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1800titz · 7 months

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HI. HELLO. Here is my Valentine’s Day contribution. POTTERYINSTRUCTOR!HARRY!! POTTERY MAN! WOOO. Basically almost 7K of clay sexualization and sexually charged fluff (ish). Enjoy! :D

CONTENT/WARNINGS: ridiculous sexualization of clay (I think I’ve managed to fetishize clay in this one??? OOPS), overly suggestive usage of pottery terms, a red-hot, hands-on tutorial for wheel throwing, and embarassingly long descriptions of Harry’s fingers coated in wet clay.

WC: 6.6K

slip: small bits of dry clay mixed with water to create a thick, creamy consistency

Clay is innately erotic.

Wheel throwing is, arguably, the most pornographic art form, its only competing opponent being, maybe, literal body-painting. And that latter one still falls as a close second. Close, but second.

Y/N decides that when she wanders into a little ceramics shop tucked away in a busy plaza downtown. There’s no method to her exploration, but the broad glass windows are adorned with dripping, colorful graffiti and its innards call to her. GLAZED, reads the large sign over the awning in blocky, white lettering, stippled with un-glowing light bulbs that she’s sure light alive in the night.

It’s a cute shop.

Upon entrance, the young woman discovers tables, as if set up for arts and crafts, crackling, clay covered wheels with shorter stools, and long, tall rows of shelving brimmed with colorless sculptures lining the walls. Despite its packed interior, the studio seems empty of people and quiet besides the soft notes of RÜFÜS DU SOL leaking from the overhead speakers. She roams beside the line of wheels over to a shelf by the door, admiring the myriad of statues there, some obviously crafted with expertise and elegant artistry, and others lopsided efforts that probably deserve a pitied gold star for effort.

Her eyes are caught on an unpainted little ashtray that’s got a crooked sort of bee in the center when her gaze breaks away to the sound of footsteps. Maybe the shop isn’t as abandoned as she’d previously believed — a man appears from behind a row of white shelving stacked with more unfinished pottery.

He’s a pretty man, that much she can decide from the downturned slope of his nose and his distracted lash line, focused on twisting the navy rag in his left hand over the tip of his right index finger. A dark baseball cap shrouds his hair, but little brunette tufts sneak out in curled bunches around his ears. That’s where Y/N finds a fun, little red-tinted pearl dangling from one lobe. He’s tatted in patchwork art — a mermaid with its tits out peeks at her from his forearm, soaked over and shining. She assumes he must have just been rinsing clay from that forearm, from his hands, no longer visible over his skin. However, streaks of dried gray stain over his white tee in crackling lines, like an old lamination on a well-loved t-shirt that’s been cycled through the washer one too many times. When he pulls the rag away, she discovers a shade of bright red that’s been painted over his nails.

Almost as if he can sense her presence without looking, his sneakers pause on the tile and he steals a peer up. Yes, he’s quite a pretty man, even when his features shape something caught off guard.

“Hello.”

His voice is rich — this smooth, bass-deep sort of sound driving a foreign lilt, and Y/N thinks that if it weren’t for his lengthy fingers and his cherry polished nails, if it weren’t for his handsomely sculpted face, if it weren’t for his seemingly innate effortless demeanor and style, that voice alone could make her fold.

“Hello,” she returns, aware that a nervous note plucks at her cadence, unlike his own casual greeting. I promise I’m not shoplifting clay pots in silence, she nearly tells him.

Thank fuck for the ability to physically bite your tongue.

“What can I help you with?” the man asks, sauntering forward a bit. It’s probably sort of a polite manner to say what the fuck are you doing here, and the longer the young woman stands in the middle of the empty shop the more out of place she feels, almost like this a private, little haven and she shouldn’t be in here right now.

The song shifts into its choral bass drop of electric keys. That fills the void of the silence as she swallows and fixes a little smile onto her face, fingers tightening over the strap of her tote.

“Oh, I’m just looking.”

The man purses his mouth and walks over to the counter, where the register is littered with paperwork and an eclectic collection of faux plants. He sets the rag down beside a floppy one with its green tendrils dangling over the edge.

“See anything you like?” his hand pinches over his nose, like he’s scratching an itch, before he sniffs and pivots to apparently decrease their proximity, “We’ve got loads — you can make something yourself, or,” another step, and Y/N’s eye bounce from his shorts to his tattooed knees to the hems of his white socks. “…If you know sculpting isn’t your craft, we’ve got ready-to-paint-one's on that shelf there.”

Her gaze follows the direction of his finger, where pasty ceramic bunnies, and angels, and cars line the shelving in multiples.

“I think—“ the young woman’s tongue peeks out to swipe over her mouth, words growing drier the longer she captures his stare. She focuses back on a lopsided rendition of strawberry, its leaves cradling over as a disconnected lid and its stem a crooked handle. “I like these. They’ve got so much character.”

She blinks back over to him and watches a soft smile shape over the cushiony pink of his mouth.

It only takes a moment — one where her sight draws back to the strawberry jar for a smidge of a second, before he’s so close that she can smell his cologne, spiced and clean. She ogles his arm, his hand, the way he reaches out between them to cull the piece, mildly appalled by the way he palms the sculpture and dwarfs it in his easy grasp. It’s such a casual maneuver, made almost as if he’s not fondling over something it’d take anyone else two hands to hold. Y/N imagines the dimpled form of clay coated over to match the color of his nails.

“They do, don’t they? I like this one, too. S’a little …ugly, but, s’in, like, a…” the man’s features twist into something silly and pinched, and the young woman rolls her lips into her mouth to avoid exposing her amusement at the brutal candor. His words catch in his throat and bubble as a short laugh, “I dunno. It’s art.”

He sets it back onto the shelf with a light clink, and turns to face her, posturing against a post in the shelving where the tiers have a break. An exhale becomes paired with his nonchalant lean, arms crossing over his pecs, and Y/N tries intensely not to stare like a hawk at the muscle there.

“I’m afraid people are coming back for these, though. This row came out of the kiln…” forest green skids to the assortment and then bounds up to the ceiling like he’s in thought, before he casts his gaze back onto her, “…yesterday. And there’s a month-and-a-half window for someone to come back and glaze before we toss or sell them to be painted.”

He’s chewing gum. Y/N realizes it when she admires the soft stubble coating his jaw, his cheeks — that’s when she notices the work of his jawline over the minty piece. He tips his head. “Did you want to try sculpting something?”

The edges of her lips break bashfully. “I don’t know if I’d be any good at it.”

One corner of the man’s mouth curls up lopsidedly, and the beginnings of a dimple nudge into place. He blinks and chews a little slower, “Have you ever worked with clay before?”

Her delayed, little no is met with the lopsided beam growing even. He nudges with his chin, deliciously bulging arms still tucked over his chest, his playfully raised eyebrows like a wordless notion of have more faith in yourself, “Then you may just be the next Magdalene Odundo. We’ll make a pro sculptor out of you, yet.”

Magdalene Odundo. Somehow, the name isn’t familiar, but simultaneously, somehow, it feels like a compliment.

Y/N inhales as his digits shift over his tri’s. “Okay.”

“Okay,” plush pink shapes a handsome smile, bordering bright white teeth in straight lines. The man tips his head towards the curved berry vase, and then looks back at her, “Did you want to do something like this? All these over here were made on the wheel.”

Y/N muzzles telling him that she’s no inkling of an idea how someone can morph a lump of clay into a vase, nevermind on a big, spinning platform that moves faster than her eyes can keep up with. The man seems to pick up on the hesitation in her silence.

“S’easy, I promise. I’ll show you how to throw.”

Show her. Okay. At least she’s not going to head into vase-sculpting or wheel-throwing or …whatever he’d called it blindly, fumbling over a block of clay on a twirling tray like a slapstick skit personified. At least it means she’s going to stay in his presence. After a moment of thought, though, (and the way she notes that his eyes make unwavering, relaxed contact with her face the entirety of the silent pause), Y/N decides she’s not sure whether that last bit is actually a good thing, considering she’s probably milliseconds away from, like, bracing a hand onto a the shelf to match his level of coolness, or something. And then subsequently sending ceramic pots spilling and shattering over the tile.

She blinks. Her shoulders rise on her nervous inhale, and he makes one of those playful faces, like he’s waiting for her to agree. The young woman’s eyes wander to the line of chairs pressed to its counterparts of wheels.

“I don’t wanna, like, trouble you—“

“You’re not. S’my job,” he tells her, crimson fingertips drumming. She catches sight of his fabric-clad pectorals flexing when he leans forward a little to tack on, “…And to be honest, it’d give me something to do besides fucking around with clay, which is what I’ve been doing for the last hour.”

Her mouth purses and then settles. “Okay.”

“Okay,” he says again, and then winds around through a row of little tables that resemble the set up of an art classroom, like the kind she’d have in school. She’s ashamed that her gaze wanders down the back of his arm to ogle the rest of his ink.

“You can have a seat at one of those wheels,” he tosses over his shoulder as he heads, she assumes, to wind back around the same shelf he’d surfaced from behind, “Just give me a mo’, and I’ll be right back with some clay.”

It takes Y/N a moment — mostly because she admires the view of his stature from behind as he migrates to a back hallway, irises roaming down the projection of muscles in his back showcased through his tee. They skim down his legs, down the backs of his knees, rest on toned calves. He’s gone far too quickly for her viewing pleasure. The young woman takes another glance at the uneven strawberry-esque vase, and then she pivots to step around the crowded assortment of wheels to crouch into one of those little roll-y stools, feet crossing and uncrossing in the cramped space.

He’s a sexy man, Y/N decides. That’s the word she’d been looking for all along, although pretty would match the descriptors of his long lashes and his pouty pink mouth. He’s sexy, though, in his baseball cap and his little six-inch-inseam shorts (which show off the sculpt of his tanned thighs and the ink over his kneecaps). He’s sexy when he comes out from the back over to her wheel, a gunmetal gray ball of clay cradled in his palm like it’s not the size of two of her own. He’s sexy in the green eye contact he makes when he settles into a stool similar to her own, right across, when his thighs splay because he doesn’t have enough room to sit otherwise, when he rests his elbows over his knees and stretches one arm out to pass off the clay. That’s when their digits brush, because it’s sort of unavoidable. He manages to make eye contact through that, too. Sexy.

“Okay. Clay,” the chilled ball the man hands off weighs her hand down, and Y/N’s gaze flickers up to meet his own when he instructs, “Toss it onto the wheel. Aim for the center.”

The young woman pauses like she’s calculating her aim, gearing up without visibly gearing up, and a little smile tugs at the instructor’s mouth as he waits. The clay lands with a thud onto the plate.

“Great,” he tells her, monitoring the centering, and then jade bounces back up to her face as he coaxes, “Smack for good luck.”

Y/N curbs the corners of her mouth out of mirth, hesitating for a moment before her palm lands over the smooth, gray lump in a halfhearted pat. She blinks up, hoping for assurance. The handsome man’s mouth purses like he’s restraining a grin.

“Harder,” he encourages after a second, the corners of his muted raspberry mouth seeping up a smidge, more openly, “S’not gonna cry. You can go a little harder than that.”

The young woman rolls her lips into her mouth, raises her hand, and follows his request, molding it flatter under the solid thud of her palm. Evidently, it’s a better attempt, because she earns a, “Very good,” in response from him.

She casts her gaze up to find him dipping his hands into the pot of murky water beside the wheel before a fist knocks lightly at the pedal-resembling lever on the opposite side, sending the wheel into a speeding twirl. And to add to her list of shame, the liquid that coats his fingers — that’s.

Yeah.

Y/N swallows and watches those wet hands cup over the clay, partly mesmerized by the way he coaxes the priorly deformed lump into a symmetrical cylinder, stroking up from the base up and back down, and partly mesmerized by the way the cherry polish becomes daubed with slicked clay.

“I’m just gonna get it nice and easy for you, and then you can get to the fun bits,” the man tells her as if he isn’t currently awakening some deep, deviously sexual desires in her by fondling clay. Jade flickers up. “M’Harry, by the way.”

“Y/N,” the young woman tells him in response, unsure whether to focus on his searing eye contact or the gentle press of his hands over … oddly erotic artistry in motion.

Harry unwittingly makes the decision for her by breaking the eye contact and glancing down at his work.

“Y/N,” he says, as if testing the taste of her name on his tongue.

Y/N takes a breath, smoothing her hands down her thighs.

“Y/N,” his strawberry mouth parts a tad for a soft breath in, honey smooth cadence glazed in concentration as he presses a flat palm over the top of the clay, keeping his other hand cupped over the length.

She watches the cylinder mold under his grip into something shorter, and then back up. She watches the way his arms flex, anchored to his body as he presses with the heels of his palms to sculpt.

“This is called coning. Makes the clay centered so your grip stays nice and even when it spins. Otherwise, s’gonna wobble, and you’ll feel it when you’re trying to work with it.”

Sure enough, after a few moments, when the man takes his clay-sullied palms away, what’d priorly been a lopsided hunk twirling over the platform stands symmetrically, shining post his wet grip. When he balls his hand into a fist and punches over the lever a handful of times, the plate slows to a stop. He blows out a breath and the music shifts to the next track in the background.

“Take your bracelet off for me.”

The comment is made totally innocuously. Its purpose is solely to preserve the condition of her jewelry — she knows that when his eyes go to meet hers again and he mentions, “Otherwise, it could get covered with clay, or break. Wouldn’t wanna ruin such a pretty piece.”

But it’s the way he says it, right? Two little words, so easy off his tongue. So nonchalant, so purely intended with no ulterior motive. For me. For me, for me, for me.

It’s shameful — she’s ashamed. She’s no better than a man, Y/N decides, as she peers to the silver bangle with the sliver of warmth slithering through her chest and snaking to her tummy. She’s no better than a man, objectifying this poor, effortlessly sexy ceramics instructor and his casual commentary on a Wednesday. She swallows.

“Right. Thanks— thank you,” the young woman tells him, her tone garbled with nervous enthusiasm as the fingers of her opposite hand wriggle under the clasp to pop the piece off.

She’s still feeling dubious about the morality of her thoughts once she’s slipped the bracelet into her tote by her feet and sat back up.

“Alright,” Harry starts again, elbows braced to his sturdy thighs, “We’re gonna go over what this little thing over here does, because it’s good to know. It sets your speed. We’ve got options—“

Y/N watches the way his arm stretches, she eyes the tail of the mermaid, the lines of scales etched into his skin. His eyes meet her own again.

“…Fast,” Harry knocks over the lever again with the butt of a vertical fist, a couple more nudges rocketing the wheel into a motion that dissolves priorly visible remnants of clay rings into fast-moving swirls with no decipherable borders.

Another few nudges has the wheel skidding to a full-stop, and then stuttering back up into a spin when he taps over the pad once more.

“…Slow,” Harry fixes his gaze back onto her face and watches the curious concentration there. The man sits back up a tad, elbows bracing over his splayed thighs and fingers crooked and lax, coated with slippery wetness and clay. “Find what feels good for you. S’different for everyone.”

Despite the way the directions are made so innocently, so obviously stated as a tutorial that’s not intended to be taken as something suggestive, Y/N finds a heat teeming over her cheekbones.

“But, I recommend—“ her teeth lodge into the inside of her cheek with subtlety as the instructor hunches a little again, just a tad, to rap over the lever in a pair. The wheel speeds. “—Sticking to something around this.”

The pace of the wheel settles into an easy spin — something that’s still too quick for her eyes to keep up with, but apparently not the fastest setting, judging by the higher speeds he’d displayed moments prior.

“Alright. Here’s where you come in with your undiscovered ceramic talents,” the instructor tells her, the edges of his mouth so obviously restrained, like he’s amused with his own playful banter. His eyes glinting softly under the buttery light cast by the overhanging lanterns,”M’gonna show you how to drill, but you’ll need to get your hands wet first.”

Harry sits back, elbows still braced to his thighs, hands now coated with slippery clay as he waits for the young woman to douse her own into the bucket. The liquid greets her palms with a welcome chill, and when she lightly cups over the cylinder, it slips under her hands with ease. The man clears his throat, and their digits graze again when he touches over her fingers to guide her grasp. Y/N tries not to focus on the way his hands make her own look as if they belong to a child.

“You’re gonna take your thumbs—” Harry coaxes, all concentrated seriousness now, and the pad of his own brushes against the knuckle of her left, “—and press over the top, here. Right in the middle, just like that.”

He takes his hands away and the clay rolls under her fingertips, a divot forming from the pressure of her thumbs.

“Good. Now what you’ve done is you’ve indicated where you’re going to make the opening. And to do that—“ his hands return, unintentionally persuading her own to fall away and sort of hover stagnantly mid-air, in sullied awe, as he dips the tip of his index into the cleft they’d created together.

As if hungry for the finger, the clay parts to swallow the pad of the digit. It broadens its starving mouth, and Harry steadies the spread with his thumb, his pointer delving against the inside of the deepening wall. His opposite hand cups over the body as he molds the opening wider.

