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luveline · 2 years

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𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐝 | 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary steve likes you, eddie munson's best friend, to the point of heart palpitations. you feel the same way about him [6k]

warnings fluff, getting together, mutual pining, first kiss, first date, eddie munson is a good friend, steve is hopeless, fem!reader, reader is hellfire club adjacent, reader is an overthinker and steve is a softie, pre-s4 post-s3, no s4 spoilers besides eddie + hellfire club existing

𓆩❤︎𓆪

The first time Steve sees you he's smitten.

You're sitting on the stoop of Eddie Munson's trailer. Coolest girl he's ever seen – and Steve doesn't go for the edgy type. Crazy cool clothes, hair all messy pretty and your eyes edged in dark makeup, you're fiddling with the cassette player in your lap, brows pinched in frustration.

Steve can't look long. He's dropping the lunch club off for some impromptu Hellfire gathering. The kids pile out, eager to see their new (no, Steve isn't bitter) friend with a chorus of rushed, half-hearted thank you's.

You push the headphones off of your ears as his kids approach.

"Hey, Y/N," they say, one by one as they enter the trailer and disappear from sight.

Steve is two seconds from leaving, swears, when he hears Lucas ask how you are.

"You know," you say, voice quiet and immediately intoxicating. Steve watches as you slowly push two fingers between your shiny lips and pretend to blow your brains out. You drop on your back and lie there for a moment, chest rising with easy, breezy laughter. The sound draws heat to his cheeks, worse the sight of your naked thighs.

He's hooked. He has to leave quickly, before you sit back up and indoctrinate him with your looks alone.

The next time he sees you is similar and not. You're sitting on the ground outside the movie theatre. Again, Steve is playing taxi cab for his doofuses, though this time the thank you's are slightly kinder, louder - he'd blown off a girl he didn't stand much chance with in the first place to bring them.

"Love you!" Dustin calls, slamming the passenger door.

You drop the cassette player in your hands and lean your head back against Eddie's thigh. Steve takes a few seconds to realise you're looking at him, head tilting this way and that to catch a glance at him through people's legs.

"Who's your friend?" he hears you ask Mike.

Mike doesn't even look. "Who? Steve? He's my sister's ex-boyfriend."

You smile at him. Steve, hating to be caught but not stupid enough to blush, nods at you through the window before turning the key. It's the suavest thing he's ever done and he's still applauding himself when you approach his window. He hadn't noticed you get up, distracted by triumph.

You knock the window. He rolls it down.

"Hi," you say.

"Hey," he says back. Then, cautiously, "You need something?"

You smell like a lot of things as you duck your head into his car. Mica and perfume and, softer, talc. Hairspray. Something else, wet like ink. He can't help looking at your make up, the rhinestones under your lower lashes, the shiny sticky pink on your lips.

"Steve," you say. He likes the way you say his name, confident, like you've always known it. You smile softly, at ends with your Joan Jett-esque levels of cool. "Do you wanna come see the movie?" Then, in what marks the beginning of the end, "With me?"

He knows he should play it out. Plus, he's startled. "I don't know, I'm just here to drop them off."

"It's okay if you have plans," you say. He catches a sneak of your tongue pressed behind - what he perhaps insanely thinks of as - cute teeth. You're talking to him in this lilting cadence that has him pinned. "But you drove all the way here, so if you're not busy…"

He pretends to consider.

"What movie?" he asks.

You bring a hand to your neck and secure a small silver pendant between your neatly lacquered nails. "Uh, it's called Day of the Dead. S'about zombies," you tell him. The way you say zombies - your voice goes high and airy, your lips move slow like they're catching up to the word, your eyebrows raised up. Eyes wide. He wants to play it back.

"Please?" you ask when he fails to reply.

He thinks he has to be dreaming. Or drugged again. Definitely drugged.

"Sure," he hears himself say, though he can't remember thinking about it.

You don't smile like he expects. You make a sound, a happy inhale, your eyes light up but your lips stay straight.

Steve thinks you might be nervous.

And sure, he can be a jerk but he's not a total douchebag. He gives you what he hopes is a reassuring smile and gets out of his car, locking the doors to follow you to the ticket stand. Closer now, Steve can't work you out: half dreamy, half fidgeting.

Your boots thud up carpeted stairs into the auditorium, the lights already down, previews blaring.

There's two empty seats next to Eddie. In the dark you catch the hem of his jacket between your fingers and pull him behind you.

His heart skips.

Eddie, in what Steve thinks of as his most mature greeting to date, nods at him and then turns to you curiously. "You okay?" he asks seriously.

"I'm perfect, Eds. Did we miss any good previews?" you ask, sitting heavily beside your friend and stealing a big handful of popcorn out of his lap.

Eddie only chuckles. "Nothing you'd like."

You nod and then turn to Steve shyly. "Sorry we didn't get snacks," you whisper. You offer your hand to him, full of popcorn.

He shakes his head. You look embarrassed but not surprised, tipping your head back to polish off your handful.

"You went to Hawkins High?" you ask with your hand over your mouth.

"I did. You didn't?"

"I did," you correct gently, wiping your hand on your thigh. "I graduated two years ago. When Eddie should have."

That makes more sense, though Steve's sorry he doesn't remember you. He was a little obsessed with Nance at the time.

"Do you work?" he asks.

You smile like you're about tell him a big secret, edging forward. Your arms brushes his arm on the rest between chairs. "You can't tell anyone."

"On my honour," he says, eyes wide, terrified you're a mercenary or worse, a cold caller.

"I desk at the library," you say.

He blinks. You giggle and Eddie shushes you, already sounding defeated. Chastened, you drop your voice to a barely perceptible level.

"I know, I don't look the type."

"No," he says, too loud, receiving several disgruntled glares. "No, you- Well, maybe you don't. But I don't look like I worked at Scoops Ahoy all summer, so…"

You slap a ring-laden hand over your shiny pout and try to smother a laugh. Bracelets slide down your wrist. "You do! You do look like you worked there," you say joyfully.

He can't find it in him to be offended.

You're milder as you settle back into your seat. A preview passes. You clear your throat.

"I'm sorry," you say, sounding worried, "if that was cruel. I get mixed up. I know- I mean, I don't know, but the Starcourt thing. That must've been awful."

Your words stick together like taffy. He releases you as quickly as he can.

"Hey, don't be sorry," he says, scoffing lighty. He readjusted where he's sitting, crossing his arms over his chest. "Doesn't matter." It's not like you'd meant anything by it.

You look less peaky but still hesitant.

"Would you believe me if I told you the worst part of my job was the uniform?" he jokes, wanting to put you at ease again.

"Was it really so bad?" you murmur, your lips slowly curving up into a smile.

"There was a mandated hat."

You laugh. People shush you aggressively. Steve feels something close to magnetism at the sound, and wants to make you do it again.

"Where do you work now?" you whisper as the movie begins.

"Video store by the arcade."

"Family Video?" you ask. He nods, looking down at your hands in your lap, your fingers. Your legs are shaking, minute trembling. You twist one of your rings around your fingers and he wonders what's making you nervous.

"That's the one."

You bend in close, so close he thinks he can smell your shampoo. Dusky, rosewater. Sweet.

"Maybe I can come see you. You can recommend me something."

"Sure," he says, too loud. Somebody coughs, though the cough sounds suspiciously like dickwad.

You watch Day of the Dead, stealing popcorn all the while. You pop the lid off of Eddie's drink and take sneaky sips, and your friend flicks your upper arm when you get greedy. In response, your bashful, peeling laughter.

"Fine, I'll get my own drink. You want one?" you ask Steve, standing with your back bent, necklace dipping down in the space between you. He follows it, looks accidentally straight at your chest and then back up, guilty and blushing. "Steve?" you ask.

"I'll come with you," he says, desperate to escape the dark, the warmth.

Steve follows you down the red, trodden carpet and back into the main body of the theatre, an atrium with high glass windows and wooden beams. It smells old, like dust. The sky is dark now, night eating up every bit of natural light. White cat eyes beam from the movie theatre's floors to guide you to the snack station, a brighter, well stocked haven of greasy foods and cold drinks.

You stand in front of the popcorn machine. It paints your skin with a golden yellow shine, like the sun. You're very quiet as you open your clutch, pulling out hair pins and chapstick and a lone cotton pad before you find your purse, a battered leather pouch embossed with hearts. He tries not to fill the silence, digging for his wallet in his pocket. He gets a too big coke and you deliberate over slurpee flavours, eventually asking for a mix.

"It's so quiet out here," you murmur around your straw.

"Like Family Video on a Friday," he agrees.

"Isn't Friday, like, one of your busiest nights?"

"Yep."

A burst of surprised giggles. Steve hides his smile with a cough, 'cos he's cool.

You pull the straw from your cup and lick it clean, digging for a certain flavour though he's not sure which, still laughing to yourself. Steve takes the initiative and leads you back up the stairs and to your seat, catching your jacket in his hand before you can walk down the wrong row.

You smile gratefully, your lips stained blue and red.

You're sitting on the pavement outside of Family Video. Steve can see your back, your hair.

He wonders why you're here, if it's to see him, and then if you're okay, and feels bad for thinking in that order.

"Robin," he says loudly, reluctant to tear his eyes from you lest you disappear like a shoddy apparition.

"Steven."

"Not correct."

"What, idiot?" Robin asks, picking her head up from the book stretched open in her lap. She sits up and her back clicks loudly.

Steve sighs in disgust. "That's gross, you know? You'll get, like, arthritis."

"You think arthritis is gross? Not cool, Steven."

"No, I meant them as two separate things. Gross to hear you click, and that the clicking will give you arthritis," he explains, exasperated. He runs a hand through his hair.

"That's a myth."

A long pause where Steve watches your back moving, how you're leaning forward towards the sun bleached tarmac.

"What?" he asks suddenly, turning from you finally to stare in disbelief at his best friend.

Robin is more than prepared to fight her cause, the leaves of her book closed around her hand like she'd been waiting for him to ask. She probably had been.

"It's a myth. Clicking your bones doesn't give you arthritis. The clicking sound is fluid moving- Are you even listening to me?"

Steve has dropped his head into his hands. He spreads his fingers wide so Robin can see his eyes. "Robin, we have more important things at hand."

"Like what? Keith's laundry?"

"Like Y/N is sitting outside right now!" he shouts, and then cringes. You don't show any sign of having heard him. He continues in a strangled whisper, "She's been out there for like, five minutes!"

Robin kicks up off of her stool to stand at Steve's side, up on tiptoes to see over the vinyl on the windows. She's listened to his inane rambling and insecure, badly disguised yearning all week, but hasn't had a face to a name until now. She makes a sound of approval like she can understand why Steve has been so wound up about you.

"Why's she on the floor?"

"She does that."

"Oh," Robin says, chin jutting up. "Are you gonna go talk to her?"

He wants to. Dreadfully. Intensely wants to.

"Or I could go talk to her," Robin offers, wrists touching. She rubs them together. Steve ignores her mischievous, shit-eating grin.

"Sure, Robs, you talk to her. Stun her with your stellar people skills."

Robin's lips push, as close as she's ever come to pouting. "Cruel."

"Yet accurate."

"If you're so amazing, why don't you go talk to her, hot shot? Woo her! Chop-chop."

Steve steels his nerves because even if he is about to make a huge fool of himself he's slightly worried about your on-the-ground position. Not unusual for you, but still.

"Are you okay?" he asks as he emerges.

You turn to Steve like you're unsurprised that he's there and offer your headphones to him. "Put these on?"

"Are you okay?" he asks again, voice not dissimilar to when he's bossing around the kids.

You hold the headphones to your chest and dip your chin. "Steve, I'm fine. Please?" you ask, offering them to him.

He puts on the headphones, bent at the waist for the wire to reach your cassette player. He quickly discovers the source of your unhappiness – the tape sounds bloated. Distorted.

"The tapes messed up," he says.

You shake your head with patience, though he can tell from your expression this isn't the first time you've explained it. "It's not the tape, it's the player."

Steve's back gives a twinge. I'm an old man, he thinks in horror, standing up straight with your headphones back in his hands.

"You drop it?" he asks expectantly.

You only frown more, looking generally put out. "No, I took great care of her. Scout's honor."

Steve sighs and decides to take the leap, sitting down beside you on the sidewalk. There's a small dip where the parking lot starts and he stretches one leg out across it, hand on his knee, the other across his abdomen.

"Can't one of your nerd club fix it?" he asks.

"I'm not actually in Hellfire Club, you know."

He didn't. "You can't ask? Eddie must've learned something at school after this many years. By accident. Like… osmosis."

"Eddie's on his third try for a reason," you say, picking at a small ladder in your tights on the side of your calf. You're wearing socks, too, peeking up just over the edge of your thick bottomed boots.

"You know Dustin?" he asks after a patch of silence he would find awkward with anyone who wasn't you. You make it peaceful, in a way. "He could take a look. He went to science camp and built, like, the world's strongest radio."

He can't tell if you're listening. Your eyes are trained on the sidewalk, its crack, and the weeds growing between them. There's a wet snapping sound.

You hold a small yellow flower between your fingers.

"A creeping buttercup," you tell him. You push your palm flat in the space between you both and lean towards him. "Do you like butter?"

"Do I- Yeah, sure, I like butter. Who doesn't?"

You lick your lips. "Mind if I check?" you ask him.

"Is that a trick question?"

"Steve," you say, chiding. You tilt your head to your shoulder and the breeze kisses your hair, ruffling soft strands as you hold the flower under his chin intently. He feels frozen.

"You love butter," you say, nodding like what you just said makes sense.

"Are you sure you're okay? Didn't hit your head on the way here?"

"Here. Hold it under my chin," you tell him, offering him the flower. You twirl its stem, though you stop when he moves to take it.

Steve feels like an idiot as he holds it by your neck.

"Closer," you say softly, lifting your head.

Steve raises his eyebrows but keeps his skepticism to himself. To his surprise, when the flower is close enough to your skin, a small patch of yellow light appears, gauzy around the edges.

"What the fuck…"

You lower your chin, your faces closer than Steve had realised. You look straight into his eyes. "It's a reflection of the light. 'Cos it's clear out."

He feels out of his element no matter how captivating he finds you – he can't get to grips with it. His silence quickly deters you; you look away from his face and your lips pull into a pout as you bite your bottom lip. You bend at the waist and mess with your shoelaces.

"Did you wanna come inside?" he asks, trying to fix whatever it is he did. Girls are complicated.

You cheer up a bit.

"Do you have anything like Day of the Dead?"

He has no clue.

"Sure we do," he says confidently.

He stands up fast and offers his hand. You take it, your palm smooth and cool in his, admittedly warmer and slightly calloused. He hopes the ease with which he pulls you up is impressive, then feels stupid for thinking that. You squeeze his fingers before you let go and follow him into Family Video.

"So, what? You like him?" Eddie asks you from above, cross-legged on his bed. Denim jacket nowhere to be seen, he sits in a t-shirt with the sleeves hacked off, tattoos on clear display, stark against his pale skin.

"Don't be jealous, Eds," you say mildly.

He crawls to the edge of the bed to look down at you where you lie on his floor. His hair tickles your nose and you hold in a sneeze.

"Nice face," he says.

"I think he likes me."

"Why wouldn't he? You're cool."

You stare at your best friend's earnest face. "You know why."

"No, I don't."

You close your eyes, head dipping to your shoulder. You can't hide from him, though you've tried. Your arms cross over your tummy in a self-hug.

The ground is cold. His uncle's trailer is always cold, frigid in the winter. Minimal insulation and no A/C. You rub your face into the scratchy rug beneath you and sigh morosely, suddenly overcome with a pinching misery.

"There's nothing wrong with you," Eddie says seriously.

"I don't think I can do it." It hurts to say, though you know Eddie won't judge you.

"What? Have a boyfriend?"

You nod. The mattress creaks as he moves. You're expecting his touch, though his cold finger flicking you square in the forehead startles you anyway. Your eyes jump open. You flinch up into a sitting position and rub your head.

"Shithead."

"Stop doubting yourself."

"I get so messed up. I'm a bad friend, I wouldn't- I wouldn't be a good girlfriend," you mutter, bringing your knees to your chest. You hide in them.

"You don't get messed up," he says.

"I'm stupid."

"Y/N," he says, dragging your name out sternly. "Here, come sit with me. I won't flick you again, promise."

You rub your eyes, smudging your makeup and stand reluctantly to flop onto his bed, his rumpled sheets a lump under your back. Eddie pulls your necklace from where it has ridden up your neck and drops it down the valley of your chest absent-mindedly.

