of dropping hints, of hoping he’d catch on and finally see things your way, —and at last, you’ve made it. And now that you’re here, you’re content to simply lie still and let him have his way with you.

“Please don’t stop,” you beg, nearly choking on the words when the tips of his fingers brush just the right spot.

“Before you’re satisfied?” He sits forward a bit, resting his free hand on your stomach to press you down onto the bed. “Darling, I couldn’t fathom it.”

You will your upper body forward, grabbing for the hand on your stomach to move it up to your throat. He squeezes, scissoring the fingers inside you, watching closely as your body shakes and your eyes roll back a bit in ecstasy.

“I’ve tried,” he says to you suddenly. “I’ve tried so desperately to be gentle with you.”

You smile.

“I appreciate that,” you answer. “But I don’t want you to be gentle at the moment.”

“That’s a dangerous request, my love,” he warns.

God, you hope so.

You reach forward and grab at the beak of his mask, pulling it upward gently until it begins to slip off and reveal the handsome face underneath. Dark hair, dark eyes, but skin almost pale enough to be sickly, you meet his gaze just long enough to ask for permission, then lean in to kiss him on the mouth. It’s the first time, and it’s electric. He’s avoided this for months, —avoided your mouth, your unspoken pleas, all the passes you made for the sake of keeping himself at bay. But here you are now with two of his fingers stuffed inside you, his hand on your throat, and your lips slotted against his own.

“Please,” you murmur, fingers clutching at the fabric of his shirt.

And you can feel the restraints of his mind come unwound.

He’s no longer gentle in the way he fucks you silly with his fingers, hammering them over and over and over again into that delicious spot buried deep inside you, squeezing your throat hard enough to cut your breathing off. The way your pussy spasms as you cum is blissful, and he loves the way your arousal soaks his digits, loves the way your back arches, soundless moans spilling forth as he makes you orgasm.

“I fucking tried,” he says again.

It’s almost manic, so desperate and sort of pathetic in the kind of way that turns you on. This is the first time you’ve ever heard him curse, and it dawns on you that even the filthiest of words sound so unendingly elegant when they’re spoken by Lucian.

“I tried to be gentle. I tried to keep you safe here, —to shelter you from whatever forsaken wasteland remains out there,” he insists, his fingers still buried in your twitching cunt. “I just wanted to protect you.”

He lightens the grip on your throat as you lean in to kiss him again, cupping his face in your hands.

“You have,” you assure him.

“You take such good care of me, Lucian,” you mumble into his ear. “Let me show you how grateful I am.”

The fingers stuffed inside you slowly slip out, and reach for his hand, guiding them to your lips, taking his digits into your mouth to taste yourself on them. He watches with hunger and interest as you clean him with your tongue. He leans in to kiss you to get a taste of it himself, grasping your hair near the scalp and taking a fistful hard enough to make you gasp.

“I can’t let you leave,” he murmurs. “It’s not safe out there. When this pestilence has been subdued, I’ll do this all correctly. We can start from the beginning, and I’ll be a gentleman.”

“I look forward to it,” you answer softly.

“You’ll stay until then?” He inquires.

He’s clearly overreacting, but it’s hard to care when you just want him inside you. Lucian has seen death day in and day out, —so it’s no wonder it feels like it permeates everything around him. He just doesn’t want you to suffer such a fate, and you’re confident that you won’t, as long as he’s yours.

“Of course I will,” you answer.

It’s like something primal takes over. Suddenly his lips are on yours in a bruising kiss, and his hands are grasping roughly at your breasts, pushing you down onto the bed as he crawls between your legs. He pauses, hovering just above your dripping cunt, turning his head to sink his teeth into the meat of your thigh. It makes you squeal a bit, and he kisses the teethmarks he left behind as if in apology.

You can’t help but wonder how long he’s been yearning for this. It’s like every part of him is thrumming from the thrill of it all, and this man who has previously refused to even kiss you on the mouth is now stationed exactly where you want him, tongue lolling out to lick a solid stripe up your folds. He laps like a man starved, then spreads you apart with his thumbs to suck your clit mercilessly.

It’s good enough to make your vision go blurry, and you can’t seem to form proper words through the haze. Desperately, your fingers claw at the sheets of this mattress, and he moans against your hot cunt, sending a vibration rippling through your core that makes your back arch on instinct. You mumble something that comes out like gibberish, pussy convulsing against the flat of his tongue.

His arm comes round to press your hips down, forcing you to be still. It’s the kind of toruture you’re sure you’ll learn to live for. There’s only so much you can wriggle under his arm, which has a surprising amount of force despite his rather lanky stature.

From what little friction you manage as you attempt to grind against his tongue, you tip yourself over the edge and as the knot in your stomach unties for the second time tonight, he continues licking, lapping at the juices that spill forth.

He stands and reaches for the top button of his shirt, not bothering to wipe his face, chin and lips glistening with your aftermath. You watch him undress with lustful eyes, propping yourself up on your elbow, then slinking back against the headboard once again, resting your weary body against it. The quiver of your thighs doesn’t stop you from nudging at your swollen clit.

“I wanted to be a gentleman,” he comments, untucking the shirt from his pants and pulling the front open.

It’s not skin you haven’t seen before. In fact, you’ve seen every inch of him at one point or another; just never all at once, and now, you’re waiting with bated breath to see him completely exposed for your eyes only.

“I truly did. I wanted to give you comfort and security, —to love you as you deserve. And I knew from the moment I saw you that only I could give you exactly what you’ve always needed.”

You hum in acknowledgement as he continues to strip himself bare.

“But it’s so clear to me now that I’ve neglected you,” he continues. “This beautifully desperate display is all a result of my negligence. . . I failed to realize just how much you needed me like this. How much you needed the touch of a man. . .”

He sounds apologetic, but your eyes are fixated on his half-hard cock. The last time you saw it, he asked that you keep your mouth away; insisting it wasn’t sanitary to use it for such purposes, terrified that you might contract some sort of illness if you sucked his dick for the sheer enjoyment of doing so. This time, however, you have a feeling you’re well past that.

To test the waters, you let your hand fall away from your cunt, slipping off the side of the bed to kneel before him. He gazes down at you as you open your lips and let your tongue fall out, encouraging him to make what he will of it.

“My love,” he says, placing four fingers under your chin to rest his thumb against your tongue for a moment, “—I’ll make everything up to you. . .”

His free hand pumps his cock once, twice, thrice, —then he places it gently on the flat of your tongue, letting you feel the weight and the warmth of it. He sighs.

“Darling,” he groans, “ah. . .”

It takes very little for him to come close to cumming in your mouth, just a few minutes of sucking him off, listening to him moan, feeling him quiver at your touch. You hum with his member stuffed down your throat, and he cants his hips reflexively, an orgasm bubbling up beneath his skin.

Your non-dominant hand holds his cock steady while the other is stuck between your thighs, rubbing furiously at your clit, making you whimper along his shaft. When he notices, Lucian finds that wholly unacceptable and snatches you up to position you on the edge of the bed, relieving the pressure on your aching knees. You weren’t down there for long, but kneeling was hardly comfortable on the hard floor.

He spreads your thighs apart and smacks the pads of his fingers against your slit.

Whatever he’s doing, you’re sure you’ll enjoy it to the fullest, so you occupy yourself with his cock again from this new angle, bending awkwardly to mouth at the reddened tip. His fingers find their way inside you once more, working their delicate magic, brushing against all the right places. At this point, you’re more desperate for his dick to slip inside you like this, but you take what he offers in stride (and more of him into your mouth in the process.)

He’s vocal, and that’s utterly divine. His gravely moans and the pump of his fingers leave you cumming for a third time before his first orgasm arises, depositing a sizable amount of his seed into your mouth.

“I love you,” he huffs, —and if he were anyone else, you’d be certain it was just the oral sex talking, but no. . . Lucian wouldn’t have said it if he didn’t mean it.

Of course, he’s made similar confessions over the months, and has certainly treated you like it long before he ever expressed it so directly, but still. . . It feels nice to hear it, if nothing else.

“I love you too,” you answer honestly, urging him closer with your arms wrapped around his neck. “I’m yours tonight, completely. . . If you’ll have me. . .”

“Oh, darling, don’t be foolish,” he remarks, kissing you deeply. “You’ve been mine since the moment we met.”

Your back to the cool sheets, he lingers over you now, his shadow looming over you so monstrously. There’s a stark flush of red on his face that has begun to spread down the length of his neck, and one of his hands finds its way to your breasts as the other smoothes across your thigh. The head of his cock kisses your sopping entrance, sending a series of chills from the top of your spine to the bottom.

His breath on your neck makes your chest tighten, and he finds your lips with his own again as he sinks inside you, filling you up.

“Lucian,” you whimper, helpless to his touch as he pauses, buried down to the hilt inside your cunt.

He presses a few gentle kisses to your throat, murmuring something about how nice it feels to be stuffed inside you. He feels your nails dig into his shoulders as you adjust to his intrusion.

“You must understand by now,” he says, mumbling the words right next to your bitten earlobe. “Everything I do is for you.”

“I do,” you gasp slightly. 

As he begins to move, your walls clench around him, and he exhales deeply against the junction of your neck and shoulder. You roll your hips to match his pace, but as he goes faster, that becomes fruitless. Eventually, you resign yourself to the fate of lying there against the pillows, speared on his cock, him making a mess of you as you moan uncontrollably.

This was everything you’d been hoping for and then some, like some erotic dream come to life. Lucian’s lips travel where they please, —stopping to peck at your jaw, then to suck on your throat. Your breathing is haggard, and he smooths a hand down your side, resting it against your hip for a moment.

“Just a little more,” he whispers, as if to be reassuring.

“Just look how stunning you are, angel,” he murmurs, “how pretty you look like this.”

He kisses you once more.

“You take this so well, like your body was made for me.”

You’re delirious enough to believe that might be the case.

His cock pounds a little harder, and he hits the perfect spot, tearing a desperate yelp from your throat. You’re overstimulated and weak, but your high is itching just under your skin, and you couldn’t bear to see it disappear.

“Please,” you whimper to him, completely at his mercy, “—please, I’m so close.”

He loves the desperation that clings to your voice. The hand on your hip travels to your clit, pressing roughly against the abused little button, making you jerk slightly. He rubs a few heavy circles against it, and you come undone, cunt spasming around his cock as he chases his own release inside you.

Lucian is sloppy near the end, which may just be the only time you’ve ever known him to not be perfectly calculated and precise. His breath hits your neck again, over and over as he huffs through the hunt, finally sinking his teeth in when he comes to a finish. His cum sits hot inside your cunt, and he catches his breath for a moment, head resting against your throat.

“I apologize,” he utters. “I hope that wasn’t too much for you.”

You exhale slowly, his cock still buried in your heat.

“Don’t apologize,” you murmur, “I enjoyed myself.”

You feel him smile against your neck.

“I’m glad, darling.”

For the first time, he sleeps next to you without clothing, letting you touch every part of him, tangling your limbs together. Your face buried in the crook of his neck, breath fanning softly against him, as close to sleep as you can manage without tumbling over the precipice, Lucian reaches for his long coat and drapes it over your body, holding you closer.

#oc #original character #plague doctor #original character smut #oc smut #oc x reader #yandere x reader #yandere smut #yandere x you #yandere oc x reader #yandere oc #yandere original character #yandere original character x reader #yandere oc smut #yandere original character smut #soft yandere

[honkytonk-hangman]

All This Love

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Reader

Summary: “Congratulations?” Rooster half-praises, half-questions, side-eying Jake, who stiffens just slightly, but finds himself relaxing when he looks back up at the grainy ultrasound. “Thanks,” he says, feeling his stomach flutter at the memory of the first time he saw it.

Warnings: not much in this one, unplanned pregnancy, some light smut, 18+ only!! <3

Jake feels his pulse jump once, then twice as he walks through his front door. He’d already known you were here, not just because of your car parked out front, but because you’d barely left his company since he’d gotten the news. Still, the sound of you moving around his kitchen, and the smell of something heavenly wafting toward him makes his heart leap just a little in a way that is honestly unfamiliar to him.

Jake Hangman Seresin is not a ‘relationship’ guy. He hasn’t exactly been a one-night-stand guy either these past few years, but certainly he isn’t known for his commitment. Partly he could blame this on his schedule, his various and frequent deployments, moves and busyness, but he’d be lying if he didn’t admit that taking an endless string of women home was taking a toll on him.

Quietly, Jake hoped he’d meet someone, have a constant in his life to come home to, maybe have a few little mini-Jake’s running around too, but it also wasn’t really something he was actively seeking out. He knew being with him meant a lot of lonely nights, and he’d internalised the attitude that most women were not up for that.

And then he met you.

You’d laughed sweetly like you’d thought he was just kidding when he’d flirted with you, told him outright you’d expecting him to cancel on your first date, and then rambled about anything and everything for the next three hours as he happily listened.

You weren’t really his normal ‘type’, you weren’t overly affectionate with him off the bat, making your intentions known, you weren’t tall or bleached blonde or anything he was used to from the women who showed an interest in him, though that wasn’t to say he didn’t think you weren’t beautiful. You were a little awkward, and dorky and you’d told him you thought he was funny, which wasn’t really one of the things most of the women he dated tended to point out. Needless to say, Jake had quickly found it very easy, very natural to adore you.

He’d gotten three and a half months with you before his orders came in. 

The two of you had grown close in that time, but you hadn’t really addressed or discussed what you were. He hadn’t really felt the need, or the pressure like he had in the past. He’d realised over the past few days that this might’ve been down to the fact that he hadn’t even really considered any other options besides the two of you eventually becoming ‘exclusive’. If Jake is completely honest, he’s been off the market since our first date.

Not until the imminent date of his deployment had he begun to take note of his rising anxiety, the complete opposite to the way he usually felt after informing a casual fling that he’d be going. With them, he didn’t expect more, he didn’t want to give them more either, but with you… Jake hasn’t been able to stop thinking about how much he’ll be able to contact you while he’s gone, if you’ll make time for him, even if you’ll send him those care packages so many of the guys he knows often received while on the carrier…

The idea that you saw his upcoming deployment as the official end of whatever this is you have going on haunted him, and Jake was determined to make clear that when he returned in fourteen months time, he still wanted to see you.

He toes off his boots as best he can with the large bouquet in the crook of his elbow, before padding down the hall toward where the delicious smell is coming from, finding you buzzing around his kitchen in a manner that forces him to stop dead in his tracks to appreciate the sight.

This is what Jake has been wanting, but it's not until this very moment he realises just how much. It isn’t even about you cooking for him, no, he just craves the domesticity of coming home to somebody who looks up from what they’re doing with an expression like his arrival is the new best part of their day.

“Jake! I didn’t hear you come in!” you say with a smile and a laugh. That wasn’t exactly unusual for you. You didn’t often hear many things, considering you were hard of hearing. You weren’t completely deaf, in quiet rooms when he was facing you, you could hear him enough, helped by lip reading, or if he spoke directly into your ear. However, it was still significant enough that Jake had downloaded an ASL learning app, partly to communicate better with you, but also so that he could see your overjoyed surprise whenever he correctly signed something very simple to you.

“These are for you,” he steps closer, holding out the large bouquet of marigolds and roses he’d stopped for on the way home, making sure his mouth isn’t at all obscured by them as he does. He hadn’t skimped when he’d bought them, requesting the biggest package the florist offered and paying double what he’d ever paid before for flowers. It was worth it though, especially when once you’ve processed what he’s said, your face lights up all over again and you let out a soft little gasp as you move to meet him.

“They’re beautiful!” you croon as you bring the flowers to your nose. Jake had only ever bought flowers for his mother, and for a few girls around Valentine’s Day. They were always roses. He’d never bothered to ask what their preferred flower of choice was. With you, though, you had inadvertently told him on your first date while lost in a story about a failed garden you’d tried growing and how you adored copper marigolds and peach roses, but that no man had ever bought either for you, including your last boyfriend who’d seemed to think flowers were lame and unnecessary. He’d filed that information away, but curses himself for not using it any sooner as you smile widely back up at him, and push the flowers aside so that you can wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him sweetly.

“Thank you! You didn’t have to!” you say in between pecks to his lips, and Jake wraps the arm still holding the bouquet around your back, in the hopes that maybe you’ll stay pushed up against him just a little longer. You do, giggling softly as you continue to deliver soft little kisses to his lips, Jake dutifully returning each one, becoming aware of his own laughter joining your own as he does.

You pull away to grin up at him, and Jake drops one last, final kiss to your lips before giving you a slight squeeze, his own smile growing as you stare up at him.

“Baby, the smoke alarm is going off,” he informs you, chortling when you jump away from him in surprise, and quickly return to the stove to remove the pan from the hob. Jake follows you, placing your flowers down on the counter, and moving over to where the alarm sits high on his wall, reaching up to tap the button in the centre that switches it off.

“Sorry! The good news though is that dinner isn’t ruined!” you tell him happily, turning back around to go digging through one of his other cupboards. You straighten again when you find a large pitcher, and he watches you mill about for a moment, filling it with water before moving to place the bouquet of flowers inside. He feels his chest swell with pride as you primp and preen the roses and marigolds, and pictures you two weeks from now, with more and more petals falling from the flowers with every passing day, but refusing to throw them away because they make you think of him. The swelling of pride begins to turn into a swell of dread, and Jake really, really wishes he wasn’t leaving you in the morning.

You turn back to him and smile.

“Why don’t you go clean up, and I’ll finish this?” you suggest, and Jake immediately pouts.

“Why don’t I just stay here and help you plate up?” he says instead, making you frown playfully and shake your head.

“Jake, you need to shower!” you scold lightly.

“I showered on base,” he shrugs, and pushes away from his counter to capture your waist and draw you near again.

“Jake… just let me do this for you… you leave tomorrow…” it’s your turn to pout. Jake’s heart makes a good effort to leap out of his chest and into yours.

“Exactly. I leave tomorrow, so just let me stay with you as long as I can,” he poses, and you soften, resting your hands on his forearms.