Anyways, what Y/N manages to learn from the impressive showcase, before Harry steals a glance to make sure she’s been observing (which she has, very focused, actually), is that clay-working is a dirty, dirty, lustrous art form. Especially under his fingertips. This is all very educational stuff. Perhaps the most impressive step of his tutorial, thus far, is the way that, in mere moments, he cups and strokes and caresses over the clay, drawing the opening tighter. It shrinks until it disappears, and when he smooths his hands over the rounded edges a few more times, the vessel that’s left is an entirely clean slate. Almost as if she hadn’t just spent the last few seconds ogling a weirdly pornographic display of a clay cavern opening in response to the touch of his long finger. This was a horrible mistake, Y/N thinks pitifully — she’s getting aroused by clay working. If there was ever a blaring red indicator that she needed to get laid, this is it.

“I want you to try now,” Harry directs, totally nonchalant. This is just a casual Wednesday for him, Y/N realizes. He casually fingers clay with his sexy, long fingers, and thinks nothing of it. Maybe she’s just a horribly wound-up pervert.

Still sort of stunned, she reaches out and cups over the cylinder, clumsily positioning her thumbs in a replication of the manner he’d shown her, aiming for the center and driving a divot into the top.

“Mm. That’s good. Keep your elbows closer to your body,” he prompts, eyes flickering from her posture to her hands. “Like this.”

Following his body language, Y/N mimics, ducking a tad and tucking her arms to her torso. After a few moments, she lifts her thumbs to find a centered indent, one that’s similar to the one they’d created together.

“Lovely. Now,” the chair makes a little rolling sound over the tile as Harry shifts forward, clay-slicked hands (warm, despite their cool coating) cradling over her own to position, “You’re gonna cup here, and then take this finger and push here. Yep. Jus’ like that.”

The instructor takes his grip away and encourages, “If you need more water, get your hands wet. You can tell you need it if there’s friction — you want it a little wet.”

She wants it a little wet. Y/N decides, as she dunks her hands into the bucket and returns to the clay, she in fact does not want anything wet right now. This is the last place she wants something wet. Her thoughts are disturbed by the way he grasps her at her hands again and repositions — twisted by the slippery feel of his own wet fingers. The clay over his palms has begun to dry now, morphing lighter and crackling, but the tips of his digits are still soaked and darker in shade. She’s awed when the cylinder gives under her touch, the same way it had for him to encompass her finger. It’s like magic, sort of. Very slippery, wet, weirdly erotically undertone-d magic.

“There you go,” Harry tells her, baritone soft, “You’re a pro.” Then, after a moment, “You can go a little harder. Don’t be shy. Open it up.”

She’s not blushing. She’s not blushing, because that would be silly. She presses harder, and the opening widens until it gapes.

“How long have you worked here?” the young woman asks, naturally trying to change the subject from wet and hard things. Hopefully in an organic enough manner that doesn’t imply how affected she is by said wet and hard things.

“I bought this place a few years ago,” Harry responds after a second, tone concentrating as he reaffixes the firmness of her grasp (she tries not to verbally apologize, glancing up), “…Both units. It was a smoke shop before, I think.”

“Oh!” her hands stutter again in surprise, “Are you the owner?”

He fixes them again, brows pinched, and when he glances up, his brow bone is smooth and there’s a soft smile playing over his mouth. “Indeed I am.”

“It’s …beautiful in here,” Y/N tells him, gaze walloping from shelf to shelf for a moment, lantern lined ceilings to vine-coated crown molding, trusting that his hands will keep her own grounded to the piece.

“Thanks. It’s a little crowded, but if you manage to get lost among the …phallic statues and the clay bongs,” he cocks his head, blatantly bridling a simper as he shrugs. At the response of her snort, jade flickers up and the plush of his mouth curls more obviously, “…You’ll find your way out of the maze soon enough.”

As the walls of the clay grow thinner, the instructor takes his grip away, swiping at his forehead with the back of his hand. “Alright. What are we going for here? A mug? A vase? A bong masquerading as a vase?”

Y/N takes the lack of his touch as an indication to lighten her own. She purses her lips thoughtfully. “A vase.”

“A vase,” the instructor parrots, voice low, and then he hunches back over and cups the clay. The young woman returns her hands to meet his own. “I can work with that. We’re gonna build it up. You’re gonna squeeze and lift. Right—“

If his fingers keep brushing hers for the duration of the next …half hour? Hour? (How long does throwing take?), Y/N decides she’ll simply combust. His hands cup lightly over her own, two digits pressed to hers, and hers pinned to the inner wall of the clay in sin.

“—Here. That’s it. You can be a little aggressive. We’ve gotta get it tall.”

Y/N swallows.

“You said you own both units?” she ponders aloud, “Is there …more?”

“My place,” Harry tells her nonchalantly, as if it’s the most casual, normal, every day thing to live over a ceramics studio, “S’just over on the next floor.”

“That’s—“ she realizes her grasp has lightened again, the integrity of the structure mostly only crawling up under the pressure of his own (steady, firm) grip over hers, “…so cool. To have, like, a whole studio right under you.”

“Mm. I think right now…” Harry cranes his neck to peer up at the ceiling, “We’re under my kitchen.”

A little breath of mirth tumbles from her when he grins and tacks on, “I think this is way cooler, though.”

This is The Turning Point.

And if it was a scene title in a play, Y/N thinks it would be capitalized to denote the importance. It’s important, because somewhere along the trail of her perversions, as Harry had guided her hands into the innards of the clay — fittingly describing it as the body — when he’d pressed his hands against her own to widen its base, when he’d shown her the sponge, things had clicked. It had clicked because she realized she wasn’t fucking crazy. Because Harry then said this thing — this one little thing that would have launched her into a frenzied, internal mess of dubious morality on the basis of her perversions—

But then it clicked.

“Careful with the amount of water you’re using now, yeah?” he’d told her, maneuvering her grip over the sponge as they’d smoothed over the lip together, “S’all about balance. …If you go too hard, you’ll make a wet mess.”

Y/N had glanced up. That’s when she’d noticed the way the instructor gnawed into his cheek, almost immediately, almost as if he was amused by some sort of devious inside joke. And then his blocky front teeth had dug lightly into the plush of his pink bottom lip. It was nearly unnoticeable — but she had noticed. Clay was innately erotic, and he was doing it on purpose. It was one, or the other, or both.

For a little while from there, they work in blatantly charged silence. It’s a very short while, all things considered, and she’s willing to clam up altogether and daydream about his digits for the duration of the lesson, but the tone of his next words nearly gives her whiplash.

“So what are you doing on this lovely Valentine’s day?” Harry breaks the silence, once again, his tone so even and nonchalant that Y/N can’t begin to fathom where his composure comes from.

The young woman clears her throat, “Oh. Y’know. Trying my hand at ceramics. The yuzh.”

Jade doesn’t immediately jolt up when he ponders aloud, “Dinner plans?”

“Not any on the calendar …that I’m aware of.”

His touch doesn’t lighten, but he does glance up, mouth all (apparently) disbelieving mirth, “You’re telling me you’re not being wined and dined tonight?”

Feigning offense, the young woman sets her mouth into a line and nudges with her chin in a nod, joking, “Thank you for the reminder.”

Harry laughs softly, one of those little breaths expelled through his nostrils, and he looks back down to the vase-in-progress, gentle grin undeniable. Y/N matches his amusement, faux indignation crackling.

“You’re too pretty not to have a Valentine,” the instructor tells her, then, decibel low, almost like it was meant to be under his breath but also entirely not, and all Y/N can do is sit there with instant heat seeping to her face. Because that’s flirting. That’s definitely flirting. Her sexy ceramics instructor is helping her craft a vase out of clay on a wheel with his sexy hands, and he’s openly flirting.

Y/N stuffs down how initially stunned she is to chew into her bottom lip and volley, “I bet you say that to every girl that comes in here.”

Harry shrugs. It’s still almost an enraging level of cucumber-cool and composed.

“Just the pretty ones.” He tacks on, after a moment, “And only on Valentine’s day. Don’t think that line would fit well on a random Wednesday.”

Y/N snorts. She’s still basking in the pleasant warmth of the flattery when the man peers up and tells her, “I do accept tips, by the way, so. Feel free to leave a tip for the friendly service.”

“I will—“ she snorts, restraining her open amusement at the way his brows crinkle in concentration as he helps her grip, “—definitely do that.”

“Sick,” his tongue peeks out to swipe over his lips, disappearing back into his mouth as quick as the pink had showcased. Jade flits up, the corners of his mouth curled up in a little pause of silence, almost he wants to make it crystal clear he does not actually want a tip for hitting on her.

Anyways, this is all a flustered mess. All of it. Y/N, the pot she’s sure will grow off-center and wobble under her shaky grip, all of it.

“What about you?” the young woman takes a deep breath, hoping some sort of breathing exercise will help slow the buzzy flutter of her heartbeat, “Any wining and dining? For Valentine’s day?”

“Not on the calendar,” Harry responds, sliding her own words back to her, his gaze still honed on the work ahead of them, now impressively morphed from a lumpy, shapeless ball into the beginnings of a vase, “As for how I’m spending my Valentine’s day, I did just show this one pretty girl how to shape and smooth. And now, …m’gonna show her how to shape some more.”

Y/N bats her lashes, and then she observes the work of his clay caked fingers, the way they curl and press over the vase in different points of the body, some motions widening the rim and some drawing it more narrow. He bids their tutorial a pause shortly after, explaining, “I’m gonna give you some creative freedom now. Figure out what shape you like.”

Despite the slight disappointment budding at the close of their conversation, for now, the daunting task of unsupervised throwing is what probably surfaces on her face, more. The instructor catches it when he rolls back in the stool and stands, ogling her for a moment, mirthy mouth caving up in a way that suggests she must look like a deer in headlights.

“It’s intimidating, but I believe in you. I’ll just be in the back for a sec, give me a shout if you need me.”

Y/N shifts her legs, pressing her thighs together when he adds, “Play around with it.”

All in all, they manage to end the wheel session with (Y/N thinks, impressively) only a couple of hiccups, both being opportunities presented with unsupervised sculpting. When she’d played around with it (his words) a little too much and had coaxed a priorly even shape into something lopsided and petrifying, it’d swung around on the wheel, each turn quickening its slow but sure collapse. She’d called out for the instructor with a frantic note to his name. Of course, both times, Harry had come out from the back and patiently squeezed over the clay, hands and forearms jolting and flexing deliciously as he’d encouraged it back into something centered (yet another opportunity to stare at slick clay glazing over his fingers all over again), reassuring her that it was normal to struggle, especially with her first time.

Y/N wonders if he’s constantly full of innuendos, or whether a ceramics studio is just innately an opportunity for double entendres.

She tries not to make it too obvious when she stands on wobbling legs, when she brushes past him and catches soft notes of his cologne, clean and musky. When he directs her to the bathroom where she rinses clay from her hands into one of those artsy, utility sinks. When she sits at one of the tables, waiting for him to bring the vase over to her, torched and ready for additions, when he gives her another colorless lump. She tries not to make it obvious when she ogles more of his arms, the peek of his nipples through the white, clay-stained fabric of his tee shamelessly. She fears it’s utterly obvious how affected he’s made her, though, when she blinks up at his face, when he shows her what the different little tools in the cup do for sculpting. Y/N doesn’t even look away from him at the introduction of the first tool. She thinks that’s the one that must cross-hatch, driving little lines into the clay.

“This is called slip,” Harry explains, dipping the tips of his index and middle fingers into the cup near the brushes with no hesitation. The consistency over his fingers, when he pulls them out, is like a wetter, creamier, sloppier variation of the same clay she’d worked with.

Christ.

“You put it over the lines you’ve carved to make more clay stick,” the instructor expands.

Y/N swallows when he smears the consistency coating his fingers onto the lines he’d drawn, his gaze bouncing from his touch to her face.

“Like, if you wanted to add a handle to a mug, you’d use this method. Or, alternatively,” the young woman focuses on the way the pads of the digits rub over the lines. They fade away. “It’s like an eraser. Careful with erasing, though. …Wet mess.”

The latter is tacked on as a reminder, and it wonderfully reminds her of the heat coiling in the pit of her tummy. Wonderfully. She swallows again.

“You can probably use that brush to apply the slip, though, if you don’t want to get your hands dirty again.”

Flowers. She sculpts flowers with a searing heat between her thighs, because his added little comment of, “I don’t mind,” as he glances to the slip still glazing his fingers, implying that he doesn’t mind to get his hands dirty, does that to her. Y/N sculpts flowers and they settle into a comfortable sort of silence. It’s one where the only sounds are the soft music playing over the speakers and the occasional noise of pages turning from behind the counter as he leans over it and works through some kind of paperwork. She draws lines into the vase, and brushes on the slip, and presses creased flowers to decorate the bulbous body, concentration etching her features.

She doesn’t notice when she goes over the hours of operation, and Harry doesn’t disturb her, doesn’t tell her that the shop’s been closed for nearly half an hour by the time she peers up and declares, “I’m done.”

“You’re done,” the man repeats and sets the paperwork down, making his way over to the table where she’d set up, “Let’s have a look.”

Y/N sits back admiring her artistry. All things considered, it’s sort of an ugly vase. Despite this, a sense of accomplishment buds in her chest as she stares at her creation.

“I like it,” Harry tells her, nodding like he’s proud of a promising protégé, “It’s quite sweet.”

“Thank you. What now?”

“Now—“ the instructor props one hand onto the countertop and the other against his hip, “You wash your hands, you take a picture, and you come back in three weeks to sand it and glaze it.”

Simple. It’s a simple set of instructions. Y/N brushes crackling, dried clay off of her fingertips against the cloth laid over the table, instinctively reaching for her purse.

She blinks up at him expectantly, “How much?”

Dimples wink awake with his soft simper, and he shifts his stance before he asserts, “Don’t worry about it.”

The young woman’s features shape into something crinkled, something bemused and unwilling of a discount. She shakes her head and glances back down to the tote, “No, I have to pay you. What about your tip?”

Harry crosses his arms over his chest, pecs flexing with the motion. Flexing, flexing, flexing, when will his muscles stop rippling? He sighs, cushiony mouth still smiling, “I think I’ll live. My tip was that I’ve helped you discover a hidden talent—“

Y/N snorts, eyeing the sloppy attachments to the shapely base, fingers still tucked over her wallet.

“—It’d defeat the satisfaction and all the pride I’ve got now,” the man declares, shrugging.

The unconvinced look she gives him coaxes him into a good-natured roll of his eyes, and Harry tuts before he compromises, raising his eyebrows, “But if you must tip me, you can tip me when you come back in three weeks, yeah?”

Begrudged, the young woman takes her hand from the edges of her wallet. “Fine. Okay.”

“Okay. Three weeks,” the man reminds her, a little smile playing over the plush of his mouth.

The world of ceramics is oddly pornographic, Y/N decides. But maybe clay isn’t innately erotic. Maybe it’s the way the man’s fingertips mold its shape, the way his digits look soaked in slip, the way his hands cradle over it as a wheel spins under his ducked stature. Maybe it’s the way his jade irises flit to her face when he makes an educational comment that’s obviously suggestive, Maybe it doesn’t have to do with clay, at all. Maybe it’s Harry.

Maybe it’s the way he tells her, “If I were you, I wouldn’t miss it. Glazing is my favorite part.”

#harry styles #harry styles smut #(ish)? there’s a lot of innuendos in this one #harry styles dirty one shot #harry styles writing #harry styles one shots #harry styles fluff #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles valentine’s day fic #valentine’s day fic

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nats-firefly · 1 year

Text

secret hobbies

natasha romanoff x reader

summary: Your strong muscular girlfriend shows you one of her lesser known hobbies.

warnings: daddy kink, beefy!nat, choking very briefly, strap on use (r receiving), teasing, fingering (r receiving), smut 18+ only

a/n: once again a repost from my old blog (twilight-99-tm), if you have any other ones you's like me to repost, let me know <3

🚩 warnings are clearly stated please do not report/flag :) 🚩

words: 2.5k | feedback is always welcome | masterlist

divider source

Natasha’s face snuggled deeper into the crook of your neck while the two of you laid on the couch. Nat was trying to take a nap, arms wrapped around your body with her slow, even breaths tickling your neck while you scrolled through your phone, soft tiktok audios filling the space of her bedroom.

One of your hands stroked Natasha’s hair while the other tapped your screen, the contents on the device pulling the other woman’s attention. That’s where you stayed for a while, Natasha’s eyes fluttering closed every now and then, your shared laughter occasionally filling the room.

The next tiktok that played was of someone making pottery, spinning the clay as if it was nothing. Your eyes sparkled, letting the video loop over and over again. Natasha smirked, looking up at you to find your enamored expression.

“I’ve always wanted to do that,” You said, pausing the tiktok and looking down at the redhead smirking up at you. “Have you ever made pottery?”

“Hmm,” She hummed, before leaving a chaste kiss to your neck and sitting up, strong thighs on either side of your hips as she took your hands into hers. “Come with me.”

She stood up, tugging your hand when you refused to get up. “But baby, we were so comfy.”

“C’mon,” She said, easily pulling you up onto your feet, arms flexing with her movement. “You’re gonna like this.”