"You're not stupid," he says gently. "And you don't get 'messed up'. You're overthinking things."

"I'm not," you argue. "I'm an idiot, and I say the wrong things, and maybe he does like me but it won't last long."

You didn't have an easy time in school. Eddie knows this, lived it with you, and he's blamed it a thousand times for your low self-esteem. Ever understanding, he hums to himself skeptically and grabs your shoulder, giving you a good shake. He doesn't stop until you're laughing.

"I'm trying to shake some sense into you," he confides. "You're really fucking cool. And I'm not just saying that because you've been copying me since middle school, you're really cool."

"Cool," you repeat.

"Awesome."

You run the chain of your necklace through your fingers and feel the links skip over your skin, frowning.

"I thought for sure he'd ask me out by now."

"Maybe you should ask him."

"He probably thinks I'm, like, a creepy stalker."

"Creepy, maybe. Stalker? For what? Visiting him at work? That's friendly." You're overthinking things, he doesn't say.

"I left him my phone number," you admit, whispering. "But he hasn't called me."

"Babe, you're always fucking here. Did you check your machine?"

Obsessively. "Yeah."

Eddie throws himself down and kicks his legs over your tummy, to your annoyance. He ponders and you sulk, the rough sounds of Black Sabbath playing in the background.

"You've only met him a few times, right?"

Right. The movies, the video store, once when you'd bumped into him at the arcade and a couple of times when he'd checked out books at the library.

Eddie smiles as you tell him. "The library?"

"Yeah."

"He's visiting you at work?"

You think back to the last time you'd seen him, all of ten minutes across the desk with your clean library uniform and your neat hair. You finally cracked and asked him if he thought it suited you better.

"You look great," Steve had said, smiling lopsided, "but I miss your pretty gems. Oh, we have Friday the 13th back in. I kept it for you..."

"No, he's visiting the library," you say.

Eddie chuckles, his deep, teasing laugh. "And before you met, you saw him in there a lot, huh?"

"Well, no."

"So it's a coincidence that he found out where you work and he's suddenly an academic?"

"Shut up, Eddie," you plead, covering your face with your hands.

"Fine, whatever, we'll stop talking about it. Wanna paint my nails?"

"No."

You get up and paint his nails. You've done one hand pretty well when there's the sound of a car parking outside. Eddie turns down the stereo and you stare at each other curiously, listening for clues.

"Your uncle?"

"No. Probably for someone else."

Instantly disproved, there's a knock at the door, breaking up the silence. Eddie sighs dramatically and climbs over your legs to answer, his footsteps clumsy. "Yeah, coming," he calls. You stand and peer around the doorway, waiting to see who it is.

Eddie opens the door. "Harrington," he says, surprised, vaguely disgusted. "The munchkins aren't here."

"No, I know. I'm looking for Y/N."

You feel a stab of excitement right to your heart and scramble for Eddie's mirror, looking over your face and outfit with something close to terror looming – you're in an old band t-shirt covered in hair-dye from Eddie's red and pink phase and a skirt that's too short. You pull it down to make sure everything is properly covered.

"Yeah, she's here," Eddie says, though the door creaks as he closes it slightly, his voice a fraction from intimidating as he asks, "Who's asking?"

"Me?" Steve asks.

Your socks slide over linoleum in your rush to stop Eddie from being a total dick, edging him out of the way with your hip. He doesn't budge. You shove him with a huff and smile at Steve, trying to calm your pounding heart.

"Steve, hi."

"Hey," he looks over your shoulder. You turn, see Eddie standing there looking unimpressed. He waves. You glare at him fiercely and step over the threshold, shutting the door behind you.

You don't second guess as you take Steve's wrist into your hand, pulling him down the steps and into the short grass to make sure Eddie can't eavesdrop. It's damp under your socks.

Steve looks hot. You're a simple girl, you won't deny that. His hair looks more windblown than usual, lazy strands falling into his face. His eyes are serious, light brown and edged in straight lashes you would count if he let you, brows slightly lifted. You realise he's taking you in as you do the same and feel self conscious, shifting from foot to foot.

"Sorry, I look weird. I didn't-" you bite your tongue. I didn't know you were coming, you'd almost said, but of course you didn't, and telling him you would've dressed up if he was coming might scare him off.

Any anxiety you'd had is soothed as he takes your hand, still loosely clasped around his wrist, and squeezes the centre of your palm with his thumb.

"Are you kidding?" he asks, hand moving down, thumb rubbing over your pulse point. "You look beautiful. Don't worry about it."

His nonchalance trips you up. You can feel your heart in your mouth, like a hummingbird on your tongue.

"What did… what did you wanna ask me?" you stammer.

Steve drops your hand. "I tried calling, but I figured you'd be here. Uh, so-" he laughs, pulling a hand through his hair before dipping into the pocket of his jacket. You watch his arms then his hands.

"I got these," he says, pulling two tickets from his pocket. White and a third red, he offers them to you. You take them, enough adrenaline running through you that your hands are shaking and you struggle to read what they say.

Steve jumps in. "I know you really liked Day of the Dead. They're doing a showing in Indianapolis, one of those fancy theatre's where everyone dresses up as zombies, and like, they throw fake guts on you. Or something."

"Oh," you murmur. Awesome, you think. Oh my god. "That's sick."

"Right?"

"And you…"

"I want you to go with me. I want to take you," he says firmly. "On a date."

"A date."

"It's Friday. I'll pick you up, we'll drive there in the morning. Hang around, we can go wherever you want for dinner, see the sights."

"This is before or after we dress up like zombies?" you ask, hiding a huge smile.

Steve blushes, let it be written, his cheeks red. He sounds frustrated as he says, "Right, not my best idea. Before? We can get ready in the car," his voice fades before he finishes. "That's not a good idea."

He starts on a self deprecating waffle that you can't allow. You press the tickets to your chest, way too happy. "This is pretty cool."

"You think so?" he asks quickly, strung out.

"Yeah," you say fondly.

"Oh."

You almost step on his toes as you kiss his hot cheek. He smells nice. You set back on your heels and linger, trying to work out what his cologne smells like. Something fresh, not quite lemony.

You get a bit dizzy and carried away, stroking the curve of his arm with the back of your hand. Steve makes a sound like a hiccup and you remember yourself, stepping away bashfully, afraid to meet his eyes.

"So," Steve says, sounding relieved. Excited. "You'll go?"

"Yeah. It sounds awesome."

"It's a date," he says.

You tell him your address and he promises to call you to smooth out all the details but he really has to go to work. You climb back up the stairs and close the door almost all the way, watching as Steve gets in his car through the crack. He sits motionless for a bit before he fist pumps the air, says, "Yes! Ugh, yes. Still got it. Still got it, Hawkins."

You close the door.

"Ew, you look happy. Harrington cop a feel?" Eddie says.

"Something like that."

You're running down a dark alleyway with Steve's hand in yours. He's almost dragging you. Dude runs fast.

"I ran track!" he tells you helpfully.

You can't help the breathless laughing as you go, nervous and humming with energy. You'd both been having a great time at dinner and lost track of time, and now it's twenty minutes until doors open for Day of the Dead and neither of you look particularly lifeless.

You almost slam into the back door of his BMW, scrambling inside. Steve is quick behind you, upending the bag with your change of clothes onto the back seat. Your makeup and fake blood tumble out after it. He reaches up to turn on the overhead light.

"Fuck," Steve says, face carved in shadow. "Fuck. We don't have time."

"Sure we do," you say, tugging your shirt off quickly. Steve looks pointedly away once he notices your predicament. You chuckle. "Steve, just get changed. I don't care if you look."

"I'm a gentleman," he insists, rushing, the two of you folding and bumping into each other in a hurry to get dressed into your old clothes.

You catch flashes of his bare chest as he buttons down then buttons up, his legs, his thighs. You feel heat lick every stretch of skin you have at the sight. Oh, he's hairy, you think, and then have to slam your eyes shut to stop from thinking sick (completely normal, dirty) thoughts.

You pull your tights off of your ankles, blush at the idea of being sequestered in a car with him in your underwear, and leap to replace them with a pair of tight, pinstriped trousers, shrugging into them with great difficulty. Your chest is rising and falling rapidly as you pull on your blouse, white for the best fake blood effect, buttoning up just enough to hide your bra.

Make up next. You want to look scary and, importantly, believable. You fish for the make up you'd brought and have managed to suitably brush up your dark eyes with purples to look bruised and sickly by the time Steve has finished redressing. He tightens the tie around his neck.

"You next," you say.

Steve hesitates. "I've never done any makeup before."

You don't blink. "That's okay. I'll do it for you, if you want me to."

Steve climbs closer over your discarded clothes, close enough to hear his breathing, still fast. You brush the hair out of his eyes and they find yours, the two of you sharing a private smile, though there's no one else around.

"Will you ruin my good looks?"

"You'll be a very handsome zombie," you promise.

You reach for his face.

"You need to get closer," you tell him, fingers hooked under his ear. You tilt his head to the light.

"I can't," he says.

You steel your nerves and grab onto his shoulder gently, anchoring yourself as you climb up into his lap. If he's surprised he doesn't show it, his big hands coming up to your waist. You can feel the heat of each finger clearly on your skin where he grips you and the heat of his thighs like a furnace underneath yours. You try not to brush against him, standing up on your knees.

You use your fingers, rubbing them gently in the powder shadows and then over his silky skin. Big stripes of purple, a wash of yellow around his pretty eyes. He closes them as you dab a dark red under his eyelashes. You grow closer still, your breath fanning over his face. His hand skips respectably over your back and down to your thigh, holding you up. It's helpful. It's torture. You try not to breathe too loudly.

"You have really soft skin," you say, using your thumb to spread dark contour under his cheekbone, one side of his face gaunt.

You cover your work with your hand as his eyes open.

"Yeah?" he asks.

This closeness. Suddenly, abruptly, the feelings you're trying to push down rear their heads, and the heat becomes hard to ignore.

"Yeah," you murmur, thumb under his eye. He looks ridiculous. You know you look the same.

"Am I done?" he asks. His hand squeezes your thigh as he adjusts his hold.

"Not quite," you say.

You finish his makeup in silence. Time slows. You forget that you're late, content to feel his features under your hands, to learn the planes and dips of his face for the first time like this. You tuck his hair behind his ears carefully, smoothing back his hairline.

He's looking up at you. You sit down in his lap and he moves his hands to behind your back, his head following you down intently. He looks serious.

You draw your hand from his face and drop it onto his thigh, your rings brushing over starchy slacks.

It's his turn to touch you. Steve's hand comes to your face, his broad palm over the entirety of your cheek. You wait for something though you're not sure what, frozen with apprehension, simply watching him take you in.

"Do I look scary?" you ask, eyes on his lips.

They part before he answers, like he knows what he's going to say before he says it. "Horrifying," he murmurs wryly, hand gently pulling your face towards his.

You lift your chin to meet his lips, the muscles of his forearms shifting against your chest as he cups your face in both hands, guiding you to him. Your lips touch, tentative at first, one small kiss that feels more than warm, a homely, perfect fit. He pulls back and you don't, tapping the tip of his nose with yours until he opens his mouth.

You sneak in as his hand runs down your neck, your arm, slow and sleek. He makes a small sound as he takes the lead, opening you up, and it tickles your lips with its vibrations. He sounds content. You're feeling similarly happy, grabbing at his hand where it holds your face, squeezing his wrist to hold it in place as you push yourself into his arms. He takes you eagerly, pulling you chest to chest.

His head bumps the window. You pull apart, panting and happy and giggling, your lips damp and tingling. Steve rubs the back of his head, looking at you with an expression you can't describe.

"What?" you ask, wiping at his bottom lip with your thumb where your lipstick has stained him.

"How come you're so pretty, even like this?"

"Like this, a zombie?" Steve nods slowly. "Let me know when you find out, Harrington."

He pulls you back in with a smirk that sets your tummy aflame. "You think I'm pretty?" he asks, lips a millimetre from yours.

"Super pretty," you say, and kiss him. He loves on your top lip like you've got all the time in the world, kisses warm and slick. "Almost as pretty as me," you say between them.

He slows your kisses, gives you one last peck over your burning mouth. "No one's as pretty as you," he says agreeably.

You beam. Steve beams back though it quickly fades as he brings his arm up to check his watch.

"We're so late," he says, manhandling you off of his lap with an apologetic grimace. "C'mon, we still gotta cover you in blood."

You both get out and Steve sprays you down with fake blood. You laugh as he does, the cold liquid tickling your skin as it trickles down your face and your chest and your tummy.

Steve takes his own bloodying with far less laughter though he smiles at your glee. He's so handsome you can't help it, stepping into his space for another kiss. There's blood on your lips, evidently, as it transfers to his.

"We need to go," you say, like it's his fault.

"Wait. I have something for you."

Steve opens the driver's side and takes a small object from under the seat. He hands it to you.

"I called in a favour. Dustin and Lucas fixed it up, I checked, like, ten tapes. It works."

In your hands the bane of your existence, your faulty Walkman. There's a fake blood mark in the shape of his thumbprint on the side and you decide you're going to leave it there forever, looking to him with a completely uncool amount of affection.

"Steve," you say happily, a heat behind your eyes.

"I got sick of seeing you pouting, that's all," he says hotly, crossing his arm over his chest. "Now you can stop sulking."

You throw your hands around his neck to hug him tightly, the Walkman pressed to his neck. He oomphs, hands flying to your sides. Your face against his shoulder, you curl a strand of his brown hair around one of your fingers. "Thank you." You dot a corn syrup kiss against his throat. "You're the coolest," you say as you pull away.

His hands move from around your back to your shoulders, holding you at arms length. "People have said that about me."

"I bet."

𓆩❤︎𓆪

thanks for reading! | my masterlist

#steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader fluff #steve harrington x reader blurb #steve harrington x reader fanfic #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #stranger things 4 #stranger things #steve harrington one shot #eddie munson x reader platonic

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adelheidvonschicksal · 2 months

Text

ᴄʜᴇʀʀʏ

Summary: You make for a good distraction when things get tough. Sukuna's fingers may be bitter, but your kisses are sweet.

Pairing: Itadori x GN!Reader

Tags: fluff, light angst, hurt and comfort, developing relationships, sfw

-----

The fingers of Sukuna are an ugly sight; burnt burgundy and twistedly decrepit, crowned with a pointed black nail that scratches at Itadori’s throat whenever he swallows one. The taste is even worse, akin to someone soaking an old cigar in cloudy mop water before clumsily preserving it in candle wax.

It takes all his strength to not pucker his face and dig his nails into the column of his neck whenever the soapy wax flavor hits his tongue. Every fiber of his body would react to reject the intrusion. The lingering aftertaste was another issue. He couldn’t erase it by scraping his tongue against his teeth; burying it with sweet or spicy foods after a mission only helped so much, leaving him to wait until it disappeared on its own as the hours past. He thought it would get easier every time; and for a while, it did.

Until it didn't.

He wanted to stop. But he couldn't stop, not after all this, not until he eats them all, not until he makes everyone's suffering mean something.

So, when he’s about to eat another finger after a grueling, emotionally draining late-evening mission, he braces himself.

As always, the flavor is waxxy, almost non-existent, then putrid when he accidentally bites down. His body knee jerks to react, gag reflex hiccuping and stomach bile rising to reject it, to tell him to spit it out. He closes his eyes tight and squeezes at his throat to loosen the straining muscles, begging his body to hurry up and accept it so it would end faster. Sukuna and everything that comes with eating these cursed objects. It doesn’t want to give in this time, and he squats as if it could help and also because he's so tired of this.

Suddenly, there’s a subtle sweetness, like fruit on the tongue, cutting through the taint. It’s an easy succor to chase and mold to while a comforting force travels up his neck and over his hands, gently forcing them to drop so it can replace them. This touch eventually settles under his bottom eyelids, smooth crescents drawing right along his cheekbones.

This taste is not exactly as strong as the sugar and spice that he normally uses to cover up the filthy flavor in his mouth but there’s something relaxing about the warmth that accompanies it and settles against his lips. Prayers answered, his clenching throat relaxes, allowing him to swallow, and his body quickly adapts to the new addition.

When the sensation stops, Itadori can finally open his eyes.

It’s you.

You’re here, kneeling in front of him and glowing against the dark backdrop of the night that you’re a little blinding to his lagging mind.

How could he forget that you came here with him?

There’s a soft silence flowing between you, and he only now notices that you’re holding his face. However, he doesn’t feel the need to make you let go as heat creeps up his skin and his heart begins to echo in his chest, temporarily numbing his mind from the sour aftereffects of eating Sukuna’s fingers.