“Jake…” you sigh, and bite your lip a little. “What’re you gonna do for the next fourteen months, huh?” you question playfully, shaking your head.

“Wish I was plating up dinner with you.” he answers immediately, then feels his cheeks heat up a little. Your gaze drops from his face, but you’re smiling softly, and rubbing your thumbs over his skin in a soothing manner.

“Okay,” you relent, before reaching up to cup his cheeks tenderly. “Okay.”

Jake leans into your touch, closing his eyes as he memorises the feeling of you holding him. You remain in pleasant quiet as the two of you go about preparing for dinner, Jake setting the table as you portion out the salad you’ve made.

Jake refrains from insisting you sit side by side as you eat, because he knows you’d struggle to hear him if you did, but after dinner, he does insist that the dishes can wait, convincing you to come up and shower with him instead.

You’ve barely stepped inside the glass cubicle when he’s pulling you closer, lips reaching out for yours and you giggle as you kiss him under the full stream of the shower head, laughing properly when he pulls back to spit a mouthful of water sideways out his mouth like a cartoon character. He grins at having made you laugh, but crowds you up against the wall almost instantly after, his smile pressed back against yours.

“M’gonna miss you.” he says right by your ear, before slipping his mouth down to your neck, and immediately sucking a small mark there. He knows your opinion on hickeys, so he’ll make sure the rest are somewhere you can hide them. You seem to squirm in his hold, your hands dropping from around his neck to press against his chest, his abdomen, though he knows you aren’t pushing him away, simply wishing to see his face.

“I’ll miss you, too.” you say after a moment, watching the water drop from his eyelashes, before you wrap your arms around him, pulling him near once again and pressing your chest up against his in a delightful manner.

“Promise you’ll come see me when I get shore leave?” He’s never asked this question before, and his heart immediately jumps into his throat. Usually he’d wait around for shore leave to go bar hopping, pick up a girl or two and show them a good time while he could. This time however, all Jake can think about is how best he can maximise all his spare moments for the next fourteen months to make sure they’re spent with you.

“I promise,” you say with another giggle, and it makes Jake pull back to look down at you. He’s not sure what he wants to say, if anything at all, but a beat passes where the two of you simply watch one another. Carefully your hand rises, skims along his cheek, but ultimately continues upwards where you smooth back some of the hair hanging down over his forehead.

“By my count we’ve got just under twelve hours,” you say then, and he can tell you’re trying not to sound so sad. It makes his stomach flop about.

“No time to waste, then, huh?” He leans in and murmurs against your lips.

Miraculously, you make it back to his bedroom somehow, shower water replaced with sweat now as you both work to make the most of the short time you have left together.

You let out a heavy breath of air as you adjust yourself once more, hands pressing against his taut abs, feeling the way the muscles move and tighten under your palms and fingers as you bounce in his lap. Your thighs are burning, but that's not going to be enough to stop you from chasing down another high. Jake’s hands at your hips take some of the initiative out of your control though, his grip firm and deliberate as he helps you move for him, forcing you up and damn-near slamming you back down again, his hips flexing in time to make sure he’s fucking you as deep as he can.

Your sounds of pleasure are muted against his lips, swallowed by him as he kisses you hungrily, one hand shooting up to clutch at the back of your neck when you briefly break apart. With one hand helping you move now, he begins tilting his hips more and more, his legs bent at the knee behind you, powering his thrusts and completely taking you apart. He lets you break away from his mouth, but doesn’t move the hand on your neck, and through half-shut eyes, you can see him watching you intently, his jaw clenched as he takes you in. He slows down.

“You look so pretty riding me,” Jake’s voice is deeper and more gravelly than normal, and his words are punctuated by tiny grunts of exertion that make you mewl. “Gonna miss the way you feel around me,” he goes on, using his hold on you to grind up into you with each slow thrust. You gasp when his hand on your thigh pulls a little, widening your legs around him and making you take him even more.

“Fuck! Jake…!” you cry out weakly, doing your best to keep your momentum, but with this new positioning, you barely have enough strength to lift yourself from him. Jake doesn't seem to mind, groaning in approval and suddenly sitting up, twisting your still connected hips to spin you beneath him now, his hand hiking your leg up over his shoulder as you go.

You gasp again, your own hands clutching his shoulders as he begins fucking you impossibly deep, picking up his pace again as he hovers above you, one hand now in the mattress beside your head.

“Take me so well, sweetheart,” he grunts out, closing the distance between you to press his lips back to yours. You chase him when he pulls away again, whining in disapproval, but his lips dont go too far, as he falls to his forearms and really begins to fuck you.

“Gotta give it to you so good you’ll be stuck on me, huh? Won’t think about anyone but me while I’m gone?” he goes on, and all you can do is nod.

“You gonna cum?” he asks a little more coherently, and you nod, because the way he’s driving into you nearly has you toppling over already. “Yeah? Go on, let me feel you, want you to cum around me, honey.”

His words alone are enough to push you off the edge, more so when you feel him join you, and you arch up into him, curl your hips against his own ragged thrusts, desperate to keep him from pulling out halfway through. He doesn’t seem to be planning to this time, and you mewl and moan in delight at the feeling of him filling you up, the feeling of him dripping out of you when he gives you a few last firm thrusts.

Jake pants above you, the hand by your head slipping down to caress your cheek as you both take a moment to come down. He kisses you, long and deep and nearly enough to get you going again. You wait patiently when he pads off to his bathroom to find you a cloth, and you barely notice yourself dozing off until you wake sometime later.

The bed is empty, though the bedside lamp has remained on, and you sit up properly, rubbing your eyes.

“Jake?” you call out, but you don't see him in the bedroom or bathroom. Frowning, you scoot out of his bed and grab one of his old squad shirts, slipping it on as you move out of his bedroom in search of him.

“Jake?” you call out again, trailing your hand along the wall as you step softly down the stairs to the first floor. It doesn’t help that you can’t hear him, but your worries are belayed the moment you turn around the corner and into the kitchen, and you’re greeted with his bare back as he stands at the sink. He’d pulled some sweatpants on, but they’re hanging low on his hips, enough for you to see the little dimples at the base of his back, and you itch you wrap your arms around him again.

You try to be as quiet as you can as you move up behind him, relishing in the small jump of surprise he does when you trail your hands over his skin and around his front, pressing your cheek between his shoulder blades. You feel him chuckle, feel the deep reverberations through his chest as he does, before he’s pulling you by one arm around to his front instead, where your face now rests against his chest instead.

“I thought you’d fallen asleep.” he tells you, leaning down to absently press a kiss to your hair. You shrug, but peek over your shoulder to watch as he continues to wash dishes, moving with him when he has to move, loving the way he briefly wraps you up whenever he does so, as if he’s worried his twisting might scare you off.

“What are you doing?” you ask dumbly, even as he scrubs down the pan you’d used to cook dinner.

“I didn’t want you to have to wake up tomorrow and do the dishes.” He tells you quietly, like he was worried about admitting this to you, like it was something he should feel guilty about. You coo, and squeeze him a little tighter, just as another thought occurs to you. You’d meant to talk to him about it when he got home from work, but with all the messing around that had happened, you’d totally forgotten.

“Do you want me to drive you in tomorrow?” you ask, feeling the way he pauses. You look up at him after he stays quiet for another beat, and find him staring down at you oddly. Your eyes meeting seems to break him out of his reverie though, and he blinks rapidly a few times.

“You don’t mind? It’s an early start…” he tells you, trying to warn you off, but you see right through him. You can tell it means something to him, though you don’t know what, and a part of you wonders if he’d ever had a girlfriend drive him to base for a deployment before.

“I’m not going to see you for fourteen months, Jake, of course I don’t mind.” you say as if it's obvious. You watch him purse his lips, but smile softly.

“I’d like that.” he says at last, moving one arm to wrap around you permanently now, continuing his task one handed until you extract yourself from him to grab a drying cloth. He makes a sound you only feel briefly, but you shoot him an amused shake of your head and remind him that the faster the chore is done, the faster the two of you can go back to bed. He stops his complaining then, and when the sink is empty and the dishes all stacked away, he picks you up and carries you all the way upstairs again with your legs wrapped around his waist, keeping them there until you both fall asleep again.

Jake can’t stop looking back over his shoulder at you as he stands with the rest of Dagger, getting ready to board. You’re right by the front of the crowd of family that has gathered to say goodbye, which doesn’t make it any easier. If you’d disappeared amongst the people, he could fool himself into thinking you weren’t there, but as it is, he can see you clearly, and it’s eating him up.

Even Rooster can tell, watching and following his gaze every time Jake longingly glances back at you, his brown eyes trailing to the beautiful girl in the front of the crowd, occasionally conversing with the people around her, but mostly just eying the group of aviators with a sad little smile.

“You should say goodbye.” Rooster tells him quietly, eyeing up the officers ahead of them and correctly guessing that they would be about to board. Jake swallows, and pushes his sunglasses up his nose.

“We’ve already said goodbye.” He doesn’t mean to sound so snappy or cold, but he really didn’t want to think about leaving you anymore than necessary. Beside him, Rooster shuffles and shrugs.

“Say goodbye again.”

Jake stays quiet for a moment, before he turns to look at his wingman, and then at the line ahead. Quickly shifting his bag and stuffing it into the other man’s hands, Rooster only nods at him before Jake’s body is moving, easily pushing past the junior officers who step out of his way quickly. He barely takes note of the saultes he receives, because his eyes are set only on you, the way you watch him with a frown, but even as he gets right up to you, and you open your mouth to speak, he keeps moving, cupping your jaw and pressing a series of kisses against your lips.

When he pulls back you frown is gone, replaced with a lightness he hasn't seen since before he’d told you he’d be leaving.

“Will you wait for me?” he asks breathlessly, aware now that the carrier had begun boarding, and he needed to get back.

“What?” you ask with a slight laugh. Jake only leans in to kiss you again, and from somewhere behind him, he can hear a few servicemen whistle. You’re still giggling when he pulls back, but he digs into his uniform pockets and brings out his keys, pressing them into your hands.

“Wait for me.” he says again, waiting until you nod your assent before looking away from you. Through the crowd, he can hear someone, Rooster calling him, an edge of warning in his voice.

“I’ve got to go.” he tells you dumbly, and kisses you again.

“I know. Go! I’ll be here when you get back!” you assure him with a laugh, kissing him back but pushing him away at the same time. Jake grins upon hearing the words, and steps in to kiss you again, before finally dragging his body forcefully away from yours, and back to his team.

Phoenix is giving him a funny look that he ignores as he takes his bag back from Rooster with a silent nod of thanks. He receives a pat on the shoulder from the other man, who looks down his sunglasses at him thoughtfully. Jake sees his eyes trail off and he knows Rooster is looking at you again. He pats Jake’s shoulder once more, his lips tipping up teasingly.

“She’s cute,” Rooster tells him. Jake eyes him as he replaces his sunglasses.

“Yeah,” he says. ���She is.”

“Hey babygirl, it’s good to see you,” Jake can’t help his wide grin even as he stares at your somewhat blank, reserved expression. Something in his chest wobbles as you eventually give him a weak smile, and he nervously adjusts his camera.

“Hi, Jake.” You say. It only makes his stomach wobble too.

“Is the software working okay? I have captions?” he asks, double checking the program on his end to make sure for the fourth time that everyone is tip top. You nod.

“Yeah, yeah, everything is working fine. I even put my hearing aids in… I’ve missed your voice,” you tell him.

Your words go a small way to alleviate his anxiety, but it’s been four months since he’s communicated with you via more than just email, and he can’t help but listen to the voices in his head from long before he met you, telling him that you don’t want to wait for him any longer.

“I’m honoured, you hate wearing those,” he says with a stiff laugh. You smile a little wider, but don’t seem to relax.

“Too much noise,” you agree. A quiet beat passes between you and Jake steels himself for what he knows is to come. You both speak at exactly the same time.

“Listen, baby, I’m really sorry I haven’t been able to do this sooner, but–”

“–I’m pregnant.”

Jake freezes, and so do you.

“Oh, thank god,” he hears himself say outloud, his entire body sagging as the weight of what he’d thought you were about to say leaves his body entirely.

“That’s… that’s not what I was expecting…” all stress seems to have left your body too, and for the first time since your call connected, you too appear to be completely at ease. “I thought you were going to break up with me…” you tell him, making Jake start.

“I thought you were going to break up with me!” Jake exclaims, before quickly quientening his voice. “Christ you scared me,” he tells you, letting out a sigh of relief.

Your face is a mixture of amusement and bashfulness.

“You’re more scared of me breaking up with you, than me being pregnant?” you ask, and Jake finds himself nodding immediately.

“I wouldn’t say scared, per se…”

“Your own words, Jake,” you remind him, and he chuckles, but shrugs. You both pause for a moment as you take in the wealth of new information and relationship security you now bask in. Jake jumps then, and leans in closer to his screen.

“How far along are you?” he asks, unsure of what really to ask in this situation, it’s honestly not one he’d ever been in before, but he’s proud to discover his mind immediately has calibrated for it.

“I’m going to the doctor in the morning, but I’m guessing around four months,” you tell him with a slightly wry smile. Jake laughs.

“I should hope so,” Jake chortles, before turning serious again when he sees you only laugh weakly.

“How are you feeling, baby?” he asks, then quickly, for your sake, adds; “For the record, I want whatever you want, I just want it with you.”

Your face travels through several emotions, but you at last give him a watery little smile.

“I really thought you’d break up with me, I haven’t even thought about anything else,” you admit, and Jake feels something else in his chest wobble.

“Honey, unless you’re planning on breaking my heart right now, I’m not breaking up with you any time soon… or ever, if I’m honest… I’m sorry that’s not been clearer…” he tells you, feeling a slight lump in his throat at the very thought.

You were it for him, he thinks, he can’t imagine not coming home to you. He’d even considered throwing his medical on purpose the other day, just so he could wait for your email he knew was likely to come. Jake has never even considered that before, not even for family. A knock on the door makes his face fall, and he turns to glare at the ensign who pokes their head in.

“Liuetenant Seresin, sir, Captain Mitchell requires you on deck.”

Jake sighs, but nods grimly.

“Tell him I’ll be there in a moment.”

“Sir!”

Jake looks back at you, already smiling sadly.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, I need to go,” he says tiredly. He’d wished he got more time to talk with you, but especially about this.

“It’s okay Jake, we’ll be fine,” you tell him. Jake can’t stop the quirk of his lips as he stares at you.

“‘We’ huh?” he asks teasingly, feeling something like excitement, or perhaps pure, sheer joy race through his veins. You cock your head but your arm moves, he can’t see where exactly, but he suspects your hand now rests against your belly.

“Yeah. We.”

Jake swallows thickly, and nods, unable to fight the smile that pulls at his lips.

“Okay, baby, okay,” he hears another knocking on his door and huffs. “Send me everything you can, I don’t know when I’ll get to call you again, okay? Send me everything.”

Jake walks quietly alongside Dagger as they return to their ready room, listening to them discussing possible ‘new’ hand signs for each other to signal readiness for the manuevour they’d been working on not even twenty minutes ago, prior to landing. He checks back into the conversation long enough to watch the proposed sign that Payback suggests, and immediately begins shaking his head.

“That’s ‘math’ in sign language,” Jake tells him, earning a look from Phoenix.

“Since when do you know ASL?” she asks, not fully sounding accusatory, but certainly not shying away from that tone either. Jake looks up at her and opens his mouth, but it’s Bob who gets there before him.

“He’s been practising with me,” Bob informs her, making Phoenix only more curious. She turns back to Jake expectantly. Jake shifts on his feet as the group comes to a halt, clearly also wanting to know what this is about, and for a brief moment, he considers telling them to mind their damn business.

That thought passes though, his spite warmed into a quiet kind of glee at the mere thought of you, his chest tingling slightly under the picture he has tucked into his flight suit.

“My girlfriend is deaf,” he says at last with a small shrug. Phoenix stays eying him for a second, even more curiosity filling her gaze, but after a moment she relents. He knows she’ll have questions later, but for now seems to be content not to make him answer them in front of everyone.

“Huh.” she says, and with that the squad continues moving.

Eventually, Phoenix and Halo peel off to the women’s locker rooms, the boys moving on to theirs, Payback, Coyote, Fanboy and Bob making straight for the showers. Jake can’t shower yet, though, he has precious cargo to return to safety, so moves straight for his locker, peeling it and carefully removing the photograph from his breast. Using the wad of blu-tac he’d acquired a few weeks back, he gingerly sticks the image backup in its home when he’s not flying, making sure not to get any fingerprints on it as he does.

“That was a good exercise,” Rooster’s voice makes Jake almost jump out of his skin, and he turns to look over his shoulder, quickly shooting the other man a nod.

“Yeah,” he replies simply, his lips thinning into a line as Rooster steps closer, opening his own locker but inevitably glancing over at Jake’s in the process. Jake tenses up as he feels Bradshaw pause, but after only a few agonising seconds, Rooster is moving again.

“Congratulations?” Rooster half-praises, half-questions, side-eying Jake, who stiffens just slightly, but finds himself relaxing when he looks back up at the grainy ultrasound.

“Thanks,” he says, feeling his stomach flutter at the memory of the first time he saw it.

Jake reaches up and rapps the ultrasound fondly.

“Twenty-three weeks. She’s supposed to be the size of a peach, but hell if I know what I’m looking at,” Jake shrugs and rolls his eyes, even letting loose a small smile when Rooster leans over to get a closer look. After a moment he too pulls a face and they meet eyes.

“Yeah, looks like topography to me,” Rooster shrugs as well. Jake looks back to the scan thoughtfully.

“Oh. Yeah. There’s a mountain range…. Small valley…” Jake trails off as the showers seem to shut off in near-unisen. 

He quickly shoots Rooster a steely-eyed stare, which thankfully the other man seems to understand the meaning of, because all too soon their conversation comes to an end and Jake shuts his locker door protectively.

Their veil of secrecy is shattered however, when Javy, dressed in only his towel, waltzes right up to Jake, opens his locker door again, places a kiss to the ultrasound, then carries right on as Jake quickly closes it behind him. Rooster shoots him a look, and before the others can make an appearance, Jake explains himself.