You leaned your chin up, ever so slightly puckering your lips in protest. She chuckled and leaned down, pressing her lips against yours. You kissed her back, smiling against her lips as you wrapped your hands around her neck. Her arms made their way around your waist and down to your thighs, and before you knew it, you were being carried down the hallway.

“Where are we going?” You asked, not recognizing this part of the compound.

“You’ll see,” She said, smiling lazily as she walked down a flight of stairs. She put you down in front of two wooden doors, before scanning her thumbprint to unlock them.

Your jaw dropped when you walked inside, floor to ceiling shelves filled with pottery or bags of clay. There was a large window on one side of the room, and right in front of it a pottery wheel with a stool. You walked further inside, Natasha following behind you holding your hand.

“Is this,” You took in your space one more time, turning around to face your girlfriend. “Your art studio?”

Natasha almost blushed. She’d never brought anyone else here. The only person that knew about this was Tony and even he was sworn to secrecy. She nodded, pulling you closer to her and hiding her face in the crook of your neck. You wrapped your arms around her as you cooed, burying your hands in her hair.

“Big, bad, Natasha Romanoff, likes making pottery,” You said, swaying the two of you as you took in more of the space. Every corner screamed Natasha, from the forgotten coffee cups on the counter, to the pictures of you on the desk off to the side, and the small radio in the corner. “It’s cute.”

“Don’t make fun,” She mumbled. “It’s fun, and relaxing.”

“I wasn’t making fun, baby,” You said, bringing her face out from your neck so you could look her in the eyes. “I just wasn’t expecting it.”

She smiled as she looked at you, leaning forward to meet your lips once again. You gasped before she could pull away. “Did you make that pot you gave me the cactus in?”

The grin spreading over her face said it all, and you don’t think you’ve ever been more in love than right now. You pulled away from her, walking over to the pottery wheel and looking around the room.

“So,” Your fingers trailed over the top, sheepishly looking over at Natasha. “Are you gonna show me how to do it?”

“Do you want to?” She asked, excited.

“Do I want my hot strong girlfriend to show me how to throw pottery? Uhh, let me think about it.”

“You’re a dork,” She said, beckoning you to follow her.

“Yeah, but I’m your dork,” She leaned down to kiss you quickly before pulling an apron down from the hook. She draped it over your head before you turned around, her lips meeting the back of your shoulder as she tied it around your waist.

Natasha put her own apron on before moving to cut a large chunk of clay from a block, telling you to go sit by the pottery wheel. Your eyes followed the way her arms moved as she handled the chunk, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip when she threw it harshly onto the wheel in front of you. Thank God for muscle tanks.

She brought a bowl of water and a sponge closer before approaching you, asking for your hand. You looked up at her, very obviously trailing your eyes up her body. The apron tied snugly around her waist only accentuated her muscles and if you had a little less self-control you’d be drooling.

“I thought you wanted me to show you how to do it,” She said, taking your hand when you didn’t react. You let her pull you up, clearing your mind of the filthy thoughts your brain had come up with. She sat on the stool you had just stood up from. “Come sit on my lap, princess.”

You pursed your lips, letting her pull you into her. You made yourself comfortable atop her toned thighs, her breath against the back of your neck sending a small shiver you felt down to your core. You closed your eyes, your breath catching in your throat as her lips connect with where your neck meets your shoulder. You lean back into her as she runs her hands down your arms, taking your hands in hers.

“Let’s start,” She mumbled into your skin, making you turn your attention back to the task at hand. Her hands almost completely covered yours as she placed them on the piece of clay. Natasha smirked as she watched your face, she could clearly tell your mind was elsewhere, exactly where she wanted it. “I’m gonna start spinning the wheel.”

Her thigh flexed under you as she pressed down the pedal, your own thighs clenching at the movement. “Go ahead, baby, try to start shaping it.”

Natasha pressed against you, it snapped you out of your train of thought, making you focus back on your hands. Natasha placed her hands on your hips, holding them against her as she watched you try to shape the clay. You grunted, the material feeling too hard and dry against your hands to make any progress.

“Baby, it’s too hard,” You whined, slumping back into her. You looked up at her with your best puppy dog eyes, if only she could move those hands further down. Natasha pushed you forward, straightening you up. She placed your hands back on the clay, leaning over and taking a sponge from a bowl of water. You felt her thigh tense again and had to suppress a moan.

“You have to get it nice and wet, sweetheart,” The cool water dripped down the clay and mixed with your fingers, immediately making it easier to shape. Natasha licked her lips before leaving a trail of wet kisses up your neck to the corner of your jaw. “Look at that, your hands look so good working on this.”

Your eyes fluttered closed, her lips connecting back to your skin. You shuddered, struggling to maintain the shape you were molding. “I know where they could look better.”

One subtle shift of her hips and you felt it. Natasha smirked against your neck when you stiffened, making the semi-shaped blob turn back into an unrecognizable shape once again. Natasha tsked, taking your chin softly between her fingertips and making you focus back down on what you were doing. “Eyes on your work, princess.”

You’re not sure if it was the way her voice went down or the rasp that suddenly became apparent, you just couldn’t help the moan that erupted from your throat. “Daddy…”

Her hand trailed down your neck, fingers subtly wrapping around your neck before pressing briefly. You gulped, suddenly becoming aware of the increasing wetness between your thighs as you clenched them together. Natasha hummed against you, sucking a mark onto the skin on your neck as her hands roamed down your body.

“C’mon, detka,” She mumbled, hands curling around your thighs, and spreading them apart just enough so she could idly run her fingertips up and down your inner thigh. “I don’t wanna have to get my hands dirty, I’d much rather have them right here instead.”

She slid her fingers down to your core, pressing down against it over your clothes. You whined, pushing and grinding back against her. Your brain was becoming overwhelmed with the feeling of her against you, not wanting to focus on anything but that. “B-but, I-”

“Shh,” She shushed you, her fingers starting a slow movement sliding up and down. You have never hated the two layers of clothing separating her fingers and your skin more. You felt her arms flex around you as she pulled your hips back against her. “But what baby? Can’t think with Daddy’s hands all over you?”

“I- Pleas-” You stuttered, struggling to come up with words as you pathetically rocked against the redhead’s hand. You pulled back from the wheel, fully leaning against Natasha for support. This time, she didn’t protest, giving in to what you wanted in favor of all the pretty noises you were making for her. You needed to do the one thing you knew would give her no choice but to take you right there and then. “Please Daddy, I need you to fuck me.”

By the way her hands stiffened against you, you knew you played your cards right. Natasha is always one to tell you how much she likes it when you use your words. She practically stood up with you, turning you around and pulling your apron’s string behind your back. She slid it over your head before roughly slamming you against her workbench.

Her lips slammed against yours, her tongue immediately colliding with yours between moans and whines. Natasha slid her hands down to your hips and easily lifted you onto the tabletop. Your legs parted on instinct, allowing the older woman to stand right between them. Her fingers easily undid the button of your pants and pulled down the zipper, giving her enough space to slide her hand into your pants and feel how you’d already ruined your underwear.

“This all for me, princess?” She asked, smirking against your lips. You whined in response, crossing your hands behind her head and trying to pull her closer. “Nuh-uh keep those hands right there, let Daddy do the work.”

Your brain practically melted as she wrapped one arm around your body, easily lifting you up so she could pull your pants and underwear down in one go. Her fingers easily met your core once again, coating themselves in your wetness as you moaned against her lips.

“Please, Daddy,” You whined, rocking your hips forward so you were almost grinding against her. “I need you, please.”

“Patience, my love,” She said, easily pushing two fingers past your entrance. You gasped at the intrusion, legs clenching around her arm as she moved her fingers inside you. Her lips met your neck again, leaving marks in their wake as they kissed down to the collar of your shirt. You whined, clenching around her fingers as she reached the perfect spot inside you.

You tried pushing Natasha closer to you by bringing your crossed wrists closer to your body. Natasha smirked, leaning in just enough to tease you, eyes glued to your face. Your eyes were screwed shut in pleasure, lips parted and waiting for Natasha’s. She hovered her lips right above yours, breaths mingling in the small space separating them. She loved being this close to you, she loved knowing how good she was making you feel.

“Nat-Natasha,” You whined, clenching around her fingers. She knew you were close, but she had to drag it out longer, seeing how much you could take.

“That’s not my name,” She corrected, curling her fingers in the way she knew made your eyes roll to the back of your head.

“Daddy, please,” Your voice came out unsteady as you tried to hold yourself back. “I-I’m gonna cum.”

“Not yet sweetheart,” She said, withdrawing her fingers. Tears almost rolled down your cheeks at the loss of contact, your core yearning for sweet release. “I want you to cum on my cock.”

Natasha leaned back and slid her pants down enough so she could take out the strap, your core tightening at the mere sight of it. You reached forward, taking a handful of Natasha’s shirt and pulling her into you. You kissed messily, trying to feel as much of the other as possible.

The tip of the strap nudged your entrance, making your hips shift closer to the edge of the table. Natasha broke the kiss, just long enough to slide the large toy into your cunt. You moaned against Natasha as you bottomed out, the toy easily sliding in with your arousal alone. The redhead grunted as she began to fuck into you. The force made you support your weight on your hands behind you, your ankles locking behind Natasha.

Your thighs clenched around Natasha’s body as she brought you closer and closer to the edge. The mumbles leaving your lips only spurring her on more. She looked at your face contorting in pleasure before trailing her lips down your jaw and onto your neck. Her hand moved from holding your hip to rest on your front, thumb rubbing against your clit.

“You close, baby?” She asked, baby hairs sticking to her face as she continued thrusting into you. You couldn’t do anything other than nod, sloppily trying to move your hips in sync with hers. Natasha paused, pulling out before quickly and roughly flipping you onto your stomach on the table and sliding the strap back in. You arched your back in pleasure, reaching up and gripping the other edge of the table. Natasha held your hips, the sounds of your drenched pussy filling the room. “Cum for me, princess.”

You didn’t need any more than that to send you over the edge. Your body shook as the intense orgasm washed over you. Natasha slowed her thrusts, letting you ride out your orgasm as she watched you twitch under her. She slowly slid the toy out from your pussy when she saw your grip let up on the other side of the table, carefully flipping you around once again. You weakly reached up, wanting Natasha closer to you but too weak to sit up yourself.

“Fuck, Nat,” You mumbled, thighs instinctively twitching when the strap nudged your entrance when she came closer.

Natasha’s lips moved softly against yours, her arms holding you against her as you lazily kissed her back. Her hands slid down to cup your ass, enjoying the way you whined softly against her. The two of you shared a blissful moment enjoying each other's closeness before she pulled away.

“Do you have any other secret hobbies I should know about?”

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x reader smut #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff smut #bonk.repost #bonk.nat #black widow x reader #black widow smut #black widow x reader smut

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mayghosts · 2 months

Note

hiii love all ur fics ur so talented!! could u possibly do like kate fluff headcannons 🤭🤭

Kate Martin: Fluffy Headcannons

Summary: Request :)

Warnings: nada!

AN: that actually means so much to me tysm 😭🫶, trying to get more active again y'all expect more to come

✦ love language is either touch or acts of service

✧ if you are ever having going through a rough patch with mental or physical health, she is such a good care taker

Stepping out of the bath Kate had ran for you, you gently padded out of the bathroom and into your bedroom. “…Kate baby, my room was such a mess how did you clean this!?” Smiling at you she began to make her way over to you, “hi pretty girl, it was nothing I can’t handle!” You sighed as you let her pull you into bed and under the covers, “you really didn't have to…” kissing the crook of your neck and shoulder she replied “Don’t stress it babe, anything for my girl.”

♦︎ She’s always walking you to class or to your job, even if she has somewhere she's supposed to be

✦ Loves driving you around and running errands with you

“What are you doing today?” You hummmed into the phone speaker “Nothing much, I have a dentist appointment at three, what are you doing baby?” You heard shuffling coming from the other end of the phone, “Well, I have to drive this really pretty girl to her dentists appointment at three…”

✧ BIG hugger, she's always got her arms around your waist and her head on your shoulder

♦︎ If you guys are going on a date, 99% of the time its an activity (mini golf, pottery painting, cooking classes, glad blowing, amusement park etc etc)

✦ loves watching you get ready; she will just lie on your bed and watch you do your makeup and try on different outfits

✧ Loves telling you how pretty you look or how much she loves an outfit

♦︎ you guys are the team parents, if you aren’t on a sports team, she helps you land the team manager position

✦ she's always looking for you on the sidelines during games, she claims she plays better when you are there (you are never not there)

♦︎ After she beat UConn, she dragged you onto the court with her and she kissed you in the confetti

✧ When you two move in together, you adopt an elderly dog from a local shelter together. The dog adores you, but Kate is always spoiling the dog to try and “win it over”

Walking down the hallway full of dogs in pens Kate squeezed your hand. “I think I have the perfect dog for you two… right in here!” The veterinarian let the two of you into a small side room where you were greeted with a sweet, old, terrier mix. The old dog lifted her head to glace at Kate before it walked right up to you, completely ignoring Kate. “Ha! she likes me more!” you gloated at you girlfriend who pouted back at you. “That dog is going to love me in no time! Just you wait!!”

✦ forehead kissed + hand holding = Kates version of PDA

♦︎your family loves her, she fits in perfectly during holidays and reunions

✧ NEVER forgets your anniversary or your birthday and she always goes full out for special events

♦︎Has you a notes document full of all of your favorite things so she will never forget

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pigcowboys · 11 months

Note

hiii!!! may i request headcannons or smth for doing arts n crafts or pottery with percy pleaseee!!! :3 thank youuu have a nice dayyy

pairing: percy jackson x gn!reader

warning(s): mutual pining, kissing, fluff, incorrect pottery knowledge, physical touch.

summary: percy helps you with your pottery assignment

a/n: HI!! TYSM FOR REQUESTING :D, this request is adorable too I’ve always loved this pottery trope it’s so cliche 😭😭 im currently working on the missing FIC but! I wanted to post SOMETHING cause it’s been so long.

happy halloween to anyone who celebrates it!

percy peered into the arts and craft room curiously, looking around at the abandoned looking room. a smile made its way onto his face as he took notice of you, practically skipping over to you.

you huffed as you picked at the dried up clay on your hands, flinching slightly when percy slung a hand over you, pulling you towards him with a smile.

“what’re you doing?” he asked, peering over your shoulder curiously. you barely moved, adjusting your shoulder so he’d rest comfortably.

“making — or well, trying to make a vase.” you turned to look at him through your peripheral. percy stared at the discombobulated mess of clay that he assumed was your attempt at that.

“i’m guessing this is a more..artistic take on that.” he joked, nuzzling his face further into your shoulder. “did you come here to laugh at me or something?”

“truth? maybe.” he grinned. “that and, i just missed you.” you rested your head against his own which laid in the crook of your shoulder, cradling it with your clay stained hands.

“flattery will get you nowhere, percy.” you smiled at him. “but, i missed you too.” you leaned forward, moving Percy’s head out of your shoulder in the process. he moved to sit beside you, looking at the mess in front of you with a confused look. you met his gaze, offering him a dazed grin.

“do you want some help?”

“yes, please.”

percy laughed slightly, standing up and plopping down behind you. you adjusted to the feeling of him behind you, giggling slightly when his hands brushed your rib cage as it came to hold onto your waist.

you eyed him curiously before clearing the kiln of any excess clay. Percy watched closely as you placed a fresh lump of clay onto the wheel, watching closely as you began to toy with the shape of the clay. his head found it’s way over your shoulder as he braved against your back, removing his hands for your waist.

your breath caught in your throat at the proximity but paid it no mind, pushing down your anxiety in favor of focusing.

“here,” you said, motioning for Percy to bring his hands forward to which he did, hovering on the wheel with uncertainty as he waited for your next command. “shape the lower half, i’ll work on the top half, okay?”

percy hummed in agreement, leaning to the right of you as he used his lithe fingers to curve the lower half of the vase. you two worked in tandem despite the close proximity and the straying thoughts that would flash in your mind every few minutes about how you could feel percy’a breath against your neck.

you felt like you were going crazy, especially when your hands absentmindedly wander further down towards the lower half of the vase, grazing Percy’s own hands which were moving up at the same time. in real time the contact only lasted about a minute or two but you felt like the lasted well over ten.

it seriously didn’t help when Percy inched forward as you were turning to observer the wall mounted clock in the arts in crafts room, locking eyes with him for moment before whipping your head back to focus on what you were actually supposed to be doing.

the situation was so awkward and it was only punctuated by percy talking enthusiastically about something that crossed his mind as you tried your best to listen to what he had to say. though, at this point you were down for the count and there wasn’t anyway to just slip out from the position you’d put yourself in.

your mind wandered and you turned to look at percy as he spoke, mind getting caught on the pinkish hue of his lips. they looked, regular — you guessed. just..really nice. and inviting. and cute kind of? can lips be cute? maybe not, but, his were.

Percy trailed off as he caught wind of the fact you were zoned out, fixating his eyes towards wherever it was you were looking at and flushing when he did. a nervous laugh slipped through him that caused you to snap out your daze as he murmured out your name.