“Better?” you ask with a small tilt of your head.

Itadori is caught off-guard by the question, feeling a bit dazed and more than a little confused.

“It’s…better,” he eventually mumbles so quietly that his voice gets buried under the breeze. “Thanks.”

His eyes drift lower on your face, finding your lips. He fights the blush threatening to overtake him as he takes in the reddish shine on your lips and pieces together what happened.

“Strawberry?” he hoarsely asks, half-jokingly and half because he feels as if he needs to say something, or else it would be awkward, wouldn’t it?

“Cherry, actually,” you correct with a tiny smile.

“Oh,” he exclaims, his cheeks still a pretty pink as he wonders if the kiss was something you wanted to do. He wonders why it made him feel so much better. He wonders if that would be something you do next time or if this was simply a one-off action thought of in the heat of the moment. He also wonders, for a moment, if he deserved it.

“Could you…” he begins then hesitates.

Is he even allowed to ask such a thing?

“Do that again?” He requests and shamefully palms at his chest for daring to ask for something so personal. “It’s uhm, the aftertaste.”

It’s partially the truth and partially because he wants to figure out why.

Nodding, you give in more readily than he expects and lean in to kiss him again. This time he dares to press the tip of his tongue against your lips, too nervous and confused to breach between them.

You’re right. It’s sweet, slightly tart, blatantly artificial, but so much better than anything else he can imagine right now. Yet he doesn't think it's the gloss causing his body to ease, if only a little.

When you pull away, he finds his mind finally catching up and blushes at the fact your lips are still so close to his. Exhaling slowly, he tries to ignore the dull ache still bubbling in his chest in exchange for thinking about the taste you left behind, the one that makes soft emotions emerge from his heart like a butterfly from its cocoon when he looks at you.

“Yeah…" he reinforces dreamily, letting the wind once again carry away his words, "It’s cherry.”

#itadori x reader #yuuji itadori x reader #jjk x reader #yuuji x reader #yuji x reader #gender neutral reader #hurt/comfort

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sporadicthingcollection · 7 months

Text

La faccia infarina (LA!Buggy the Clown x F!Reader)

Summary: In which Buggy swears at a child, draws on his face, and experiences a revelation. Pairing: LA!Buggy the Clown x F!Reader Rating: Semi-explicit. Word Count: ~1.4k. Warnings: Pregnancy mention, childbirth mention, a lot of swearing.

A/N: i'm ovulating so please enjoy an episode of what i like to call Reproducing With Men Who Should Not Be Trusted With Children.

Doing his makeup is much easier when there's no distractions to occupy him. Unfortunately, he's got a big one today and, for once, it isn't you trying to get into his pants.

Though that exact scenario is definitely what resulted in this new distraction. It was either that or the time after the party.

"Don't even think about it," Buggy says firmly.

Keeda grabs a drawer and tries to yank it open. A disembodied foot gently nudges him away. The boy stares at him in indignation, then blows a raspberry. He reaches again, whining when the foot still bars his way.

Buggy raises a brow at him. "Getting fresh, huh?" Another raspberry. "Floor privileges revoked."

He picks the boy up by the collar and plops him in his lap. He squeaks and squeals, trying to squirm away, but Buggy holds him tight.

"Y'know, I liked you better when you were a prop," he says. He swipes his lipstick along his cheeks. "You'd just lay there and make noises and shit yourself. None of this 'trying to kill yourself when I'm not looking' shtick."

Keeda resigns himself to his prison and is now pouting, making little huffs. He glances up with big, pleading eyes, lower lip quivering.

Buggy scoffs. "Don't try that pathos crap on me. I know what you look like when you're about to cry."

A long, low whine makes Buggy falter. Uh oh. He glances down.

Keeda lunges upwards, trying to grab the lipstick. Buggy pops his hand off just out of reach -- this is the expensive stuff. Can't have a baby eating it. Again.

"What's gotten into you today?" Keeda lunges again. Buggy pops his second hand off to cap the lipstick and stick it back in the drawer. "Sheesh, kid. Cool it."

"Bappo," Keeda says with a glare. Baby for pay attention to me, asshole, I'm right here.

A lightbulb goes off. He pulls a bag of pigment sticks from the drawer and dumps them onto the table. "You want your face done like Daddy's?" He spins the boy around to face the vanity. "Pick your war paint."

Keeda scans the selection and, with short chubby fingers, he selects a blue pigment stick. He then tries to shove it in his mouth, but Buggy grabs it before he can chomp it.

Buggy smiles as he regards the color. He was wearing this when he met you -- diamonds over his eyes as he tried to kill you. From hating his guts to fucking him stupid to bearing his child. How times change.

He takes the boy's cheeks between his thumb and forefinger. He can't believe he's still so damn small. A year in and he figured he'd be more... child-sized. Buggy's still afraid a strong breeze will shatter the kid like glass.

With gentle hands, he draws. Short strokes are best on soft, chubby skin with a lot of give. Keeda gazes at him all the while. He's got your eyes, warm and dark as charcoal.

Buggy licks his thumb and smooths out the edges. Keeda presses into his touch like a cat and gives him a smile, one that he can't help but return.

The idea of fatherhood terrified him. Horrified him. He thought about turning himself into the Marines right then and there. If his old captain couldn't do it, how could he be expected to do it? He's not half as competent as everyone seems to believe and you know he's a buffoon. Why would you want to have his kid?

Buggy finishes the diamonds and spins the boy to face the mirror. "Well?"

Keeda squints at himself. He touches his reflection. After a moment of contemplation, he speaks. "Fsshala."

He's been saying that a lot lately. You keep telling him that it's just nonsense babbling, but Buggy knows the truth.

"I agree," he says. "Let's make it flashy!"

He spins the boy back around, making him giggle. Truly the world's most remarkable sound.

He still doesn't have an answer for why you put yourself through nine months of pure terror. Was it your selfish desire for a family? Or did you see a truth hidden deep in his soul, so deep that he had no idea it existed until he held his son for the first time, still bright pink and howling?

Carefully, he traces two long lines up from the tips of the diamonds. He crosses them at the middle of his forehead, curls them into a heart, and adorns it with dots.

As is, Keeda looks more like you. Your dark hair, your dark eyes... and your nose, thank fucking god. He couldn't live with himself if his monstrosity was inheritable.

He was worried at first. How could he be sure that he's your son's father? He trusts you, but there was always that doubt gnawing at the back of his head until a few months in, when Keeda started getting expressive. In every giggle, in every glower, in every grin, there was Buggy the Clown.

Speaking of smiles, his mouth looks a little bare. A nice golden yellow would suit him.

Buggy picks up the pigment stick in one hand and smushes the boy's cheeks together with the other. "Pucker up, buttercup."

Keeda squirms a bit as he paints his mouth, swirling the corners up into cute little spirals. He licks his lips and sputters. "Pfeh!"

Buggy chuckles. "Weren't like that last week. You loved the stuff." He lifts the boy and spins him around to see his reflection. "Now you're lookin' more like your old man."

Keeda stares at himself. He tips his head one way, then the other. His eyes narrow and his brows furrow. He lets out a low, pensive whine.

Oh no. Does he not like it? Is he going to cry? Please don't cry. "Wait wait wait." He turns him around and lifts him to stand on his lap. "Don't get upset--"

A little spark flashes in the boy's eyes. The frown vanishes and he reaches up, tiny fingers grabbing for something.

Buggy's gotten enough hair ripped out to jerk away on impulse. "Something on my face?"

A tiny hand baps him on the nose. Buggy flinches. Fuckin' thing in the way again.

He angles his head, waiting for Keeda to tap what he was really aiming for. And again, he gets bapped right on the nose.

...no. There's no way.

Another bap, this time with an impatient glower. "Isso," Keeda says firmly. Baby talk for this.

Buggy's heart is in his throat as he picks up the red pigment stick. With shaky hands, he outlines the boy's nose -- a cute little button -- and draws a circle.

He swallows thickly. He clenches his jaw. He turns him around.

Keeda's eyes widen, then scrunch into crescents as he lets out a delighted squeal. "Papa!" he says, grinning up at Buggy. He flops backwards back into his lap, giggling and wiggling. "Papa!"

He's not sure how long he sits there at the vanity, listening to his baby chatter happily, but it must be awhile because you eventually come calling.

"Oh, there you guys are,” you say. "You chuckleheads having fun without me?"

"Amama!" Keeda stands in Buggy's lap and waves at you. He points at the mirror. "Issoooooo."

You appear at Buggy's shoulder, grinning brilliantly. "Aw, look at you," you croon. "Did Daddy do your makeup? Or did you get into his shit when he wasn't looking?"

Buggy's voice comes out in a tight croak. "I did it."

"Well, damn, it looks great! You never do my makeup that well--" Your gaze flickers to him in the mirror, and your smile vanishes. "...Are you crying?"

He sniffles. Loudly. "No."

You give him one of your do-you-need-a-psych-eval looks. "Bugs, your mascara's running."

Something hot and wet rolls down to his chin. "No, it's not."

You look at his reflection in the mirror, then back to him. "Either smile or cry. Doing both is freaking me out."

He wraps his arms around Keeda, pulling him close and squeezing him tight. "Fuckin' love you so much, you little shit," he murmurs into his hair.

Keeda squeals and giggles.

---

To the "Curious Courtship" Masterpost | To the Mastahpost | Tip Jar

#buggy the clown #buggy x reader #buggy x you #buggy the clown x reader #kiss marry kill #one piece x reader #one piece #one piece live action #fan fiction #one piece fanfiction #reader insert #x reader #emberly writes #keeda the clown

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bellaxgiornata · 6 months

Text

Distracted

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader Word Count: 2.3k

Summary: Matt has meditated around you many times before, and every time you've always had the urge to sit in his lap and see how he'd react. So, this time you do.

Warnings/tags: sweet fluff, hurt/comfort

a/n: I've had this idea in my head for a short fic for a long time now because every time I see the scene of Matt meditating at the end of season 1, I just wonder how Matt would react to someone sitting in his lap and interrupting him. So I finally wrote this! Feedback is always appreciated!

Matt Murdock One Shot Tag List: @pazii @shouldbestudying41 @kmc1989 @ebathory997 @mattkinsella @yeonalie @shiorimakibawrites @xxdrixx @wkndwlff @leikelle @pinkratts @lazyxsquirrel @1988-fiend @marvelcinematiquniverse @carstairswife @stilldreaming666 @kiwwia-wiwwia @willwork4dilfs @will-delete-this-later-probably

Carefully turning the page in your book, you tried to make as little noise as possible. Though to you, the soft crinkle of the paper between your fingertips sounded loud to your ears in comparison to the silence of the apartment. Sucking in a breath and holding it, your eyes darted up over the top of your book to where Matt was sitting on the rug just a few feet before you. Worried that you’d somehow disturbed him, you were grateful to see that he hadn’t even flinched at the noise.

Gently expelling your breath, you found yourself yet again distracted by Matt’s form. Your eyes took in the sight of him once more, your book slowly lowering to your lap where you were curled up on the couch. He was dressed in just a pair of his black boxers, having returned home from his evening out as The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen about forty minutes prior.

Upon arriving back home and descending the steps from the roof access, Matt had immediately begun stripping out of his black suit in the middle of the living room. Worrying over him when he’d let out a hiss of pain, you’d helped him push the coffee table off to the side of the living room as he'd done a few times before, claiming this spot was the best for him to focus in the apartment. He’d repeatedly assured you that he was alright, saying he only sustained a few ‘scratches’ while he was out–though to you they certainly resembled knife wounds. He promised a bit of time meditating would heal himself, telling you not to worry. And that’s exactly what he proceeded to do after he’d moved the coffee table, denying any medical attention from you beforehand.

This wasn’t the first time Matt had drawn his legs into himself and sat motionless in the living room in mediation in front of you. At first it took the pair of you some getting used to because your footsteps around the apartment had often made it difficult for him to drop into the right state of mind that he needed to achieve to heal his body. For the first few times you’d frustrated him with your constant noise, making it difficult for him to slip into that state. Though eventually he’d learned to tune out the sound of your body while you’d learned to find something quiet to do. Which usually meant that you tried to read a book nearby while really you spent most of the time staring at him half naked sitting on the floor instead, your mind switching back and forth between worrying about him and admiring the sight of him.

Which was what you were doing now.

His back was perfectly straight, his hands resting on his knees with his palms upturned. Occasionally you noticed his fingers twitching faintly while you watched him. His face at first glance often looked peaceful and relaxed, but you’d come to learn that if you studied him long enough, you could spot the soft ticks that pulled the corner of his lips into a frown. Or you saw his eyebrows knitting together in repetition, as if he was in deep thought. Sometimes you’d see him wince like he was in pain, always leaving you wondering what he was experiencing. Even his shoulders sometimes tensed, drawing up towards his neck as if the weight of the city was finally taking its toll on him.

Eyes settling along his chest, you watched the slight expanse of it as he quietly inhaled in, holding the breath for a few seconds before you saw his muscles contract with the release of it. He looked deep in concentration now as he continued to rhythmically breathe in and out, seeming barely present in the apartment as he sat there. Which, considering he’d been meditating for a half an hour now, made perfect sense to you. He’d told you once before that his senses sort of dulled just a bit when he turned in on himself like this. And that was probably why you staring at him right now hadn’t remotely interrupted him, because you were certain any other time he’d have been very aware of it.

As your eyes lingered along his clearly defined abdominal muscles that were smeared with a bit of his own blood, you’d noticed he’d stopped bleeding a while ago. The blood on him now mostly appeared dry. His wounds looked a lot more like the scratches he’d dubbed them to be earlier–something that never ceased to amaze you. But as you continued to stare at Matt so still and quiet before you, you couldn’t help but be struck by the same urge you’d been hit by a hundred times before.

Countless times when Matt came back from patrolling the streets of Hell’s Kitchen, settling on the floor in just his dark boxers as he meditated, you’d been struck by the same desire. Often you wanted to just toss your book to the side, rise up to your feet, and settle down in his lap. Partly because you wanted to see how the hell he’d react to you doing that, but partly because it was a genuine struggle to refrain from being near him. Whether it was because you wanted to comfort him or to just make sure that he was alright for yourself, you weren’t entirely sure. But you always felt compelled to just plop right down in that inviting space his legs always made when he crossed them together like they were now.

Bottom lip rolling back between your teeth, you were overcome with that internal confliction once more. Truthfully, you knew you probably shouldn’t interrupt him, which was why you never had all those times he’d done this before. Because he was doing this to heal himself after a night out fighting and being a legitimate hero–even if he blushed and denied it whenever you called him one. But at the same time, you knew he was near the end of his meditation. He never went on meditating for much longer than a half an hour, not for something he’d deem ‘so minor’ as the injuries he’d returned home with tonight. So, really, would you be interrupting him that much?

Fingers drumming lightly along the cover of the book you’d long since forgotten, you gnawed your lip as you continued to stare at Matt sitting on the floor. Eyes snapping shut, you straightened on the couch, abruptly tossing your book onto the cushion beside you with a soft thump . You figured just this one time you’d see what happened if you did. Either Matt would come out of that state pissed and annoyed with you for bothering him, or maybe he wouldn’t. But either way, you could finally stop wondering what the hell would happen if you just did it.

Uncurling your legs on the couch, you lowered your bare feet to the floor one at a time. Attention fixed on Matt, you were honestly surprised he hadn’t even responded to you slowly sliding off the couch, because even you were aware of the groan from the leather as you moved. When his chest continued to rise and fall evenly, his fingers twitching lightly on his left hand, you took two steps until you were standing directly in front of him. The corner of his lip moved so minutely you almost didn’t catch it, but other than that, he still hadn’t reacted to your presence.

Now or never , you told yourself.

Carefully you turned sideways, trying not to accidentally bump his knee as you did. Then you began to gradually lower yourself down onto his lap, holding your breath and biting the inside of your cheek nervously. When you were halfway down, your hands darted forward and grabbed onto Matt’s broad shoulders to steady yourself just before your ass landed in his lap.

Face mere inches from Matt’s now, you saw the way his eyes fluttered behind his closed eyelids before they abruptly flew open, his hazel eyes searching the space before himself as his brows knitted together in confusion. Seconds later he was focusing on you, his gaze landing around your nose.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

Shooting Matt a sheepish smile, you shrugged as you continued to hold onto his shoulders. “Honestly?” you answered. “I’m not sure. But I felt compelled to sit here.”