“Only Javy knows,” he grinds out, but can’t find himself too annoyed. Javy had immediately taken to his Uncle role, sending little gift packages to Jake's house for you to discover.

The ‘My Uncle Is Single’ onesie was particularly cute.

Jake doesn’t even really have to push his way to the front of the line at the docks. Not only had Dagger made a path for him, but they were actively hauling at the collars of younger sailors, and from behind him he can hear various calls of ‘make way!’ and when one sailor protests a little too loudly, Phoenix saying ‘Hangman’s about to meet his kid for the first time, do you really want to get in the way of that?’. He makes a note to thank them later, but then he sees you, and he sees his baby, and all thoughts fly out of his brain.

He rushes up to you, gathering you both in one tight hug before you even seem to realise it’s him. But then he hears you laughing waterly, and he pulls his face back enough to plant a long, passionate kiss to your lips.

“Hey baby, hi!” he gushes cupping your cheek in his hand, before quickly extracting himself only a little, and focusing his attention on the bundle of excited squeals in your arms.

“Hi Princess, c’mere, I’ve been waiting so long to meet you!” Jake continues to talk before you can even get a word in edgewise. You laugh again, and shift the baby on your hip enough and Jake steps in again quickly relieving you of the weight. His daughter is immediately enraptured by the pins and shinies on his uniform, and she babbles talkatively up at him. Jake had shared his worries with you that she wouldn’t know him, recognise him, but all that is quickly abated when she stuffs a fist in her mouth and all but collapses against his chest.

His whole body fills with a warmth like he’s never known and he looks over at you.

“I think it’s too loud for her,” you say with a laugh, cuddling in closer to the other side of his chest. Jake looks between the two of you lovingly, adjusting his girl so he can show off some of the ASL he’d managed to learn in the last fourteen months.

Sorry, he signs carefully. Just – little – longer. Team – want – meet – you – both.

Your face lights up in recognition and your eyes get a little mistier. So – good – now! You sign back slowly for him, just as he feels several presences come to an anxious stop behind him.

“Bob helped,” he says, getsuring over at Bob, who steps forward with a short little wave.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Ma’am,” he tells you, before his eyes shift to the baby in Jake’s arms. He tips his hat again at the girl who, as Jake turns, seems to be quietly inspecting the newcomers, drooling all over her tiny little hand. Bob does another little wave, more goofy this time, and she giggles, but turns her face inward briefly to Jake’s chest even more.

Jake uses his free arm to pull you in a little, and nods at his team.

“Baby, this is Dagger, that’s Bob,” he briefly pauses to show you Bob’s sign name, before he goes on to point out the others. “Phoenix, Rooster, Fanboy, Payback, and this is–” he gets cut off as Javy pushes his way to the front of the crowd.

“Uncle Javy!” he announces, balling you up in a tight hug. You laugh and nod.

“Thank you for all the gifts for her! She loves them!” you tell him, which only makes him smile wider, and puff his chest out some as he rounds on Jake and his daughter.

“Can I hold her now?” he asks, with his arms already out. Jake’s features drop into a friendly glare.

“No.” he says firmly, tugging the baby closer. He’s rewarded when she begins to fuss a little at all the new attention, and Jake quickly begins shushing and cooing at her, only for her to relax and fall quiet, her tiny fists now clutching desperately into his jacket.

“That’s right baby, daddy’s not gonna let Uncle Javy take you away from him.” He runs his hand comfortingly up and down her little back, snuggling her closer.

Javy rolls his eyes, but relents, pointing at Jake and you.

“Ya’ll got one week, then I’m crashing,” he tells you. Jake shakes his head, but you nod, looking up at him. You sign ‘babysitter?’ at him, then getsure at Dagger in general, and after he puts two and two together, he’s shaking his head.

“No. No way,” he says. You nod again and gesture back to the group.

“No,” he says.

“Yes.” you reply, Bob nodding quickly along with you. Jake rolls his eyes up at the sky, then back down at you. He looks over at where Rooster, Phoenix, Fanboy and Payback have all started cooing and making faces at his girl, making her giggle and kick her feet, and lets out a sigh.

“Fine. Maybe.”

#jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake 'hangman' seresin #hangman x reader #jake 'hangman' seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin x reader #top gun maverick #jake 'hangman' seresin fanfic #jake hangman seresin #top gun fanfiction

[blckbrrybasket]

ᯓ★ 𝐆𝐚𝐳 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

MDNI

SFW

- Gaz listens to Childish Gambino!

- Gaz LOVED scooby doo growing up and velma was his favorite.

- Gaz takes selfies or mirror pictures of himself but doesn’t send them to anyone. He keeps them as a confidence boost on his eyes only tab.

- Gaz LOVES reality TV. He can sit down and binge almost an entire season of some reality show. On leave when he isn’t catching up with people he’s catching up with what he missed on the bachelor.

- Gaz is an expert at finding out information and loves gossip if he isn’t the subject of it. Even if he is this man has so many comebacks stored up no one dares start a playful argument with him for fear of being ripped to shreds…except for Soap.

- Gaz likes to read and often shared recommendations with Ghost, they both like thrillers. Soap makes fun of them for it yet Gaz always shoots back with a variation of Soap not being able to read (Soap never learns and always goes to make a joke about it again)

- When Soap laughs at something immature Gaz tries to stand there like “🧍” and act mature, but the moment Soap lets out a hyena laugh/snorts or if Soap bumps into Gaz, Gaz loses it and starts laughing

- Gaz is the type of person to swat people or grab onto them when laughing really hard. He has almost peed himself when laughing.

SFW (serious)

- If Gaz has a dream where it feels like he’s falling he shoots out of bed and panics. It’s one of the bigger lasting effects of him having fallen out of two helicopters. He still gets phantom pains on his body sometimes, but the biggest one is from the trauma of his harness catching him cutting into him.

- Gaz is super in tune with his emotions and is quite open minded. He’s generally flexible, aside from plans changing last minute.

- Going off of that one of Gaz’s biggest pet peeves are plans changing at the last minute. He and Soap have had countless arguments over Soap changing stuff at the last second.

- Gaz has OCD, i’m not sure who started this headcanon but I completely agree with it. If you look at him closely you can see him swiping his hands over his pants once, twice, three times. If someone interrupts his compulsion he has to takes deep breaths before restarting. Consequently he’ll randomly go silent when talking if he has to focus on finishing a compulsion.

- Gaz is a mama’s boy and was raised how to treat women respectfully. He can go from having a great relationship with someone but the moment they something bad about women he will never like them again. He’s a proud feminist!

- Has a thing about towels. Gaz can’t use them more than once or twice because he can practically imagine all the germs that are on the fabric. Even if he is 100% clean coming out of the shower it doesn’t get rid of the thought.

NSFW

- Not vanilla, but not a huge freak.

- He’s usually up for trying something once to see if either of you like it. If not it’s no sweat off his back, at least he learned what you do and don’t like.

- There are lines he draws though. He doesn’t like anything that involve bodily fluids. Gaz prides himself on being a clean guy, but with his OCD (and kind of being a germaphobe) he can’t do it. As well as blood, to him he sees it enough on the battlefield, he wouldn’t want to see it on you. Gaz could only imagine if you were hurt.

- That’s not to say he doesn’t like a bit of man handling though. Gaz is a strong man and he knows it. His favorite thing to do is to drop you on the bed and watch you bounce back up. Trying to crawl to right yourself is a hard feat since he almost immediately pounces on you.

- He will 1000% hold your wrists above your head and while in your ear. Gaz says the dirtiest shit in bed. It comes naturally to him. He loves seeing you relax before his eyes at the sound of his voice alone.

- Wouldn’t be opposed to a threesome as long as they know you’re his partner and not theirs. He wouldn’t do it so he could have another person fawn over him. Gaz would do it to worship you. Once he’s in a relationship with you there only is you for him.

- Second easiest to get hard out of 141. If you push on his chest/shoulder/abdomen to get him to sit back down his blood will immediately flow south.

- Loves when you take what you want from him. Definitely a switch and would beg on his knees in front of you if you wanted him to.

- Gaz LOVES worshipping your body. Some degradation here and there, but ultimately he can’t help but spout off compliments when he’s buried in you.

- Will definitely send you pictures when deployed. He doesn’t do it to tease you and not let you cum, he wants you to cum to them. Gaz didn’t curate all those pictures for them to go to waste.

- Aftercare expert. Everything is tuned to you specifically. He’s had a few partners and with each he paid attention to what they liked most. Expect a warm bath for you to relax in, followed by food you love, a show on that you’ve been binging, all available on your bed so you can rest how you want to.

- His favorite parts about sex is the foreplay and aftercare. Sorry not sorry!

#call of duty x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick x you #kyle gaz garrick #gaz x reader #kyle gaz x reader #kyle garrick headcanon #gaz headcanons #call of duty x you #cod modern warfare #soap mactavish #john soap mactavish #call of duty #kyle garrick x reader #task force 141 #call of duty modern warfare #headcanons

[seireitonin]

Dating Toby?? Like is he clingy, jealous or protective of his partner??

(I don't know....this is my first time doing these things.....)

Toby brain rot :3 this is how I see Toby mixed with some canon information! (I’m gonna try to keep it realistic)

What would it be like dating Toby?

Toby’s life is filled with tragedy

Abuse, death, murder, mental illnesses, being a slave to Slenderman

It’s all bad

So when he finds you, someone that accepts him and loves him despite all that, he’s not letting you go

He’ll do anything for you

I mean to the point it’s unhealthy

Because hes obsessed with you

Like really obsessed with you

He’s super touchy, not only because he likes to feel close to you, but it keeps him grounded

That’s important to him because his disorders/ mental illnesses cause him to hallucinate or space out

He’s not gloomy he’s actually upbeat but when he remembers something from his past or the current state of his life he goes through episodes of depression and mood swings

They can get really intense and as you’re with him you’ll learn how to support him through it

Just laying with him, making sure he has water and reminding him you’re here for him will help lots and lots of physical affection

If his mood swings get violent he’ll isolate himself from you but it’s heartbreaking to hear his suffering

His swings can go from extreme anger to intense sadness to reckless happiness

Since he hasn’t had much kindness or interaction in his life he doesn’t have the best social skills

He’ll say whatever is on his mind with no filter and that includes you too

So he’ll say mean things unintentionally a lot because he doesn’t understand how what he says can be hurtful

And he might try to call you sensitive for it too

“Ugh you’re overreacting I didn’t even say anything that hurtful. It’s just what’s on my mind”

He literally doesn’t understand how it can make you feel because he’s a bit detached with emotions

It’s gonna take a while for him to understand but he loves you so he’ll try to understand for your sake and will work on apologizing

He can also just be rude or a jerk sometimes in general

Toby likes just spending time with you to the point where you’re connected at the hip

He won’t say he loves you with words but he says it with his actions

He brings you gifts, holds your hand, goes on walks with you, holds you and try’s to be better for you (even though it’s really hard because he’s set in his ways)

He talks a lot so sometimes you’ll just listen and smile

Since he can’t feel pain, when he gets back from missions you’ll have to help him check for injuries to make sure he’s okay

He doesn’t say it but he appreciates it

Sometimes he’ll just stare at you because he loves you so much, taking in your every detail

He notices everything about you, from your body language, how you tan in the summer and lighten in the winter, he even knows how many times you breathe in a minute

Toby eats a lot of instant ramen so be prepared to eat a lot of that at first but you start to cook for him because he needs to eat better

Toby never expected to have a girlfriend since he’s a lot to handle but he liked the way you handle him

He’s full of himself literally thinks he’s gods gift to earth so sometimes he puts himself before your relationship but he’s trying to change that

He’s really funny especially if you like dark humor

He’s a jealous man. You’re his no one else’s

If someone even looks at you romantically he’ll go crazy on them

Remember, Toby is still a murderer and enjoys murdering

Chasing them down and threatening them and if it escalated kill them with a smile

He does it all for you. Everything is for you.

“You know I love you, right?”

He looks at you covered in blood

Toby likes it when you wear his sweaters

He wants a family one day and hopes you can give that to him

He’s possessive over you but does it out of intense love and obsession

He wants to keep you safe by any means necessary because he’s so used to losing the people he loves and he really doesn’t wanna lose you

Toby drives a pickup truck and likes to drive you around in it

He likes to sit in the back of it with you and look at the stars in an open field

Since Toby’s older his tics have calmed down but they’re still there and he still has the occasional tic attack

You’ll have to help him through those because sometimes he can’t even talk when he’s having one

Stuff he can squeeze, ice pack on his forehead and making sure he doesn’t hurt himself

He’s happy you don’t see him as a burden like everyone else did

He’s never letting you go

He didn’t know he could feel love this intense

#creepypasta #creepypasta hcs #creepypasta characters #creepypasta fandom #creepypasta headcanon #crp #ticci toby headcanons #ticci toby #ticci toby hc #ticci toby hcs #ticci toby x reader #ticci toby creepypasta #creepypasta toby

[wandasfifthwife]

your jealousy is showing (on me)✩‧₊˚

—> hockey player/coach!wanda x afab!reader

tw || SMUT MDNI, top wanda x bottom reader, dom/sub dynamics, established relationship, jealous wanda, exhibition (janitor closet), marking/impact play (hickeys, bruises, thigh spanking), fingering (r receiving), r gets hit on but is oblivious, tyler mention!, reader is said to be wearing a dress, person who hits on r sees the two of them, not proofread!

a/n || in such a slut for this woman. so sorry if my writing is nastier than coconut, idk how I feel about it haha but I hope you enjoy bc this made me hot and bothered tbh

series m.list ✩ ══╡˚2.3k words˚╞══ ✩ wanda m.list

Practice has been going well, better even. There’s been an increase in number since people started to find out that wanda has experience on the ice as a player on a professional team. The stands have become packed, families and friends taking up every corner, a completely contrast from before. You remember the days when you first came with your nephew, sitting and having a seven feet distance from another person. Tyler’s since graduated from wanda’s class, now attending another with a different coach.

It was a sad day for him, hugging your girlfriend tight and exclaiming how he wishes to have her as a coach for every class. She had laughed, resting a hand on his back and reassured him that she’ll attend his other classes. She even went as far as to mention private classes, saying they can spend time together on the ice. A smile had come upon your face as you watched the two interact, thankful your nephew is able to have such a wonderful relation with his coach, your girlfriend.

Since then you’ve been attending his classes with Wanda. You can’t help yourself, curling a hand through her arm to hold her close. You complain that it’s the cold, but you both know it’s a shit excuse. Regardless, she’s never going to turn you down, if anything she’s pulling you tighter and pressing a kiss to your head.

“He’s improved a lot. Lately he’s been practicing outside his house with some friends on the street.”

“That’s probably the only reason why he’s able to skate in a straight row now. Do you think he’ll continue to play?”

“I think so. It’s all he talks about, but of course we can’t say definitive terms. He could fall out of love with it in a year and choose like baseball.”

“If he were to choose another sport it’d be football, not baseball. His favorite part of hockey is running into others, he forgets there’s an actual game going on.”

You stifle a laugh, “he’s trying.”

He proved Wanda’s words to be correct because the next second he’s slamming into one of the team members, pummeling the two into the wall. The coach had come to talk to you after, seeking you where you stood by the concession stand. You had a hand on Wanda’s arm, informing her of where you’ll be.

You were paying for the snack, thanking the person behind the counter. He had stood behind you just out of your line of sight, so just enough that you ran into him when turning around. His shirt smelled of sweat and his cologne, a lot of his cologne, so much so it overwhelmed you.

“Hey, you’re tyler’s mom, right?”

“No, just his aunt.”

“My bad. Sorry that was terribly rude of me, I was going to say you look good for your age.”

“Thank you, that’s very kind.”

“Of course,” he flashes a smile, leaning onto one of the tables beside him, “I’ve notice how often you come, it’s great that you’re supporting him like this. Most kid’s don’t have such a supportive aunt.”

“I try. My brother and his wife are busy, so I take over. He’s means well but he’s still a young teen.”

“Yes. He’s nothing new. A lot of teens enjoy the physical aspect to the game, it’s normal for them to be competitive even with each other.”

A few minutes have gone by, enough time for concern to begin swirling through Wanda’s mind. She’s relieved to see you’ve not gone missing and that you’re all in one piece, standing only a few feet from her.

“That’s my coach,” Tyler starts, seeing how Wanda’s attention was directed at the tow of you.

“I know,” she deadpans, turning her attention back on your nephew, “finish untying your shoes.”

“I know,” he mimics, tone lowering to frustrate her further.

You’re walking back over with a grin plastered on your face. Tyler’s already grabbing at the drink you got, pulling it from your hands to open it already.

“Just talked with your new coach, Tyler. It seems you have a track record with finding amazing coaches.”

Already Wanda didn’t like him. She kept quiet about her disdain, knowing how important it was to you that Tyler doesn’t come to contact with a terrible one as you had.

It grew difficult. Each practice he always seemed to find you, drawing out a long conversation with you. Usually it’s fine, as a coach herself she understands the important of keeping up with the families, but this was excessive. The constant parade of compliments directed at you were unnecessary. He wouldn’t really care to talk to Tyler, and as far as she knew, Wanda didn’t exist around him. He’s either dumb, or he’s choosing to be ignorant towards the intimacy between you two.

What brought her to the edge was when he began to touch you, a hand on your shoulder or the back of your waist. It was in moments where it could’ve been excused; done to either move you out of the way or make sure you don’t trip.

You were sweet, engaging in a conversation he had started yet again down at the end of the bleachers. Wanda had her attention set on Tyler skating around before practice, eyes flickering to where the two of you stood every minute.

“I have a conference this weekend and we’re allowed to bring a plus one. Would you be interested in joining me?”

“Oh. I already have someone that I’m going with. So I won’t be going with you, but I will see you there.”

He looks disappointed, eyes shooting to meet Wanda’s, “I’ll see you there then.”

Wanda doesn’t like that man.

You walk up the stairs all sweet-like, sitting beside her and placing a kiss to her cheek, “when’s that coach award event again?”