“you’re not listening are you?”

“i am.”

“y’know I hate that I doubt that.”

you frowned, a bad attempt at looking offended by the complete and total truth that Percy was accusing you of doing.

“what makes you think I’m not?” you asked, turning back to focus on shaping the clay. percy stilled for a moment before leaning forward, breath fanning against the shell of your ear.

“ the fact you keep staring longingly at my lips.”

you flinched at the sound of his voice, whipping your head back to look at him and simultaneously digging into the clay that was still rotating. you cursed, removing your hands from the wheel as you shifted out from your spot in-front of Percy.

he looked at you with slight amusement as he stopped the spinning, getting up to follow after you, who had walked over to the sink — washing your hands furiously while also trying to calm your racing heart.

percy walked over slowly, observing you silently before taking a spot next to you to wash his hands. you didn’t spare him a glance when he did, only shifting slightly so he’d get access to the sink as well.

“ are you embarrassed or something?” he spoke up suddenly

“wh—” You snapped your head towards Percy with a genuine look of bewilderment in your face. “no!” you frowned at him, heart beating in your ears and he stared you down. well, you had to give it to him, the guy had amazing eye contact.

“you just caught me off guard.”

“caught off guard or caught red handed?”

“caught off guard.”

percy looked at you like he trying to analyze you, hands flapping in the wind as he shook off the water that was on his hands. you turned your back towards him, reaching for the towel that was a near the sink, drying your hands. now, how were you supposed to come up with an excuse that could get you out of this?

“hey,” Percy spoke once more, a slight seriousness in the tone of his voice. you turned your head towards him curiously. “we could try it.”

“try..?”

“kissing.”

“each other?” you asked, complete shock on your face.

“no, the clay.” he quipped, expression faltering when his response was met with silence from your end. “it’s..okay if you don’t want to — i just thought it would be.. uhm, good for practice?”

“yeah, cause i kiss people every other month or so.”

he shrugged. “you could be living a double life.” you shot him a look, a sigh escaping you. he wasn’t joking right? like, this wasn’t a prank..right? you racked your brain from specifics, trying your hardest to walk through the idea before reluctantly opting to give into it.

it was a once in a lifetime opportunity.

“c’mere,” you murmured, and Percy obeyed your order almost immediately. your breath caught in your throat as he approached you carefully, placing his hand on your shoulder. you looked up at him like a deer in headlights, causing a laugh — or more like a cackle to escape his lips.

you gave him an unamused look. percy smiled warmly, clearing his throat before moving his hands towards the underside of your chin, angling it up. you closed your eyes expectantly, gulping as Percy’s breath fanned over your lips.

he hesitated for a moment before leaning in and locking lips with you after a pause. you pursued your lips against his own, hands coming to rest on his chest as you fiddled with the strings of his hoodie.

you were stiff in his hold, something that he could feel as he pressed into your body. his other hand reached up to rest on your hands which was rested against his chest in attempt to soothe your nerves. you relaxed in his hold, titling your head slightly as you pull back for air before going back in.

Percy pulled away from the kiss finally, a small sigh escaping his lips as he gazed at you longingly. he opened his mouth to say something, lips pressing shut as he stood in silence. you felt as if it was now your turn to ease the tension, a smile breaking out on your face in an attempt to soothe his fears.

“that was..a solid 8/10..”

percy grinned, removing his hand from under your chin as he cradled your torso. “2 points off?” he smiled. “How come?”

You shrugged. “you were pretty stiff.”

“you’re talking?”

you punched him playfully, sliding out of his grip carefully as you inches back towards the wheel.

“come on, let’s finish this, okay?” you turned towards him. “i’lil let you do a redo afterwards.”

percy stared at you with starstruck eyes, briskly walking back over to the pottery station.

#percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson fluff #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson x y/n #percy jackson x you #x reader fluff #x reader #pjo fluff

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lovelywetdreamer · 6 months

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"Jason this is-

"UGLY! I should just destroy it!!"

"Jason, no!! I love you this with all my heart. Our daughter is going to love it as well."

The day Jason and you found out you were expecting he been trying to find the perfect gift for you. He took so many pottery class because he wanted to make a beautiful tea set for you.

He knows it always been a dream of yours to have tea party in the garden with your daughter. The problem is the tea pot is black with tiny crooked, red bats all over it. All the matching tea cups were sloppy. He thought it was ugly but to you it brought sweet tears. Jason truly did love you.

#jason todd #batman #red hood #jason todd fluff #red hood fluff #jason todd x female reader #jason todd x female reader fluff #batman fluff #DC #DC fluff

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shimonerin · 9 months

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Secret Santa w/ the Jujutsu High Students

Content: Giving Itadori, Megumi, and Nobara their favorite gifts Tags: fluff Words: 1.7k

a/n: literally my first time writing again after a year or two and also my first time actually putting myself out there and posting lol I apologize if it's messy or lengthy TvT

Itadori Yuji

I feel like Yuuji would ask for a DVD/cassette collection of his favorite movies and TV shows since he really is a “TV child” and grew up watching those. And also because DVDs/cassettes are not really a thing nowadays, it kind of gives him nostalgia to be watching the same movies he used to when he was younger.

Another thing I think he’d like is a snack basket. Just a basket filled to the brim with sweets and snacks and sodas. Just something he can eat and share with someone while he’s watching his shows.

Yuuji doesn’t ask for much and he’d be completely fine if you only managed to buy one of them or even a completely different gift. I mean, he’s basically going out every weekend in the cinemas and he’s more than capable of buying a few snacks for himself at the store. Everything else is just a bonus.

What he didn’t expect was for you to go out of your way to buy him everything on his wishlist and even gave him a meal voucher to one of the popular ramen restaurants in Japan. You know he likes rice bowls a lot and what’s better than giving him a voucher that’s worth at least three different rice bowls.

“No way! You bought all of this for me?” He exclaimed, his eyes gleaming with stars as he looked over the rack full of DVDs, a large snack basket, and a meal voucher. He could feel the tears well up in his eyes, seeing you make an effort into giving him something special.

You smiled fondly at him, chuckling softly at his lightly pouting face “I might as well, right?” You tell him so casually, as if you didn’t just crawl your way into this man’s heart with your gifts.

Without a second thought, he threw himself at you, wrapping you in a tight, almost suffocating embrace before burying his face at the crook of your neck “You’re so awesome, you know that? I was secretly hoping you were my secret santa.” He murmured softly, which you find extremely endearing. Nobara and Gojo snickered behind you and you knew you’d find yourself in the middle of another teasing session over the next few days.

As soon as Yuuji let go of you, he grabbed both of your hands, holding it in front of your chest “We should definitely stop by that ramen restaurant later! You’ve only been there once, right?” He suggested as he shook your hands excitedly like a child.

As much as he wanted to hang out with his friends this Christmas, he didn’t want to miss out on some one-on-one time with you. He’s basically begging the universe for it so he wouldn’t trade it for the world or for an extra day of training. That can wait.

Megumi Fushiguro

I feel like Megumi isn’t even interested in joining Secret Santa. Poor boy was just forced by Gojo and Itadori lol. As he’s not interested in receiving any material gifts anyways, at most he’d probably just ask for a book.

He didn’t even give you any specific book he’d want you to buy so you had to ask Gojo “Oh, he’s not really into fantasy books, if that’s what you’re thinking,” He tells you as he leaned back onto the sofa “He’s leaning more towards nonfiction novels. Like the classics, you know?”

Heading straight towards the bookstore after training hours, you decided to go for “In Praise of Shadows” by Junichiro Tanizaki, simply because the title reminded you of his cursed technique. Though, the synopsis for the book isn’t too far off from his tastes.

Giving him only the book felt empty so you decided to look for mini figurines for his shikigamis at a nearby pottery shop. You wanted to give him something to symbolize his immense care for these animals, which was one of the things you loved the most about him. In the end, you had bought a total of 10 mini clay figurines. You placed it alongside the book inside a neat box with Japanese wrapping paper and a small bunny origami that resembles one of his shikigami on top to finish it off.

When it was time to give your gift to Megumi, he was quite impressed with the way it was wrapped but kept his reactions to a minimum “Ah, thanks.” He’d say, with a hand behind his neck

Only when he opens his present will you see the visible change in his expression. He pulls out the book and the mini figurines of the Divine Dogs, his gaze darting all over it in subtle fascination.

You purse your lips, tilting your head slightly “Do you like it?” You asked him, albeit a little nervously.

“Hey! Say something, won't you?” Nobara shouted, crossing her arms at the boy “Don't just sit there and stare!”

Megumi lifted his head off your bundle of gifts as he gazed back at your smiling face, a sudden feeling of happiness swelling in his chest but he kept it in.

“It’s…nice. I like it.” He spoke quietly, as if he’s only talking to you, blocking out all of the other sounds around him “You shouldn't have bought so much.”

He wanted to say more than that but his real feelings can't be summed up in a few words and he didn't want to come off so cheesy in front of his friends.

You laughed in response, waving off his words “No, no, I want to! You seem so indifferent with Christmas and I just wanted to give you something to smile about!” You lightly teased him, knowing you would have loved him either way.

At this point, Itadori and Nobara were forcing Megumi to smile for you as a joke, poking and prodding at his cheeks like they always do.

In the middle of the teasing session, you could definitely make out a small genuine smile from his otherwise stoic face, one that's easy to miss if you’re not looking closely enough.

Later that evening, when you finally got home, you received an unexpected call from Gojo, saying “Hey, just called to tell you Megumi loved what you gave him.” He tells you “In fact, he’s arranging those figurines you bought him at his bedside table.”

Without a second thought, you could hear Gojo put his phone closer to Megumi’s room, as the faint sound of soft clashes of wood on wood fills your ears.

Gojo puts himself back on the call “Oh, and the book that you gave him? Yeah, he started reading it on the way home. Looks like you really got him this time.”

You couldn't help the smile slowly spreading across your face like a child “Really?” You say, trying not to let your voice give out what you're feeling “That’s…that’s great! Tell him to cherish it for me, Gojo-sensei!”

Unbeknownst to you, you were on speaker the whole time.

Kugisaki Nobara

Oh it was anxiety-inducing to think of what to give to Nobara. She’s a girl who knows her worth and knows exactly what she deserves. And while that was an aspect of her personality that you love and admire a lot, there’s only so much that you can do with your allowance.

Her wish list states that she wanted stylish clothing, accessories, or anything that looks good on her, given how much she loves shopping. Of course, she didn’t ask for Balenciaga or Onitsuka Tiger. She’s not that delusional.

But you can’t help as if every gift you’d think of wouldn’t be good enough for her. You only wanted to give her the best things because that’s when you’ll see her smile the brightest. And you’d probably do anything to see it on her all the time.

Over the weekend, you made a plan to go to Shibuya, going straight to the popular fashion mall, Shibuya 109. Entering one of the more affordable clothing chains in the establishment, you purchased a cute, oversized graphic tee for her. You also decided to buy her a box set of accessories like hairpins, bracelets, chains, and scrunchies.

Buying one last thing for her with the money that you have, you go to a local chocolatier and order a box of macaroons. Nobara has always been a fan of sweets, after all.

On Christmas Day, when it was your turn to give your gifts, you glanced towards Nobara who was sitting beside you before handing her a beautifully wrapped gift with a ribbon on top.

“Merry Christmas, Nobara. You’re gonna love this.” You’d sweetly say as she widened her eyes, delicately loosening the ribbon string.

As soon as her eyes landed on the top you bought for her, chic accessories, and the box of macaroons, she couldn't simply contain her excitement.

Her eyes were basically stars as she immediately tried on the shirt, twisting and turning to see how it looked “(Y/N), this is gorgeous!” She exclaimed

Opening the box of accessories next, she quickly tried on the hairclips and wore the bracelets, hurriedly trying them on all at once “Where did you buy all this? It honestly looks so good.” She asked you, a wide smile plastered on her face

You scratched the back of your head and grinned “I…I honestly went to Shibuya this Saturday. I thought I might find you something different from the shops there.”

She immediately dropped everything she was holding and perked up in interest “And you didn't bring me with you? That would have been the best Christmas gift you could give me!” She says, her warm hands immediately wrapping around yours “Then maybe you shouldn't have spent all your money on me. I heard some stores there are so expensive.”

Your grip on her hand tightened into a gentle squeeze “You don't need to worry. I got my money's worth so it’s okay, really.” You reassured her.

You could see the tears forming on her eyes, only for her to wipe it off as she pouted “Well, at least let me share my macarons with you!” She tells you before picking one from the box and feeding you a strawberry cream-filled flavor macaron.

Nobara made a promise to be the one to take you to Shibuya next time and even go as far as to spoil you, even when you told her not to.

How could she not? She’s so picky with everything but you’re the only one who seems to pinpoint her tastes so well. She’s never met anyone who could match her as good as you do so she’ll make sure to return the favor.

Happy holidays x

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #itadori yuuji #yuji itadori #jjk itadori #itadori x reader #megumi fushiguro #jjk megumi #megumi x reader #nobara kugisaki #jjk kugisaki #jjk nobara #nobara x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jjk imagines #Spotify

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shogvnate · 1 year

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DOLCEZZA, donna beneviento x f! reader.

donna beneviento (& angie) comforting you, oneshot.

contains; donna beneviento

warnings; comfort, fluff, implied abandonment issues but why she's comforting you in the first place can be read as vague.

━━ 🪡 ´ˎ˗

"dolcezza? my love, what's wrong?" donna frantically reached out for your hand, she held it carefully, rubbing circles on the back of it like a prized pottery.

she rose up so that the two of you were now face to face, placing her thumb underneath your eye to wipe your tear stains. "have you been crying while i was gone? dolcezza, can you tell me what's wrong?"

"donna, i—"

you let out a choked sob, tightening your grip on her cold hand. that was something unique about her, how her hands were always so cold and yet they never failed to give you comfort anytime and anywhere. you always told her the two of you were a match made in heaven, because you always offer your hand warming services to her (for free!) and she doesn't ever complain about it, in fact, she loves all your silly little ideas.

you entwined your fingers with her long ones, breathing in and out softly as you tried to steady your nerves.

"slowly dolcezza, breathe slowly," she encouraged, looking at you as if asking for silent permission and only hugging you when you gave her an approving nod.

you took a few deep breaths, clinging onto her like tomorrow is the apocalypse. at last you can feel a surge of tranquility kickstarting in your gut, no doubt being influenced by donna's own cadou, but you didn't mind. you needed that extra help.

"sì, just like that, breathe slowly. everything will be alright. if it's not, then i'll help you make it alright."

"donna…"

"that's it… you did absolutely amazing, dolcezza," she cooed softly, her husky voice scratching your ears like a recording of your favorite song. "i'm so… so proud of you, mia dolce ragazza. you're so brave, the bravest girl i know."

"thank you, donna," you murmured, your chest heaving much more slowly as you buried yourself onto the crook of her shoulder. she smelt floral, a mix of jasmine and petrichor. the smell of home.

she let you, placing her hand on the back of your neck, "anything for you, dolcezza."

as you drifted into a dreamless sleep, donna raised her head at the sound of the front door being pushed open, revealing a jolly angie who carried a bouquet of wildflowers. she had sent angie to fetch some for you but completely forgot about it when she saw you curled on the floor next to the staircase.

if only angie could roll her eyes, because she one hundred percent would. donna noticed that and slumped slightly, fully aware of what she'll say next.

"get a room you lovebirds!" she huffed, shoving the bouquet to donna's unsuspecting free hand and crossing her tiny wooden arms while tapping her feet.

"i got those flowers for free! you don't even pay me, dons, and what do i get in return? a free coupon for being the third wheeler?"

"angie…" donna warned, shaking her head vehemently. "... keep quiet."

"oh!" she gasped, mockingly placing her hand on top of her wooden chest. "i'm hurt. you've hurt me, dons. you did. this is why i prefer her more than you."

donna stared at her, sitting so still in place that an ant's movement would be more noticeable than the slight up and down on her chest. she relented in the end, letting out a heavy sigh.

"the two of you can play later, angie. but she needs her rest," donna explained, glancing at you as her gaze softened. "she needs it more than anything right now."

"fiiinnnneeeee…" angie groaned.

"and thank you for bringing me the flowers," donna smiled. "she'll appreciate it when she wakes up."

"aww shucks," angie giggled, leaning slightly to whisper despite no one else being around. "please tell her that it's mostly from me."

she mustered out a light chuckle of her own, giving her a nod. angie let out a cheer before bouncing up and out of the room, leaving only her and you behind. she gazed upon the assortment of monochromatic flowers fondly before leaving it on top of the table. she'll just place it in a vase later.

"hear that, dolcezza? with angie and me, you'll never feel alone again," she placed a hand on your cheek as she laid you down on the couch,

"we'll always be here for you."

‎

#donna beneviento #donna beneviento x reader #donna benevento x reader #donna beneviento resident evil 8 #resident evil village x reader #resident evil 8 #x reader #x y/n #x you #donna beneviento x you #donna beneviento oneshot #angie #angie beneviento

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contentloadingandstuff · 11 months

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Yae Miko, Ningguang and Yelan comforting Male!Reader after a nightmare!