“On my lap?” he asked, brows raising up onto his forehead as his head tilted to the side. “While I was meditating?”

“Yes,” you replied. “I’ve been eyeing it for a while now.”

Matt’s head canted further to the side, his eyes pinching tight as he gazed back at you in disbelief. “You’ve been…eyeing my lap for a while now?”

“Every single time you meditate, actually,” you told him. “I always sit over there,” you explained, gesturing your head back towards the couch, “unable to focus on my book because you’re always sitting here. Half naked.”

“And bleeding,” Matt pointed out.

“Right, well, you stopped doing that a bit ago it seems,” you countered.

The corner of Matt’s lips curled upwards into a grin and you relaxed in his lap, your hands releasing his shoulders as your arms wound around his neck. So he wasn’t going to yell at you apparently. That was good.

“Oh, so if I stop bleeding then it’s okay to interrupt my meditating?” he questioned, amusement in his tone.

"You seemed about done," you replied. "And I couldn't resist the temptation any longer."

"Mmm, temptation was it?" he asked, still grinning.

His hands landed on your hips, carefully turning you in his lap until you were facing him fully, your legs now on either side of his hips. His grin had spread wider across his mouth as he focused on you, his hands sliding around to your lower back before he clasped them together, keeping you in place.

"So, do you usually just stare at me when I'm doing this?" Matt asked curiously. "Is that what you're telling me?"

"Pretty much," you admitted. "But I mean, you're usually barely wearing any clothes, Matt."

"I'm also usually bleeding," he reiterated.

"Yes," you agreed, leaning forward and resting your forehead against his. "Which always has me worrying if you'll be okay. I still don't understand how this works."

Matt's eyes closed as he nuzzled his nose against yours, your body further relaxing into his. His bare skin was warm against the front of you, the comforting heat of him enveloping you as you hugged him tighter.

"Doesn't matter how it works," he whispered. "Just that it does. And that I'm just fine, sweetheart. Like I told you I'd be."

Shifting in his hold, you tilted your head up and gently pressed your lips to his forehead. Matt's arms squeezed around you just a bit tighter in response as your mouth lingered against his skin, just beside a mostly healed cut.

"I'm glad this was the response you had to me interrupting you," you whispered, leaning back to look at his face.

Matt looked vastly more at peace now with his eyes closed than he did while he'd been meditating only minutes ago. For a moment you wondered why that was and if it could have anything to do with you. Your heart fluttered in your chest at the notion.

"What'd you think would happen?" he whispered back.

You shrugged, your arms unwinding from around his neck. Gradually your hands slid up the length of his bare, broad shoulders, rising up both sides of his neck until you were cradling his bruised face between your palms. Gently your thumb stroked his skin, just beneath a dark bruise on his right cheekbone.

"Wasn't sure if you'd yell," you answered softly. "Be mad at me for interrupting you."

His eyes slowly opened again, his gaze focusing around your cheek now. He sent you a sweet smile, one that accentuated the single dimple in his cheek that you loved so much.

"Sweetheart, I would never do that," he assured you. "Though I'd prefer if you want to cuddle in the future that you wait until I'm done. It’s just…less jarring."

"Duly noted," you murmured, resting your forehead back against his. "Sorry for bothering you. Was just…curious."

Matt chuckled, the warm sound filling the apartment and drawing a smile onto your lips. You shook with the movement from your place in his lap as his hands unclasped themselves, spreading wide over your back as he tugged you in even closer to the front of himself.

"You always are," he teased. “But maybe I should get up. I’m probably getting blood all over your clothes.”

Hands sliding from his cheeks and back into his hair, your forehead still pressed to his, you lightly shook your head. As your fingers began gently carding through his dark strands, you heard Matt let out a contented sigh that only encouraged your fingers. Eventually your own eyelids dropped closed, relief at Matt yet again coming home to you safe tonight flooding your body.

“Can we just sit here for a bit longer?” you whispered. “I just want to be with you.”

“Of course,” he murmured. “I’m happy to stay here with you as long as you want.”

Biting back the smile on your face, you shifted in his hold yet again. This time you buried your face in the crook of his neck, breathing in the familiar scent of his sweat and the material of the black shirt he'd worn out tonight. Matt leaned forward, pressing his own face into the bit of bare skin along your shoulder that was peeking out from beneath your shirt. His lips lightly brushed your skin in a gentle kiss, the sensation drawing forth a tingling warmth within you.

Releasing a soft sigh, you felt a sense of ease overtake you. You could sit like this all night with him if he’d let you, just content that he was home safe.

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock #daredevil

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onewmin · 7 months

Text

boiling water | nanami kento

Pairing: Nanami x fem!reader

Summary: Kento gets distracted by the memory of you.

Word count: ~2.3k

Author’s Note: it’s a sort of side story, Nanami’s pov, to the main fanfic that I’m currently working on. I’ll post the main story soon, so if this part gets you interested, let me know!! (warnings and the story are under the cut)

Warnings: AU (I guess, cause it contradicts the canon events a lot); smut MINORS DNI: slight fingering (f receiving), slight nipple play (f receiving), a description of penetration, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it folks); established relationship, descriptions of past intercourse; some angst if you squint, Nanami hates himself; typos

Masterlist

Nanami Kento was a man of his word, it was an undeniable fact.

But it was difficult for him to keep his word when you were so deliciously rubbing your body under the hot water. Taking showers together was a ritual both of you had gotten accustomed to a long time ago: no matter how tired or upset you were, a shower before sleep had to be shared. Kento couldn’t get enough of your smooth skin under his calloused fingers, and the sweet scent of the shower gel he inhaled while peppering kisses along your neck. That was his stress relief, a solace in his gloomy days.

“Ken”, you said in a low voice, “could you rub my back, please?” He hummed and took the loofa from your hands, pressing it to your soft skin. Drawing circles of bubbles, Nanami pushed his body close to yours, his hand with the loofa going under your breasts.

“Are you done there?” You whispered, your body leaning on his.

“Mhm”, he replied, moving the loofa to your collarbones and then back to your breasts. “Care to put the loofa away?” You nodded, putting it back to the shelf. As you stood under the hot water, Nanami watched how your hands roamed around your body, washing the strawberry gel off, eyes closed. Your cheeks got a bit rosy as the water temperature was to your liking: boiling. When you shared the shower for the first time, Kento almost fainted and you had to help him go back to the bed and whispered countless apologies by peppering kisses all over his palms. Little did nineteen-year old Kento know four years later he’d be looking forward to these showers.

“Come here”, you peered at him with hazy eyes as he cupped your cheeks. Having left a small kiss on your forehead, Kento pecked your lips. They were silken, pillowy against his; the addicting feeling of this moment, when your breath would softly tickle under his nose and your half-lidded eyes pierce through him. “I love you”, he muttered as his fingers caressed your cheek, “I love you more than anything in the world”.

You gave him a smile in response, arms wrapping around his neck. Warmth blossomed in Kento’s chest as you tilted your head and parted your lips, inviting him to finally kiss you. In a flash, his lips were on yours, hands tightened on your waist. You tasted like mango flavored tea and chocolate ice cream the two of you shared after dinner. Nanami’s head started spinning — was it the boiling water? — no, the intoxicating taste of you on his lips was driving him absolutely insane. How could it be possible to ever let this go, to ever abandon these little whimpers ‘cause his hands grabbed your ass without stopping the kiss?

“Kento”, you gasped, burying your head in the crook of his neck, “Kento, please”. Before he knew, you were leaving sloppy, wet kisses alongside his jaw. Stopping himself from letting out a moan, Nanami moved his hand lower, right to your aching core.

“Uh, Kento”, you rasped, “fuck me here. Please, Ken, fuck-“

Nanami growled. Your pleas were always a song to his ears, a sweet little melody he was eager to hear whenever he could. When his fingers ran through your slick folds, he closed his eyes and hissed — the man was about to break his word given to you several months ago. Wouldn’t he appear as a horny teenager in your eyes if he indulged in it now?

“Ken, what’s wrong?” Your hands cupped his cheeks as you forced him to look at you. Nanami sighed, hands reaching behind you to turn the water off.

“I don’t want you to get hurt”, he mumbled, arms wrapped around your torso. “I almost dropped you the last time we-“

“Ken”. You interrupted him, your warm lips brushing against his. “You don’t have to hold me, when we have sex”, a small peck left on his lips, “I can just… turn around”. A suggestive look on your face got his dick twitching, aching for being buried inside your velvety walls. But Nanami shook his head as he kissed your forehead.

“I wanna see your face”, he purred in your skin.

“My face or my tits?” You laughed. He returned a smile and kissed you lightly.

“Both”.

Less than two minutes passed before the two of you were on the bed, your back pressed against cotton sheets as Nanami devoured your lips with his. He still kept his promise, though — I’m not gonna fuck you in the shower ever again, for your sake — as he couldn’t drop you from the bed. The last time your wet pussy was bouncing on his shaft, he almost dropped your body on the floor when his foot slipped. Holding you while standing, gripping your butt when he pounded into you while you gripped his shoulders and repeated his name as a mantra was a view worth fucking you right in the shower; but when he almost lost his balance and let go of your legs, Nanami had his heart pounding in his chest at the mere thought of injuring you. So he swore to you a thousand times he wouldn’t do it again: neither sex nor any form of foreplay.

The word was kept, still.

Kento’s tongue swirled on your hardened nipple, making you arch your back, pressing your chest even closer to his. Your fingers gripped his hair, as you were lost in the sugary pleasure his mouth was giving you. Nanami hummed as he sucked on your sensitive nipples one by one, earning a hoarse moan from you.

“Gonna finger you, hm?” He murmured, sucking in between your breasts, making sure to leave a purple mark. That was only the beginning.

“No, no'', you panted; Kento looked at you, eyes clouded with lust. “Want you inside, Ken, please”. You leaned in to press his lips back to yours in a heated kiss. “Baby, please”, your brain was already half-working as you could only beg for him to put this distance between you to a halt.

“Whatever you want, princess”, he breathed out in your mouth, tongue running along your neck as you grabbed his shoulders. He brought your gaze back to his face when he watched you draw your lower lip between your teeth as he pumped himself before lining at your entrance. “Sure you’re ready?”

You started nodding frantically, hands back to cupping his cheeks. “I fin-, mhm” you closed your eyes when he ran the tip of his cock along your slick folds, “I fingered myself before you came home. Really, really”, you arched your back again as Nanami pressed his thumb on your clit, “I’m really ready, baby”.

“Anything for you”, he lowered his head to meet your lips in a sloppy kiss one more time before he slipped the tip inside. Earning a tiny gasp from you, Nanami buried his head in the crook of your neck. He could’ve come right then and there, when your plushy walls devoured the tip of his dick; to be fair, a mere sight of your begging for him was enough for him to cum without even touching you. “I love you so much”, his voice, thick with lust and desire, reached the deepest parts of you, bringing you to a hazy state of mind.

Nanami pushed his thick cock inside you slowly, languidly, his mind absorbing in every whimper and mewl that was leaving your peachy lips. His girl, so desperate for him, so ready, so wet — his, his and his only. His first love, the love of his life, his fiancée, his future wife, his entire existence wrapped in the most desirable woman in the whole galaxy. “I love you”, your hungry kisses were followed by him bottoming out completely, “Ken, I love you so much”.

Oh, darling, he thought, fingers gripping your waist, how I love you. He was moving, his cock slowly ravishing your dripping cunt. He grunted as he saw your finger creep up to your pulsating bundle of nerves; brushing your hand off, Nanami replaced it with his thumb.

“You wanna cum already?” He chuckled under his breath while drawing painfully slow circles on your clit. “Hope you’d do it a bit later”, your quivering body gave him exactly what he wanted: you gripping the sheets as you gasped for air, lost in pleasure.

“Kento!” A smack on the shoulder slapped Nanami back into reality. Oh no. He was in front of his computer, gray office walls dawning on his already somber world. He was daydreaming again. “Wanna go for a smoke?” His colleague said quietly; Nanami nodded, taking the cigarette pack out of the bag and following the man to the elevator. A couple of more people joined them on the way; Kento kept up with the conversation absentmindedly while the elevator was going to the first floor.

Ah, it was raining again. Standing under the roof in the designated smoking area, Kento’s thoughts flew to your nagging whenever the rain started. Despite having to deal with downpours constantly due to the country’s weather, you still found yourself cursing whenever a drop of rain hit the ground. Nanami laughed at your screwed face, leaving a sweet kiss on your cheek to soften your expression. He loved your sulky days, and he loved your sunny shy smile whenever he’d made you happier in your greyest mood. Was it also raining in Tokyo? Were you whining while sitting behind your desk at school? Did you take the umbrella with you in the morning? Or you forgot it as you usually did?

He could’ve just taken the phone from his pocket and called you. He could’ve just asked. Like, was it hard?

It was, actually. He was the one to leave you, the one to abandon the love the two of you had been building for over a decade — just because he got scared. Scared to death, frankly speaking. He knew he could live his life not being a jujutsu sorcerer, but… Could he drag you along with him? Could he allow his selfishness and fear to draw you away from your friends, students, your life? Of course, you were on the same page about stopping doing this job once you two finally settled down, but were you really ready to do that?

“I-I” You stuttered under his piercing gaze. “Right now?”

“Right now”. He repeated. “Either we leave right now or we never do it”.

“Ken, I…” You thought trailed off as you sighed loudly. “I didn’t even… I never thought it would be… So fast. I still need time to think”.

He took it too personally, now he understands that. You weren’t rejecting his offer, on the contrary actually: you were ready to go to the end of the world with him, follow him to the darkest depths of Hell — but he didn’t want you to think it over more than you did. The Jujutsu world was dangerous and he was tired of losing people and harming innocents. He gave it up once, easily; however, you couldn’t. And now, six months later, Nanami has finally realized it.

“What a moron”, he mumbled, throwing the cigarette into the bin. Leaving all his life behind and for what? For the mirage of peace? For the misery he covered with indifference? Being a sorcerer goes along with loss, principal Yaga once told him, if you manage to get used to it, it’ll be easier, Kento. Because, no matter how hard it is, loss is not the only thing this life gives you.

“Hey, Nanami”, his colleague took a cigarette from his pack, “y’know that Haruka from the marketing team likes you, right?”

“So what?” Kento stared the man down; he saw Haruko almost every day and certainly noticed her cheeks turn bright color red whenever he spoke to her. Whatever. She wasn’t the one Kento’s mind was focused on; no one could replace the girl with pigtails, who would give him a timid kiss on the cheek before every class. The girl he fell in love with, running to her at any moment given, and the woman who he left behind several months ago, running from her to an unknown, dark future. At least, there’s no more loss, he’d gaslight himself, at least, no one’s suffering because of me. He hoped you grew to hate him now; he hoped you didn’t cry yourself to sleep because he abandoned you. He hoped for that, but he was perfectly aware of it not being true.

“She’s really hot, though”, the man noticed, “you’d better do something before someone else snatches her”.

“I don’t care”. Nanami sighed and headed back to the office. That was true; the only woman he cared about was five hundred kilometers away, taking the subway to work, running around the school, teaching kids her techniques and protecting them on missions, throwing herself in front of danger — just to save everyone she loved.

Would you take him back if he flew back to Tokyo and showed up at your shared apartment? If he were you, he wouldn’t. If he were you, he’d beat himself to death, throw punches with his cursed technique, but he wouldn’t take himself back. You didn’t deserve the mess he’d created, thinking he was the most righteous man on Earth, you didn’t deserve the pain he’d inflicted on you by leaving, abruptly, a small note on the kitchen counter replacing his words. He was a coward. And you didn’t need to welcome a coward like him back with open arms.

Nanami Kento wasn’t a man of his word, this is an undeniable fact. Because if he truly was then he wouldn’t have ever left the woman he promised to stay with forever.

the next part (will be uploaded soon)

#nanami kento #nanami #nanami kento imagine #nanami kento imagines #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x you #nanami kento x y/n #nanami x reader #nanami x you #nanami x y/n #nanami smut #nanami kento smut #jujutsu nanami #jujutsu kaisen imagines

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sakasinterlude · 2 months

Text

passionfruit | ruben dias x fem!reader

its summer vacation and you and ruben share some quality time on a yacht.

nsfw 18+, contains smut, ends with fluff!

a/n: i wrote this a while ago and decided it deserved to be read by someone other than me, so enjoy. definitely not a city fan, but ruben is just so sexy.

“I think this is my favourite place.”

“You love Greece that much?”

“No, I meant in your arms.” You give Ruben a playful shove of the shoulder as the soft bounces of the waves below keep you distracted.