“Saturday, 7PM.”

You hum, leaning your head on her shoulder, “you better win an award.”

“If not, I have you.”

An elbow shoves into her side, “you’re such a sap.”

“No, I just love you,” she murmurs, pressing her lips against yours, feeling like she’s won when she catches the coach looking. She had hoped the soft public display of affection would be enough of a sign to back off, but it wasn’t.

The weekend came soon enough. Wanda standing by the door with her keys in hand as she waits for you to join her.

“Beautiful,” she says when you step down, opening the door for you.

“I hope you win one award, that would be amazing.”

“It would look great for my public imagine,”she laughs at the look you give her, “you know I don’t care about that, love.”She gives your thigh a squeeze before backing the car out of her apartment complex.

She should’ve known he’d be stuck to you most of the night. Wanda tries to engage in the conversation, but he tunes her out, keeping his attention on you. Ever so sweet you try to include her, smiling back at her but this time it’s not enough to quell how she’s feeling.

“Hey Micheal, can you go grab her another drink?”

“Wanda, I can’t—“

She shuts you up by pinching at your waist, cutting your sentence off. He looks mildly annoyed, “sure.”Once he’s turned around, she’s guiding you out of the room.

“Wanda there’s only like sixteen minutes until the ceremony—“ your mouth goes numb when you realize where she’s walking you towards. There’s a closet at the end of the hall, tiny and small as its only purpose is to hold supplies for the janitors. Tonight it will be used for another matter.

“That’s enough time,” she says lowly, shutting the door behind her, enclosing the two of you in darkness.

She’s lifting you with her hands under your thighs, dropping you down onto the extra school desk stored away in the room. Her body’s leans into you, hands on either side of your body as she kisses you passionately. They turn messy, trailing from the corner of your lips to end up on the bottom side of your neck. You gasp when she bites down, a hand reaching to push at her chest.

“Wan—wait.”

She doesn’t listen, too focused on making your neck show an array of purple marks. You whine, squirming in her hold as she leaves one after the other, stopping only on areas that you’re sensitive to. She’s severely quiet, attentive to every heavy breath and sound coming from you. You’re weak, arms wrapped around her neck, head pressed into the wall behind you. You’ve completely given up control, neck tilted back to give her more room.

“Oh—” you shiver when she moves towards the spot behind your neck. Your reaction gave her another reason to press her lips against it, nipping at the skin there.

Her ministrations leave you wet, your hips grind down onto the desk below you to try to seek relief. Wanda coos, cold fingers sliding under your dress, finding the wetness between your thighs. You cry out when she thrusts two in, pushing through your tight walls. It’s intoxicating, the wet sounds filling the room, turning you on even more.

“Ah! Wands—you—“

She’s shushing you, lips on yours to keep you quiet. Her fingers are splitting you open, angling perfectly towards the spot that makes your back arch. Her thumb catches onto your clit with each thrust, brushing perfectly to make you see white. You weave your fingers into her hair, moaning into her mouth when she bites at your bottom lip.

You’ve completely forgotten about the event, and most importantly, Michael. You’re clenching onto her finger, arousal covering her hand and dripping onto the wood below you. You choke on a moan when she’s guiding you to lift your left foot onto the desk, the position spreading you open to allow her fingers to push deeper. The bottom of your dress slips up, clothing pooling around your waist. You feel your orgasm build, a series of whimpers spilling from you.

“Fucking say my name when you come,” she demands, holding back moan when she hears your strangled whine after she brought her hand down onto your thigh. The way your cunt squeezes around her fingers then makes her weak.

“Like that?”

She’s cocky, hand coming down harder on that same spot.

“ah! wands please—“

Your body jerks after her fifth slap, mouth dropping open in a silent scream. She nuzzles against your head resting on her shoulder. You relaxed into her hole, breathing heavily as you come down from your high.

It was fine until wanda carried you into the bathrooms to clean off and you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, easily spotting the splotches painting your neck.

You leaned over the sink to get a better view, eyes snapping between the marks; the one by your ear, another under the strap of your dress, one more at the base of your neck. You weren’t aware of the severity of her actions in the moment, your mind was too busy trying to deal with the fuzziness spreading throughout your body.

“Was that okay,” she asks from where she stands by the entrance.

“Very,” you mumble, looking back to her with a smile.

“Hey, I want to apologize. I knew something was wrong,” you say, grabbing a paper towel from the machine, “he was a jerk to you. Like just earlier he wasn’t letting you get a word in, but I really just thought he was being nice at first.”

“You’re fine, love.”

You wet the towel, rubbing warm water over the cloth to get it wet, “you say that but I still feel bad.”

She crosses the room to grab at your wrist after seeing what you were doing, “why’re you trying to rub the marks off?”

“Because?”

She raises an eyebrow, “because? What?”

“This is your event, I don’t want you to loose your job over me.”

“I won’t,” she tosses the towel away, “I knew what I was doing when I gave you those.”

“But the staff—“

“There’s enough of them screwing around.”

“Oh.”

She huffs, hooking a finger under the hem of your dress, drawing it up your thigh until the red, swollen marks on your thighs from where she was aiming her hand earlier begin to show. You hate how affected you get by the sight of them, thighs squeezing together.

You were only meant to be gone for ten minutes. That was the original goal, but she began to fold with how you were looking at her. Your eyes were dark, locking onto hers from within the mirror. She had you pinned to the counter in seconds, forcing you to watch how easily you melt under her touch.

Footsteps echoed throughout the hallway, getting closer to where the two of you stood. You had begun to push back, mumbles on how she needs to stop so they don’t get caught, but it’s like she knew. You caught on later, realizing it was Micheal by the sound of his voice calling out to you.

“Wanda, he—“

She’s slapping a hand over your mouth, pulling you back against her chest. You look over your shoulder, finding Micheal freeze after entering into the room. Wanda had you in a position only he could dream of. He was like a fish out of water, mouth opening and closing as he processed what he was looking at. The marks on your body, eyes glossy and faraway even as you look in his direction. The muscles in Wanda’s arm flex as she presses her hand tighter against your mouth. You’re absolutely dripping, excitement pooling from the behavior this man was bringing out of her.

“I was worried… but I see you’re.. okay.”

“I see you’ve met my girlfriend, Micheal?”

series m.list ✩ ══╡˚2.3k words˚╞══ ✩ wanida m.list

#competing series #hockey!au #hockey player!wanda #hockey coach!wanda #coach!wanda #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #wanda x fem!reader #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda x you #dom wanda #top wanda #wanda x afab!reader #wanda maximoff x afab!reader #wanda maximoff x you #marvel wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff fic #wanda maximoff fanfiction #marvel wanda #wanda #wanda maximoff #wanda x reader smut #wanda mcu #wanda marvel #marvel fanfic #wanda fic #wanda x y/n #wanda maximoff x fem!reader #wanda maxmoff x y/n #wanda maximoff marvel

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

How would the dorm leaders + tweels react if the reader was comfortable enough to just full on change in front of them nonchalantly?

No Big Deal | Yandere Twisted Wonderland

Where you’re from nudity isn’t anything to be disgusted by, its just a normal fact of life. While many in a normal world would have informed you that the nuance was that this was at the very least odd no one ever said anyone here was normal:

Jade Leech

“Oh isn’t this a lovely sight.”

He’ll tell you after you’ve changed

Should there be any risk of someone coming in

He’ll just make sure they don’t

Strangling, stabbing, or otherwise it will be quick

This is a gift for his eyes only

He might even offer a helpful hand

Azul Ashengrotto

“WHOA! HEY! HEY!” 

Gets so red he near passes out

Should anyone have bared witness to your immaculatence or walked in while you were changing he's going on a rampage 

That is if he wasn’t already foaming at the mouth, eyes rolling back he’d sick the twins on them

Or make them pay should he have an outstanding contract

Floyd Leech

“Hey I’ll join in too!”

It’s not acceptable to just be naked on land

It’s kind of the same under water but not entirely

So what’s anyone to say that you can’t 

He will attack anyone who sees you though

Talk about hypocrisy

#yandere octavinelle #yandere x reader #yandere x you #lovelyyandereaddictionpoint #yanderexrea #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst #yandere twst x reader #yandere floyd x reader #yandere floyd leech #yandere floyd #yandere jade leech #yandere jade x reader #yandere jade leech x reader #yandere floyd leech x reader #yandere azul ashengrotto #yandere azul x reader #yandere azul ashengrotto x reader #yandere azul

[solarmorrigan]

TW: Discussion of suicide, suicidal ideation, child neglect. Nothing happens in the fic (all hurt/comfort, I promise), but it's very frankly talked about, so please proceed with care <3

-

It takes three weeks.

(In reality, it takes longer than that. It takes until after Steve realizes he’s spending more time at Eddie and Wayne’s new place than he is at his own house. It takes until after Eddie has asked Steve to just move in with them already. It takes until after Steve has packed his things up, and carefully cleaned up the house, and set the thermostat, and informed the pool cleaners, and paid a neighbor to check the mail every few days, and – he hadn’t felt right, just leaving, even though Eddie had repeatedly told him he didn’t owe anyone anything. But it had taken until after all of that, and then–)

Steve had left them a note, a new number where he could be reached, and it had taken three weeks before they came looking. Before they even noticed.

It isn’t a fight, in the end.

His parents are angry that he’d just up and left the house, but they’re much less so when he explains everything he’d set in place before he’d gone.

They want to know if he’ll be asking them for anything else after this (not if he’s safe, not if he’s happy, just if he’s going to keep being a burden).

He tells them no.

And that’s– that’s it.

That’s it.

His mom tells him they’ll call him around Christmas, let him know if they’ll be in town, and then his parents just let him go.

They get up and they leave his living room and they leave his home and they leave Steve’s life and they leave and they don’t look back and they– well, they’d left a long time ago, hadn’t they? A long, long time ago.

Steve is sitting at the end of Eddie’s bed (his and Eddie’s bed, now, their bed; Steve’s still getting used to that, but in a good way), feeling the sort of empty he hasn’t felt since he was seventeen. He’s just sort of staring at the carpet, and then he’s staring at Eddie’s ridiculous polka dot socks as Eddie steps in front of him.

“Hey,” Eddie says softly. “You, uh… okay?”

It’s kind of a ridiculous question – the answer is obvious, and Eddie clearly knows that, but it’s a way to start a conversation without shouting, “Your parents are ungrateful pieces of shit who never appreciated you,” like he probably wants to (and has before), and Steve appreciates his restraint.

He nods a little, stops, shrugs.

“I kind of thought I was over this,” he says. “Over feeling… left behind by them. Shouldn’t still hurt, right?”

“It’s– it’s okay if it does. It’s shit, Steve. They’re shit,” Eddie says (yep, Steve called it). “You’re allowed to be hurt.”

Steve shrugs again.

“It’s funny,” he says, even though it isn’t, “but I used to wonder how long it would take them to notice if I died.”

He’d never had an active plan, really, though there had been plenty of ways around the house to accomplish the task. He’d never really even looked at it as being suicidal, just angry and bitter and lonely. He hadn’t felt miserable all the time, hadn’t felt like there was nothing in the world worth living for – it’s not like he’d been depressed, it had just been a wild, almost satisfying thought that occurred from time to time. The ultimate way to prove a point. To make them see.

And if the urge got too strong, and his head got too full, and his chest felt too hollow, and the house felt too empty, he’d just go out and find something to do. Simple as that.

“I wondered if it would only be a day or two, or if they would come home, like, weeks later and find what was left of me just… floating in the pool or rotting in the bathtub or some shit. And I guess I just got my answer.” He laughs, managing to sound completely humorless even in the attempt, and glances up at Eddie. “Three weeks. How decomposed do you think I’d be by now?”

Except Eddie doesn’t pick up the bit. He’s just staring at Steve, wide-eyed, cheeks a little red, eyes a little wet, and – shit.

“Shit, Ed, I didn’t–”

“Don’t,” Eddie cuts in, voice thick with a shaking kind of intensity, “say shit like that. Fucking don’t ever– Steve–”

“No, Eddie, I’m sorry, I haven’t thought about that in years, this whole thing with my parents, it just… it reminded me, that’s all,” Steve says, even if that isn’t strictly true.

He’s thought about it plenty, he just hasn’t really had the urge to follow through since the first time he took a bat to a demogorgon’s head. He’d traded that empty feeling for one of purpose, of knowing he was needed, and had readily put himself between everyone else and the danger they were facing, because at least that way he filled a space.

(Maybe he’d traded it a little too easily. Maybe there isn’t a lot of difference between using yourself as bait to lure in a demodog and thinking about where all the sharp things are in the house. Maybe that’s something Steve doesn’t need to unpack right now.)

Eddie stumbles forwards, reaching out and cupping Steve’s face in his hands, angling him upwards so Eddie fills his field of vision.

“I would notice,” Eddie says firmly. “I would notice.”

“I– I know you would, Eddie. I told you–”

“Robin would notice. Dustin – all those little shits we hang out with, both Wheelers, Wayne, fuckin’ Byers– we would notice right away, Steve, I swear to fuck, we would,” Eddie goes on, and something is suddenly sticking in Steve’s throat.

“I– I know,” Steve manages to choke out, and shit, why are his eyes wet now? He’s never cried over this feeling before, and it should be too fucking late to start now – except with everything happening, with his parents, with the way Eddie is staring at him like he’s about to disappear–

Eddie bends one leg up until he’s got a knee to one side of Steve’s hip, half-kneeling over him without boxing him in because he knows Steve can’t stand that, and he rests his weight there so he can lean in and press his lips to Steve’s forehead, kissing him, murmuring against the skin like he’s praying.

“We see you, baby.”

And that one hurts.

It fucking aches, like Eddie has somehow managed to reach back four years and jam a thumb into the bruise seventeen-year-old Steve had constantly been carrying under his ribs, and Steve of right now reaches out and grabs Eddie’s shirt and thinks for a moment that he wants to shove him away, but his next breath heaves out like a sob and he can only pull Eddie closer.

“We see you,” Eddie says again, soft but unignorable, before he presses another kiss to Steve’s forehead.

Yeah, Steve thinks, you see right through me.

It’s a terrifying feeling, and Steve wants to swallow it up and keep inside of him where he can feel it forever. He nods against Eddie’s lips, sucking in a sharp breath so he can speak again.

“Okay,” Steve says, clutching more tightly to Eddie’s shirt. “Okay.”

He closes his eyes against the unwanted tears and lets himself feel, instead – the warmth of Eddie over and around him, the near bruising grip Eddie still has on his jaw, the softness of his lips against his forehead, and he thinks that this is what he’d been searching for, all those years ago.

He doesn’t think he’s ever felt this wanted, and somehow he doubts he’ll ever have to worry about going without it again.

[Prompt: Forehead kisses]

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #eddiesteve #stranger things #hopeful ending! I swear! #solar wrote

[eddiemunsonswhxre]

when we were high / eddie munson

one shot

part two

rated: m (18+, minors DNI)

cw: henderson!reader, marijuana use, fingering, squirting, slight name calling/degradation (slut), aftercare

normally when you smoke with eddie you can control your horny thoughts. today, he was looking way too good and that caused you to fail

—

“damn, munson, i really needed this today,” you hum contently, relaxing into his side as you took a hit from the blunt he just rolled.

eddie chuckles, wrapping his arm around you and pulling you into his bare side. “i can’t wait to see how dustin reacts when he finds out i got you smoking weed,” he smiles, taking the blunt from your fingers. you hit his chest lightly as he deeply inhales the smoke into his lungs.

“i’m older than him, he’ll deal,” you say, tracing one of eddie’s tattoos mindlessly.

eddie snorts, making him cough as he exhaled. “just like he ‘dealt’ with you becoming friends with me?” he teases, holding the blunt back out to you. you laugh, thinking back to the temper tantrum dustin threw over you taking his friends. you take the blunt, taking another hit in attempt to calm your nerves from the stressful day.

“he’s just mad i'm the cooler sibling,” you shrug. eddie shakes his head.

he holds up the hand that isn’t around you in protest. “mm, i don’t know about that. you don��t play d&d,” he teases. he plucks the blunt from your fingers and puts it back to his own lips.

you roll your eyes at him but you two continue the banter and passing the blunt back and forth. eddie’s trailer was so hot and sticky. because of that, you were only in a sports bra and shorts and eddie only had on his jeans. you two weren’t anything more than friends, but you found comfort in being close to one another since you both came from families where physical affection wasn’t very common. well, in your family all the affection went to dustin.

about twenty minutes later, both you and eddie are high as fuck and giggling in each other’s arms. the nonsense conversation you were having came to a close and the two of you sat in comfortable silence. at least eddie was.

but you were having a whole other problem down below and sitting was starting to become uncomfortable. it was also hard to ignore when you had eddie sitting shirtless right beside you with his ringed fingers playing with your hair. and you were high, so rational thinking wasn’t even a thought. “eddieeee,” you say in a sing-songy voice, turning to face him.

you didn’t have much room to face him though, so you ended up half falling on top of him as your hands held his face. he smiles at you and reaches up to grab your face as well. “y/nnnn,” he mocks you, causing you two to laugh.

once you settle down, you start talking again. “i’m horny,” you giggle, causing eddie’s eyes to widen. for a moment, he feels sober.

“yeah?” he asks, squishing your cheeks together.

you laugh at him, using one of your hands to bop his nose.

“sooo horny and reallyyy wet,” you confirm. eddie looks at you in shock. he doesn’t even know what to say. “wanna feel?” you ask as if he’d obviously want to.

eddie takes his hands from your cheeks to instead holds your sides. “y/n, i think you’re too high,” he says. this makes you pout and get sad. you let go of his face and flop back down. “i don’t think when we sober up, you’re gonna be happy you told me that,” he says, pulling you back into him.

you don’t respond for a few moments, but you can’t ignore the growing feeling between your legs. “i don’t think it’s a big deal. i’m horny, eddie. you make me horny,” you say, nuzzling into him.

the corner of his mouth quirks up in a smirk. “oh, do i?” he teases, interested in your words.

you nod, turning to look up at him. “it’s the rings… and watching you play guitar. your fingers…” you trail, switching your gaze slowly to grab his hand. he watches you closely as you begin fiddling with the rings on his right hand, absorbing the information you just gave him. he didn’t know his hands could turn someone on. “eddie?” you speak out in question.

eddie bites his lip and looks back down at you when you look up at him. “hm?” he questions.