A/N: That's right - you lived to see me post something. Enjoy!

CW: Description of the nightmare - images of destruction and raiding, non-canon monsters.

The scent of smoke reaches your nose. It's dark all around you. And hot, so hot. You feel around, trying to map out your surroundings. You touch a table, and soon move deeper towards the familiar wall of your house, and soon reach the front door. Though the door is stuck, a strong bash is enough to swing it open. Darkness greets you, but you run out into void regardless.

You turn, and witness your house, your home, your livelihood burning.

Fire already settled comfortably across the entire roof, the beautiful woodwork now a blazing ruin. The heat drips from the top, having long set fire to the walls and foundations as well. The facade of your house, once clean and pristine, is now covered in dark, oily soot. Even the flowers weren't spared - now, the only proof of their existence being a pile of dirt and pottery, broken by the hellish temperatures.

This isn't happening. This isn't…

Just then you turn around to face the inferno behind you.

The city is burning. Not a single building isn't damaged or alight with roaring fire. Debris litters the streets - scattered fruits, burning wood, torn lanterns and broken vessels add to the chaos. The figures you spot on the orange backdrop both make your blood boil and send shivers down your spine. Hulking figures drag themselves through the cobbled alleys, crude two handed axes in the iron grip of their rotting hands. The shoulder guards shine a blue hue upon your eyes, their faces blurred and unfocused. They go door to door, breaking in those yet unharmed. The cut off screams sounding out from the homes they enter make your fists clench.

You turn your head and see them. They stand across the street on the widest point in a line formation, overlooking all exits and entrances of the area. Soundlessly they float above the rubble, the purple smoke filling their legless torsos casting ominous shadows on the cobblestone below. They clutch the black javelins in their skeletal hands, ready to strike at the slightest que.

It's unreal. The bodies. The screams. The monsters, crawling across the city. They walk on all fours, both dog and humanlike in appearance. Filled with crooked teeth, their elongated mouths drool repulsively as they move from body to body, looking for loot with their clawed, malformed hands.

Your eyes dart across the image in front of you. Dead, dead, so many dead. Mauled corpses litter the street, not one recognisable in the dim light of the fire. Your head boils with fear and rage, and on instinct you run forward. The heaviness of the shield on your left arm and feeling of rough leather of your sword hilt give you a sense of comfort.

A swing approaches you from behind. You turn and block the axe, retaliating with a chop to the side of your attacker's midsection. Whatever is attacking you, you can't tell. All you know, all you feel is you have to fight. Fight this. Protect your home. Protect her. You can't let them do any more evil.

You swing wildly, hitting at most blurry silhouettes of threats. They retaliate with swords, spears, axes, cleavers. They maul your body, but you don't feel pain. You feel nothing, yet you can tell your body is shutting down. You strike, again and again, despite your limbs losing strength, one by one. You fall.

For a brief moment, you see clearly.

You see her face, pale, bloodied, lifeless.

Opening your eyes, blurry with tears, you feel not the hard stone below you, but a soft mattress instead.

Yae Miko

It's not the first time. Miko knows what to do. As soon as she comes to her senses from the sudden awakening, she will take charge and calm you down.

"Shh. I'm here. You're okay. Here, hold my hand. It's warm, isn't it? Nice, soft and real. Breathe, my dear. You're safe."

Miko will pull you into herself tightly so you can feel her presence. She'll speak to you slowly and gently, keeping her voice calm and steady.

As much as she hates seeing you in pain Miko can't help but admit that it's heartwarming. Seeing how much genuine distress the vision of her getting hurt brings you makes her feel like the most loved being in Teyvat.

She has a habit of teasing, true, but your own struggles will never be treated lightheartedly. As your wife, she is there to support, not ridicule.

Yae Miko will be there to bring you back to reality and straight into her arms no matter when it occurs, nor what you saw. She will do it once, twice, thrice and how many more times you need it.

Ningguang

At first, she was quite surprised, woken up to you clutching her tightly, thanking the Archons she's alright.

Ningguang was fairly concerned at first - she doesn't usually see you this disturbed. Upon catching the fact that it's a nightmare, she immediately focused her attention on calming you down.

"Breathe in, breathe out. Just like that. You're doing great. I'm alright. There's no need to worry, darling. I'm not going anywhere. Not now, not ever."

Even the greatest of the greatest have moments of weakness. And the courage to show vulnerability? It's a value on its own, Ningguang thinks.

Being able to comfort you in such a vulnerable moment is a true privilege, and she will show only the utmost care towards you.

Yelan

Her vigilant ears picked up your muttering quite a while before the nightmare woke you up. When it did, you found your hand in hers, Yelan's eyes resting kindly on yours.

"Don't worry. I'm here, and I've never been better. What you saw wasn't real. It was just a dream, sweetheart."

She held you as you cried into her shoulder, your head hidden in her gentle arms. With her assurances, you soon fell back into a comforting slumber.

When you wake up in the morning, and if you agree, Yelan will gladly hear more about the dream. It might uncover some problems she could help you with. The last thing she wants to see is you struggling.

In her line of work, death or abduction is a constant risk. It's no wonder the thoughts of something happening to her are there. Although she can't guarantee that something like that won't ever happen, she will promise to be careful.

She's certainly going to make up all the anxiety she caused with gentle kisses and comforting touches.

Thanks for reading!

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ainadelothwen · 3 months

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Second Six of Crows mugs. Once I finish this set, I think I need to try another stamp set; this one doesn't glaze as cleanly as I was hoping.

#six of crows #grishaverse #shadow and bone #kaz brekker #six of crows pottery #shadow and bone netflix #save six of crows #save six of crows spinoff #six of crows netflix #save shadow and bone #six of crows quotes #crooked kindgom #handmade mugs #six of crows fanart #fan art ceramics

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mermaidgirl30 · 6 months

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✨Crimson Tango: A Dance of Diamonds and Revenge Ch 4: Come What May✨

Series Masterlist

A/N: Another long, soft chapter of Joel and reader being in love 🥰 Me and @mountainsandmayhem have been having so much fun with this series!

Chapter Summary: After your uncle finds out about Joel, you take matters into your own hands.

Pairing: Joel x fem! reader

Word Count: 9.7k

Rating: Explicit (18+ MDNI)

Chapter Tags: Brief angst, lots of fluff, lots of smut, use of vibrator, oral receiving (fem), handcuffs, flirting, Joel and reader being in love, Joel and reader go on date

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

You wake up to the sounds of cheerful birds chirping their good mornings to each other. You left the balcony door open last night, and the cool morning air of fall rustles in through the sheer pink curtains. The sun sends bursts of light across the room as shadows splay around the intricate walls.

Peeling your eyes open, you see Joel is still fast asleep beside you. The orange glow of the morning sun alighting him in a golden warmth. He’s so handsome, so beautiful as his chest rises and falls slowly in waves, his tousled curls falling delicately over his forehead.

I love you, you say in your head before placing a gentle kiss on the tip of his nose.

“Good mornin’, darlin’,” he murmurs softly, his voice deep and coated thick with sleep. Without opening his eyes he pulls you into his broad chest, and you melt effortlessly into his warmth.

“Morning, handsome,” you smile into the crook of his neck as his hands trail up and down your back slowly.

“So, I was thinkin’. Maybe this afternoon you could meet me at my apartment? I could show you around my place, and if you’re up for it, you could show me how to use that pottery wheel over there?” He nods to the wooden pottery wheel that sits in the corner of the room and looks back at you with a gleam in his brown eyes.

“Oh, you want to learn some pottery skills? What peaked your interest?” you ask, fluttering your sleep coated eyelashes up at him as he gently caresses your cheek.

“You did, darlin’,” he smirks, face so handsome in the glow of the morning yellow sun as his brown irises look at you affectionately.

God, you love this man so much.

He leans down and kisses you softly, his plush lips melding into yours as you wrap your fingers around his messy curls. You slot your lips open and let him taste you, relish in you as you get lost in the slow, romantic kiss. He tastes like a piece of something you want to keep forever. When he breaks the kiss, you groan and open your eyes back up to his flawless face.

He’s so pretty.

“Well, if you want to learn then we need to pick up a few things at the store. I need some more clay. So, how about I meet you at your place in say a couple hours? Then we can pick up some supplies and come back here. How does that sound, handsome?” you smirk as you trail your fingers along his patchy scruff, the hair soft and coarse under your fingertips.

“Sounds perfect, darlin’.”

He stares at you for a few more seconds, sunlight flashing through his golden eyes, then he gets up and buttons his flannel up and slips his leather boots on. You internally groan as you see him start to leave. You don’t want him to leave, you don’t ever want him to leave.

Before he walks out the door, he rushes over to you and leaves you one more long lasting kiss on your lips. A kiss that burns through your entire body. Gentle, soft, hungry.

“See ya soon, darlin’. Bye, beautiful.”

He exits your room and right as you hear the door close, you lean back into your pillow and let out a long sigh. You’re so in love. Joel Miller is the love of your life. The only one for you.

Joel walks down the dim lit hallway with a huge smile on his face as he shoves one hand deep in his pocket, the other shaking out his ruffled curls. He loves you so fucking much. He can’t wait to see you again.

Just as he slides down the winding staircase, he misses something that lurks in the shadows. Something that could end his time here at the Moulin Rouge. That something is Edward, your uncle. The one that warned him never to touch the dancers. But he did, he did.

There’s only one condition, don’t touch my dancers.

Edward’s eyes glare at Joel, a deep anger burning through the course of his body as he snarls and clenches his fists together. Edward warned Joel, but he didn’t listen. He didn’t fucking listen. Edward fumes down the hallway, all teeth and grit as he slams on your bedroom door. He’ll make Joel pay.

You hear three large pounds on your bedroom door that make you jolt out of bed and throw your fluffy pink robe on. “Petal, open this fucking door!” your uncle yells as you run to the door in a hurry and open it up.

His face is fiery red, eyes narrowing as he walks in and slams the door shut with a bang. He paces around the quaint living quarters and stomps his elegant shiny shoes on the wooden floors. He looks at your unmade mess of a bed and scowls as you hear him curse under his breath.

Oh no. Joel.

He slowly turns back to you and clicks his tongue in a deceitful manner. You wipe sweat off your forehead as you gulp, waiting for the yelling to start. Just as you clasp your hands behind your back, he starts the yelling. “Joel was in here with you last night? In your bed!”

You wince as the accusations echo off the pink walls of your room and you shake your head no. “No, he wasn’t,” you lie, hoping he’ll take the bait.

“I saw him creeping out of your room this morning!” His words are hot, scathing, pulsing through your body as you feel your heart snap in half as your eyes go wide.

He knows.

“He uhh… he…” You don’t know what to say, what you can do to make the situation better. But you don’t want him to be fired. He can’t be fired. You can’t be the reason he loses a source of income. You just can’t.

“I warned him, petal. I told him to never touch the dancers. And look what he did. He touched the most sought after Diamond!” he yells, eyes bloodshot as he lets the anger feed his rage.

You panic and try to make it better. You have to make it better. “Please, uncle! I’m the one who pursued him. Don’t blame Joel. It wasn’t his fault. It was mine. I’m the one that asked him to stay last night. It was all me,” you say desperately, eyes as wide as the sun as you clamp down on your teeth and fight back a tear that licks the back of your eye.

He looks at you scornfully and crosses his arms over his chest as he furrows his thick eyebrows together. “I don’t care if you’re the one that pursued him, Joel could’ve said no. But obviously that was too hard to do, so allow me to take matters into my own hands,” he growls as he walks toward you and tries to push past your shoulder. You step in front of him and try to push him back.

“No! You can’t fire him, I won’t let you!” you scream, tears burning your eyes as you see him drop his mouth open and stare at you with gasping eyes.

He shakes his head sadly as his slicked back blonde hair holds in place. “I’m sorry, petal. I have to do this.” He tries to brush past you again, but you step in front of the door, not allowing him to pass until he listens to you. “Move, petal,” he demands, eyes burning through your skull.

“No,” you say with narrowed eyes. “If you fire him, I will walk out of this place and never turn back. I won’t see Terrance ever again, and your precious Moulin Rouge will close down for good.”

His jaw drops and his pupils expand as he gulps down a large breath of thick air. “Petal, just think this through,” he begs.

You cut him off and continue on with your demands. “No! I’ve thought this through long enough. It’s time to take back what I want, not what you want. I’ve done enough for you in this club. I’ve danced for those disgusting men for long enough. I’m done, uncle. Finished. You won’t find me up on that stage again.”

“But, petal! Those men come for you! You’re the star of this place. Do you know what that’ll do to business if you don’t dance?” he asks with sweaty palms, sweat pooling on the edge of his forehead as it glistens brightly by the blinding sun.

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” you scoff. “You sold me to Terrance, so you made your bed. I don’t owe you anything anymore. I’ll continue to see him, for now. But I won’t get up on that stage ever again. You did this, uncle. You. You got your filthy money, so now I’ll get what I want. And that’s Joel.”

Your voice carries around the room, echoing back in your uncle’s ears as he stands there in a bind. His eyes worried and his stance not as tall as when he came in. He sees his mistakes now, the error of his ways. And now he’ll have to figure out how to fix the mess he put all of you in.

He sighs and nods his head slowly, eyes looking down at the polished wooden floor. “I’m sorry, petal. For everything. But I guess you’re right. I did put you in this mess and now I have to find a way to fix it.” His sad eyes trail back up to yours slowly, and for just a minute you feel a bit of sympathy for him wash over you. But then you remember he sold you to the worst of the men in this place. And for that you can’t forgive him.

“Just leave, please,” you sigh as you open the door wide, waiting for him to pass through. He gives you a sympathetic nod and drags his feet through, not looking back as you slam the door shut.

You rest against the back of the door and let out a long sigh, closing your eyes to go through the moments that just happened seconds ago. You did it. You saved Joel’s job, you told him you wouldn’t dance again. You fucking did it!

After simmering over your achievements of the day, you decide to get dressed and ready for the day. You have a date with Joel Miller, the love of your life.

Joel opens the worn wooden door of his apartment after hearing your soft knocks echo through his small space. You barely make it through the door and he’s already pulling you into arms, hugging you tightly and meeting your lips with his as you drink in his lush taste. His lips feel like velvet against yours and you can’t help but open your mouth for him, letting his tongue slide against yours slow and tenderly. You let out a desperate moan that he answers with a gentle pat on your ass before parting.

You look around his little apartment, taking in his private haven as sunlight pelts through the windows. Even though the building is old and probably about to fall apart, the inside of Joel’s small one bedroom apartment is beautiful. Wooden furniture in warm browns fills the space, a dark mahogany throw rug in the living room helps tie in the exposed brick wall along one side of the kitchen. It smells like leather and Joel and it feels like home. You love your frilly pink studio room at the Moulin Rouge, but this feels solid, a place you could settle and make memories, become a family.

You wander over to his couch, your hand smoothing along the warm light brown leather. “This is beautiful, all of your furniture is beautiful.”

He brings a hand up to rub the scruff on the back of his neck, almost like he’s embarrassed. “Thanks, I uh - I made it.”

Your eyes widen as you glance around at the couch, the large chair, the side tables and coffee table. Then your eyes dart to the kitchen where there’s a long wooden table that looks like it came from one tree sits, a bench on one side and three chairs along the other. “All of this?” you ask surprised, your lips parting in wonder. You’re not necessarily surprised, but why is he working as a maintenance man when he has all of this talent?

“Yes,” he nods as he joins you by the couch, resting his hip along the back of it as he crosses his large arms together, “all of it. Every piece of furniture in here I made. I have a small woodshop. That’s what I was doin’ to make money, but it wasn’t payin’ the bills so, well, you know.”

“Wow.” You really aren’t sure what to say, especially when his arms are crossed like that, making all the cords of muscle lining his biceps pop out. You trail your eyes down to take in his thick forearms, veins protruding slightly. You avert your eyes toward the two doors across from the couch. “What’s behind that door?” you ask teasingly.

“The bathroom,” he says flatly.

“Oh,” you giggle, “and the other one?”

His eyes turn mischievous, a little smirk pulling at his right cheek, “My bedroom, baby girl.”

“Did you make the furniture there, too?” you ask, fluttering your lashes at him.

He lets out a quiet laugh through his nose. “Are you askin’ to see my bedroom, darlin’?”

You brush past Joel towards the bedroom door, over your shoulder you say, “Well, how am I supposed to tell my friends where to buy their furniture if I don’t see the whole collection?”

Joel takes a few long strides and ends up right behind you as you reach for the solid door knob. You can feel the heat of his chest as his hand beats yours to the door. He turns the knob slowly, his breath tickling your neck as he says, “If you wanted to try out my bed, that’s all you had to say.” He has the biggest smirk on his face that looks like he wants to get in a little trouble. You just shake your head and laugh.