It was another warm afternoon on what felt like a never-ending vacation with your boyfriend Ruben. Everyday consisted of beautiful views, delicious meals, and the warm company of your partner. The mornings blended into nights, as you had lost track of the days you had spent away from home, using blissful orgasms as the only unit of measurements. Twelve, not that you were complaining.

You reach for the fresh fruit cut up in a small bowl to the right. You take a big bite, savouring the sweet juice of the mango, a soft hum leaves your lips.

“Here.” Offering the other half to Ruben whose eyes stay closed lying beside you, still covered by his sunglasses. He absent-mindedly opens his mouth accepting your offering, not without playfully nipping at the tips of your fingers.

“So sweet.” He mummers, pulling your leg closer across his body, drawing random shapes on the hamstring of your leg. You two had been intertwined like this for so long you almost forget where he begins and you start, with your hand wandering from his wet locks to broad strong shoulders to his tan waist.

You prop yourself up on your elbow so now you are on your side facing Ruben, leg still over his waist.

“What will we do when we go home?” You ask into the wind, letting the Mediterranean air roam through your damp hair, lightly stroking his jaw with your free hand.

“What are you talking about? This is home.”

A cheeky smirk adorns his lips as his arms wrap tighter around your waist. You can just barely see the crinkles on the corner of his eyes, assumed by his own joke.

“Don’t stress minha querida, (my dear) I just want to enjoy the last moments of peace we have before everything gets crazy again.” You know all too well the hectic schedule of your shared life back in Manchester. A mixture of stolen kisses in the morning as you depart for work well before he even wakes up, catching up over lunch where your eyes dart between his facetime call and your latest work assignment, to late night baths together where you both are too exhausted to speak, just soft hands running over the others limbs. It was difficult to find any uninterrupted time together back home.

“Your right.” You sigh bringing you bodies impossibly close.

“I am. Now it’s been way too long since I’ve made you cum.” With that his quick fingers are already pulling at your bikini strings, making their way between your legs.

If Ruben was anything as a lover, it was a tease. He loved having you on a string, bringing you oh so close to the edge, just to yank you right back with a devious smirk. And of course, despite all the love making done this trip he still never got sick of this cat and mouse game.

His mouth plays connect the dots, finding all the little nips and love marks he made previously. The sensation gives you chills in the best way, you swear you can feel it in your toes. His hands stay busy not even entering you yet, just playing with the wetness surrounding your lower lips.

“So needy aren’t you? Just dying for my fingers I’m sure.” The feeling is so sweet you can barely speak just letting out the softest yes in reply.

“Here, its your turn for a taste.” His face is so close to yours as he removes his fingers to run them along your bottom lip. With two soft taps your mouth is open, accepting his two fingers covered in a sinful mix of both of your cum, and the fruit from earlier that day.

“You love that shit, huh gato?” (sexy)Ruben was also cocky, very cocky. He knew exactly what buttons to push, using the sweet nickname that was reserved only for the most intimate moments. You close your eyes and hum, relishing in his slender fingers, sliding digit by digit into your mouth.

With little hesitation, Ruben removes his fingers sharply, making their way down under. He curls in his finger, just one at first, before rolling it out slowly, so you can feel every curve, intentionally done to manifest the most pleasure. Again, repeatedly with an additional finger, in and out, sinfully, painfully good. You hid your face within his shoulder.

“C’mon, let me see that face.” He pushes even deeper, how you are not even sure. “Let me hear that sweet voice.”

You let out a loud and long moan into the open air around you. You and Ruben often engage in shameless sex, not caring for the cries and whines created, just the pure pleasure produced. Memories of rushed moments in the bathroom of dinners, handsy uber rides, and banging neighbors in hotel rooms bring a smile to your face. This was probably the most ideal setting for the two of you to be wrapped up with each other, not a soul as far as the eye can see, nothing but endless blue water meeting endless blue skies.

Your high creeps up quickly as all you can think you is “how can he make me feel this good?”. The want and need to finish forces your legs shut, the sensation is just so strong.

Ruben’s strength quickly forces your legs flat and flush with the flimsy mattress below you, spreading your legs wide.

“I’m close, really close.” You barely have the power to say the words. Ruben removes his fingers, not for long as he moves to play with your clit. Your mouth gapes open, looking between his messy fingers at work, and his big smirk. He knows exactly what he’s doing. He places all four fingers over your bud, rubbing back and forth easily thanks to your cum. You grab at his tan veiny forearm, not to stop him, just to feel his sharp movements, wrapping yourself around his arm. You can’t take it anymore, tossing your head back, arching your back, finally cumming.

“Yes, yes, yes!” He chants right up against your ear, his words muffled and merged together into incoherent nonsense. You whine and cry, twist and curl, all while Rubens hands stay overstimulating you completely.

“Good girl, yes gato, your good, so so good.” His hand now out from your legs and wrapped around your head, pushing your damp hair away from your face, pressing kisses and sweet words into your skin.

You look up at his soft brown eyes, they have a sparkle to them almost, maybe from the sex, maybe from the sun, but regardless you can’t look away, only pulling your face close to his. You bring your nose right up to his, maintaining eye contact, rubbing yours against his, a silent thank you of sorts. You two had many non-verbal forms of communicating, this being one of them. Ruben lets out a sigh, coupled with a dopey smile.

“There is nowhere else in the world I’d rather be.” He says sincerely, looking deep into your eyes. Eyes he’s met before hundreds of times, eyes he could write pages on the exact hues and undertones they possess. You blush deeply, bringing your hand to brush at his beard.

“I feel the same way, amour.” (love) His turn now to mimic your same blushing cheeks. “But please let me put my bottoms back on before the crew comes looking for us.”

He laughs, untangling his arms from around your body. The thought of the outside world not even crossing his mind in this moment of bliss.

#my writing #football imagine #football x reader #ruben dias #ruben dias imagine #ruben dias x reader

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rip-quizilla · 8 months

Text

Meet the Teacher

Pairing: Modern!Older!Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!Teacher!Reader

Summary: Eddie meets his daughter's new kindergarten teacher and he's pretty sure you're his wet dream come to life. AKA: single dad!Eddie fantasizes about you while he jerks off.

Word Count: 2.4K

Tags: 🔥SMUT, modern au, masturbation, implied road head, pervert!Eddie, switch!Eddie (sort of)

A/N: She's a short queen, standing just over 2k words tall- barely more than a blurb. Quick 'lil read, but I hope y'all enjoy her ❤️

🍎🍎🍎

Eddie needed to calm down.

This wasn’t the time for him to be straining against his jeans, getting hot and bothered at seven o’clock on a Tuesday evening. Wasn’t the place. Hell, given his history with school in general, he should feel uncomfortable as fuck in all sorts of other ways, sitting in a classroom for the first time in over a decade. The last time Eddie remembered being happy to be in a classroom was Miss Adami’s fifth grade class. She had always been nice to him.

Eddie wouldn’t mind if this teacher were nice to him…

Fucking. Stop. You horny bastard. Eddie chided himself mentally, Get it together, Munson.

He crossed his leg over the opposite knee, willing his half-mast dick to soften the fuck down, and fast. Eddie did his best not to draw attention to himself as he readjusted his position in the too-small plastic chair, scooted about a foot away from the hilariously low table he was currently sitting by.

He focused his gaze on Raven, his daughter, who sat criss-cross-applesauce on the rainbow-colored rug at the front of the classroom. Her big brown eyes were wide, rapt as she watched her new teacher leading her and all the other five-year-olds in a song that required various hand motions and claps and whatnot. Eddie couldn’t help but grin fondly at the little tyke as she listened intently to every direction, determined to do every little thing her teacher asked of her without a single flaw.

The only problem was that no matter how cute his daughter was, no matter how much Eddie tried desperately to control himself, he couldn’t tear his eyes off you.

He knew schools were loosening up on rules and regulations and all that- more and more school districts now allowed teachers to dye their hair unconventional colors, show tattoos, have more than just their earlobes pierced, blah blah blah…

But he hadn’t expected his daughter’s kindergarten teacher to look this fucking hot.

You were something straight out of his fantasies. Like some hybrid rockabilly/alt girl/teacher hybrid, with hair that shone such a vibrant red that he knew there was no way it was natural. Fine by him. Tattooed sleeves of black-inked flowers crawled up your arms, showcasing some of the most beautiful linework and shading that Eddie had ever seen. His eyes followed the vines without his permission, taking account of the foxglove at your right forearm, the hyacinth on your left elbow, the cluster of lilacs that peeked out of the capsleeve on your shoulder.

And oh, god, he couldn’t look at the snake that coiled around your knee. He hadn’t seen it at first, but when you’d sat down in your chair at the front of the classroom, your dress had crept up your lower thigh, allowing the snake to slither into view, and fuck, Eddie wasn’t sure he’d be able to pay much attention to whatever information you’d be delivering that he probably needed to know. All he could hope was that you’d been considerate enough to print out any necessary information so he could read it later.

Tearing his eyes from his daughter’s teacher (christ, Eddie really was a horny bastard, this was in no way okay), he pulled his phone from his pocket in an effort to provide himself a distraction.

“Ahem.”

Eddie’s gaze shot up from his phone screen, realizing shamefully that your eyes were trained on him, catching him red-handed in the middle of using his phone in class (which was funny, since he technically wasn’t ‘in class’, just in a classroom). Still, that didn’t seem to make a difference to you as you raised an eyebrow at him, challenging him to do anything other than slip that phone back into his pocket. Trapped under your authoritative glare, Eddie gulped, cock twitching slightly as he slid the phone back into the pocket of his charcoal jeans.

The moment your eyes left him, you were back to wide smiles that crinkled around your lashes, clapping along with the kids who already adored you, even though you technically wouldn’t be their teacher until next week. It didn’t matter- they were infatuated with you, a sentiment that Eddie could understand completely.

When Eddie stepped up to shake your hand on the way out of your classroom that evening, his heart had leapt at the look that you gave him- one eyebrow raised, the corner of your lipsticked mouth clipping up in a wry, knowing smile.

Just like you’d done for every child before they left your classroom that day, you first crouched down until your eyes were level with Raven’s and asked if she would prefer a hug or a high five. Unsurprisingly, the little firecracker had responded by simply throwing her arms around your neck, clinging to you with the reckless abandon and generous trust that only a five-year-old could give so freely. When you stood to shake Eddie’s hand, he had to bite back a what, I don’t get to pick a hug or high five?

“Raven,” you said, voice still lifted with excitable inflection that would make any little ankle biter’s ears perk up like a doberman’s. “I can already tell you’re an excellent student. Do you think you can help your daddy remember all of the things we talked about today?”

Raven’s eyes lit up, and her wispy curls shook as she nodded her head in agreement. “Uh-huh!”

Eddie gave his daughter’s hand a squeeze and nudged her lightly with his knee. “Yes ma’am.” he prompted, and it was echoed in her tiny, polite voice upon hearing his reminder.

Your eyes flicked up to his, approval in your gaze dancing with the teasing sarcasm in your smile. “Excellent manners.” you praised, and Eddie wasn’t sure if you were talking to him or to his daughter. Either was fine with him.

You took his hand in yours, shook it all-businesslike with a polite “Nice to meet you, Mr. Munson.” and before Eddie knew it, he was out the door. However, his mind was still on the cherry-red shine of your hair. The crimson varnish on your nails. The sweetheart neckline of your fifties-style dress, and how when you crouched down and he stayed standing he could see the top of a black lace bra underneath.

Good god, he was a pervert.

It was all he could think about on the way home, all he could think about while Raven watched one of those Minions movies for the twentieth time before bed. All he could think about after he’d tucked her in, kissed her goodnight, and retreated to his own bedroom to think about you while he touched himself.

Eddie was old-fashioned- he didn’t need porn. His imagination was a talented machine, fine-tuned after decades of dreaming up campaigns and writing songs. When he laid down on his mattress, it didn’t take long for him to conjure up the image of you there with him, climbing onto his lap, hiking up that black and white polka dotted dress until he could see the tattoos that he imagined must decorate your thighs.

He spat into his hand, sighing as he felt the slick coat his cock with each pass of his hand. He applied the most pressure with his thumb, flicking it over that ridge beneath the head that felt fucking phenomenal when touched the way he liked. If he closed his eyes, he could imagine your red-painted nails slipping over the head of his cock, tongue poking out to kitten-lick the very tip while you looked at him with big, bright, forbidden eyes.

Your crimson-stained lips, shiny with spit, would envelop him warmly, causing him to groan ecstatically as his hips bucked into your mouth. His cock, fully hard and throbbing, would slide down your throat as you shoved your lips- no, as Eddie shoved your lips further and further down his shaft until your nose smushed against the hair at his groin. His hand would span across the back of your head, pushing you down and holding you there until you gagged around him, and God, that would feel so good, your desperate swallowing around his throbbing dick and the noises you would make- what noises would you make?

He imagined your voice as he fisted his cock, wove melodies of moans in his head that he could pull from your mouth. Would they be deep? Guttural? Or would you be the kind of moaner that whimpered at the highest register you had? Would you be loud, so loud that the neighbors would hear- either that, or he would just have to gag you. Slap his hand over your mouth. Stuff your panties between your lips (which he was sure were black lace to match your bra). Or would you be more assertive, quick to put Eddie in his place like you did today when he’d taken out his phone?

Which did he want to call you: baby? Or ma’am? He imagined trying both out on you while he was balls-deep in your wet little pussy, and thought about which word would make you squeeze him tighter.

God, Eddie was so fucking horny. It had been so long since he’d cum inside anything that wasn’t his own hand. He thought about whether or not it would be inappropriate to text the cell phone number you’d provided in the email you’d sent out to the parents/guardians of your class. What would he even say?

Evening, miss. Was nice to meet you tonight. Feel like grabbing a drink?

Could he? Would that be appropriate?

He got harder just thinking about it. It definitely would not be appropriate… but what if you said yes anyway? What if you actually agreed to see him? What if you both hit it off? What if you actually did come back to his place with him, let him slide his hand around your waist, hold you close enough to smell the perfume on your neck? Let him see that lacy bra in all its glory?

The fantasy of an evening played out in his mind’s eye: Eddie would pick you up at your house, and you would answer the door wearing a cherry-colored dress that hugged your curves, painting you red to match your hair, your nails, and the angry shade of his cock. In the car, his fingers would brush the skin of your thigh, tracing the inked designs that lived there as you answered his questions about what you liked, what you didn’t, what you wanted or hated. Your hand would snake over to his thigh in turn, trace the seam of his black jeans- the ones that hugged his legs in all the right places- and the sensation would get him hard on the spot, right there in his car.

Would you be scared away by that? By how quickly you turned him on, drove him nuts. Or would it turn you on too, making you sigh, a rumble through your chest as he felt your delicate, red-tipped fingers brush his hardening cock through the tightening fabric. Would you unbuckle his belt? Unbutton his pants? Unzip his fly and free his throbbing dick into the cool night air, only to shock him with the warm, wet feel of your mouth while he continued to cruise down a Hawkins country road?

Eddie groaned, feeling his release creep up on him. Closer and closer he drew, and with every stroke of his cock he succumbed further into his hazy vision of you. Now you were back in bed with him, naked and bouncing on his cock. You were rubbing your clit as you moved your hot, wet pussy up and down his shaft, leaving milky white wet in your wake. In his fantasy, you were arching your back, moaning as he thrust himself into you at a pace that hit places within you that made you cry out his name.

His movements were getting faster, his grip growing tighter as it slipped over his cock at a speed that he knew would result in a sore arm tomorrow but he didn’t care- his release would be worth it. He squeezed his eyes shut tight, imagining your knees quivering as you made yourself cum on his cock. Imagining your body convulsing under waves of pleasure, your thighs threatening to close against his strong hands holding them open. You would moan and mewl and chant his name, and conjuring up the sound of his name as it left your lips was what did it for Eddie.

Heavy, white ropes of cum dripped over his knuckles, painting his stomach and sliding over the shining crevices of his rings. He stroked himself slower, coming down from his release with a shuddering sigh.

It only took a few moments for the fact that he just jacked off to the thought of his daughter’s kindergarten teacher to sink in.

Eddie didn’t feel… creepy… but he could tell there was a definite line he’d crossed somewhere. However, he was tired, and decided that he would deal with the moral implications tomorrow.

***

The next time Eddie saw you, you were working the car line after school. He’d taken note of the Metallica shirt you were wearing, and rolled down his window, turning up the volume on his stereo. He watched as your smile broadened when you recognized For Whom the Bell Tolls.