“will you finger me?” you ask shamelessly. eddie gasps in surprise, a surplus of spit getting lodged in his throat making him cough. you look at him so innocently that he almost agreed immediately.

“y/n, we- we’re friends, babe. friends don’t… finger each other,” he tries explaining. this only makes you frown.

you keep messing with his rings, and all you could think of was how they’d feeling inside of you. “but i want you to. who says friends can’t do that?” you try convincing him.

he chews on the inside of his cheek, thinking. personally, he didn’t really care. he’d do whatever, sex-wise, you asked him if you were both sober. he didn’t think there was anything romantic between you and he knows sometimes people just need a release. but you were high right now, and you weren’t nearly as accustomed to it as he was. he was afraid you’d regret this once you sobered up and he didn’t want to risk losing your friendship.

he felt you squirming slightly, noticing your thighs clamping together as you played with his hands. “what’s gonna happen if i don’t help you cum?” eddie asks, causing your head to snap up. you have to close your eyes for a moment since the fast movement made you dizzy.

“i’ll suffer,” you say. eddie huffs and looks to the side.

he was leaning more towards doing it, partly because he was curious to see you as you fell apart under him. “you promise me you want me to do this? you promise it won’t change our friendship?” he asks, making you look him in the eyes.

you nod, a big smile coming on your face. “i promise,” you say. he takes that as good enough and stands up. before you can ask questions, he’s picking you up bridal style and carrying you towards his room.

“i'm not doing it infront of all the windows,” he explains before throwing you down on his bed and crawling on top of you. you laugh at him and grab his shoulders, sliding your hands up and down his arms as he analyzes you. “you ready?” he asks and you nod eagerly.

eddie takes a deep breath before hooking his fingers in the waistband of your shorts and underwear and quickly pulling them off your body. you shiver as your pussy is exposed to the humid air of the trailer. eddie takes a moment to just look at you, realizing you really weren’t lying when you said you were really wet. “just checking… but you’re sure?” he asks, his eyes flickering from you to your heat.

you reach out to him, making grabby hands until he gives you his right hand. you guide it slowly down to your core, eddie watching every movement closely. as you place his fingers against you, you shiver before letting go and nodding. “i’m sure,” you whisper.

eddie slowly twists his wrist around, using his fingers to gather some of your slick and slowly stroke you all over. you let out a small moan, the weed making each sensation feel ten times better than normal. eddie bites his lip at the moan you let out and then brings his fingers up to your clit. he begins tantalizing circles, paying close attention to your body’s reactions. he knew how good orgasms felt when you were high, and he knew they came faster than normal as well. still, he wanted this to be the best damn orgasm of your life.

“that feel good, y/n?” he asks, pressing down a bit more on your clit. you sigh in content, moving your hands to grab the sheets of his bed. you felt each wave flood your entire bottom half which caused you to close your eyes.

eddie sat back a bit, drinking in your frame as he let his middle finger travel down towards your entrance. he slips it in slowly, causing a delicious moan to leave your lips. he bites on his bottom lip, pumping his finger slowly in and out of you, watching your hips push down to meet his knuckles. “m-more,” you whine.

another finger joins his middle one, slowly sinking into your greedy pussy. “eddie,” you moan, causing him to wince and a bit more blood to rush to his cock.

“you look so dirty right now, y/n,” he sighs, thrusting into you with his fingers. you let out a whimper at his words. “such a slutty girl, huh? fucking yourself on your friends fingers just to get off?” he mumbles.

you gasp at his words, the beginning of your orgasm beginning to build deep in your stomach. “your fingers… feel so good, fuck,” you moan. eddie smiles at you, beginning to curl his fingers instead. “fuck!” you gasp. “keep doing that, ohhh goddd,” you moan, gripping his sheets as you try rolling your hips. eddie smirks at you, moving them slightly faster in a ‘come hither’ motion.

the weed was making you start tightening random muscles as you tried to absorb as much pleasure as possible. “you going to cum for me?” eddie asks, leaning over you slightly to try and get a better angle.

his movement worked, because it hand your head slamming back. “eddieee, oh shit, yes!” you moaned and gasped, this slightly different position driving you wild. eddie smiled at your face, jaw slack as your eyes threatened to roll back. he moved his thumb, placing it on your clit as he sped up his fingers. “oh, eddie,” you whine, grabbing his wrist that was propping him up.

“you look so pretty like this, y/n,” he cooed in a teasing manner, thumbing circles on your clit. you moan, clenching your pussy around his fingers as your high neared. “cum for me, pretty girl,” he hummed, speeding up his hand. you moaned, eyes rolling back as your legs began shaking with anticipation.

the knot in your core was so tight, just moments away from bursting. eddie didn’t slow his movements, instead trying to put more pressure on your clit as he heard your labored breaths. “come on y/n, cum, cum for me,” he says, teeth gritted as he begins slamming his fingers into your pussy.

your back arches off his bed and you squeeze his wrist and his sheets as small little gasps of moans come out of your mouth. with one last moan of eddie’s name, the knot snaps and your orgasm is spreading through you like wildfire.

eddie gasps, pulling his fingers out of you quickly as a stream of squirt rushes out of your heat and onto his pants and bed. your legs shake slightly as you roll your hips, eddie too stunned to help you ride out your orgasm, just watching little spurts of your squirt come at him. he was mesmerized. when your back finally flattened and you tried to start catching your breath, eddie snapped back to reality.

“you just… squirted. on my bed… on me…” he trails, running his finger through the wet patch on his jeans.

you look at him in humiliation, immediately closing your legs and bringing them up close to your body. “i-i’m so sorry, that’s never happened before,” you stutter, scared he’s going to find you disgusting.

eddie looks up at you, fascination covering his features. he grabs your ankles, pulling them down and throwing your legs apart. “you’re doing that again,” he says, sinking his fingers back into you.

“oh shit!” you moan at his invasion of your sensitive hole. he barely gave you a rest, and you were still feeling the numbed pleasure from your orgasm that a knot began to build once again in your core.

eddie looks at you with a determined look, using his free hand to smooth back your hair. “that was so fucking hot, you’re cumming for me again,” he says, curling his fingers inside of you.

you whine as he moves his face closer to your pussy, watching closely as you clench around his moving fingers. he instead uses his other hand to start rubbing across your clit, causing your toes to curl. “yes!” you gasp, gripping the sheets and raising your hips towards him.

“going to cum for me already, little slut?” he asks, hammering his fingers into you as he furiously rubs your clit. you let out a deep moan, legs beginning to shake as an even more intense orgasm builds inside of you. your back begins arching, making eddie speed up as your eyes roll back into your head. “cum, squirt on me baby, come on,” eddie demands you and your whole body shakes, the knot snapping as you arch so far your back cracks.

you let out a scream as it snaps, eddie pulling his fingers from inside of you, still assaulting your clit making a harder stream come from inside of you. when it stops, you’re still shaking in your orgasm, so he thrusts his fingers into you a few more times, removing them and watching you squirt again. it was addicting to watch.

you flop onto his bed as he begins hammering into you one last time, your whole body shaking with tremors. he pulls out his fingers, others still pushing down on and rubbing your clit, and a smaller bit of your squirt comes splashing onto his bed, a small puddle formed there. you lay there, spasming as he begins rubbing your legs in attempt to calm you down.

when you finally fall limp on his bed, he crawls up next to you. “feel better now?” he asks cockily. your head falls to the side, looking at him through your fucked out eyes. he laughs slightly. “you are so fucked out of your mind right now,” he observes, feeling a bit of his ego grow.

you close your eyes, nodding slowly. now, you felt like you needed a good nap. eddie smiles, placing a soft kiss to your forehead, which was something he did as friends so it didn’t worry you. “you did good,” he says softly.

you hum in response, lazily trying to grab for him. he places a hand on your stomach causing your eyes to weakly flutter open. “i’m gonna clean you up and then we’re gonna take a fat nap, okay?” he says, slightly hovering over you. you nod in agreement and he begins pushing himself off his bed. he picks you up carefully, moving you out of the puddle of your own mess before running to the bathroom.

he comes back with a warm rag, using it to wipe off your bottom half. he was extra careful around your sensitive core and then slid your underwear back on. “can you stand?” he asks. you try, pushing yourself up but beginning to stumble from the mix of being high and just coming down from two mind blowing orgasms. eddie catches you with a laugh, “maybe not.” he guides you to his desk chair, having you sit there as he takes off his sheets, throwing down some towels where you had left a mess and then covering his whole bed with his other sheets.

after changing into a pair of boxers, closing all the curtains, turning off the light, and turning on his fan, he walked back over to you. “stand up,” he said, and you did, falling into him. he chuckles at you, picking you up nonetheless and taking you to bed. he lays you down gently, then climbs in next to you. he pulls you closely to his chest and you sigh in content.

“eddie?” you question hoarsely.

“yeah, y/n?” he runs his fingers through your hair.

you blink heavily, feeling sleep creep up on you. “why didn’t,” you yawn, “you cum?”

eddie just shakes his head and places a kiss to the top of your head. “i wasn’t worried about it,” he says.

“but… i would’ve helped,” you say.

he laughs. “no, y/n. in this state i wouldn’t have let you. now go to sleep,” he says.

you were too tired to be your normal persistent self so you just nodded and snuggled further into him, despite the heat of the room. eddie closed his eyes as well, rubbing your side as you both drifted into a peaceful sleep.

#stranger things eddie #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie x reader #eddie munson #eddie #munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fic #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things 4 #stranger things #stranger things smut

[yandere-3-sagau]

The Fourth Betrayal

Yandere!Wanderer x Creator!Reader Idea

word count: 553

warning(s): yandere, obsessive, bratty scaramouche, mentions of violence

inspired by this picc

Art by: @melona-majon

—

when creator isekai’s, he’s unlike the others.

Scaramouche doesn’t worship them and he doesn’t treat them like they’re some all-knowing being.

Creator, surrounded by obsessive archons and acolytes, finds his behavior refreshing.

They don’t have to live up to anybody’s expectations when he’s around and he treats them like how he treats everyone else.

Because he was their main, creator had already gotten used to his bratty lines and doesn’t get offended by him

Instead they’re more appreciative of him. They begin to treat him kindly and with special treatment

At first, creator’s attention is nothing but bragging rights to him. It’s just something that feeds his ego since he’s finally the best at something. While all the other’s worship them, he doesn’t even have to try and he’s the favorite of the beloved creator.

But as he stays by the creator’s side, him being affection and touch starved, starts to truly appreciate and crave their attention.

To the point where if they ever call for another acolyte for some trivial tasks, he feels his heart drop in his chest and throws a fit

Anything they could ever need or want, he will be the one to provide it. Creator has no purpose in calling for anyone else.

Creator claims it’s to not burden him but he insists he’ll be more burdened by the others’ presence than to do the task for them. The only task he’ll refuse is going somewhere too far that’ll require him being away from them for too long.

If they ever go anywhere without telling him, he’ll freak out at the thought of them abandoning him and won’t stop till he finds them

he’s the type to curse and scream at the creator when this happens. Should his actions be ever witnessed by the other acolytes, he’d be hunted for blasphemy

Imagine creator becomes homesick.

They tells him stories of their family/friends and how much they miss them. Even though he appreciates them telling him of their previous world, he feels jealous of creator’s family/friends. He always tries to change the subject and tries to remind them of the beauty of Teyvat so they’ll stop missing their previous world.

But then he finds out that they’ve been searching for a way to return to their world and he literally breaks down (refer to the pic hehe)

he’ll destroy all of their research before searching all throughout teyvat destroying any potential information regarding how to return to their world

BUT when he returns, they have somehow managed to succeed and had already left

He’d literally go INSANE

He’d destroy all of their temples and statues in a tantrum

But when he’s done and (somewhat) calm, he’ll regret everything.

He’ll try to follow them back to their world but can’t find any information since he destroyed it all

He’ll miss them and want to see them again but he destroyed all of their temples and statues so he doesn’t have much to comfort himself with

i imagine him kneeling in front of their demolished statue praying to them for the first time ever, to come back :,(

if he somehow discovers creator’s method to go back, it’ll be their turn to pray because once he meets the beloved family/friends creator went back for or “made creator abandon him”, he’s getting rid of them all

#yandere sagau #yandere genshin #yandere #yanderexreader #yandere wanderer #yandere scaramouche #scaramouche #balladeer #kunikuzushi #sagau #archons #creator reader #isekai #isekai’d reader #teyvat #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #genshin x reader #acolytes #creator #genshin cult au

[steddiealltheway]

Steve refuses to tell the kids his middle name. He’s fights them off after El figures out that middle names are a thing and demands everyone to tell her if they have one. And usually when it comes to El, Steve gives in immediately. But he just knows this information will come back to bite him in the ass. So he refuses.

But then they go to Nancy trying to pry the information out of her, but she reveals that she has no idea what it is - ouch but what a relief. Next up is Robin who also reveals she has no idea, and then she joins in on trying to get it out of him.

With the girls on their side, Steve is slightly terrified, but still unwilling to give up the information. He thinks they’ll let it go… but then they’re showing up at his house suspiciously only for Steve to find out that they’re trying to find his birth certificate. That’s when Eddie gets roped into things.

And the thing about Eddie is that he’s curious of course. What could Steve’s middle name possibly be which is so horrendous he won’t even tell Robin? But he respects the man’s privacy. If he wants to keep it to himself then so be it… But Eddie wants to know.

So he starts developing his own plans - without telling the kids or the girls. He thinks getting Steve drunk or high off his ass is probably a bit too manipulative. But maybe he can gain the guy’s trust.

So he starts coming along, pretending like he’s going to help as the kids dig and dig for the information. Steve is always somehow there, even when the kids start looking through the records at the library because some of them needed a ride. But Eddie sticks with Steve, talking to him about anything other than his name - the kids are convinced that Eddie is doing a great job distracting Steve.

And maybe he is, but he slowly forgets any type of ulterior motives when he’s talking to Steve. It’s a blessing and a curse being in the presence of the man.

But then it happens. Steve casually invites Eddie to hang out sometime, and that’s exactly when Eddie will bring up the middle name thing.

When the day comes, Eddie finds himself thoroughly distracted by Steve’s thigh which is pressing against his while they watch a movie. And there’s a large space next to Steve on the couch, but he chose to sit where his is now. It’s a big deal really.

“I’m gonna grab a Coke, do you want anything?”

Eddie asks for a Coke as well, hoping it serves as something to ground him as he hangs out alone with Steve Something Harrington. That’s the moment he remembers the plan. Shit, he’s supposed to be asking him stuff that casually leads to the reveal of his middle name. Easy.

No it isn’t. How the hell is he going to… Eddie glances at the coffee table in front of them to find… Steve’s wallet. Steve’s wallet containing his driver’s license. Steve’s wallet containing his driver’s license containing his full government name.

Oh this is good. This is really good. How have the kids not managed to think of this yet?

Eddie quickly snatches the wallet, opening it to find the driver’s license in a clear pocket. Okay, time to finally learn what’s been gnawing at his brain for days now, and then he’ll never have to tell Steve about it. Ever.

He squints his eyes and reads the name. Then he rereads it. Then he rereads it again.

Steven Edward Harrington

“Edward?!” Eddie yells, cringing at the fact he’s saying his government name.

Steve races into the room, two Cokes in hand and eyes wide as can be. Eddie doesn’t even have time to hide the wallet or any evidence of what he’s been doing. Well. Shit.

“Of course you were on their side,” Steve sighs, a look of betrayal crosses his face. Eddie’s gut twists.

“No, no. Okay, I’ll admit that I was curious, but I was going to find out and just put that secret away in my brain forever. But is my name really so bad?”

Steve turns a bit red as he admits, “I wasn’t hiding it for that reason.”

“Then what are you hiding it for?”

“Because… because…” He sets the two soda cans down with a thud before blurting out, “I thought you’d be making a bigger deal out of it! I thought the kids would make jokes about me having your name. Or you would tell me something along the lines of ‘You already have my middle name, why not take me last name?’ And I was not prepared to deal with that!” Steve rushes out, a hand runs through his hair before he settles his hands on his hips.

That… definitely wasn’t what Eddie was expecting but he can’t help but flirt, “You’re putting words in my mouth, sweetheart, but I can say them if you’d like.”

Steve sighs and points at him. “Exactly that! It just makes me get feel so…”

Eddie tenses up and quietly questions, “Disgusted?”

“Flustered!” Steve replies instantly.

It takes him a moment to process, but then Eddie is standing up and making his way over to Steve with a smile. “I make Steven Edward Harrington flustered?”

Steve rolls his eyes but the small smile and blush rising to his cheeks give him away. “I’m going to change my name,” Steve states.

“And take my last name?” Eddie teases, and Steve lightly shoves at him.

“Buy me dinner first, Edward.”

“How about a kiss first?” Eddie asks with an obnoxiously large grin. It’s immediately wiped when Steve leans in, and Eddie’s eyes flutter shut.

“I’m not that easy,” Steve whispers so close that his lips brush against Eddie’s before he pulls away. “Come on, let’s finish the movie.”

When Eddie’s feet are able to move again, he finds himself sitting even closer to Steve than before, but this time Steve’s hand curling around his is the most distracting thing besides the thought that Steven Edward Munson has a nice ring to it.

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie ficlet #stranger things

[fluentmoviequoter]

A Room Away

Requested Here!

Edit: Part 2 Here

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!reader

Summary: Tired of Tim's bad moods, Angela gets him a new roommate: you. As Tim gets to know you and learns about your past, you slowly become more than his roommate.