He opens the door and you smile at his unmade bed, white sheets all twisted into each other like he flew out of it the other morning to get to you. The bed frame is made of the same wood, vertical slats running along it, and you have no idea how someone could make such intricate but sturdy looking furniture. He has a small dresser and one bedside table. There’s a vanilla candle on the bedside table that’s never been lit, but the wax fills the room with a smoky scent. Again, you find yourself feeling that this is a home. He is home.

“You know,” you say as you wander to his bed, “the other dancers say that you can tell a lot about a man by what's in his bedside table.”

“That so?” Joel asks with a raised eyebrow, following you and sitting on the edge of the bed near the pillows as he watches you graze your hand on the wooden material.

“Mm-hmm,” you nod your head and put your hand on the knob to the drawer.

Joel parts his legs and pulls you into him by your waist as you feel his calloused fingers trail along your skin. His honey eyes stare deeply into yours, “Go ahead then, darlin’, see what kind of man I am.”

You don’t break his eye contact, slowly pulling the drawer open with your right hand, the left carding through the curls at the back of his head. When he’s sitting on the bed, he’s in line with your chest, his breath fanning across the top part of your dress. It hits your nipples lightly and you are so glad you decided to go braless today.

Once the drawer is open, he cocks an eyebrow at you. “Well?”

You turn your head to look in the drawer, and while you weren’t sure what to expect, it definitely wasn’t what’s lying in front of you. Your cheeks grow pink as you reach for the first item, handcuffs. The cool metal of the handcuffs feel powerful in your hands. You feel powerful.

“Well well, Miller. Have a lot of girls coming through here?” you smirk, eyes narrowing playfully as you take in his nervous glance.

He laughs and shakes his head, “No baby. Not for a long time.”

“You have the key for these?” you ask, popping open one of the silver cuffs. Joel nods, so you quickly clasp his left wrist with one side of the cuff and then thread the other side through the spacers in the bed frame. Joel doesn’t pull away or stop you, even though he very easily could overpower you and have you naked and strapped to his bed in a matter of seconds.

You twist out of his grasp, grabbing the second item from the nightstand and step back so you’re just inches out of his reach. “Oops,” you say as innocently as possible, fluttering your eyelashes as you send him a mischievous wink.

“Whatcha doin’, baby girl?” Joel’s eyes are starting to glaze over the same way they did when he was licking your pussy in your kitchen the other night.

You hold the small vibrator from his drawer tightly in your palm, hooking your thumbs under the straps of your dress as you slide the material down your arms. You keep your eyes locked on Joel, bottom lip slipping between your teeth as you let the dress fall to the ground with a quiet whooshing sound as it pools at your feet.

“Nothing,” you say, still using an innocent voice. Joel lets out a whispered ‘fuuuuck’ as he takes in your body in nothing but a small black thong. You spin around and hook your thumbs into the waistband of the lace as you slowly tease him.

You hear the handcuffs rub along the wooden bedframe and even though you can’t see him, you know he’s trying to reach out to you. You start to bend at the hip, pushing your ass out to Joel as you drag the thong down your legs as it lands in a heap on the floor. At this angle, you’re on full display to Joel. He can see you're already glistening for him, already so fucking wet.

“Goddamn, darlin’, you’re so fucking pretty.”

As you stand back up, you run your nails gently along the sides of your smooth legs and curvy hips, gathering your thick hair to one side. You glance over your shoulder at Joel as you let out a very seductive, “Oops.”

“Don’t tease me, baby. I’m a weak man when it comes to you.”

“Oh I’m not teasing, just consider this payback for the sink thing the other night.” You kick your dress and panties to the side before sinking to the floor. You plant your feet firmly in front of you and rest back on your elbows. “I’m going to make you watch.”

You relax your knees as they fall open, your pussy on full display for Joel to drool over. He jerks forward and groans at the tug from the handcuffs. “Goddamn, you’re so wet baby, I can see it from here,” he groans, a desperate plea for you to open the handcuffs for him. He wants to touch you so fucking badly.

You adjust your weight on one elbow and bring the small vibrator to your pussy, leaving it off as you spread your arousal slowly through your folds with the shiny toy. You let out a tiny moan, and it’s empowering having Joel tied up as he watches you tease him. His eyes rake over your body, but anytime he talks he’s staring into your eyes. Men don’t often look you in the eye, but you are more than a body to Joel. You’re everything to him. His special Diamond.

You turn the vibrator on low and your whole body jolts when it hits your clit, electric pulses coursing through your body as you hold on for dear life.

“Fuck baby, you look so gorgeous right now. You gonna make yourself come?” His voice is deeper with arousal as you can see his hard cock bulging in his pants. It looks so enticing, but you need to concentrate.

You gasp as you continue to tease yourself with the vibrator. “Y-yes,” you moan, “and then I’m going to do it again and again, until you’re begging me to come over to you.”

“Oh, so this is what we’re doin’? Seein’ who breaks first?”

You giggle and nod your head, you’re already so close, heat building in the lowest parts of your spine. “Okay, if that’s what you want,” he smirks, his voice a quiet whisper as he undoes the button of his jeans and slides them down, palming his hard cock through his boxers.

You moan his name, just on the edge of your orgasm.

“Show me, be a good girl and show me how you make yourself come,” he instructs, eyes wide with black lust taking over.

The heat in your lower spine spreads rapidly and your legs start shaking. You throw your head back. “No, look at me when you come,” Joel commands. You snap your head back and lock eyes, his brow furrowed, jaw clenched as he watches you. “That’s it, come on, darlin’, show me what my voice and my commands do to you.”

“Joel!” you yell and your orgasm hits, pulsing hot through your whole body. Your breaths come out shaky as you ride out the small vibrator in your hand unashamed. “Fuck-fuck. Oh my God, Joel.”

“That’s my good girl, so good for me.” Just as your orgasm starts to ease Joel says, “Turn it up, I want to see you come again.”

You do as he says, somehow this has turned from you teasing him to him teasing you, but you aren’t going to give in first. As much as you want his hands on you, you are going to win this.

“Feels s’good, Joel. S-so good.” You’re sure you look like a mess already as you feel a thin sheen of sweat on your forehead.

“Yeah? You gonna break? I could do that for you, baby girl. You could just lie down and enjoy it. Let me take care of you,” he smirks, dark eyes glazing over as he stares straight into your eyes. It’s almost alarming how hypnotized he looks, the look of love above lust swirling in his dark eyes. You can see it now, and it makes you feel a thousand things at once.

“N-never,” you stutter, swirling the vibrator around your sensitive clit as your legs begin to shake uncontrollably.

“That feel good, baby girl?” he asks, his lips curling up as he knows it does. He just wishes he could do something about it.

You moan and shiver in response, a second orgasm just on the edge of breaking. Something in Joel’s eyes seems lighter as he watches you, something that makes your heart pump just for him.

“Come, baby. Enjoy it, cuz you’re gonna break and then I’m gonna absolutely ruin you,” he smirks as a devilish grin takes over his beautiful face.

Your legs start to quake, you can already feel that the second orgasm is going to take over your entire body. You ease off your clit to taunt Joel. “You’ll be breaking the headboard before I give in.”

Joel’s features soften, his voice a deep baritone as he says, “I’d do more than break a headboard to be near you. The moment that spotlight hit your soft porcelain skin, my entire world collapsed in on itself. I would rearrange the stars just to be close to you. I’d swim across the furthest ocean just to see those beautiful eyes. I’d give up food and water if it meant getting to hold you in my arms. Even if it’s only for just a second. You, my perfect little Diamond, are all that matters to me.”

The air in the room has changed from playful to overwhelmingly intimate. It almost crushes in on you like a large boulder, and you never want it to stop.

You pull the vibrator from your clit, but you remain open to him, knees parted as your eyes water over. He’s not looking at your weeping pussy. No. His honey colored eyes are wholly focused on yours now. You get the inkling you’re the most important person in his world now, and it completely overwhelms you. He’s your world. Him.

“What?” It comes out in a tiny whisper, your mouth parted as your eyes softly bore into his.

He continues, “You are all that matters to me. This might sound crazy and irrational, but I knew from the moment I saw you on that stage. I knew you were the one. You are it for me, darlin’. This is it for me. Forever.”

Forever? Oh.

You swallow hard, scared to blink, breathe, or move just in case none of this is real.

Joel whispers your name, tears building along his lash line, “I love you.”

“That’s cheating…” you whisper, your words barely making a sound over the thick tension in the little room as the sunlight beams through the glass window.

“I’m not playing the game anymore, darlin’. I love you.”

The words reverberate around in your skull. He loves you, he knew the moment he saw you. You abandon the small toy on the floor as you stand up and start to pad over to him. “Say it again.”

He clears his throat and looks straight at you, eyes staring right into your soul. “Nothing in my life has made sense lately. And then I saw you. The Sparkling Diamond, my Diamond. Something in my gut pulled me towards you, darlin’. This is it for me, baby girl. I’m in love with you. I have been from the moment I laid eyes on you.”

You stare at Joel, lips parted and eyebrows knit together as a wet tear rolls down your cheek. You don’t think you’ve ever cried a happy tear over anything, nonetheless a man. But Joel… he was different. He made you so happy, the happiest you’ve ever been in your entire life.

Joel’s uncuffed hand reaches up to you, his rough palm facing the ceiling. You step forward and clasp his hand in yours as you knit your fingers together, letting his calloused fingers run along the back of your hand. His skin is so warm, inviting like a soft bed. He pulls you close, kissing your knuckles softly before placing your hand on his broad, tanned shoulder as he moves his hand to trace along your hip, then down to your thigh.

“Key?” you ask, voice cracking through the emotion in your chest.

His eyes fall to the drawer in his bedside table, and you see the small silver key at the back of the drawer. He had easy access to that key the entire time, but he didn’t take it, he wanted you to be in charge and do what felt right to you.

You wrap one hand around his wrist, using the other to unlock the cuff with a small click. The moment he’s free, his hands come to your body, pulling you between his legs as he places light kisses along your sternum. Your hands card through his tousled curls and he moans at your gentle touch before sucking your pebbled nipple into his mouth. You cry out in pleasure and then crawl up into his lap, straddling him slowly. He’s almost painfully hard, cock straining the fabric of his boxers.

“Joel,” you moan, rocking your hips along his long length. Your hand snakes between your bodies to pull him out of his boxers. When you pull him out, you see he’s massive.

Your eyes go wide as you take in his large cock. You watch a bead of pre cum glistening on the tip and you reach over to slowly spread it around with your thumb. Both of your breathing is labored, eyes glazed over in anticipation. You both want each other so badly. Both gasping for breath as you smell thick arousal encasing the air, the tension strong as you feel it in the room. It’s hot, strong, thick, and you want to taste it.

“Whatcha doin’ there, baby girl?” he says again, more passionate this time around.

You lift up slightly and press the tip into your waiting, wet heat, feeling just how big he is as you choke out a moan. You stop once the thick, rounded tip is inside of you and rest your forehead on his. “I love you too, Joel.”

He smiles sweetly at you, cupping your face in his large palms before kissing you deeply and passionately. You rock your hips, sliding him in more as you feel the stretch start to happen. You feel every inch and ridge of him until your bodies are flush together. Both of you moan into the kiss, your body shuttering against his as you take him deeper, harder.

“I got you,” he whispers between kisses, his coffee scent encapsulating you completely.

You roll into him again, the feeling of him filling and stretching you causes a new surge of wetness between your thighs, your nails digging hard down his back at the extreme pleasure. You roll again, the soft part of his abdomen putting gentle pressure on your clit.

“Oh God - Joel - aaaah.” His hands move from your face, gliding over the smooth skin of your neck and shoulders, tracing the dips and curves of your back and hips before resting on the globes of your ass. He moves with your rhythm, helping you take what you want.

“That’s my good girl,” he whispers, voice gravelly and rough, yet somehow tender and full of care. “You’re close, ain’t ya?”

You grind down on him hard, mouth falling open in a silent scream as you feed off the ecstasy of how full he’s making you. He feels so good, and your clit is still so sensitive from the vibrator. “Mmmm - yes, Joel.”

Joel helps you move faster and harder against him, trying his hardest not to come and end this because he wants you to take what you want. All you do is give to others, and he swore to himself the second he saw you that he would make this world yours. Anything you want, whenever you want it. He will always find a way - for you.

“Say it again,” you moan, hands moving back up to the hair at the nape of his neck.

“I love you,” he whispers, placing soft kisses along your jawline. His plush lips move to your neck as he says it again, “I love you.”

Your body jolts into his, your orgasm rolling through you as Joel continues kissing your skin lovingly and saying he loves you over and over and over again. You fill his bedroom with your cries of ecstasy, pussy clenching around his hard cock. “I love you, too. Oh, God - don’t stop,” you pant out as you tremble in his arms, head falling to his shoulder quickly as pleasure courses through your body. You’ve never experienced an orgasm this intense before. You’ve never experienced him until now, and it was something you could do forever.

Joel takes over, thrusting up into you faster and faster as you feel his cock bottom out inside you. “I’m - fuck - I’m gonna come, baby.”

You smile into Joel's shoulder, in a complete state of blissed out intoxication. “Please,” you moan, “come inside me.”

Joel chants your name in a quiet whisper as his thrusts turn slow and sloppy, feeling his heavy body start to give out around you. You find the strength to look up at him, locking eyes with those beautiful deep brown eyes as you whisper sweet words to him. “I love you, Joel Miller.”

You feel him twitching inside you, followed by the warmth of him filling you up. Aftershocks of your orgasm jump through your body and you squirm on him as he fills you, moaning your name as he milks your insides.

Joel wastes no time lifting you and turning so he can rest his back against the wooden headboard. The springs of his mattress creak as you both settle, he’s still deep inside of you, your arms wrapped tightly around his neck. His strong hands rub up and down your naked back, relaxing you into his welcoming arms. Neither of you say anything as you catch your breath and the silence around you is screaming that you are safe here. You’re safe. Joel is safe.

“Are you okay?” you whisper when his breathing gets shallow.

“Yes, darlin’. Just relaxin’,” he says as he lets out a content hum, squeezing you tighter as his arms bring you closer into his broad chest. “I want to stay here forever, but I should probably get you cleaned up.”

You start to lift your hips off him and you swear you could come all over again just from that tingling feeling. You whimper quietly as he helps lift you. “I got ya, baby girl,” he says softly, rolling you onto the bed, “be right back.” He hikes his jeans back up and slips out of his bedroom to the bathroom.

Seconds later, he comes back with a small cloth. “Open your legs for me honey.”

His brown eyes and gentle touch are so soft as he cleans your thighs with the warm washcloth, dragging it gently over your sensitive pussy. You cry out in a mix of pain and pleasure as he repeats, “I got ya, baby,” before pulling you into his arms.

You press your face into his chest, soaking him all in and trying to memorize this euphoric feeling. You’ll have to be with Terrance soon, and if you can find a way to put yourself in this moment again then it won’t be so bad. You’ll just think of Joel.

You breathe him in, bathing in his mahogany and sawdust smell. “I love you, Joel.”

He smiles into your soft hair, kissing the top of your head and whispering, “I know, my Diamond. I love you, too. Rest here in my arms for a little bit, then we’ll go get that clay and some wine and go make pottery together.”

Your eyelids get heavy and you drift off into a peaceful and dreamless sleep in his arms, feeling like the luckiest woman in the world. There’s gotta be billions of people on this earth but somehow you get to exist in it and experience it with Joel Miller. You think that’s pretty special.

You both doze off longer than originally planned as you lay sprawled on top of him in his warm bed. The afternoon glowing sun fills his bedroom as the two of you stir awake. You rub your eyes sleepily, stretching your long naked body against his. Joel had been awake moments before you, looking down at how peaceful and beautiful you looked. That’s another thing for him to add to the list of things he wants to prove for you, peace. You don’t deserve to be shined up and sent out for those men. You should be able to put on his sweat pants and sit on the couch with your hair piled on top of your head. You’d still be the most beautiful woman alive to him like that. He’s so over the moon in love with you.

“Sorry,” you mumble.

“Never be sorry, love. You needed rest,” he says as he lays on his back, one arm bent to rest his head on his large hand, the other arm closed tightly around you. “I think we’re gonna have to divide and conquer though.”

You crane your neck up at him, eyebrows knit in confusion. He slides his hand out from behind his head and uses the pad of his thumb to gently rub the crease between your eyebrows. “You go get the clay, I’ll get the wine and dinner. We can meet at your place.”

You laugh to yourself. Oh right, you had other plans together that didn’t involve handcuffs and a vibrator, followed by a really long nap. You nod up at him, excited to teach him how to make pottery, you’ve already decided that you’re going to make matching coffee mugs. That way on mornings when you can’t be together, you still will be together. You plan to paint ‘Come What May’ on the inside of both of them once he’s gone to surprise him. You know he’ll love it.

He helps you get dressed, giving you a peck on the cheek and a pat on the ass as you giggle and head out his door to the small craft store in town. Joel grabs some spare clothes, having a feeling that pottery is messy, and then rushes off to gather his side of the bargain. The town rushes around him but he’s almost in a haze, still somehow surrounded by his Sparkling Diamond.

After he gathers the food and wine, he sneaks into the back door of the Moulin Rouge and heads to your door, knocking gently on the wooden door. You open the door and smile up at Joel, pulling him inside and kissing him deeply as you free his hands from the bags.