“Here for Raven?” You’d asked with a lopsided grin. Your voice was just as sweet as he remembered.

“Yep,” he’d replied, nodding to your t-shirt, “but if you want to keep her for a few more hours, I think I just decided I trust you with my kid even more than I did before.”

You grinned, showing all of your teeth this time. “She’s a cool kid.” you paused, as if debating whether to finish your sentence. “...I can see where she gets it.”

Eddie beamed, his smirk reaching up to the crow’s feet at his eyes. “You think I’m cool?”

You matched him, smirk for smirk, going as far as to lean your forearms onto the passenger side window sill. “You carry yourself like someone who knows they’re cool.”

Eddie stared at you for a moment, debating for an entirely too-short length of time whether or not he should shoot his shot.

Fuck it.

“Cool enough to buy you a drink sometime?”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x you #stranger things #stranger things fic #older!eddie munson #single dad!eddie munson #teacher!reader #dad!eddie munson #rip-quizilla

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rogueddie · 2 months

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Lost in You T | 1,247 words Prompt for @steddielovemonth: Love is when you look at his lips for half the conversation because you can't stop thinking about kissing him

Steve had a problem.

Or, no- Steve has a problem.

He did think it was a one off issue, something that would sort itself out if he just ignored it for a while. But, instead, it only seems to have gotten worse.

He really, really wants to kiss Eddie.

At first, he didn't think anything of his staring problem. The world was ending, people were dying, there wasn't time to worry about small things like that.

Although, even after they defeated Vecna, Steve continued to stare. He continued to dismiss it as a normal, totally platonic thing.

As Robin said; "it's almost embarrassing how long it took you to realize".

But, at the time, it had felt so normal. It still does.

Eddie's a good looking guy and Steve has eyes. Of course he's going to look at his best features. His lips just... are the one that draws his focus most of all.

He's sure that no one would blame him, either. With how full Eddie's lips are, how he tends to bite his lower lip when he's stressed, how he pouts so much when he's asking for favors, how he licks his lips whenever he looks Steve over, looking so plump and pink and-

... well. At least he knows he has a problem.

For a while, he thought that it was that simple. He had thought that he was doing a miraculous job of hiding how distracted he always gets, how he gets lost in the daydreams.

"And I know I'm boring," Eddie says, casually. "But-"

"Wait, what?" Steve interrupts, confused. "You're not boring, who said you're boring?"

"C'mon, don't lie to me, man. I know you hate how much I drone on about shit."

"No, I don't? If I didn't like hearing your rants and that then I wouldn't ask about those things."

Eddie huffs, looking always, shoulders hunching as he mutters, "coulda fooled me."

"Eds, where the hell is this coming from?"

"You don't listen to me!" He explodes. "You just- I don't know. Your fucking eyes glaze over half the time- and I know you don't care about this shit but could you at least pretend?"

"Wh- oh. Oh, no, that's... that's not because I think you're boring, I swear."

"Why then?"

"That... I don't know if I should say."

"Right," Eddie mumbles, shaking his head. He gets up, grabbing his jacket off the armchair next to him. "Of course you can't."

"Wait, where are you going?

"Away from you."

"But- I just don't get it right now. Like, I need time to figure some shit out, you know? I don't wanna tell you one thing now and then have to take it back later. You know? It's... complicated."

Eddie pauses, before slowly turning back to look at him.

"You just need time?"

"Yeah. That's it, I swear."

"And then you'll tell me what the fuck this is about?"

"Promise."

But, uncomfortable and uncertain, Eddie keeps his distance after that. He is careful to avoid group hangouts, using Corroded Coffin or Hellfire or his uncle as an excuse when needed.

He even lies about being ill one time.

It only serves to make Steve feel guilty about his own confusion. Especially considering he's no closer to figuring his mind out than he was when they spoke.

He has to get it right though. He's not sure they'd be ok if Steve assumes he wants to kiss Eddie because he wants to date him, only to later realize it's only lust.

Steve's sure that it would sting just as much to assume that it's only lust and later, when it's too late, to realize it's love.

"That sounds like a terrible idea," Lucas points out.

Out of everyone Steve thought would figure out why Steve and Eddie were so tense all of a sudden, he didn't think it would be one of the kids.

"It's the best thing I can do right now," Steve points out.

"No, it's not?" Lucas frowns at him, expression a mix of frustration and disbelief. "The best thing you can do right now is talk to him. Actually tell him why you need time. Tell him that you're worried about disappointing him."

"I'm not gonna dump all this shit on him."

"Jesus, you're worse than Mike."

"Hey-"

"He doesn't know any of this, Steve. He's probably thinking of the worst case scenario. What if he thinks you're going to kick him out the party?"

"I can't do that," Steve can't help but snort. "Even if I wanted to, I don't have that sort of authority over you brats."

"Steve! He doesn't know that! You have to talk to him, soon. He's not going to wait forever when he doesn't even know that he's supposed to be waiting or what he's waiting for!"

"But what if-"

"No."

"What?"

"I have to pick up Erica. I've told you what you should do, so do it."

Lucas makes a shooing gesture at him once he's out the car and, reluctantly, Steve turns the car around.

He heads to the trailer park.

"Hey," Eddie greets, looking him over. "You had enough time now?"

"Sort of," Steve winces. He shifts, glancing behind Eddie. "Is your uncle home? We should... talk."

"He isn't," he steps back, gesturing Steve inside.

Steve steps inside, hovering in the middle. He turns when he hears the door click shut.

"I have a problem," he blurts. "I mean, uh... Robin has always teased that I never know if I love a girl or just want... but that's- I was worried that I was, uh, maybe doing that with you? And I don't want to rush into anything or have this turn out like-"

"Woah, woah, woah. Slow down, big boy, you've already lost me. What does this," he waves his hand between them, "have to do with the girls you date?"

"Everything. Eddie, I'm not ignoring you because you're boring, I can't stop... I can't stop thinking about you."

"What?"

"You've got really nice lips, dude."

Eddie blinks at him, eyebrows disappearing behind his fringe. "What?"

"What do you mean, what? I know you like me, it's why I don't want to rush into anything and then later realize it was just, like, lust. I can't do that to you, Eds."

"So, wait, ok," Eddie waves his hands around, face scrunched and voice high. "Wait. You've known that I like you this whole time?!"

"Yeah? It's fine, I don't mind, it's no big deal."

"It's no- what the fuck, Steve!"

"Was I supposed to tell you that I knew?"

"No- or, yes- but not- ugh!"

"Whatever, ok, that's not the point! I just- I don't want you worrying and thinking this is because of anything bad. I still need time to figure this out."

"To figure out if you want to fuck me or not?"

"Oh, no, that's not a maybe, I definitely do. I just don't know if I might, like, love you too." Steve scratches his jaw, pondering on that while Eddie flails. "Well... I'm pretty sure there's a crush there at least. I don't usually get so distracted by the idea of just kissing that I check out of conversations."

"Fucking hell, Harrington, you're ridiculous."

"What-"

Eddie strides over to him, taking his face in both hands, cutting him off with a kiss.

It's barely more than a press of lips, but Steve feels alight.

It's better than his daydreams could have prepared him for.

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steddie fic #ficlet #nav.slm #day 28

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chlorinecake · 1 month

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🍌 forbidden fruit | j.sc

✼ plot: just the reader catching feelings for her younger sister’s swim coach and doing anything she can to get between his legs

✼ word count: 4.8k

✼ contains: swearing, an oc + anton, teasing with food, mild exhibitionism, unprotected sex (but he doesn’t finish inside), oral (m.r), fingering (f.r)

YOU WERE CONVINCED THAT that your younger sister was born into this world a mermaid, blessed with gorgeous locks and dazzling brown eyes that earned her the name Hazel at birth.

Though her hair now was often covered by a silicone swim cap with her honey-hued eyes shielded behind waterproof goggles, one thing that remained the same was her ability to swim as if the water simply carried her across its bumping waves.

You remember her first time in a pool like it was yesterday, her legs taking off with more ease than she ever had while walking, meanwhile, you sat idly in a donut floaty, cheering her on with smiles on both your faces.

Since then, Hazel never stopped swimming.

Though, you were more inclined to the creative arts rather than anything sporty.

Unless, the sport in question involved chasing after Hazel’s personal swim coach, Jung Sungchan: a former competitive swimmer himself until he opted to train after a minor injury.

You were careful not to let your eyes linger for longer than necessary whenever you stuck back to watch Hazel practice with him, despite the tantalizing view of Sungchan’s washboard abs poking through his swim shirt, or the way his wet hair clung to his sweaty forehead.

Well, with that description, it’s fair to say that your mind and imagination did all the lingering for you, his lower half being practically burned into your mind the moment you got a glimpse of his bulge one day.

Gosh, you felt like such a loser knowing that your main motivation to accompany your sister at swim lessons these days was for the sake of seeing Sungchan, despite how you'd barely even formed a decent relationship with him.

The key word here being decent-

“Breathe, Hazel, breathe!” Sungchan hollered, distracting you from your thoughts and drawing your attention back to your sister who had just beat her fastest 50 meter lap record of her life.

Sungchan met her at the end of the pool, “Less than 24 seconds,” she huffed proudly, just as he rejected their usual high five and instead, helped her out of the pool.

“What was that all about, hmm?”

“I’m not a baby anymore, Coach. I can hold my breath for a lot longer-”

“Don’t make anymore rookie mistakes, alright? It’s not always about time when we’re training, but efficiency.”

Hazel sighed at his words, taking off her goggles and letting them rest around her neck before looking back up at him, “Let me guess then… bobbing circuits as a punishment?”

“After break,” he smiled sarcastically, patting her on the shoulder while she chuckled at his behavior, walking off to the ladies locker room before passing a look your way, “Hey, ____?”

“Yeah, what’s up?”

“Would you mind getting me a snack from my duffel bag? It’s in the floral container.”

“Sure,” you said, uncrossing your legs and getting up from the bleachers while gathering each others things in a backpack.

Sungchan looked at the time on his watch, and it turned out that practice was already over for the day, “On second thought, how about I treat us all for lunch today?”

His offer caught the both of you off guard, “Seriously?,” Hazel questioned, “even after the little stunt I pulled?”

“You don’t have to come if you don’t want to,” he shrugged, washing some equipment down with a hose.

“Give me twelve minutes to get ready,” she said, skipping to the bathrooms and almost immediately turning on the shower.

You wondered how much you and Sungchan could get away with while your little sister showered.

In a perfect world, your desires would already be a part of your reality by now, instead of something that just kept you entertained during Hazel’s swim classes.

A smirk crept up Sungchan’s deer-like features, shamelessly peeking at you before directing the hose your way, splashing you with a bit of water while giggling to himself.

“What the- stop that, you big freaking dork,” you giggled back, covering your face with your hands while running over to him, grabbing the hose and turning the faucet off.

The way both your hands looked while wrapped around the dark green tube, your smaller ones contrasting with his much larger and veinier ones made your breath stop in your throat for a second, a certain memory of you two resurfacing in your thoughts.

He handed you a towel to dry off, shaking his hair out like a puppy as he took a few steps away from you, your mind finally coming back down to earth.

“My sister seems to be excelling with her training recently… you should really give her more credit for her hard work,” you started, knowing that he'd have a response to that.

“Uhuh,” he replied briefly, leaning down to loop the water hose around its designated hook on the wall, “last time I checked, motivation doesn’t start with fleeting praises, but notable progression.”

“She literally beat a record today, Coach,” you defended, tossing your old towel in the nearby laundry bin.

A bit of silence meddled between you two, your eyes trying their best to be normal as he walked closer to you, every muscle in his body standing out in your peripheral vision, almost making it pointless for you to even try looking away now.

“You already know you can call me Sungchan, ____,” he smirked, hooking a finger in the belt loop of your jeans, “and you’re still wet, by the way... ‘can see it outlining your panties…”

Gosh, you hated how your mind thought of something dirty when those words left his mouth, wanting to disappear as an unbeatable heat raised to your face, all over a brief moment between you two that started and ended with a water hose.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 Later...

The three of you were now eating lunch together at a newly opened seafood bar called Fin & Shell, just a few miles from the training center.

You were all making conversation about the quality of the fish and chips and their odd choice of placing a fruit bowl in the center of the table when Hazel got up to get more napkins, leaving you and Sungchan alone.

Your hand found his thigh under the table before stroking it, dangerously close to his private area.

“Interesting way to get your hands clean,” he joked plainly, making you laugh at yourself a bit before continuing.

“You know there's not a clean damn thing about what I'm doing right now,” you said, fingers tip-toeing around where you wanted to feel him most.

“I know what you want, ____, but I'm afraid you're out of luck these days...”

“And why's that?”

“Because, your sister looks up to me now... I've earned her respect, and it’d only hurt her if she found out about us, let alone our past,” he continued, taking a sip from his drink, “I don't wanna risk it interfering with her athletic progression.”

The fact that Sungchan valued Hazel's well-being more than you in this matter was quite baffling to be honest.

Though, you couldn't help but internally roll your eyes at his empathy, “We’ll just have to be sneaky about it, then,” you tried, hands going back to caress his now tense thighs.

“I’d rather penetrate you with this banana than my dick, ____,” he retorted playfully while picking one from the fruit basket, his cute little smile coming into show despite how you were hardly in the mood to joke around.

You took the banana from his grasp after watching him struggle to open it for a bit, looking him in the eyes while asking, “Can I have a bite?”

“Sure, but don’t be slutty about it,” he teased, looking as your teeth sunk into the banana's sweet flesh, plump lips seductively sealing with the bite before handing it back to him.

The image of you doing that would stain his mind for the next few hours, knowing deep down in the depths of his swim trunks that for professionalism or not, he was gonna get you to look at him like that again real soon.

“Uhhh, you two look strange... What’d I miss?,” Hazel chirped as she came back from her adventure to find napkins, sliding back next to you at the round table.

“Well,” you started, folding your hands over themselves, “Sungchan was just telling me about how he wouldn’t mind giving me beginner's swimming lessons tomorrow.”

“What?! No, I- ngh-,” he groaned, feeling as you applied pressure to his sensitive bulge, one of his hands flying over yours pleadingly as he redirected his initial sentence, “I mean,” he chuckled dryly, struggling to mask the way his facial features were twisting from your actions, “yeah. She’s um… really eager to develop some basic skills herself, y’know? For some sister bonding time…”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself,” you smiled, just as your sister began to speak.

“Oh… okay then! Sounds fun, I guess... Just don’t think I’ll be sharing my anti-fog goggles with you,” she giggled, looking at Sungchan before noticed the uncomfortable look on his face, your hand still pressing firmly against him, “you alright, Coach?”

“Yeah, just a bit... uhm...” he let out a shaky exhale, “sensitive… to my banana allergy...”

You felt his hand overcome yours with strength, making you retreat from your ministrations with a satisfied feeling in yourself.

“Okayyyy…” Hazel replied, raising her eyebrows dumbfoundedly as he got up from the table, pushing his chair in, “I’m gonna go get some water, but you two finish up. I'll be back in a bit.”

Hazel shrugged off the weird vibes y'all were giving off, taking a satisfied bite of the fish sandwich she'd ordered while you finished eating up your fries, finding immense pleasure in how flustered you got Sungchan to become.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 The next day...

You got up early the next morning, skipping your usual coffee run to avoid any 'pool cramps' while swimming as directed by myth Hazel.

You weren’t one to wear swim caps, so you just put your hair in a cute low-maintenance style, packing both you and her a mini snack to bring for the day ahead.

“Welcome, ladies,” Sungchan greeted, clapping his hands from all the energy pulsing through his veins, “There are de-fogged goggles on the rack over there… kudos to Anton for setting those up first thing, by the way.”

Anton?, you asked yourself, the name alone being nowhere near as familiar as the face you soon were met with, popping out of the water with a navy blue swimcap secured around his head, soft eyes meeting yours as an almost inaudible “hi” fell from his lips.

“Oh my God, Anton!” Hazel yelped, hopping in the water before swimming towards the later end of the pool to meet him, “last one back has to do the laundry.”

Almost immediately, your sister and him both took off with kicks like torpedos, meanwhile you tried piecing together where you recognized Anton from, and then it hit you:

He and your little sister used to train more often together back in the day, but after he got scouted for the swim team in New Jersey, you saw less and less of him over time…

Still and all, he looked quite similar to the sheepish boy Hazel used to crush on a few years back, excluding his now matured physique, of course.