Warnings: mentions of past domestic abuse (reader and Tim), reader has chronic migraines from past head trauma, nightmares, reader has a panic attack, angst, fluff, Nyla and Angela. (roommates to lovers)

Word Count: 4.2k+ words

A/N: Parts of this are so self-indulgent. The migraine depictions are based on my migraines, but I think they're some of the most common symptoms. I hope you enjoy and please let me know what you think! (I'm still trying to get Tim's character down, so apologies if he's OOC.)🤍

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

Picture from Pinterest

Tim sits in the back of the room for roll call, his arms crossed tightly across his chest as unimpressed sighs escape him. Angela is getting tired of his seemingly perpetual bad mood. Clearly, he’s lonely, but he will never admit it. And that loneliness makes him mopey and broody (Angela’s official motto for Tim Bradford) until he has enough and snaps at someone.

Sitting at her desk, Angela watches Tim yell at a boot. He’s always harsh with them, trying to prepare them for anything, but now he’s using them as punching bags for his forbidden feelings. 

“What’s his problem? He’s grumpier than usual,” Nyla says as she joins Angela.

“He’s lonely,” Angela answers. “Won’t admit it or do anything about it.”

“That man needs a girlfriend,” Nyla muses.

Angela sits up straighter and smiles. “You’re a genius, Harper.”

“I know.”

Angela opens a website on her computer, and Nyla pulls up a seat to watch her intervention into Tim’s personal life.

“You’re going to rent out his spare room without telling him? This’ll be fun to watch,” Nyla says, laughing.

“He has way too much room for just one guy. Getting him a roommate and a girlfriend will surely help with.. that,” she finishes, gesturing toward Tim.

“A roommate and a girlfriend, or a roommate who becomes a girlfriend?”

“Either should work.”

“That’s your number.”

Angela nods, putting her contact information on the listing. “Tim would shut it down after the first call, so I’ll interview them, run background checks, whatever, and find the perfect one.”

“Well, Mrs. Right is always found on Craigslist,” Nyla jokes.

“This isn’t Craigslist.”

“Semantics.”

Angela posts the listing, and she and Nyla hope getting Tim a roommate will help nudge him out of his bad mood. He needs someone to talk to and bond with, but he’ll never come to that conclusion on his own. Which is why Angela considers herself to be such a good friend.

✯✯✯✯✯

Los Angeles is a big city, which is part of why you chose it without another thought. Full of opportunities and a chance of fading into the background, it’s the complete opposite of your home, which overflows with memories. The patched drywall you were pushed into, the stained tile where you thought everything was going to end, and the china cabinet with the shattered glass are left behind and traded in for a minimum wage job, a used car, and a lot of panic that you won’t be able to find somewhere to live.

You’ll need a roommate until you can save enough money for your own place. However, finding a decent place with a decent roommate is nearly impossible in your price range. Browsing online listings, you see one that could be promising. The information at the bottom says there is an interview process, which catches your attention. Sending a text to Angela Lopez, you cross your fingers for good luck before walking into work.

By the end of your shift, Angela has replied and asked you to meet somewhere nearby. You want to go home, a dull headache building at the base of your skull impairing your mood. But you also really want a better place to call home than the pay-by-the-month motel you’re currently living in.

Angela gives you a firm handshake as she introduces herself as an LAPD detective. She asks questions about your life, job, hobbies, and finally, why you moved to Los Angeles.

“I just needed a change of pace; was ready to leave my old life behind, find something bigger and better,” you answer, a simplified version of the truth.

Trying not to show it, Angela immediately takes a liking to you. Each of your answers solidifies her gut instinct that you’re a good fit for Tim. You ask why her name was on this listing if it’s not her house, and she follows your lead and gives you the truth, but not all of it.

“Tim, the owner of the house, is a coworker and friend, and I’m just trying to help him out while he’s busy with work,” she explains.

As you leave the meeting, Angela gives you her personal number, as well as someone named Nyla Harper’s number, “just in case you need anything.”

She texts you a time and address, telling you to meet her at your new place the following afternoon. You thank her repeatedly before driving to the trashy motel one last time.

✯✯✯✯✯

Parking outside the house, you fall in love with the neighborhood and the cute architecture of the home. Angela meets you in the driveway, seeming more nervous than excited. You realize she may not have been totally honest with you as you follow her to the door.

An incredibly handsome man opens the door, sighing when he sees Angela. He lets both of you in, seeming to trust Angela completely.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim knows he will regret opening the door, but the woman with Angela is beautiful, and deep down, a small part of him wants to know who she is and why she’s on his doorstep.

“This is your new roommate,” Angela announces, giving Tim your name.

“You didn’t,” Tim responds. “Please tell me you didn’t rent out my spare room without asking me, Lopez.”

“I won’t tell you that, then.”

Standing quietly to the side, you anxiously watch their argument.

“Um, sorry,” you begin, interrupting them. “But I can go, and find a new place, since this is clearly not what you signed up for.”

You move toward the door before stopping when Angela demands, “Don’t go anywhere.”

She gives Tim a stern look before cocking her head to the side. He sighs like he has accepted his fate, a tragedy based on his reaction. Gesturing for you to follow him, he gives you a quick tour before showing you to your new room and bathroom.

“I’m not home a ton, but when I am, I’m usually watching a game or just hanging out, so,” he tells you before trailing off.

You nod before promising, “You won’t even know I’m here.”

Tim wants to believe you, but he also thinks you’re pretty and kind enough that he wouldn’t mind seeing you occasionally.

✯✯✯✯✯

You cross paths with Tim a few times in the first two days of living with him. He’s struck by your beauty each time but recognizes that you don’t open up willingly, so he never presses you to talk. Content to be ships passing in the night, Tim gives you a nod before continuing out the door.

It’s your third night in the house that Tim learns your reserved qualities may not be as simple as a personality trait. Waking when he hears a strange noise, Tim listens in the darkness before deciding it’s your footsteps he hears. Based on the sound, you're pacing, so Tim gets out of bed and walks to the kitchen. He walks right past you, and you give him an apologetic smile before slowing down. Tim makes you a mug of calming tea, sliding it across the kitchen island before sitting beside you as you drink it. Suspecting you had a nightmare or some similarly disturbing experience, Tim reminds you where you are and that everything is okay in his own way.

Over the next week, you wake him up a few more times, thrashing in your bed or exiting your room once you wake. He nudges each time, offering to let you talk about it, but you never do. You always apologize for waking him, thank him for keeping you company and making you tea before you disappear back into yourself and into your room.

✯✯✯✯✯

You’ve lost count of the days and nights spent in Tim’s house, your sense of time thrown off by the continued plague of nightmares and the monotony of your days. As you wake up after a surprisingly dreamless sleep, you immediately turn your face back into the pillow. Your heartbeat pounds in your head, and everything seems brighter and louder. The migraines have been nearly as consistent as the nightmares since before you left for Los Angeles. 

Tim knocks on your door, and you groan as the sound echoes in your brain. He cracks the door, concerned that you aren’t up yet.

“Are you okay?” he asks, seeing your current state.

“Migraine,” you answer. “I called in sick.”

He closes the door to block the light from outside and lowers his voice to ask, “Do you need anything before I leave?”

“I’m okay. Thanks.”

“Well, call me if you do, or if anything changes, okay?”

“I will. Thank you, Tim. Have a good day.”

Tim nods, even though you can’t see him, before backing out of your room and exiting the house as quietly as possible. He keeps his ringer on, looking at his phone every few minutes as his concern for you remains at the forefront of his mind.

Angela and Nyla notice his usual grumpy disposition seems to have been replaced with concern for something, or someone. After he checks his phone for the fifth consecutive time, Angela decides to pry.

“How’s the beautiful roomie? Still just a roommate?” she asks.

“She’s not feeling well,” Tim answers.

Angela waits for an elaboration, but Tim doesn’t offer one. She looks at Nyla, who gives a knowing look. It’s obvious that Tim is softening toward you, but you haven’t made enough of an impact that he’s less grumpy or snappy. As the day continues, his usual personality returns, convinced that you must be okay, or you would have called.

The next day, after learning that you are, in fact, feeling better, Tim is back to his pre-roommate levels of anger and high strung-ness. To worsen his mood, you wake him up with a nightmare but refuse to let him in, not even acknowledging his kind questioning as to how you are. He’s worried about you because you welcomed his presence before, but he is also angry that you changed so quickly, and now you don’t trust him. Everything is piling on, and Tim isn’t sure how much more he can carry.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Just tell me something,” Angela presses.

“Stay out of it, Lopez!” Tim yells, his emotions reaching a boiling point. “I didn’t even want a puppy- a roommate! If you like her so much, why don’t you take her in?”

Angela waits for his shoulders to drop slightly before asking, “Timothy… is this because you don’t like her, or because you do?”

Tim’s jaw clenches, and his nostrils flare as he turns away, offering to go on patrol while Nolan and Celina go to the shooting range. Everyone seems to think they know Tim better than they do; Angela is pushing him toward you while you’re distancing yourself, and the push and pull is tiring.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim waits in his truck in the driveway for a few minutes before walking in. When he walks in, you’re standing in the kitchen. He hasn’t actually seen you since the day of your last migraine when you stopped trusting him, and your sudden willingness to be in the same area confuses him. Anger and confusion rarely mix well; with Tim, it’s a fatal combination.

You notice his tension and knitted brows, chewing your bottom lip before asking, “Are you okay?”

Stumbling to his tipping point for the second time in the day, Tim takes all his anger and confusion over his feelings out on you.

“What do you think? You can’t decide if I’m worth trusting with something as small as a nightmare, and Angela thinks that I’m practically neglecting you,” he begins.

You swallow harshly as his voice rises, stumbling backward when he starts moving his arms. 

“Especially considering I didn’t even want you here!”

Flinching, you snap your eyes closed and catch yourself on the corner of the wall. Tim freezes as he watches you. Everything begins snapping into place in his mind: your nightmares and the distance added to your reaction to him yelling and moving his hand are all signs he should have noticed sooner.

Your chest is heaving as you take short breaths, and when you finally open your eyes, you look terrified. Tim steps back, keeping his hands where you can see them. You focus on him as you slide down the wall, cradling your head in your hands as you fight off bad memories and a growing headache.

Tim watches you before sitting on the floor, keeping his distance. He waits for you to calm down, willing to let you decide whether or not you want to talk to him. You finally look back up at him, but he doesn’t move.

“I- I’m sorry,” you whisper.

“Can I come closer?” Tim asks.

You nod, and Tim slides across the floor, not wanting to stand up and look any more imposing than necessary. His knee presses gently against your thigh, and when you don’t move, he gives you a small smile – the first you’ve ever seen.

“I’ll leave in the morning,” you say, fiddling with your fingers.

“Please don’t,” Tim replies, shaking his head. “I’m really sorry. I wasn’t mad at you, just angry with a long day. But that’s no reason to yell at you or act like that. You confused me, and I didn’t know how to deal with it. That’s on me.”

“I’m sorry,” you repeat.

“Don’t. When I was younger, my dad took his anger out on me sometimes. I’m sure I deserved it once or twice, but I also know better than to treat people like an emotional outlet. If you ever want to talk, I’m here.”

You nod before saying, “My ex.”

Tim feels a protective surge at the idea of anyone hurting you, let alone doing it enough times that yelling pushes you to the point of a panic attack.

After comforting you with proximity and kind words, Tim offers to walk you to bed. Your hand brushes his as he opens your door, and you smile as you thank him for everything. It’s a minor change in your relationship but an important one.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim leaves before you wake up the following morning, determined to find out as much as he can about you and your past. He’s not necessarily being nosy, but he wants to know if there’s anything specific that could help or hurt you.

“What do you know?” he demands as he storms up to Angela’s desk.

“About what?” she replies, raising her brows.

“What do you mean ‘about what’? Her!”

Nyla leans back in her chair, glad to watch the unfolding drama.

“Tim, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Angela explains.

“Why’d she move to LA?”

“Are you seriously trying to find something wrong with her? That’s low.”

Tim moves around her desk, dropping his voice to answer, “I’m trying to figure out who thought it was okay to put their hands on her. Because she won’t let me in.”

Angela begins connecting the dots you left untouched. You ran from the person controlling your life, not your actual life. She knew that you were omitting something during your initial meeting, but she didn’t expect it to be so big.

“Have you been open with her?” Angela asks finally. “Because that’s a two-way street. I’ll talk to her if you want me to, but she trusts you, Tim.”

“How do you know that?”

Nyla’s eyes bounce back and forth like she’s watching a tennis game. She sighs before deciding to interject. “She told her! Sent her a text one night!” she calls out, smiling and waving when Angela and Tim look at her.

Tim nods, giving Angela the closest she’ll get to an apologetic look before leaving.

✯✯✯✯✯

Returning home, Tim is surprised to find you on the couch, in your work clothes, with your face pressed into a pillow. You wave your fingers without moving to acknowledge him, and he remains silent as he walks to the kitchen.

“You don’t have to be silent, it’s your house,” you mumble. “I’ll figure out a way to get to the bedroom.”

“You’re fine here,” Tim answers, setting a glass of water beside you. “Another migraine?”

“Skull fractured from getting my head pushed through a window a few months ago,” you explain with a sigh. “The migraines have gotten worse since then.”

Tim lays a hand on your shoulder, giving you plenty of time to tell him not to touch you. You don’t, relaxing under his touch instead. Tim takes a seat beside you, hoping to comfort you once more.

“Your ex?” Tim asks. 

You hum a yes, and Tim’s jaw tightens, even as he comforts you.

✯✯✯✯✯

Walking into the police station, Tim’s wallet is tucked safely in your bag. Approaching the front desk, you say your name and are wordlessly handed a visitor’s badge before someone gives you directions. You don’t have time to argue, shrugging as you attempt to remember where to turn. Angela sees you before you see her, rushing to your side and looping her arm with yours.

“What are you doing here?” she asks happily.

“Uh, Tim forgot his wallet. I was just going to drop it off, but they sent me back here,” you answer.

Tim says your name, coming around a corner, and Angela pushes you toward him, joining Nyla as they watch your interaction.

“You know she was trying to get you a girlfriend and not just a roommate, right?”

Tim nods a thanks as he accepts his wallet, glancing over at your audience. “I’m half-tempted to make them think I kicked you out.”

You smile brightly, and Tim licks his lips to keep his smile from mirroring yours. His eyes tell you more than enough, and you’re happy to see him, too.

“Do it,” you whisper. “Just let me know when so I can play my part. Angela told me to call her if you were ever mean to me.”

“Have you?”

You don’t answer, opting to wink at him before stepping back. Waving at Angela and Nyla, you leave the station as they rush to Tim’s side. As they ask overlapping questions and talk about how cute you and Tim look standing together, Tim ignores them before walking away.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim is pulled from his sleep by your panicked yell. He leaves his bed and barges into your room with no thought. His heart rate slows when he sees your teary face and tangled sheets.

“Sorry,” you mutter as you wipe your tears. “I just don’t know how to make them stop.”

Tim sits beside you, opening an arm toward you. It’s a bold move, especially for him, but you take his offer and curl into his side.

“Are- did you mean it when you said I could talk about it?” you ask.

Tim nods, and you tell him more, but not everything. You remind yourself that he’s your roommate and maybe, just maybe, he's your friend, but he’s not here to listen to all of your baggage.

“The last thing he said before I left was, ‘there is nowhere you can go that my love won’t lead me to find you.’”

“You know that wasn’t love,” Tim replies, waiting for your nod before continuing. “And I’ve got your back, Angela and Nyla are right here, and we won’t let anything happen to you. No matter what.”

Drifting back to sleep in his warm, safe embrace, you finally learn what it’s like not to be scared.

When you wake alone, neither you nor Tim acknowledge what happened. You’re okay with slow changes, as long as there are changes.

“Tim,” you say, interrupting him on his way out. “Thank you. For last night.”

“I’m only ever a call away,” he reminds you.

✯✯✯✯✯

Your head starts aching around noon, quickly worsening into a full-blown migraine. When you’re ready to go home, it’s bad enough that you can’t drive. Sitting in your car and resting your head against the steering wheel, you want to call Tim but can’t find the strength to move.

Tim, meanwhile, returns home and begins wondering where you are. He calls, and you don’t answer, so he lets his worry control him as he gets back in his truck and drives your usual route. Tim hopes to pass you or find you waiting as someone changes your tire. When he gets to the parking lot of your job and sees you slumped in your car, he has to fight not to panic.

Rushing to the door, he’s both grateful and concerned that it’s unlocked. He kneels beside you, saying your name before bending to see you. Your eyes are tightly closed, but tears are still leaking out. 

“I’m taking you to the hospital,” he says.

You whimper as he picks you up, clinging to him until he lays you down in the backseat of his truck, buckling you in as well as possible.

“Hospital can’t help,” you mumble.

Tim wants to argue, but remembers what you said about the skull fracture. You’ve already been to the doctor, so maybe getting you home and comfortable will be enough.

After a nap partially influenced by unbearable pain, you wake to see Tim sitting by your bed.

“Why are you so nice to me? You didn’t even want a roommate,” you mutter sleepily.

Tim smiles, making you think you’re hallucinating. “Yet I got something better.”

✯✯✯✯✯

You don’t quite make it to work the next day. Walking into the station, you’re surprised when Nyla greets you first.

“I’m assuming it’s a joke,” she says.

You furrow your brows in confusion before you see Tim leaning on a desk with his arms crossed while Angela yells at him.

“Unless he really kicked you out,” Nyla adds.

You nod, walking towards Angela and Tim.

“No, you don’t get to blame me! I got you a roommate, a friend, a beautiful woman who could have been more than a friend, and you’re mad at me?” Angela exclaims.

Tim locks eyes with you, not changing his expression as he gauges whether or not her yelling is upsetting you.

“Can I talk to you?” you ask Tim.

Angela steps back, hoping to hear Tim apologize, but he stands up and gestures for you to follow him without speaking. Worried that you’re sick again, Tim waits silently.

“I’m okay,” you promise. “I just wanted to see you.”

Not believing something so simple, Tim shakes his head. “Tell me what happened.”

“I saw a guy who looked like him while I was driving to work. He was yelling at a girl outside of a diner, and it made me nervous.” You keep your eyes on the floor, but Tim gently raises your head.