When you pull apart, he takes in your clothes as he looks you up and down carefully. You’re wearing a cotton t-shirt style bra and a pair of jean overalls, one strap undone as it hangs down the back casually. The overalls are covered in splatters of dried pottery clay and colorful paint. Your hair is piled on top of your head, a few loose curls falling around your face and the nape of your neck. Quite simply put, you could be wearing a potato sack and you’d still take his breath away.

“Ready to get messy?” you ask with a teasing giggle.

“With you?” he teases as he places the groceries in your kitchenette, “always!”

You grab his hand and lead him to the pottery wheel. “Okay, so I guess I’ll show you mine and then you can make yours?”

He crosses his arms over his chest, biceps flexing as he watches you sit in front of the wheel. You have everything set up already, clay split in half, the water and sponges set aside. He nods and says, “Sure baby, what’re we makin’?”

“Coffee cups,” you smile, “this way we can be together every morning.”

A warm smile crosses his face, tanned skin around his eyes crinkling, “Ain’t you just so damn sweet, darlin’.”

You blush and then take a deep breath, starting the wheel and explaining to Joel what to do. He’s completely enamoured by you. The way you light up when you’re talking about something you're passionate about sets his heart on fire. Your bright eyes make his lips curl up into a warm smile as he takes in the sight of you doing something you genuinely love. He’d like to see more of that. More of that free spirit that pulls him to you.

Soon, your coffee cup is formed and when you smile at your cup he feels an intense sense of pride. Now it’s his turn but before you can get up he sits behind you, pressing his strong body against your back. He’s so warm and comforting when he’s this close. You absolutely love it.

His scruffy cheek lines up with yours, his warm breath tickling your skin as he reaches around you for his lump of clay and places it in the middle of the wheel. “Okay, baby doll. Walk me through this again.”

You blush and relax into him, explaining the steps carefully as you give him a step by step. He starts off well, shaping and molding the clay, but he’s too rough with it and the mug caves in on itself. “Son of a bitch,” he huffs as you giggle.

“You’re being too rough, be gentle.” You take over, reshaping the clay into a ball for him. As you move your hands back to your lap, his large hands cover yours.

“Show me,” he whispers, goosebumps traveling down your spine as you feel his hot breath breathe down your neck.

You swap to control his large hands with your small dainty ones. He starts to shape the mug, just like last time. “Good job, handsome. You’re almost done.”

When it comes time to create the hole again, it crumbles under his strong grip. “God dammit,” Joel huffs, he’s too distracted by you and your long exposed neck just right where he can reach it. So tempted to just kiss you and cover your body with the wet clay that’s caked on his hands.

You giggle again but try your hardest to encourage him. “You almost had it that time, baby. Come on, one more try.”

“You’re distractin’ me,” he says, kissing that soft spot right below your ear. You moan, lips parting and eyes closing at the feel of his warm lips.

You turn your head to look at him, placing a light and lingering kiss to his lips before saying, “Just one more time, please.”

The sun is starting to set, casting a pink glow across your room as the early night air rustles the curtains lightly. “Anything for you, my love.” Joel hums, kissing you back until you pull away and get his clay ready.

He takes a big breath and tries again, this time being extra gentle when forming the hole in the cup. You encourage him quietly the whole time, reminding him to be gentle and cradle it carefully. He knows you don’t mean for it to be teasing or sexual, but hearing you whisper things like, ‘just like that’, or ‘softer baby’, have his cock starting to strain against your back. He knows you can feel it, can sense the change in your breathing as he finishes his mug. It’s not as pretty as yours, but he sure as fuck is going to be drinking his morning coffee out of it everyday for the rest of his life.

You use your wire to get the cup off the wheel and put it beside yours. You both look at them side by side for a little bit, admiring the extra care you took to make them. Yours is showroom quality, people would pay to have that perfectly shaped mug, unlike Joel’s. But you love them, they’re un-perfectly perfect, just like the both of you.

Joel's chin rests on your shoulder as his lips hang just over your smooth jawline. “I love them,” you say with a small smile, admiring the dips and smooth edges of the cups.

He drags one clay covered finger in a heart shape along your arm and with his voice in a gravelly whisper says, “I love you.”

His lips trail from your ear to your shoulder blade before he licks a line across the nape of your neck, making a new trail of kisses to your ear on the other side. You feel your body start to go limp, ready for him to take control and do whatever he pleases. “As sexy as you look in these overalls, baby, stand up and take them off.”

You do as he says, standing up in front of him, back still towards him as you undo the one clip holding your jean overalls up. The metal clasp makes a scraping sound against the metal button before your overalls fall to the floor, pooling in a heap around your feet.

Joel lets out a deep moan at the sight of you in just a grey cotton thong and grey t-shirt bra. “Stay,” he says softly, clay covered hands coming to cover your body as he traces a line down your spine. You can’t see what he’s doing, but his fingers brush against the globes of your ass, then the backs of your thighs, then in random spots on your back. The cool clay left behind, hardening on your skin as he continues marking you with the clay.

“Spin around baby,” he finally says. He looks up at you from the stool, kissing just to the right of your navel, coating his fingers in more wet clay from the wheel. His hands come back to your body, drawing tiny little hearts all over your soft skin. He draws one around your belly button, then the front of one of your thighs, the top of your knee, one right above your actual heart, a few more up and down your arms. His face is soft as he focuses on each heart, each little bit of your body. He’s so taken aback by you, so madly head over heels in love with you that he knows he won’t survive seeing you with Terrance again. So he’s going to mark you, claim your body with clay so he knows you don’t belong to Terrance. Yes, it will wash off, but he was here first and he’s going to be here last. This is his. You are his.

His hands come to grip your hips as he stands, towering over you so you have to crane your neck to see him. His lips come down to yours slowly and softly. You tilt slightly to give him access, swiping your tongue against his bottom lip and moan quietly into his mouth. He returns your passion, kissing you deeply before lifting you up into his arms and walking you over to the side of your bed. He stops for a second, unsure if you want to get your sheets dirty, so he changes course and lowers you to the ground instead while your legs wrap around his waist. He breaks the kiss, moving himself to kiss every square inch of your skin that doesn’t have a clay heart on it. Claiming you again as your wiggle and jolt under his touch.

You moan his name when he hits the sensitive spots, like the tops of your breast or the dips in your hips. You keep your eyes locked on him the entire time, watching the passion in his eyes as he kisses your body nice and slow.

Fuck you love him. You love him so fucking much that it’s almost unbearable to think about him not being near you. How will you fake it with Terrance now?

His gentle kisses move to your legs as he works his way up your body, alternating between limbs before finally getting to your inner thighs. Each kiss is a delicious torture. “Please Joel, please,” you’re practically panting, almost begging for him to touch you.

He sits up and removes his pants and boxers, his cock looking almost painfully hard and you gasp at the sight of him, “I know, baby. I know”

He’s so turned on that it takes a moment for you to realize that it’s just from kissing you. Your body, your little moans, and your whimpers are the most erotic thing to him. “I love the sound of you begging, I’m right here. I got you,” he reassures you.

He situates himself between your legs, kissing the growing wet spot of your clothed center. Your body twitches at the warmth of his lips and you cry out again, desperately needing him so badly that it almost hurts.

“Alright, alright,” he hushes you, “do you need to come darlin’?”

You nod down at him, raising your hips towards his face, “P-please,” you whimper.

He pushes your panties to the side and licks his lips at the sight of your pussy weeping for him. You push your hips up again, desperate for friction from his warm tongue. Joel smiles up at you, “Always so eager for me, ain’t ya? Such a good girl.” And then he dives in, licking at your clit with quick, light flicks of his tongue. You feel yourself go boneless, melting into the soft rug below you, crying Joel’s name out and begging him not to stop.

His tongue slows, almost licking you lazily. The hurried passion evolves into a controlled worship. Your heart rate slows, breathing coming back to normal as you look down at him. His warm eyes pull you in, giving you comfort and security as they seem to melt into yours. This big strong man lapping at your pussy feels like home. He is home.

“Please, don’t stop,” you whisper, the love for him coating your ragged words.

“Never,” he says between licks, “I’ll do this forever if you let me.”

When Joel Miller makes a promise, he keeps it. He’s a man of his word.

Your head falls back to the floor as he continues to lick, kiss and suck you deep into his warm mouth. Your center on fire for him as he awakens your throbbing bundle of nerves. Your hands run along your body, playing with your breasts, pinching your nipples gently, fully immersing yourself in Joel. He doesn’t rush or try to force your pleasure, he just lets you enjoy it. He knows you’ll come when you’re ready, and fuck does he hope you’re never ready.

“Enjoyin’ yourself, my Diamond?”

“Y-yes,” you pant out. Your legs start to shake, the familiar tingle building in your core. He keeps teasing and tasting you over and over again until you’re right on the edge. “Oh God - yes - Joel.”

He smiles into your sensitive skin as he continues pleasuring you. “That’s my good girl,” he praises as he laps at the slick between your legs.

You’ve lost track of time, there’s a chance Joel has been at it for hours, but he moans and encourages you so you let yourself enjoy him. The tingling sensation grows stronger, spreading out to your whole body before it snaps and you're wrapped in pleasure. It waves through your whole body, you moan and cry out, Joel talking you through the whole thing as you start to break.

“I know, I know. That’s it baby, just relax.” His tongue swirls you gently as you come, careful not to push you into overstimulation. He’s so hard that it’s almost painful. “Good girl. Fuck, you’re so beautiful when you come.”

It starts to feel too intense and you’re suddenly desperate to feel him inside you. Your hands come to his hair, tugging him away lightly, your eyes matching his. “I need you, please. Fill me,” you whine.

You strip off your clothing slowly, taking every single piece off as you keep your eyes on him. You watch as his large body covers yours and lowers you gently to the ground as he crowds your space. He’s so beautiful in the purple sunset lighting of your room. His face and beard are shiny with your arousal but you don’t care, you press your lips to his, a deep and passionate kiss burning while he runs the tip of his cock through your folds, collecting your slick thoroughly.

“Please please please,” you whisper as his kisses move to your neck.

Finally he slides the tip in, you both gasp and then your lips meet again. Kissing one another with hunger as he slowly pushes himself the rest of the way in. Once he’s flush against you he pulls away from the kiss, both your lips puffy and swollen. His arms are resting on each side of your head, hands pushing your hair back as he smiles down at you, fully settled inside of your warm, tight heat.

“I love you, Joel Miller.” Your voice is practically dripping with admiration, each word seems to tattoo itself onto his heart.

He slowly pulls himself out to the tip as he slides back in as he groans you name, bringing his forehead to yours. “I love you, too, baby girl,” he smiles while he ruts deeper inside you.

For the next few thrusts you’re both silent - just panting breaths and little moans, foreheads together and eyes locked onto each other. He moves in and out of you as you circle your hips into his, the soft bit of his belly rubbing against your already sensitive clit.

“Oh God, baby,” you moan. You can feel tears building behind your eyes, pleasure starting to wrap around you again. “I’m - I’m gonna…”

“I know, fuck, I can feel ya. Gettin’ so tight around me, darlin’.” He doesn’t stop the slow push and pull of his hips. “Go on, baby. Come for me.”

Your whole body breaks out in shivers as you come all over him, your slick coating his cock as he works it deep inside you. He presses his body down onto yours more, helping ground you as your body writhes under his. You feel the hot tears escape your eyes as you moan his name loudly.

“There’s my girl, lettin’ go for me. I’m so proud of you.” His thrusts speed up a little as he chases his own release. As you start to come back to earth you feel him growing harder inside of you, his cock twitching as the aftershocks of your orgasm have your walls shuddering.

“Fill me, please,” you grind into him harder. “Want to feel you come inside of me again.”

Joel's hips snap into you one last time before his strong body quakes above you. He doesn’t hold back, moaning and whining out your name as he shoots ropes of warm come deep inside you - marking and claiming you all over again.

“Oh, fuck, darlin’. Feels so good,” he moans as he comes down from his own high and slowly slips out of you, dragging his seed down your thigh as he drops to the floor and pulls you into his chest tightly.

“That was incredible,” you pant as you let your hand drag down his soft stomach, collecting sweat on your fingertips as you look up into warm, loving eyes.

“You’re incredible, my little Diamond,” he smiles as he cups your chin and brings his plush lips down to yours. The kiss is slow, passionate, like you’re the only two people in the world right now. It’s so euphoric with him, everything so full of bright colors that you just can’t get enough of him. He’s the love of your life.

When he pulls away he taps you on the tip of your nose with his index finger and pulls you up off the ground. “C’mon, love. Let’s get you in the shower.”

He whisks you away into the lit up bathroom as he turns the faucet to hot, and the water comes pouring down. He lifts you up into the edge of the shower and steps over, grabbing a soft washcloth as he lathers it in lavender soap.

“Turn around, love. Gonna clean ya off,” he murmurs as you smile and turn toward the water, letting the warmth pour over you as sticky clay starts falling down the drain.

His large hands move languidly over your body, gently scrubbing off the clay as he starts at your collarbone and moves down the length of your arms. His lips graze your neck as he takes his time coating you in the sweet aroma of lavender, the smell of him is everywhere. Hanging in the steam filled air, lingering on your skin, filling your insides as you breathe him in nice and deep. He smells like coffee and a hint of mahogany as his experienced fingers cover your body.

You slowly turn and press your lips to his, sinking your body against his broad chest as he pulls you in and drowns you in all of him. You get lost in his everything as you let your fingers slot through his tousled curls, opening your mouth to invite him in. His tongue tastes like candy, and you devour the taste. Sweet, savory, euphoric.

You don’t know how long you’re in the shower as his hands thoroughly explore your body. You take your time washing him, too. Sliding your hands over every single crevice of his body, trailing kisses over his shoulders, down his spine, all the way to his long fingers. You’re in so deep with him, and this feels like heaven being with him. Every second you’re with him it’s a piece of heaven, he’s your heaven, your saving grace.

After the shower, he wraps you in a soft towel and dries you off and then slides his large grey t-shirt over your head. It smells like him and you want to keep it forever. He leads you to the bed and pulls you against his glowing chest as he wraps an arm around you and gently skims his fingers through your hair. Warm, he’s so warm.

“I had the best day with you, sweet girl,” he whispers as he places a kiss sweetly on your forehead. You nuzzle your face deeper into his neck and wrap your arms tightly around him.

“I did, too. Every day is like a dream with you. Promise it won’t change. Promise me this is forever,” you say quietly as you run your fingers slowly over his chest, praying this isn’t all just a dream.

He sighs and nods his head. “I promise. You’re my forever, darlin’. Never gonna let ya go. You’re mine. My special, rare Diamond.”

He wraps you tighter around him as you feel your eyes start to close, relishing in his scent, his body, his everything. “Joel?”

“Hmm?”

“I love you…” you breathe, sinking all your weight into his body as you kiss his scruffy jawline.

“Oh, baby. I love you more, my little Diamond. My forever…”

You smile and let your mind drift off to sleep as the room grows quiet and dark. You dream of brown eyes, your future, your forever. You dream of Joel.

The last thing you hear is Joel’s voice slipping through the darkness. “Goodnight, my precious Diamond.”

Tags: @casa-boiardi @keylimebeag @skysmiller @vvitchesh3x @littlevenicebitch69 @jessthebaker @strawberri-blonde @pansexual-potatoes

#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel x female reader #joel the last of us #tlou fanfiction #joel tlou #joel miller pedro pascal #no outbreak!joel miller #joel miller tlou #soft!joel miller #moulin rouge au #joel miller series #joel x f!reader

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melanieph321 · 4 months

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Dominik Szoboszlai x Black Reader - Not Enough Part 2/6

Part 1

Summary - Reader is excited to meet Dominik's parents but is shocked to find out that they are very prejudiced and do not approve of her.

Enjoy!

You fell in love with Hungary. It was such a beautiful city with such a vibrant culture. Everywhere you went, people seemed to engage in activities that you had never heard of before. Like pottery, for example. It was definitely an odd activity to engage in, especially in the middle of the street. However, the Hungarian's seemed to enjoy it. You even brought home a pott that a lady had worked on for more than an hour. It was decorated with hearts which you thought would be a suiting gift for your boyfriend.

"Honey, I'm home!" You announced. You and Dominik had been staying at a hotel while in Budapest. It was a nice little getaway for you, but for Dominik, it was just another business trip. The Hungarian people were crazy about him. And ahead of the European championship, Dominik and his teamsmates are required to meet with fans and stakeholders of the Hungarian men's football team. This left you to roam the streets of Budapest on your own since Dominik was busy during the day. Nevertheless, there was no better feeling than coming home to the love of your life.

"Wake sleepy head. I got you a present."

"Hmmm?"

You found Dominik sleeping on top of the bed, fully clothed.

"I'm sorry to wake you, baby. Did you have a long day?"

"Yes, now don't just stand there, bring me my gift." Dominik was quick to release the pillow he had been hogging in his arms. He then stretched for you where you stood beside the bed.

"Come here." He muttered. "Bring me my gift."