They were already back to the wall by time your thoughts stopped, starting up some small talk between each other.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were gonna be back in town?” Hazel asked, out of breath from trying her hardest to out-swim Anton, who beat her by a landslide.

“Honestly I was surprised, myself. One of my mom’s coworker’s oldest son’s are getting married soon, so we flew out to celebrate... We don’t get back til a week from now, though.”

“Awesome! So that means we can spend more time together til you get back to your fancy New Jersey team,” she teased, shoving Anton’s shoulder playfully as he laughed off her words.

“Stop, you know I love it here, Hazel. This place made me who I am as a swimmer today...”

Sungchan suddenly blew the whistle around his neck, “Hazel, you’re supposed to be working on warm up’s and strength training right now. You can lallygag with Anton later, I’ll need his help and focus today.”

“His help? With what? I say this with all due respect, Coach, but aren’t you the professional here?”

“I indeed am… but he’ll be in charge of teaching ____ today.”

You and Hazel’s eyes widened simultaneously at Sungchan’s words, “You’re joking, right?”

“Nope,” he replied plainly, taking off his whistle necklace and tossing it on a nearby table, “Like you said, I’m the expert, and thus, my expertise is needed more with you, Hazel...”

Sungchan walked around the edge of the pool, keeping a steady pace as not to slip on any water as he met you where you sat, “____’s quite the handsy one, but I’m sure little Anton can manage her for the day,” he smirked, pinching your cheek before handing you a pair of goggles and walking off cheekily.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 ...

You’ll admit that your swimming lesson with Anton went well, though it was obvious you would’ve much rather spent that time with Sungchan, and you planned to give him a piece of your mind as soon as possible.

You had already showered up by now, approaching him in the pool area with every intent to get something out of him.

“So you making me splash around with a kid my sisters age was your way of getting back at me for the Fin & Shells thing, huh?,” you accused, watching as he put away some wet swimming equipment.

“You can’t make me back down that easily, y’know?”

He glanced at you for a quick second, “And what makes you think that’s my intention?”

“Just the plain fact that you’re scared to continue what we started…”

He narrowed his eyes, flicking the water off his hands before facing you head on, “No, but you should be,” he said, voice falling a little deeper, “you’ve seen me before, and that’s not something most girls are prepared for.”

“Please, don’t be so full of yourself,” you scoffed, mirroring his nonchalant voice as your eyes scanned his movements, legs following him all the way to the empty men’s locker room where he sat on a wall bench to relax, looking back at you with a slightly annoyed look on his face.

“You know?… All that stuff you said about professionalism was bullshit… we’ve crossed that line way long ago, and your size isn’t gonna get in the way… trust me...”

You made your way over to sit on his lap, straddling him with your hands at his shoulders.

“God, you’re so overbearing,” he sighed, your lips immediately finding his jawline, causing his words to fall out as hums instead of coherent syllables, “d’you understand what you’re playing with right now?”

“Mhm,” you hummed back, gently nibbling the space underneath his ear.

His hands clung to your loose top as a way to control himself, but also because he wanted more, your hips rocking against his being enough to make him feel needy.

Not that he’d ever admit that to you though…

Your hot and wet kisses started to trail from Sungchan’s neck and to his plush lips, your hands sliding under his shirt to feel him as he mirrored your energy, lips moving in sync.

He was giving in to your ministrations, and you could tell by his breathing, which had become jagged and heavy… not in a submissive way, but with desire.

Frustration, even.

The muscles in his abdomen tensed and relaxed as you went back to kissing his neck, hoping that your lips would leave a mark or two while you were at it, “We can worry about a backup plan later, Sungchan—”

He groaned faintly, just as you pressed your core harder against him, feeling his hardness grow between your thighs.

Sungchan’s mind was getting fuzzy to the point where your words became like background music, present to him, but impossible to really focus on.

And he didn’t like that one bit…

The way you persuaded him so easily, having his dry mouth on the verge of begging you to kiss him again.

If this was gonna happen between you two, he wanted to be the one in charge.

“Fine,” he said sharply, causing you to look into his dark brown eyes, which were still slightly watery from the chlorine in the pool water.

“I just need to make sure you can handle it first,” Sungchan continued, guiding you off of his lap by the waist before digging his thumb into your shoulder, forcing you down to your knees in front of him.

His hands found your hair, leading your cheek to his bulge and lifting his hips to grind into your face slightly, eager to explore the friction but still wanting to test himself.

Test his self-control despite how it was basically out the window by now.

You clung to his toned thighs to keep your balance, eyelids fluttering shut before he smacked you gently on the other cheek, making you look back up at him once again as he rutted a little harder.

“Too big for you, baby?,” he teased, all of that while snickering under his breath, biting his lip before a smirk appeared on his stupid hot face.

It was always strangely exciting honestly… watching him switch from hot to cold, turning himself on just from jumping your cheek.

Everything you’ve been waiting for.

“I can feel you twitching,” you hummed, turning your head to face his heat head on, giving him sirenic eyes as you poked your tongue out, licking a stripe along his clothed member, “can hardly taste you through these pants, though…”

He cooed at your words, stroking your hair as you kept licking him up, a dark spot forming on his pants from your spit and probably some of his precum.

“Can you at least pretend you’re not such an eager slut for me?” He tried teasing, even though his voice sounded a bit strained.

You trailed a finger from his clothed tip to the drawstring of his pants before pulling the bow a loose, “We both know that’s not what you really want, Sungie...”

Shimmying his pants down, you were not at all surprised when his cock sprung out like a hot stinger, slapping against his stomach with an angry vein trailing its underside.

“Fuck,” he cursed under his breath, watching as you didn’t hesitate to take him in your mouth, bobbing your head slowly to adjust to his size, but you could hardly fit more than half of him into your mouth.

“Easy there, ____,” he said in a deepened voice, feeling his balls tighten at the way you gagged around him, trying to fit it all in.

Releasing your lips with a pop, your jerked him with your hand, looking him dead in the eyes before reassuring him, “I can take it.”

“Prove it to me then…,” he challenged you, “or else this is all you’re getting…”

You internally scoffed at his words, “Having second thoughts?”

“No… Just don’t wanna risk breaking you before I even get started properly…”

The top of your tongue found his slit again, running rough stripes past it and suddenly asking, “We’re already taking a risk, why stop here?”

He let you continue fooling around with his dick for a little more until he pulled your chin away, looking you in the eyes-

“Get on your back.”

The voice you heard was enough to make you recognize what was really going on.

“W-what?,” you asked confusedly, having been snapped out of your mind, yet still feeling as though only half of you was present.

“I said get on your back? So we can stretch first?,” Anton said, mirroring the same dumbfounded look you had on your face.

“Oh... sorry, I uh... I got distracted...”

“Its okay,” he answered softly, leading you to the training mat on the floor, “let's just stay focused for now, alright? Once you fully lay down, start by pulling your knees to your chest to stretch out your hamstrings...”

Anton's voice faded into the background of your mind as your body continued to follow his instructions, somewhat thankful for the dark colored fitness clothes you wore considering how wet you'd gotten over your little memory about Sungchan.

It was the first time you actually did anything sexual with him.

It happened over four months ago, but you still remembered the whole thing like it happened yesterday.

Though, Sungchan eventually ended your secret fling for the sake of Hazel, not wanting to hurt her or risk ruining things between you two for 'fleeting feelings.'

Even so, you’d just been so down bad for him all this time that it was getting harder to respect that boundary of his...

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 Later...

Hazel and Anton had ran off to get smoothies together after practice with your permission obviously, Sungchan having stayed back to put the lane lines back in the pool after y’all finished training.

You asked if it was okay for you to hang back in the pool til he shut down the area, just so you could 'work on what you learned.'

He didn't talk to you much, which only annoyed you, leading to your sneaky backup plan to get his attention.

“Sungchanie~,” you sang in a whiny tone, “I need your help!”

“What is it this time?,” he asked, not even looking at you as he busied himself with putting away the tool box he was using.

“My bikini top came off... it floated away…”

“____, stop messing around, alright?”

“I'm serious,” you pleaded facetiously, covering your chest with your arms to sell your performance, “I'd get it myself, but it’s in the deep, so I can't.”

He sighed with a stern look on his face before answering, "Alright, just- … gimme a sec."

Sungchan took off his shirt, tossing it to the side before diving in the pool to fish around for your bra.

He found it pretty quickly, swimming back to the surface while treading with it in his hand.

“This it?” He asked, regardless of how obvious the answer was.

“Mhm…” You nodded back with a lil too much enthusiasm, sitting at the swim steps and waiting for him to go back under the water as you sneakily took off you bikini bottom next, waiting to see his reaction once he came over to you.

Bubbles erupted from his nose underwater, the sight of your bare core causing him to stumble over his trained breathing pattern.

You giggled a bit at his reaction, still covering your tits as his head flew up, shaking the water from his hair in a way that only made you want him more, which obviously wasn't his intention given the look on his face.

“What do you think this is? Some kind of game?” He snapped sharply, tossing your bra to you and using the steps to get out of the pool, just as you reached for his wrist to pull him back.

“Sungchan, wait! I'm sorry—” you started, but his hand left yours anyway, feet moving in the opposite direction of you before a soft "please," left your lips, making him pause in his tracks.

He sighed, “What?,” but it sounded more like a statement than a question.

“Can't you see that I'm losing my mind over this?” you answered with a defeated voice.

“It's not a good time right now, ____—”

“God, would you stop being so uptight like you don't want this, too?”

“I never said anything like that—”

“Because you don't have to,” you interrupted, cutting him off as a lump formed in your throat, not from sadness, but from exhaustion: you didn't know how much longer you could keep chasing him…

Without hesitation, you started to put your two-piece back on, water splashing a bit with your movements as he stood there coldly, not even looking you in the eye as you continued to speak, “You're right, Sungchan... this is all just a silly little game, and I seriously should've stopped trying a long time ago-”

“Just shut up, alright?” he retorted, looking you in the eyes as his body inched closer towards you, your eyebrows furrowing at the harsh tone of his words.

“Excuse me—”

“You win, ____,” his voice was deeper this time, wet hands finding your neck before caressing up your face, everything going black once he found your lips, sealing the the tension with a kiss, “I'll let you have your way.”

HIs tongue tangled with yours as he pulled you impossibly close to him, your heart nearly beating out of your chest before he backed away, hands gripping at everything from your boobs to your hips as he kissed down your sensitive neck.

Your legs subconsciously parting for him as you felt him start to suck at the exposed flesh there.

You don't even remember saying much of anything once he found your bikini, sliding it over as his fingers came into contact with your folds, barely touching you before you started squirming.

“God, you're so dramatic,” he shook his head, applying pressure to your clit with his cold fingers, contrasted with your increasing warmth.

“It’s not my fault you make me this way,” you purred, letting him kiss on you so hard that he left little marks behind, already getting you so worked up that even the simplest of his ministrations seemed intense.

That was when he sped up the movements of his fingers, not even sure how long he'd been at that pace before you started to feel tantalized, wanting to feel his dick before he made you finish.

It was strange though, the way your slick stood out against the water, his fingers gliding in and out of your hole as his thumb circled your sweet spot.

He was making you fall apart, and at that, single-handedly.

“Sungchan~,” you whined shyly, thankful for his arm maintaining your balance as your hands remained around the loop of your bra, giving you something to grab onto as he kept fucking you with his fingers, “I wanna feel you...”

As simple as those four words were, Sungchan knew exactly what you meant and wanted from him, but decided to mess with you nonetheless…

“Baby? You're already falling apart… what makes you think you can handle any more?” he teased, trying to act all tough with you even though he was about to buss in his pants given how unreal you looked in this moment.

Lower lip swollen from the way you bit down on it to hide your sounds, neck sprouting with darkening hickeys, hands clinging to your own tits for leverage, and your wet hair sprawled all over your head...

This was a view that could never get old to him, if he was even lucky enough to see it every single day.

“Please... fuck, just- mmm,” you stumbled over your words, feeling lightheaded as moans fell from your mouth like rehearsed melodies, your back arching even more as his fingers were in knuckle-deep now, your approaching climax causing you to open up for him.

“Cum for me,” he whispered, putting his forehead against yours, thumb relentlessly toying with your clit as he grew more eager in his own pants.

As much as you wanted to refuse his words for the sake of saving your orgasm, you couldn't help but to release, creaming all over his long and slender fingers as you felt your high in every part of your body.

Sungchan didn't hesitate to pull his fingers away from you, sliding down his trousers and spreading your slick across his length under the water.

“You've got another one in you for me, yea?,” he asked, voice sounding rasp as he pressed his tip against you, your trembling thighs struggling to stay open.

“Gimme a sec to come down first,” you nearly begged, watching his eyes grow darker as he pushed through your thighs, hips meeting yours with a splash.

“You know we don't have time for that, ____,” he continued with a suppressed groan, feeling his dick warm up all your insides as he slid past your wetness and bottomed out, guiding your hands from your chest to his shoulders... “just hang on, okay?”

You barely even nodded before he started fucking into you, walls giving in to his size thanks to the water, but you'd be lying if you said it didn't hurt just a little bit.

He caught sight to your discomfort early on, catching your lips with his to keep your mind off the pain, both your breaths sounding shaky now from all the action.

He started to pick up the pace again, not bothering to hide his moans anymore as you clenched around him so hard, he didn't think he'd be able to get back out.

Your wet hands clung to his broad shoulders, glimmered with beads of the pool water from his movements.

Feeling your hips chase his as the pain faded back to pleasure, you knew you were close, especially considering how little time you had between orgasming.

His stamina impressed you honestly, given how he'd been working all day yet still had enough energy to fuck you like this.

A broken whimper fell from his pink lips, words getting lost in his throat even though he had no idea what he wanted to say in this moment.

He was practically intoxicated by the way you made him feel, cursing himself internally for pushing away so many times.

He panted your name out loud, teeth grazing your neck as his head hung in the space provided, feeling weak all of a sudden, “I'm close.”

“Then don't stop,” you huffed back, caressing his pretty face as he chased his high, the water rocking with his movements as he felt his stomach tighten, spurts of his sticky release barely having enough time to coat you before he pulled out, fisting himself in a failed attempt to catch his release.

“Aww, fuck... fuckkk,” he groaned, watching the strings of his cum slip past his fingers and into the water, some of it hitting your legs.

Of course he would've preferred to finish inside you, but he thought it'd be respectful to at least pull out.

You held him close with your thighs around him, giggling a bit at the way he struggled to contain himself.

“You really should've just came inside me, y’know,”you said, feeling a throb in your core after everything.

“Very funny,” was all he said before pulling up his swim trucks and splashing a bit of water on you.

It was interesting seeing how Sungchan could go from hot to playful in a matter of seconds with you.

After everything that'd just happened, the poor guy wasn't at all in the mood to re-clean the pool thanks to the mess you two just made.

So instead, he offered a hand to help you up before carrying you out of the pool, knowing that it wouldn't be easy for you to walk with your legs still shaking.

Neither of you knew how much time you had left til Anton and Hazel came back, but one thing for sure was that you and Sungchan would keep playing this game for a lot longer than planned.

You said so yourself... you'd just have to be more sneaky about it.

⚡︎ Special thanks to @wonbinisbabygurl for requesting this piece ~ (love you princess!!!)

⚡︎ Had to repost this story because the first time around, I wasn't satisfied with the engagement I received ;-; (only 14 notes in 24 hours), so hopefully people see this in the tags this time!!

⚡︎ 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ( 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧 ) @squoxle @nikisvanillaccola @ashgonedash @yourmomscuntis2tighy @watamotee33 @addictedtohobi @antonartic

⚡︎ Feel free to also check out my RIIZE masterlist

#riize smut #riize #riize sungchan #jung sungchan #sungchan smut #sungchan ff #riize hard thoughts #riize hard hours #sungchan x reader #riize sungchan smut #sungchan hard hours #riize ff #jung sungchan smut #lee anton

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adnauseum11 · 2 months

Text

Unexploded Ordinance (John Price x Reader)

You and John navigate the process of moving in together. John is pleased you are home.

1.4k words

CW: swearing, explicit sex MDNI

If the end of this chapter feels a bit abrupt it's because I split it in two to keep it from being a ridiculous length. You can expect the next chapter to pick up where this one left off.

Still not completely happy with this chapter but in the interest of not circling the drain forever and moving forward I'm posting anyways lol yolo

feedback welcome!

When John hasn’t returned from his call before you are done eating your breakfast - and polishing off the last of the raspberries - you take yourself to the bathroom to shower. He’s waiting for you in the living room when you finally emerge, feeling a bit more like yourself. He’s clearly lost in thought, your hand on his shoulder finally knocking him back to the present.