“You’re not alone, and I know that things still seem uncertain, and probably will for a long time, but you don’t have to be afraid of anything while I’m here.”

“Then why’d you kick me out?” you tease with a pout.

Tim shakes his head, telling you to go before following you out. You wipe an imaginary tear before waving at Angela.

“No, you’re not leaving,” she says, grabbing your shoulders and steering you toward her desk.

Nyla smiles at Tim, and he sighs before following.

“Tell me exactly what happened between you two,” Angela commands.

You look past her before tensing, and Tim immediately catches on. He follows your line of vision and sees Nolan and Celina booking someone. You shrink in on yourself, and Tim moves to block your view.

“Get her out of here,” he tells Angela.

Angela doesn’t wait before obeying, ushering you into the bullpen and out of sight.

“What’s the charge?” Tim asks Celina.

“Assault. Beat up a woman outside a diner,” she answers.

Tim’s jaw tightens at the knowledge that this man made you nervous this morning, reminding you of your ex. He hates abuse in every situation, but when you’re involved, his protectiveness and anger differ. Tim leaves before saying or doing something he’ll regret.

When he finds you in the bullpen, he takes one look at you before hugging you. It’s quick, but Angela and Nyla look at each other in shock.

“So, you’re good?” Nyla asks.

“We were never bad,” you reply. “Just wanted to get back at Angela for trying to set us up.”

“It worked?” Angela inquires excitedly.

“Not yet.”

“Not yet?” Tim repeats, looking over at you. He shrugs as he concedes, “Okay.”

✯✯✯✯✯

When Tim gets home, he drops his stuff by the door, raising his arms in question as he looks at you. “Not yet? What is that supposed to mean?”

“You haven’t made a move. How do I know you’re not just protective and caring under that handsome, gruff exterior?” you ask with a shrug.

Tim shakes his head, cupping the back of your head gently as he kisses you. You raise your hands over his chest to hold his jaw, pushing yourself closer as you reciprocate his every move.

“Because I don’t protect just anyone like this,” he says against your lips.

You kiss him again before asking, “Does this mean you can reduce my rent?”

Tim rolls his eyes, tucking you against his side where you’re safe from everything and everyone. 

#tim bradford x reader #tim bradford x fem!reader #tim bradford fluff #tim bradford imagine #tim bradford the rookie #tim bradford #the rookie #requests

[islandofsages]

Hey ! Can I ask for the Diasomnia boys reacting to a male!Ignihyde!reader who join the gargoyle club (idk if it's name) ?

Like, the reader is really just interest in the gargoyles, and isn't scare of Malleus (or anyone, really. Man is too tired for being scare.)

Ignore it if you don't want to write it.

Have a good day/night ! And happy new year too.

characters: diasomnia boys x male ignihyde reader

tags: platonic, canon compliant, fluff, imagines + scenario format; mentions of malleus in literally everything, lilia being a dad

warnings: none

author's notes: reader is so idgaf energy i love it. also i just remembered the small font feature exists LMAO do tell me if it's too small, i'll change it back to the original size!! if not, i'll change my previous posts to the smaller font. also you have a good day/night too anon ! and happy new year :D

Malleus Draconia

Oh? You want to join the Gargoyle Studies Club? You’re being serious? Oh!

Words cannot describe how happy he is about a fellow gargoyle appreciator though his expression doesn’t really show that

And to think you see him as just another dude… such honor was bestowed upon him…!

He’ll excitedly bring you to every gargoyle he’s found on campus and infodump about them - and you’d write them down somewhere if you’re in the mood

Sometimes you’d find new gargoyles and bring him to them and you start to do likewise

Even outside of club activities you two geek out about gargoyles at times which has earned you two the title of nerds

“Have I told you about the time I’ve met talking gargoyles? I never thought I would see such a day…”

Gargoyles aside, he has times where he confides his personal daily life in you and in turn, he’ll ask you what’s it like being in Ignihyde, etc

After being around each other so much, it feels weird when you guys aren’t together - some people would ask where Malleus is whenever you’re on your own, and vice versa

People found it weird how close an Ignihyde student is to someone from a different dorm too and you’re not sure if you should be flattered or not

But in a sense, Malleus really is your other nerdy half.

Sebek Zigvolt

You?????? Join the club where Malleus is president and is the only member of?????????

“WHAT MAKES YOU THINK YOU’RE WORTHY OF JOINING SUCH A CLUB?”

Well, for one, the fact that you’re unfazed by his constant yelling and therefore probably too tired to be fazed by anything, consequently making you the perfect companion to Malleus because you wouldn’t react inappropriately to Malleus’ conduct

And that you actually are interested in gargoyles. That too. You tell all this to him

He clutches his head with one hand, debating your logic. You don’t know how and why but he accepts your argument

That doesn’t stop him from monitoring you two’s activities from afar but, again, you couldn’t care less. A sixteen year old’s fanatics is just part of the growing process

Outside of club activities, he interrogates you on what you’ve discussed with Malleus and you just tell him the truth: gargoyles

At some point, he gets so engrossed in your infodump about gargoyles his eyes shine with a new light

Of course, he mentions something about Malleus obviously liking something so interesting and befitting of his status - but he also thanks you for enlightening him on the topic and that he’ll go to you for more information if need be

You’ve converted him. You sometimes see him clutching a book about gargoyles around the school. It’s filled with notes sticking out of the pages. And a portion of that sometimes he’ll run to you to confirm about a fact or two

Maybe it’s safe to say you two are kind of friends now.

Silver

He doesn’t think too much of it other than being glad that Malleus finally has a fellow gargoyle fan he can geek out with

He’d see you and Malleus chatting it up around campus and he can’t stop the tender smile on his face from making an appearance

Sometimes he himself will try to strike up a conversation with you and gargoyle geek aside, he finds that you’re just a pleasant person to talk to and be around

He admits he’s not too close with any of the folks from Ignihyde aside for the Shroud brothers but you brush him off by saying that nobody is really

He also admires how you don’t really let anything get to you. Again, you shrug it off by half-joking that you’re too tired to be scared by anything at this point

He somewhat empathizes with you on that point, grieving over his narcoleptic tendencies with a heavy sigh

You try your best to cheer him up or if you have experience with such things, you give him advice on how to manage it

You then jest that he can tag along with you and Malleus’ club activities whenever he’s free if he wants. The more, the merrier, right?

He ponders it for a minute and nods. You didn’t think he’d actually accept the offer

“I don’t see a reason to refuse. Sebek and I have accompanied Malleus on his trips before. I’m sure this time around will be more fun with you here.”

And so you all do. You all have a royal time together - and the joy on Silver’s face is especially princely.

Lilia Vanrouge

He sheds (crocodile) tears at the thought of Malleus finally having an additional member in his one-man club more friends

Since you’re chill about it, he is too! As long as you get along with Malleus, everything will be fine and dandy

If anything, he’s a bit impressed by how it takes more than the average amount to gain a reaction out of you 

…and a bit concerned. Are you sure you’re getting enough nutrients? His paternal instincts kick in when you tell him you’re too tired to have a reaction to anything

He knows that Ignihyde students are mostly shut-ins but he still advises you and makes sure you get a balanced diet

It’s like he’s adopted yet another son

“Oh, (Y/N), you really ought to take care of yourself more.”

You grow a bit annoyed at him sometimes but you know his intentions are good so you don’t protest

You do feel very loved though. You didn’t expect this much from just joining a club for a topic you’re genuinely interested in

But you have to admit it is kind of hard to come by people who aren’t intimidated by the Malleus Draconia, even if you don’t see it as anything special

What’s special, though, is the affection Lilia holds for you.

#writing #twst #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #platonic twst x reader #platonic twisted wonderland x reader #twst x m!reader #twisted wonderland x m!reader #twst x male reader #twisted wonderland x male reader #malleus draconia #malleus draconia x reader #malleus x reader #malleus draconia x male reader #sebek zigvolt #sebek zigvolt x reader #sebek zigvolt x male reader #sebek x reader #silver twst #twst silver #silver x reader #silver x male reader #lilia vanrouge #lilia vanrouge x reader #lilia x reader #diasomnia

[wttcsms]

grumpy tenured professor Naoya x new, sunshine-y associate professor reader !!

lessons in intimacy, naoya zenin ;

pairing naoya zenin x f!reader word count 4.5k synopsis naoya zenin, phd, still has a lot to learn, and you are a surprisingly good teacher content contains fluff!!!, academia au, and they were office roomies!, naoya-centric, he bashes the arts </3

Learning Objective One: Notice Things About Your Partner

Naoya Zenin stares at the heart-shaped cake you left on his desk and refrains from going absolutely batshit. 

He can feel the pinpricks of irritation poking his insides, making him curl his hands in annoyance. Two weeks prior, there was a staff meeting informing the business school that they would be sharing their classrooms and offices with the English professors since apparently, due to poor plumbing and a lack of funding, their shack of a school building got flooded and was therefore deemed “unsafe” and “unusable.”

Naoya distinctly remembers making a snide comment about how majoring in something as worthless as English or literature should be deemed a safety hazard and that the degree is basically unusable. Maybe this is the universe’s way of telling everyone in the school to get a grip and let the entire English department just float away into a nearby swamp. 

The business professors all agreed and considering that all of their students end up becoming wealthy alumni who donate money to ensure that their buildings don’t go under, Naoya doesn’t care about the enraged comments from the English department. 

All his rude remarks seem to ensure that he’ll be left alone, which is exactly how he likes to be. It seems that he’s the most hated business school professor and no one is willing to share a space with him. 

Because you are the youngest and newest member of the faculty, you end up being the unfortunate soul paired up with Naoya Zenin, PhD. When you first step into the office, big box filled with your printed lesson plans and desk supplies, he refuses to lend you a hand.

Instead, he sits back in his seat, staring at you with such an intense look in his eyes that you decide to look at anything but him, and he watches you struggle to maneuver around the tight space. Because of the funding, the business school offices are spacious, but to maintain some semblance of privacy, minor renovations were made. Crammed in a corner is a new desk meant for you. If he keeps staring daggers into your very soul, you’re going to make a request to have a room divider put in place so you can cower behind them and avoid his glare.

While your side of the office is small, you make it as unique to yourself as possible. There’s a Cinnamoroll plushie sitting on your desk, a cup holding glittery gel pens, and inside your desk drawers are scratch-‘n-sniff sticker sheets with colorful words of encouragement because the world has already beaten down your students enough — you might as well give them back some of their childhood enjoyment.

Naoya’s desk is vintage mahogany and rarely has anything sitting atop it unless he’s inside the office and on his laptop. Hanging on the wall behind him is his doctoral degree that is forever put on display in a massive, ostentatious frame. Naoya Zenin, PhD from Keio University. Economics, you recall him telling one of his colleagues. Because finance is the poor man’s idea of a prestigious field. 

It doesn’t take a degree to know how Dr. Zenin feels about a degree in the arts.

Upon your first awkward meeting with Naoya (where he let you nearly trip and spill all your meager belongings onto his pristine office’s floors), you immediately head home and look at your new office buddy’s RateMyProf reviews.

⅕ OVERALL QUALITY BASED ON 986 RATINGS | 0% WOULD TAKE AGAIN | 5.0 LEVEL OF DIFFICULTY 

Professor Zenin’s Top Tags

#lotsofhomework 

#getreadytoread

#lectureheavy

#skipclass?youwon’tpass

Review 1: i dropped my econ major because of him. this wasn’t even supposed to be a weeder class

Review 2: DR ZENIN IS THE WORST PROFESSOR FOR ECONOMICS. HE MIGHT BE THE WORST PROFESSOR IN THE BUSINESS SCHOOL. HE MIGHT EVEN BE THE WORST PROFESSOR IN THIS WHOLE DAMN UNIVERSITY!!!!!! DO NOT TAKE HIM! I regret not taking everyone else’s advice and going with Dr. Gojo instead 

Review 3: only redeeming quality is being hot, but he’s still an asshole

Review 4: Misogynist, doesn’t believe women can be leaders in the business world, has God awful takes that literally no one sane would agree with, teaches what HE thinks is right and refuses to acknowledge any opposing viewpoints, talks down on students, and that’s all i can say about him from the TWO DAYS i attended his class. i immediately dropped his course LOL 

Review 5: Dr. Zenin’s rigorous coursework and unforgiving grading has prepared me for graduate school, and I still believe all the courses I had with him provided me with a better foundation than my other peers in my doctoral program. However, he did make my undergrad experience a miserable one. His lectures are hard to follow at times, and he creates his exams with the intent of making it unpassable. He’s the professor that you wonder why he hasn’t been fired yet.

You search for any positive comments about him, but it appears that the students hate everything about him, to his tests, his teaching style, and his personality. 

In all honesty, it’s kind of sad. What must it be like, you wonder, to be so hated by the very students you’re meant to teach and inspire? You’re willing to give Naoya the benefit of the doubt — you know how one student’s misconception against a professor can paint a bad picture overall. Maybe Naoya is just a difficult person to understand! An undercover softie, if you will.

There’s no harm in trying to be friendly with him. After all, the two of you are going to be partners for the foreseeable future. You don’t have the energy to remain constantly on your guard around him. 

You start off with little things, like burning candles in the office to fill it with sweet, welcoming scents. You offer to let him borrow your extension cord so his charger doesn’t have to bend all awkwardly when he plugs in his laptop. You make an effort to ensure that the classroom is clean before his class enters because that’s a courteous thing to do. You notice that when he eats his lunch on campus, he’s always unwrapping a sweet treat afterwards.

You can’t be a truly bad person if you have a sweet tooth, you rationalize. 

So, you bake him little goods and leave them on his desk. When a week goes by and he doesn’t acknowledge your actions but the goods are always gone by the time lunchtime is over, you think you’re making progress. You notice that he seems stressed and annoyed every time he storms into the office, and so you start adding tiny notes of motivation alongside the goods, too.

Written on a pink sticky note that’s in the shape of a heart (probably to match the fucking miniature cake you baked), Naoya’s eye almost starts to twitch as he examines every loop and curve of the letters you personally handwritten for him.

I hope you have a great day today! Look on the bright side, you’re done with all your lectures for the week!

Naoya angrily takes a bite out of the cake as he waits for his laptop to turn on. The sugary sweetness does very little to alleviate his annoyance, but he can begrudgingly admit that the cake is good. Delicious, even. 

This makes his scowl deepen. 

How annoying, he thinks, tossing your note in the trash bin (not having the heart to crumple it up like he used to do with your previous notes). What are you, some kind of a stalker? How is it any of your business to know that Thursdays are his last days for teaching since business schools don’t believe in having class on Friday? And why do you always do that? Saying I hope? 

“I’m not going to tell you what to do, Momo,” he remembers you telling your blonde-haired student. “But I hope you consider sticking with your creative writing major. We’ll lose a very talented student if you choose to go, you know.”

Naoya had let out a little snort of amusement at this. Who the fuck cares about whether or not students drop out? If they can’t handle the coursework, clearly they’re not cut out for the real world. He finds it annoying that you practically hold their hands, coddling them, always tacking on an I hope because you don’t want to demand people to do things. So much damn consideration, he wonders how you even survive in this big city. You’re probably the type of person who apologizes when someone else gets in your way at a busy store. You probably let yourself get cut in line. You definitely give money to panhandlers who are only posing as the homeless and needy. 

Naoya wants to take joy in the fact that you are the type of person who could easily be taken advantage of, but as he finishes the cake you made for him, the idea of people purposely giving you a hard time just because you’ll take it lying down makes him feel even more irritated than before.

He takes out his frustration on his students. A first-year student emailed him asking for an extension, so Naoya tells them either they get it done by the original deadline, or he is more than willing to just give them the zero right now. In the real world, your boss and your clients will not give a single shit that you are hospitalized after being hit by a truck. Perhaps, if you used the brain inside your head and the eyes on your face, you would know better than to cross the road when a speeding truck is heading your way. 

Then, he thinks that you would probably gladly give your students an extension if they asked. You’d probably even visit them in the fucking hospital, like the saint you think you are. 

You’re so helpful to the point of your kindness being detrimental to your own wellbeing. You extend deadlines, and then have to beg and plead with the dean and bust your ass to get final grades in by the required date. All that struggle could have been avoided if you just gave the zero. You hear out your students, letting them speak their minds, and it cuts into your lecture time. Nobody is paying tuition to hear another student’s ramblings. And how long does it take you to bake him these desserts? It’s something different every day, always fresh, always seemingly made with care. 

He doesn’t even know how you know he likes sweets. Lucky guess, he tells himself. 

You see, Naoya knows that he is respected (somewhat) and feared (most definitely). He knows that he is not loved, not by his colleagues (who are all intimidated by him), not by his family (who thinks becoming a professor at a prestigious research university is dogshit when he should have been a global economist), not by his students (the university-mandated end-of-the-term class surveys are always sent to him). So to him, despite the ego he presents to the public, he cannot fathom the idea of someone noticing little things about himself. He definitely can’t imagine someone noticing and caring — it would honestly make more sense if they used private information against him. 

He doesn’t think about you noticing him, and he refuses to think about all the things he subconsciously notices about you. He can recognize you by your perfume alone; someone had passed him by in the hall, and his eyes searched for your figure, only to be greeted by a student who just happened to favor the same fragrance as you. (He had snapped at the poor girl, telling her to walk faster or get out of the way.) He’s certain he knows the fucking HTML color code for the specific shade of lipgloss you’re always constantly applying in the office. One time, against his better judgment, he saves the place you’re at in your book. You had fallen asleep at your desk, your finger pressed on the page you were struggling to read, and then your head banged on the desk, hand slipping away. He doesn’t know why he didn’t leave you alone in the office; he had no business staying that late since none of his students were brave enough to turn in any assignments to be graded. There was an on-campus police alert the day before, though. Naoya rationalizes that he just didn’t want any criminals or deviants breaking into his office and destroying it. That’s all.

He actively avoids any thought of you, not realizing the irony of how, in his vehement attempts to ignore your existence, he is very much acknowledging you.