John is easy to talk into moving more things today, on your impromptu day off. When you arrive back at the apartment, he checks the door before he lets you enter, satisfied it’s been undisturbed. You immediately bicker with him about your furniture and what pieces will stay or go. You can tell he’s pleased when he wins the debate between the couches, you being partial to your vintage re-upholstered and wildly heavy chesterfield sofa. It’s too short for John to lay down on, forcing him to bend his knees and isn’t very comfortable, truth be told. It’s a gorgeous deep green velvet that draws the eye but otherwise isn’t overly practical. You pout about having to give it up until he gives over on your books entirely. He’s consistently bitched about moving your personal library, filled with heavy anthologies from your university days. They’ve been dragged from pillar to post over the years and you’ve refused every less than subtle suggestion to sell them. He doesn’t even try to make you choose which ones to keep, sighing deeply in resignation and asking how many boxes you think it will take to pack them all. This earns him the hardest hug you can muster and a rain of kisses he has to crouch for, chuckling lowly.

You make a trip back to his place with your clothing, the colourful array of fabrics making John’s limited selections seem all the starker by comparison. It brings you up short, seeing your things beside his in the wardrobe. You get caught up wondering what the hell you are doing, agreeing to this. You don’t get very far in your spiral before John finds you, kneeling surrounded by folded t-shirts. You’re jealous of his ability to seemingly pick a course of action and execute it without the self-doubt that swamps you occasionally. If you hadn’t known him as long as you have you would say it’s something he learned in the military, but you’re pretty sure that’s all John.

His presence steadies you again and you end up making another trip to collect your hairdryer and various other products needed to make yourself presentable for work tomorrow. Most of your everyday use items and valuables are safely rehoused in John’s flat by the time you are ready to throw the towel in for the day. You agree to go to the pub around the corner for dinner, neither of you feeling like cooking. On the walk down, John’s big hand stays on your lower back, keeping you close as you wander down the street together. It’s quiet at the pub, early in the week meaning the clientele are mostly regulars. You get your choice of seats and John steers you to a booth against the back wall, tugging you to sit on the same side as him.

He questions your half-baked plan to quit your job while distracting you from giving an answer, his hand creeping over your thigh and shoulders, bracketing you against him. You finally cross your legs, pinning his warm hand between your thighs so you can formulate a coherent response. He presses a smirk against your temple and listens as you complain of your treatment this morning, and then just in general. You've had a volatile few days and vent your spleen accordingly.

He removes his hands from your body when the food arrives, creating a tiny sliver of space between you on the bench seat. John hums sympathetically at your complaints but finally convinces you to get through the rest of the week before you submit anything in writing, pointing out you should probably update your resume first at minimum. You grumble but reluctantly agree, his even-keeled approach to the situation a better tactic than your instinct for dramatics.

John’s level head only seems to extend to your choices because by the time you’re out the door and on the way home he’s truly unable to keep his hands to himself. Twice on the short walk back he’s pressed you up against the wall of a nearby building, his hands cupping your face as his eager mouth finds yours. You make out like teenagers until you can feel the cold creeping into the tips of your ears, a gentle push against his chest enough to back him off temporarily. You’re getting better at reading John in this state, how his eyes glaze with want and his focus narrows. You finally resort to threading your fingers with his to keep his hand from constantly drifting over your ass, wrapping yourself around his arm to make him behave.

You open the door using your key, John too preoccupied with working his hands under your jacket and shirt. His big body corrals you against him, kicking the door shut after wrestling you through it, almost not giving you time to get your key out of the lock.

“Fucking hell John.”

You breathe out as he spins you around, your arms going around his neck automatically. He kisses you hungrily, his palm cupping the back of your head. You feel the thump of the wall at your back, his hand leaving the back of your head to shove your coat off your shoulders. You wiggle out of it and push at the thick lambskin jacket he’s wearing, slipping your hands under it to grip his shoulders. He shrugs out of it, his lips finding yours again almost immediately. You can feel desire vibrating through his frame, his thigh working its way between yours. Before he can overwhelm you completely, you push back against his chest.

He's breathing hard, confusion mixing across his face as you flatten your palms against his chest and push, reversing your positions by backing him up against the opposite wall. You have to go up on your tip toes, gripping the back of his neck to tug him down to kiss you again. He’s got his hands full of your ass, too preoccupied to catch on to your intent until you're slipping out of his grasp, sliding to your knees in front of him. Your nimble fingers have his belt undone and his jeans open before he can process and stop you, hissing out your name as your fingers wrap around his twitching cock.

You smirk to yourself and wrench a deep groan from his chest as your lips close around the flushed head of his cock, your eyes locking on his face. His cheeks and throat are flushed with the same shade of red as his cock, his blue eyes now nearly black, his pupils dilated with desire. He looks so intense it sends a thrill through your belly that you’re capable of affecting him like this. You swirl your tongue over the head, tasting the salty pre-cum and slide your palm up the wiry hair of his firm abdomen, pushing his shirt up.

John growls lowly, his fingers burying into your hair, gripping close to the roots. He doesn’t try to direct your movements, content to let you work him over however you see fit but the gentle pull on your hair sends flashes of sensation down your spine. The muscles of his stomach jump at the drag of your fingers on his cock as you squeeze the base, sucking on the tip deeply, making John’s fingers clench in your hair. You lift off him and press his erection against his belly, running the flat of your tongue over the underside before teasing his balls with the tip of your tongue.

That has John rocking up onto his toes, hissing your name again followed by a curse. You can’t stop the pleased smirk that slides across your face and wrap your lips around the tip again, focusing your tongue on the sensitive spot on the underside. You can feel his cock twitching, the tension in his body ratcheting tighter with a moan. You let his shirt drop and cup his balls, lapping at the tip intently.

That seems to finally push John beyond his limit and he firmly tugs your hair to pull you off him. Your scalp tingles and you hum in disappointment but John’s already got a hold of your arm, lifting you to your feet again.

“C'mere love, I want to be inside you when I cum.”

He growls lowly, making you shiver, backing you down the hallway to the bedroom with predatory intent. The look on his face makes your stomach quiver in anticipation, your insides going molten.

Next Chapter

Tag list:

@deadbranch @cadotoast @beebeechaos @syoddeye @writeforfandoms @itr-00

#fanfic #call of duty #captain john price #john price x reader #john price cod #john price #friends to lovers #john price x f!reader #john price x you #moving in together #falling in love #fluff and smut #this work has smut

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hheaven-sentt · 3 months

Text

healing

summary: healing wounds you couldn't even see | leon kennedy x reader

word count: 2.1k

warnings: yearning and pining, depictions of injuries and first aid, leon being weirdly chill, softness

notes: i like dis one | ao3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You sense the knock before you hear it. You’re curled up on the couch, a few files spread out on the coffee table that you’d been pursuing for the last few hours. You’d grown bored with them, opting to stare out the window as the traffic down below on the street began to disperse and disappear. It was growing close to half past two in the morning. Which is why you almost expect the knock. It comes at exactly 2:18, and you practically jump off the couch to answer the door. Eagerness oozes from your skin.

He’s leaning against the wall, propped up with a single arm while the other cradles his stomach. With a sigh, he looks up at you, bright blue eyes looking a little more glassy than normal. A breath gets caught in your throat.

“Leon?” you ask, reaching forward to help him into the apartment. He grins up at you from his bent position.

“Sorry about the mess, sweetness,” he chokes out. He’s hurt, badly. You haul him into the apartment and set him up on the couch.

“I need you to count to ten and back out loud while I look for the first aid kit,” you say. He huffs a laugh. “I mean it, Leon. I need to know you’re still awake,”

Rolling his eyes, he says, “One,”

You smile as he continues counting, and begin your search for the kit. You find it just as he hits six for the second time, and you’re back in front of him as he reaches three. Crouching between his spread knees, you hoist the hem of his shirt up to see where the blood is seeping from. You grimace as you take in the injury. It’s a red and angry slash from his hip toward his sternum. You’re unsure of how deep.

“You wanna tell me what happened?” you ask, digging through the box for something to wipe away the excess blood with. He groans when you lay your hands on him the first time, and you have to remind yourself that he’s hurt and not enjoying this.

“Wasn’t paying attention,” he hisses between teeth. You’re threading the needle for his stitches. “Guess I should’ve been, huh?”

You shake your head. “You’re not reckless, Leon. What happened?”

He lets out a low whine as you sink the needle beneath his flesh. “Got distracted, thought I saw something I didn't,”

You know you won’t get a more direct answer out of Leon, so you don’t press for one. Instead, you continue sewing up his wound. “You see a medic, a doctor, anyone other than me?”

He laughs. “No, sweetness. No one’s as gentle as you,”

You try to fight the blush on your cheeks, and you’re thankful for the half dark room. He groans again as you tighten his freshly finished stitches. You spread an alcohol wipe across the suture, and you hear him let out a strained breath. Gingerly, you run your fingers over it.

“If it’s not better in two days, I order you to go to a real doctor and get antibiotics,” you say. “I can’t guarantee it won’t get infected,”

Slowly, he nods and lowers his shirt. You take the bloody part of it between your thumb and forefinger, contemplating on whether or not you should offer him another shirt. When you pull away your hand and see the transfer of red on the pads of your fingers, you frown.

“Need another shirt?” you ask. He grins. “I’m sure I’ve got something for you,”

You help him off the couch carefully, eyeing the way he favors his right leg. You draw your brows together, but don’t press him on the matter. Instead, you lead him to your bedroom where you force him to sit on your bed while you dig through your drawers for a shirt from a long forgotten boyfriend or something your brother left when he was last here. You find an old shirt you’d stolen from your dad at the bottom of a random drawer. It’s black and huge; when you wear it, it goes past your knees. It’ll do, you decide.

“Here,” you say, passing the shirt to him. He takes it. “You’re more than welcome to shower, but call for me if you can’t reach somewhere. Do not tear those stitches because I won’t redo them, Leon,”

Heat creeps up your neck as you say it, and you see the faintest amount of pink coloring Leon’s cheeks, but he nods and attempts to stand. It’s a slow process, but he does it on his own. As he passes you to head into the bathroom, he stops for a second, looking at you in the dim light illuminating half your face. He half smiles and takes your hand in his. He gives it a quick squeeze before dropping it, and then he goes to shower.

It’s more than a want, the feeling you have for him. It’s an odd sort of craving. An itch you long to scratch and tear away your flesh at. In any other story, he’d be the villain. He’s mysteriously beautiful, ethereal in his ways. In any other story, he would break you down to your barest essentials and make you pick the pieces back up. And maybe you’d let him. He’s someone you shouldn’t share your secrets with, someone you shouldn’t care about this deeply.

Maybe he’s still the villain in this story, your story. But he’d only be the villain to everyone except for you.

You hear the water running in the bathroom. You anxiously bite your nails, pacing the living room. After a few moments, you hear the bathroom door squeak open, and you busy yourself with something to look more natural. He emerges a second later, hair still dripping as he runs the towel over it. Something lurches in your stomach, a breath catches in your throat.

He lays the towel over the back of a dining table chair. There’s something unholy about the way you look at him, something sinful. You attempt to school your features.

“Alright, sweetness?” he asks, voice low timbred and honey sweetened. You feel it in your bones.

You nod, swallowing thickly. “Really worried about you,”

He smiles at this, that sort of half smile that only lifts one side of his mouth and crinkles the apple of his cheek. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll heal,”

“Hopefully,” you chide, matching his smile. He shrugs. “Seriously, Leon. You have to swear to me that you’ll get that checked out by someone actually qualified,”

He raises his hands in surrender. “I swear,”

He takes a seat on your couch, and you move to join him. There’s something sacred about the time you share here, between the four walls of your apartment and the dust accumulating on your shelves. His arm is slung across the back of the couch, inviting you into his space. The other hand fiddles with the hem of the shirt you’ve lent him. Without thinking, you seize his hand, examining the splits and cuts surrounding his knuckles. They’re beginning to heal on their own, crusted over with scabs and skin. You run a gentle brush over them, and he twitches as you sweep across the tender skin.

“Does it hurt?” you ask, looking up to meet his eyes. You see something in them that you can’t place.

“Yeah,” he says, watching you. Then, with a breath, “Nothing I can’t handle,”

You frown. “Maybe we should get you a desk job. Come to work with me,”

He laughs, a bright sound to counteract the dim room. “If you could make that happen, I’d take it,”

You wonder if he’s telling the truth. From what you understand, he’s been doing this for a long time, longer than you’ve known him, and you’re not sure he would walk away given the opportunity. You hope that he would, but you’re not confident that he’d give it up. You’re not sure he knows how to do anything else. He squeezes your hand, bringing you back to the present.

“Sorry that I only ever seem to show up when I’m half dead,” he whispers. He phrases it like a joke, but you know he means it. You wave a hand.

“I’m getting pretty good at patching you up,” you say. “Maybe I’ll run away and become an EMT,”

He smiles softly. “You’d be good at it,”

“Don’t know if I could handle all the blood,” you say, shrugging. “It’s different with you,”

Even when he’s fully healthy, you look at him like a fresh open wound. He’s something that should scare you, make you faint, but adrenaline kicks in and you need to fix it, need to mend.

“You should get some rest,” you whisper. His mouth sets into a line, but he nods.

“I take it I’m on light duty for the foreseeable future?” he asks. You roll your eyes and move away from him.

He says a hushed goodnight, and you disappear into the dark hallway. You hear him shuffle as he gets comfortable on your couch, and a weird sense of guilt washes over you. He’d deny you if you were to offer your bed to him, you know him well enough to scratch that idea before it’s even born. Instead, you allow him his ego, and settle between the sheets.

You’re surprised that he’s still here when you wake, even more so when you see him still asleep on the couch. The blanket is pulled up to his chin, his face bent inwards so that he’s almost in a fetal position. It makes warmth radiate in your chest and you smile. You resist the urge to join him.

He wakes while you’re making coffee. You hear him shuffle around, the creak of the couch as he moves to sit upright. He lets out a low groan. You halt your work on the coffee and rush to help him. He’s about halfway to sitting when you find him, grimacing against the pain and stretch of his stitches. Gently, you pull him into a sitting position, and he looks at you with something you can’t place.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you say. He frowns. “You took a hard hit. You’re not going to heal overnight. I’m not magic,”

“I know,” he responds. You sit beside him. “Thanks for trying, though,”

You laugh. “Keep it up, and I won’t stitch you up next time,”

“We both know that’s not true,” he says, looking at you like you’re an angel. “I know you too well,”

You could kiss him, right here and now. You think, for a moment, that he might just reciprocate. Flush creeps up your neck at the thought, and you remember that he’s still looking at you.

“Where do you go?” he asks. You blink at him. “When you stare off like that. Where do you go?”

You shrug. “Just get lost in thought, I guess,”

He doesn’t pry further, just accepts the answer and remains silent. You can’t tell if you’re satisfied by that.

“What made you come here?” you ask quietly. He looks at you, studying your features. You wish you could snatch the words from where they linger in the air. Clearing your throat, you add, “The first time, I mean,”

He shrugs. “Figured you wouldn’t ask questions,”

He’d been right. You hadn’t asked questions. You’d tried to, thought about what you could possibly ask, but the idea was too daunting and he was bleeding out in your doorway. You’d hoped that stitches were as easy as they seemed.

“I’m good at keeping secrets,” you say. He smiles. “Can I share something?”

“Anything,”

“I’m glad you showed up that night. For a while, I was angry. Felt like I couldn’t wash my hands enough to scrub away the blood. But I’m glad you came,” you say, feeling short of breath. He’s staring at you, and you worry that you’ve said the wrong thing. You worry that he’ll get up and bolt. Instead, he brushes a few stray hairs from your eyes and smiles.

“If it’s any consolation,” he says. “I didn’t stick around for your stitching abilities,”

The apprehension wipes from your bones and you let out a laugh. “You’re so corny,” you say.

He rolls his eyes and kisses you like it’s something he does every day. It’s sweet and soft, plush against the jagged beat of your heart. It doesn’t last long, but you don’t need it to. You’re breathless anyway.

“What was that for?” you ask, starry eyed and far away.

He shrugs, as if this wasn’t the single most important thing you’ve ever experienced. “Figured it was making you anxious, so I got it out of the way,”

His cheeks are pink as you look at him. “What do we call this?”

“Healing,” he says, and kisses you again.

#leon kennedy x reader #resident evil #x reader #resident evil fanfic #leon kennedy #fanfic #m writes #my fics

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