Learning Objective Two: Have Meaningful Conversations With Your Partner

“Why do you do that?” Naoya snaps, breaking the silence in the office. 

Naoya is the type of person who does not simply say things — he snaps, he sneers, he smirks. And he has the exact tonation, voice, manner of speaking, of someone who grew up and was never told to shut the fuck up. With his current position in life, it seems like no one ever will.

“Do what?” You look up from the papers you’re grading, staring at him all doe-eyed and genuinely confused that Naoya discovers the unfortunate fact that he does, actually, possess a heart. An annoying one that gets all tight in his chest and starts beating against his rib cage every time you look at him. He’d charge you with a hospital bill from a top of the line cardiologist, but he knows you get paid like shit in comparison to him. Also, because he doesn’t like the idea of women spending money on his behalf. 

“Give out pity grades.” 

It’s like you’ll do anything in your power to not fail a student. You’re just pulling out participation points straight from your ass! And the comments — don’t get him started on the amount of comments you waste time leaving on your students’ papers. There’s a reason why his grades always get entered before deadlines. He’s efficient. 

“And ruthless.” You tell him, after hearing him tell you all about his “efficiency.” “We’re here to help cultivate their minds. Get them to think. College shouldn’t be about getting grades based on your professor’s mood.” 

Was that somehow an attack on him? He should be annoyed. Instead, he finds this side of you less annoying. 

“I’m always in the same mood every time I grade.” 

“Oh, yeah? And what’s that, vindictive?” You’re teasing him, and he wouldn’t let just anyone get away with such a comment. He’s bored, he tells himself. That’s why he’s entertaining this. Unlike someone, he doesn’t have anything left to grade.

“Nah. Irritated. They’re all idiots.” 

You frown. “No student is an idiot.” 

He gives you a look. “You teach English.”

“Intro to Classic Lit.” You correct him. 

“Right.” He says this slowly. “Idiots.”

“Maybe yours, but definitely not mine.”

“Let's compare our students’ majors and potential earnings after graduation.” 

Now it’s your turn to give him a look. “There’s nothing wrong with pursuing your passions.”

“Great. Do you tell them that when the cashier tells them their card declined? Or, does the passion end up paying the total? Are grocery stores accepting passion as a form of payment now?”

“Don’t be as mean as people say you are.” 

His signature smug air of superiority momentarily dissipates at this statement. It’s not often that someone can get Naoya to shut up. To be bested by someone who grades using pink gel pens is so humbling, the only thing keeping him on his pedestal is the fact that he knows he’s the youngest tenured professor in this whole entire university and an acclaimed researcher (he always makes the list for top five most cited economic researchers). You’re fresh out of a doctoral program, and even being tenure-track would be a pipe dream for you. 

“There’s nothing mean about being honest.” 

“You can be honest without being mean.”

“It’s the truth. Students are idiots.” He shrugs, because what the fuck is he supposed to do about it?

“Then why become a professor?”

“Sweetheart, professors that work here are researchers first, teachers… no, not second. Maybe third? If they’re that dedicated to shaping young minds, or whatever fantasy you’ve got going on.” 

“Well, I believe that the students are here to learn. And before you call them stupid again, that’s the great part about learning. You don’t have to be smart to do it.”

Growing up, Naoya had to be a lot of things, smart being one of them. No one in his household was ever capable of producing an ounce of empathy, and considering all the people he’s been surrounded by since his prep school, university, and internship days have all been raised in similar environments. The world is unforgiving. Naoya lives by the ever-so-poetic motto of “sucks to suck.” 

He will go home and lay in bed and stare at the crown molding on his ceiling, and he will recall your sunny disposition. He wants to shame and berate you for being so damn optimistic, for believing in those words, and he will think to himself wouldn’t it be nice for it to be true? 

Instead, right now, all he does is huff. The truth is, Naoya is well aware that his students aren’t stupid, even if he tells them that they are every time they’re in class and every time they dare to come to his office hours to debate their grades. They aren’t stupid in the booksmart sense, but they are very dumb when it comes to the real world, and Naoya considers it a ruthless kind of mercy that he exacts on them. They’re idiots because they have all the potential in the world and would rather waste their time on stupid shit and procrastinate on their assignments instead of putting forth any real effort. 

If they tried, he would give them an A. 

Learning Objective Three: Be Specific and Sincere With Your Praise

You’re crying.

In his head, Naoya tries to force himself to roll his eyes but finds his body unwilling to comply with the demands of his mind. He’s annoyed, but the irritation isn’t directed at you.

It’s at the man sitting across from you. Dr. Kimura got his PhD from Cambridge and thinks he’s hot shit, but out of pure curiosity, Naoya found his dissertation online and still uses it as free melatonin. Two paragraphs in knocks him out faster than a whole bottle of sleeping pills.

Dr. Kimura asks him to leave, into which Naoya reminds him that this is technically his office, and that Dr. Kimura is an intruder. Too much time spent with you in such a confined space has some of your little lessons rubbing off on him. Words are so important to you. Naoya decides that visitor and guest are too kind, too euphemistic, for Dr. Kimura. Call it like it is. 

Kimura’s business for being here is to give you your first ever teaching evaluation. It’s actually just a poorly disguised attempt at trying to lowball professors’ salaries, but this is the type of schtick that only works on pushovers like you. Naoya leans back in his desk chair, arms crossed, and it’s obvious that he is going to be listening in on the whole entire ordeal. You’re embarrassed to be put on display like this, not knowing that he isn’t here to scrutinize you (for once), but rather he’s your backup. 

Before things take a turn for the worse, you’re actually all smiles and sunshines and rainbows. 

Stop smiling at him, Naoya thinks. He hates your smile. Hates it the most when it’s directed towards anyone but him.

Kimura begins with a compliment. That’s how all the professors in the arts are taught. Compliment sandwich! Praise, constructive criticism, more praise! What a fucking joke. Naoya thinks his way of handling things is much more efficient. Talk about all the stuff they need improvement on, and whatever isn’t corrected clearly is okay. Don’t you people know how to read in between the lines? Context clues ring any bells? Fuck, what did you all go to school for?

Disaster strikes, just as Naoya predicts. 

“Listen, we know that this is your first year of teaching, and you’re still getting settled into your role of professor and not student, but clearly there’s some leniency when it comes to your grading…” 

Kimura’s listing all sorts of shit. Grade inflation is what he claims one second, next he’s claiming you have subjective grading criteria. No other Intro to Classic Literature course has a similar class average to yours. 

Kimura shakes his head, like he’s disappointed in you. Another tactic that would only work on someone as sweet as you. 

“If this continues to be an issue, we may have to reconsider renewing your contract.”

And there are those waterworks Naoya is expecting. 

The thing is, Naoya knows a bully when he sees one. Naoya knows all about being cruel just for the sake of being cruel. As cold, shriveled up, and worthless as it seems, Naoya does have a heart. 

“That’s bullshit.” He inserts himself into the conversation. You’re staring down at your lap, twiddling with your fingers. Kimura turns to look at him.

“This is a private matter—”

“If it was private, you would have done it in your own office instead of mine.” 

“This is a matter that concerns the English department, not yours, Dr. Zenin.” 

He’s right. And yet—

“Have you even read any of her students’ papers?” 

—Naoya is your backup. 

“How is this relevant?” 

“Read their papers. Read their first one versus their most recent one. Hell, read every single essay a student has turned in over the course. I guarantee you they deserve the marks she’s given them.” 

“Their papers are filled with corrections and questions, and yet, she gives them an A.” Kimura knows all about Naoya’s reputation. He’s infamous. He’s the reason why everyone’s scared of majoring in economics. Naoya Zenin is the toughest grader there is.

“I’ve seen the mental state of your department’s students. She’s doing them a favor by not crushing them.” 

“You’re saying they deserve those grades?”

“She lets them redo all their papers within a reasonable period of time and grades based on the overall improvement.” Naoya shrugs, like it’s just that simple. “I don’t see an issue.”

“She’s manipulating grades.”

“She’s giving them a second chance. I personally find that to be admirable.” Naoya is not lying. This is what makes you look up. “And she cares. I think she’s the only one of your faculty who gives a damn about whether her students are learning or not.” 

Naoya doesn’t hate a lot of things because he doesn’t like giving certain things so much special attention, but he does dislike insincere people. People like Kimura are the worst because they hide behind fake niceties and table manners, but if you peel off their skin, they’re secretly lizards in disguise. At least in Naoya’s case, no one ever has the luxury of being shocked when he says something very mean and unpleasant because he will never filter himself or put on a mask that gives off the vibe that he practices civility. 

As a matter of fact, Naoya has a nasty, serpent-like grin on his face as he locks in on Kimura, caging him in. 

“After all, isn't that the point of becoming a professor, Dr. Kimura?”

Gotcha, you slimy bastard.

Learning Objective Four: Be Vulnerable, Put Yourself Out There

“Would you say I’m an asshole?” Naoya brings this up as he helps you pack up your belongings. He claims that it’s because he can’t wait to have his office all to himself again, but really, he’s starting to realize that lending a helping hand every once in a while can’t hurt. He hisses when a sharp edge from one of the many stacks of paper you possess cuts his finger. 

That’s the last time he’ll ever help someone, he thinks bitterly.

“Not to your face.” You reply back, giving him a grin. He wants to take your smile and store it in a moving box and then keep that box underneath his desk and have it be one of his most prized possessions. 

“Hm.” Then he tells you, “A student called me that.”

“To your face?” You look equal parts shocked, amused, and delighted. It’s a good look. 

“No. RateMyProfessor.” 

“Oh, I think I saw that one. They called you hot, right?” You’re busy packing up your sticker sheets and binders. Naoya wonders if he’s reading too hard into what you’re telling him.

“You’ve seen my reviews?” 

“Of course I did. I looked you up on the Internet the day we became office roomies.” You throw this information out so nonchalantly that Naoya almost feels like he’s the weird one to have a reaction from it. 

“You looked me up on the Internet?” 

“Duh. Naoya, we live in a world where AI is writing essays for students. Of course, I would look you up online.” 

“But why?” He presses you, latches on to the idea that there is a world where someone wants to look him up online and it’s not to find his home address so they can get revenge on him failing them. 

“Because I wanted to know more about you, silly.” 

It would be nice to be known. It’s already nice to have someone who wants to get to know you. Naoya Zenin does not settle in life, but he thinks he could settle for this and be content for the rest of his days.

Of course you would. He would say this, all snarky and egotistical, but he knows better. He won’t have an excuse to see your four times a week, won’t be cooped up in this office with you late in the night, won’t get to smell the remnants of your perfume when he’s up at the podium, lecturing his class. But there’s a chance that he could see you in different settings, too. Getting coffee together in between classes. Sitting next to each other during university-wide faculty meetings. Taking you out to dinner, because he’s reviewed your contract, and he’s not sure how you’re surviving financially. 

“I would like that.” The words come out rushed, all jumbled and smushed together. He’s a grown man. He doesn’t blush. This is what he tells himself when he feels heat rise to his cheeks. “I would like for you to get to know me. And to learn more about you, too.” He swallows. Hard. “I sound stupid, I meant to—”

“It’s okay, Dr. Zenin.” You have the prettiest smile in the world. His dissertation should have been on that. “The fun part about learning is that you can still do it, even when you’re being stupid.” 

#naoya zenin x reader #naoya x reader #naoya zen'in x reader #jjk x reader #fluff #drabble #one shot #college au

[lucilleslore]

oh lord i love your coryo drabbles so much! especiallyyyy the touch-starved one. i would quite literally die just to be able to read a drabble about coryo slowly falling in love with reader (being an average girl from district 12) over the course of being strangers to friends 🤭

➸ coriolanus arrives in twelve with a dark cloud over his head and a mind full of revenge and envy. he hates that he’s here, hates being surrounded by these people who are so below him, hates that his future is so uncertain.

➸ he’s been plagued by these thoughts for his journey, like a nonstop melody in his head but just as he’s leaving the station he spots you. you’re plain by capitol standards, in a dress that’s a few sizes too small and a little discoloured like you’ve had it for years but you’re smiling and when you see him staring at you, you smile more and offer him a sweet little wave.

➸ his lip curls a little in disgust. he doesn’t want to be approached, he just needs to think on how to get back home, that’s all. but he’s intrigued. so intrigued that when he’s eating his first meal he thinks of you, your name, your life, how that stupid smile of yours made his stomach go funny. when he puts his head down that night he wonders where you could be, if you’re with someone. that’s how easily his obsessions can start.

➸ then he starts to see you around, easily beginning to pick you out of crowds no matter how big. how did he ever think you were plain? compared to everyone else you’re a star, a gem in this dull district. you start to give him something else to think about, to mull over in the quiet moments and as much as he hates these feelings he’s having, he’s grateful for that.

➸ he sees you smiling at everyone. the old people who seem pretty useless to him, the men who go off into the mines everyday, the women who sell their items. what have they done to deserve that from you? the jealousy curdles in his stomach when he realises he wants those smiles to himself, doesn’t even want you to look at anyone apart from him. he’s infatuated with you.

➸ honestly he’s that feral he’d probably start using his peacekeeper status to his advantage. to get information from other people about you. it only feeds his obsession more so after a while he just stops you in the street. pretends something suspicious is going on and asks if you’ve seen anything. this little crease forms between your brows and he resists the urge to reach out and touch it. you’re just so genuine, so sweet, so uncorrupted. he wants you all to himself.

➸ it probably goes on like that for a while. he’s patient and the little snippets are enough for now. he busies himself with getting to know you deeper. watching for your little mannerisms and nervous ticks, figuring out what your real laugh sounds like compared to your fake one. stupid, stupid things. it’s a complete waste of time coryo thinks but he still can’t stop.

➸ he will definitely interfere in your life if he has to. you think you’re going out dancing with that cute guy from the mines? no way. not on his watch. he’ll find some way to keep the guy busy and when coryo sees you looking upset the next day he can’t stop thinking about ways to cheer you up. to get you smiling for him.

➸ there are nights though where he’s dragged out by his bunk mates and sajanus and he sees you there too. dancing with your friends, singing and laughing and in those moments if he could wish for one thing, he’d wish to be in your life - properly.

➸ so watching from afar sustains him for a little while but coryo grows desperate with time. you don’t pay much attention to him anymore, he’s merely faded to the background as he’s become more comfortable in twelve. just another peacekeeper who’s handsome but you’d rather avoid.

➸ then maybe one day you’re walking back to your house with a little woven basket of food and someone’s not watching where they’re going and knocks you down. coryo of course is watching and rushes over, he’s not keen on the idea of playing the knight in shining armour but when he saw you on the muddy ground, dirty dress ridden up to expose a slither of thigh; he just had to help. even more so when the idiot who made you fall and knocked your groceries to the ground just turns and leaves you there. he decides he’ll deal with him later.

➸ you’re embarrassed of course, quickly smoothing your dress back down and offering the hand he gives you to help you up. you’re shy but so, so sweet. telling him how much you appreciate the help, giving his hand a little squeeze before you let go, tucking your hair behind your ear. coryo is perceptive though and sees the small disappointed frown that takes over your features when you see what’s happened to your shopping.

➸ and he can’t have that. so before he knows what he’s doing coryo has a hand at the small of your back, turning you around and offering to replace everything you lost. you complain that it’s not necessary, that he doesn’t have to do that but he’s not listening and he buys you double of everything. just to be safe.

➸ so in your head you have to repay him, right? you manage to do some baking with what you had and the next time you see him you’re handing him a little paper bag filled with some treats and he doesn’t know what to say. it’s small, insignificant but he hasn’t had a gift in a long, long time. he’s speechless and he doesn’t like it.

➸ from then on he finds a way to always take you on your errands. will switch shifts if he has to so he’s got the free time. he likes the way people stare at the two of you. the curiosity that plays on their faces when you take his hand and pull him over to look at something. he notices that about you; that you have this basic, unappealing life in twelve but you’re always finding something to be cheery about. you stupefy him sometimes.

➸ coryo begins to imagine putting you on the train and taking you home with him when he goes. showing you what a real life could look like, the glamour and luxury the capitol could offer. you deserve a life like that, you deserve to be spoiled and taken care of. by him, only him. this is when he really starts his scheming because he needs to find a way to get you out of there.

➸ he starts to get closer to you by always showing up for you. you need walked home? he’s there. if you’re out at night he doesn’t just watch anymore, he’ll come over and tell you how pretty you look. he notices you start to walk extra slow, taking longer routes home and he tries to act like you wanting to spend more time with him doesn’t bother him in the slightest.

➸ coryo definitely starts getting in fights. a lot of them. over you. can’t take it when men’s eyes linger too long, when they look you up and down like you’re their next meal. he dreams of getting you to the capitol, even when banished he’s sure they’d show him more respect than he gets in twelve. for gods sake, the men are like animals. he needs to get you out of there.

➸ there’s one day where you invite him to the lake and you see coryo in a different light. where he can be fun and romantic in his own light. he picks you some wild flowers but proceeds to tell you how ugly they are compared to his roses back home. helps you put together a makeshift meal just to screw his face up and tell you how much better the food back home is. you can tell he’s going somewhere with it, you just don’t know where exactly.

➸ your favourite part is when the two of you get in the water. when coryo is a breath away and droplets of water were hanging from his lashes. when the world was quiet and it was just the two of you. you weren’t as naive as he thought you were. there was times you’d look at him and see right through to the darkness of his core. times when you’d want to shrink back when you’d see the empty, hollow expression on his features. he was different, your coryo; but you were determined to love him all the same.

➸ when your lips brushed his coryo tensed up. unprepared for the way it made him feel. the dizzy rush in his head, the way his stomach was rolling. the simplest form of affection and he could hardly breathe, couldn’t think straight even if someone offered him money.

➸ you pulled back, afraid you’d scared him off and he looks terrified. you give him what you hope is a reassuring smile. that smile, coryo thinks as he takes it all in. he’d do anything for that smile. its solidified with that one small kiss that he’ll never let you go. you’re completely and utterly stuck with him <3

#coriolanus snow #- !concepts! #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus x you