You chuckled as his grasping hands tugged your shirt. Dominik pulled you down to lay with him in bed, smothering you with tight hugs and kisses.

"Baby, I'm not your gift."

"Yes, you are." He said, snuggling his face into the crook of your neck. "The best gift I've ever gotten."

"No, I actually bought you something from the street market that I visited today."

"You did?"

The kisses seized.

"Yes, would you like to have it?"

"Hell yeah, bring it here!" Dominik was quick to sit up in bed, not minding the way his hair was tousled from the sheets. He watched you slip out of bed and retrieve the gift from your bag. He was like an eager child on Christmas Eve as you brought it to him, wrapped paper, containing the sculptured pot. Dominik ripped it open despite you warning him to be cautious. However, his shoulders rose and fell at the sight of it.

"It's a...mug?"

"No baby, it's a pott."

"A what?"

"A pott, like for decorations."

"Oh, a pott." He nodded, although the dent between his brows gave him away. "What are you supposed to do with it?"

"I dunno, you tell me?" You chuckled. "The lady said it's a tradition for Hungarian's to engage in pottery." You joined Dominik on the bed again, watching as he turned the pott in his hand, regarding it with furrowed brows.

"Well, If it's not for drinking, I don't know what it's for."

"Ha ha." You muttered, unhanding him the decor item. "I thought it was cute, and if you don't like it, I'll just gift it to your parents instead."

"My parents?" Dominik frowned.

"Yeah, when we visit them."

"Right, about that..."

"What?"

You had always dreamt of meeting Dominik's parents. It only seemed natural after the two of you celebrated your three year anniversary. But every time you brought up, Dominik seemed to hesitate and would often change the subject. You thought things would be different arriving to Hungary but even here, when the distance to his family was no longer the issue, Dominik still hesitated to bring you there, insisting that you stay in Budapest where the travel to meet and greet with the Men's team would be less.

"I just don't think that it's a good idea." He said.

"But you always say that."

"I'm sorry, Y/N, but I didn't come here to visit my family. I have a job to do."

"Really, then why do I get a feeling that you don't want ME to meet your parents."

"Y/N." Dominik sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "It's just... my parents can be a bit... difficult," he said, choosing his words carefully. "They're not very open-minded, and they can be pretty judgmental."

You felt a pang of disappointment and hurt. So Dominik really didn't want to introduce you to his parents. But why? Was he embarrassed of you?

You tried to keep your emotions in check and pressed him for more information. "What do you mean by 'difficult'?" You asked, trying to keep your voice even.

"Well... they have a certain idea of what kind of person they want me to date, and it's not always the most... inclusive," Dominik replied, his voice filled with frustration. "They've made it clear that they don't approve of me dating someone from a different culture, and they've said some pretty hurtful things in the past."

You felt a wave of anger wash over you. "Well, we're not dating Dominik, I'm your girlfriend, of three years to be exact"

"I know, I know." He walk over to you, grabbing your head in his hands. "You're my girlfriend." He smiled, eyes bright in the sun. "And I want you to meet my family, trust me. But you must also trust me when I say that it's not a good idea right now."

How was this true, you thought. How could Dominik's parents be so close-minded. What exactly had Dominik told them about you? There was only one way to find out. You knew that you had to meet them and confront them to show them that you were a worthy partner for their son.

"I want to meet them," you said, voice firm. "I want to see for myself what kind of people they are, and I want them to see that I'm not just some 'other' person, I'm your girlfriend."

Dominik stared into your eyes, surprised by your determination. "Are you sure?" he asked, his voice filled with concern.

"Yes, I'm sure," you replied, your heart racing with anticipation. "I'm ready to meet the parents."

Part 1

#fanfiction #football imagine #footballer x reader #footballer imagine #football angst #dominik szoboszlai #dominik szoboszlai x black reader #dominik szoboszlai x reader #dominik szoboszlai imagine #dominik x reader #liverpool fc

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finniestoncrane · 2 months

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KTJL!Boomer x Fat!Fem!Reader, word count: 2.5k this was a trade with sweet @lawrites and i am always happy to indulge her in big boy thoughts (since she always does the same for me!!) so enjoy george with a belly being adorable and sexy💙 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: lil bit of self-sonscious talk but it is quickly erased by lust, biting, sucking, piv, cowgirl

In the dim light of your apartment, cast by the warm standing lamp and the screen of the TV, you admired George’s side profile and the way it cast a shadow, a reflection of the lines, onto his freckled dotted, sun damaged cheek. The crooked nose which felt good no matter where he pressed it against you, innocently or otherwise. The fuzzy outline of his facial hair, which, despite the unique style, suited him so perfectly that you couldn’t imagine him without it. His slightly pouted lips, the bottom one thicker than the top. His long, fine lashes that framed his sweet, olive green eyes.

And then you were drawn away from his face, watching as he arched his back away from the sofa, stretching his muscular arms up and backwards behind his head. His tattoos were difficult to make out in this level of light, but the shape of his body wasn’t. Strong, sturdy, well bulked out. His tight, white t-shirt rode up over his stomach as he scratched at the back of his head, letting you see more of him. His body, softened by love, protruding forward in a way he hadn’t quite gotten used to yet. The curves, the soft contrasting the stiff.

George groaned, ending the guttural sound with a satisfied moan as he settled himself back down into the sofa beside you, one of those big, strong arms reaching for his can of beer, the other one slipping effortlessly behind your back and lifting you like you weighed nothing, his fingers pressing into the ample flesh that spilled over in curves and rolls, textures he could never get tired of.

In a move far more polite than he might have been when you first met him, a testament to your positive influence over him, your ability to domesticate even the most feral of wild dogs, he covered his mouth and hid the quiet burp, apologising quickly before changing the subject to try and distract from his tetherer, but still unbroken, more uncouth habits.

“Well, fuck me sideways, babe. You’ve outdone yourself again, lil sheila! I couldn’t move off this couch even if I wanted to.”

He rubbed his hand up and down your arm, his strong, thick limb still wrapped tight around your shoulders, pulling you into him as you both relaxed after what you could only describe as an indulgent meal. Post-dinner was always one of the nicest times with him. It gave you so much endless joy to see him fed, satisfied and comfortable. Though it did make you wonder how long he had gone without eating properly before he met you. Rushing meals, eating when he could, but not when he wanted to. Having to survive on whatever they fed inmates at whatever prison he found himself in at that time.

These days, though, he seemed to delight in the act of eating with you. Like he was sharing something special with someone special, a sweet ritual of necessity but offered up to him luxuriously. And even more recently, he had become a bit more adventurous as he joined you in the kitchen to cook meals. He was keen to learn, he fed off the praise that you offered him. Of course, a lot of the prep took far longer than indicated in the recipe books, but that was only because he was forever pawing at you. Asking you to taste things off his fingers, dripping sauce on your neck to give himself an excuse to lick it off. At one point, several things had come close to burning because he had decided that playing out the pottery wheel scene from “Ghost” with the dough for tomorrow’s bread was far more important than stirring the pots on the burners. But, as much as he liked to make it fun, to find humour, and an opportunity to grope you, at every turn, he was dedicated to learning the art. There was a pleasure in it that he’d never noticed before in all his years.

And, as an added benefit, there was something else which made the experience all the more joyful. Something you hadn’t even considered but which was a happy side effect of his new attitude towards food and meals. George had gained a bit of weight since effectively moving into your apartment with you. Nothing too extreme, not in this short time. The muscles on his arms were still visible, his legs still powerful and thick, and his core was still strong, torso lined with vaguely defined muscles when he tensed and posed. But when his body was relaxed, and particularly after you had filled him up with a nice, hot meal, his distractingly attractive stomach, what he affectionately referred to as his beer belly, was always more pronounced.

You looked over to it, placing your hand against it as he sipped from the cool can you had gotten for him after dinner, happy to see him nourished and comfortable. He wasn;t afraid of showing off his body before, a fact you were grateful for, very much so, but you had worried a change in looks might make him more demure, more reserved. Thankfully, however, it only seemed to boost his confidence. He had made a comment once about finally looking like “a man”, or like “his old man”, after which he swiftly changed the conversation. You hadn;t pried, you had only held him close and told him you liked the way he looked too.

Noticing your gaze, the way your fingers traced over the skin on his stomach that showed under the hem of his shirt, running over the hair and the small, silvery stretch marks that had begun to form, he let out a snorting laugh as he looked to you.

“You know, I can’t zip my hoodie up properly anymore cos of you. You gotta get worse at cooking, I reckon! If only for the sake of me keeping this hot bod exactly how it is, babe.”

George leaned to the side, setting down his beer and sticking his tongue out mischievously as he teased you. You smiled back, relishing the thought that he found himself perfect as he was, and wishing you were able to view yourself with the same confidence and kindness. And, familiar with the spiral, you were quick to push away any of those kinds of thoughts. You’d been there before. Self-deprecating jokes only led to the thoughts becoming permanent, and you refused to let George feel any less than perfect, even if he did get bigger, or smaller, than how he was right now.

“Absolutely not! I like you this way, I liked you before, and I’ll like you however you look. You’re happier, healthier, and far more sexy, and you only get better every day. Besides, we can always just get you some new clothes.”

A sudden wave of familiar paranoia came over you as you looked down at your own stomach. Those thoughts came a lot less often now, but sometimes they struck you at the most inopportune moments. That little bit of worry that came with being a big person. The kind of worry that might have started to settle in dribs and drabs in George’s mind. If he saw himself as capable of not being perfect at a certain size… then could he see you in the same light?

As you tried to shake the notion from your head, you felt George’s hands on you, soothing over your stomach, curling around to your side with a lustful sigh, skipping over the lumps and curves that, only moments ago, had made you feel inadequate, but now felt like gifts you got to share with him.

“I know, I know. We can get me whatever clothes we want. And believe me, I know I’m rockin’ that dad bod thing that makes chicks wetter than…”

He stopped, blushing as he realised he might be speaking slightly out of turn in your presence, offering an awkward smile at your own lopsided grin.

“... Uh… what I mean is… I might look a bit healthier and softer now, cuddlier even, ALTHOUGH only you get to cuddle me…”

Emphasising that point, trying to dig himself out of the hole you were happy to get a ladder for, he pulled you in to a tighter embrace.

“... I just wish it suited me like it suits you. Yeah, yeah, I’m a good lookin’ guy. But you? You’re just downright fuckin stunning.”

Giggling, you wriggled under his tough as he dug his fingers into your stomach and love handles, pulling at you to position your body closer to his. Once you were resting against him, he patted his own stomach with his free hand.

“I mean, obviously more of me is never a bad thing! But fuck me, babe, there’s never enough of you.”

His palm struck your hip, fingers digging in once more as he jiggled your body with a guttural groan, and as you looked to him, a blush forming on your cheeks, you could see he was biting his lips, eyes focused on your front, gaze gliding over your stomach, your hips, and settling on your breasts.

George moved so quickly towards you that you choked on the surprised laugh that came out as his soft hair tickled at your neck, head buried between it and your shoulder, his lips and teeth dragging over your skin, sucking and biting sloppily as he moaned. Pulling back, drool spilling onto his chin, he narrowed his eyebrows. Between deep, slow breaths, he almost whispered to you.

“Looks like I’m still hungry after all… do you mind?”

You shook your head, pursing your lips to try and hide the wide grin that immediately pressed into your cheeks. Your mouth parted in a fit of giggles as he rolled himself on to you, arms slinking behind your back to hold you tight, but he quickly leaned back to look into your eyes with a slight grimace.

“Sorry, love. I hate to be a lazy cunt, but you’ve filled me up and I can barely move…”

He rubbed at his stomach and you watched the way his hand moved so gently over the soft skin.

“... Would you mind? You can take the reins if you want, ride me instead?”

There was no way he had to ask twice, you were more than happy to take the opportunity. So you nodded, enthusiastically, and he rolled back, arms still around you, taking you with him as he lifted you onto his body. Feeling your weight pressing down on him gave him a sense of comfort he had only ever found in you before. Securing him, grounding him, your soft stomachs pushed together as he held you closer, tighter.

With his neck outstretched, George’s lips found your neck, heavy kisses being placed on the side of it, teeth grazing the skin before sinking in. The pressure was light at first, delicate, but as you moaned in response, he clasped onto a section of flesh, his tongue swirling over it as he sucked. The blood was brought to just under the surface, a deep red bruise beginning to form, visible as he pulled back with more drool spilling over your skin and over his lips, which were curled into a proud smile as he admired the mark he had left on you.

“Hm… nah, not quite satisfied yet!”

Another lunge, this time to your shoulder, his lips and teeth circling a part of you, teasing it with his tongue, heat prickling on it as the delightful pain surged over you. As he worked on his mark, artful reminders of his possessive nature on your skin, he reached his fingers between you both, pushing between your thighs to rub at the front of your underwear.

You cringed for a moment, suddenly aware of how wet you were already. But the delighted groan that George let out, tossing his head back with a toothy grin, warmed you, resetting your confidence. Kissing along the side of his face, nose tickling against his sideburns, you could feel his fingers splaying your lips, spreading your slick around.

Sitting up for a moment, you let your own fingers slide over the bulge at the front of his sweatpants, twitching and pulsing under your delicate, featherlike touch, yearning for more contact. Digger tried to buck his hips up, to increase the contact, but your weight kept him down, restrained until you felt like giving him what he wanted.

Teasing down the band, you freed his cock, unable to help yourself from looking at it with wide eyes. Your body convulsed as you remembered how it felt inside of you, impressive length and girth, stretching you, making you clench around him.

“You don’t have to wait around, sweetheart…”

George was watching you, the way your lips had parted, wet with saliva as you drooled over his thick cock bobbing in front of you.

“... you can fuck yourself on me whenever you want, in fact, I welcome it, babe.”

With his permission granted, you lowered yourself onto him, pulling your panties to the side to give his cock full access to your now sopping wet cunt. Your wetness, the warmth inside of you, elicited an immediate reaction from George, as he bucked his hips and groaned with surprise at just how good you felt every single time without fail. He gripped your hips tight, finger digging into the overspill of fat on your sides, using it as handles to guide your pace and movements. A mutually beneficial act of fucking, you using him, him using you. Both of you moaning into one another as your lips met in a passionate flurry, muffling some of the more lewd and desperate noises you both made.

But even so, between gasps and groans, George managed to mutter words of praise and affection to you, keeping your body in his mind, since it was the only thing he could think of at that moment.

“Fuck me… I could tear you apart babe, you’re so soft and precious… I’ve got… what is it? Cute aggression?... Just wanna… wanna squeeze you… wanna feel you… all of you… Yeah… fuck… you’re just… everything… everything…”

With a sputtering yelp, you felt George’s grip tighten, felt the way his muscles tensed before quickly relaxing, his body almost melting as his release spilled inside of you, your cunt painted in his thick, warm cum. You stayed still, keeping his cock inside of you as you sat on his lap, only beginning to move yourself when you saw him close his eyes and lean his head back, catching his breath slowly as he pushed his hair back out of his face.

Once you were back down next to him, bodies and sofa covered in sweat and slick, you placed a hand on his stomach, worried that maybe it was a little bit too much exertion after a large meal. But he turned to you with a satisfied smirk.

“Always room for a little bit of dessert, eh, babe?”

#captain boomerang #digger harkness #george harkness #captain boomerang x reader #captain boomer x you #captain boomerang fanfic #finnie writes #x reader

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purplekiwis · 2 years

Text

You've got a new professor, and an obsession with his hands...

Genre: Sculptor!Harry | Professor!Harry x Student!Y/N

Warnings: +18 (smut... but not yet)

Wordcount: 3.7k

A/N: i'm not the best at photomontages so please don't roast me, I tried 😅

THIS IS A MULTI-PART SERIES. YOU CAN CHECK THE SERIES MASTERPOST : HERE AND PART 2 HERE

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Hands.

His were artful,

Perhaps even an art form in and of themselves: smooth, veiny, with steady joints and capable and patient fingertips.

The hands of a craftsman - suitable for creating planets, galaxies, and even entire universes if they so desired. Both harsh and gentle, they tore, kneaded, and poked… only to stroke softly in the end.

The hands of a lover,

Those were my ceramics professor’s hands.

I bit the hidden part of my lip as I watched them move with conviction. Across the slickness, bare and sticky as they pried deeper and deeper, widening as they went and doing as they pleased.

I felt the urge to push my thighs together as I seemingly always did whenever my professor came closer, but I couldn’t because of the potter's wheel blocking my way - the one where he was fixing the crooked clay pot I had tried to make. “Next time, try using a little less water, okay? Your clay has gotten too soft… that’s why you're having trouble getting it even.”

“So less water than this time, but more than last time?” My struggle to get it right made me feel a little embarrassed, but I wanted him to know that I was listening and trying my best. He nodded in response to my question. “Okay, um- I'll try to do it correctly next time. Thanks for resurrecting my project and making it right again.”

My professor smiled warmly at me, noticing I was becoming discouraged by making so many mistakes. “No worries, I’m happy to help.” I watched him as he stood up, washed his hands in my water bowl and dried them on the rag he kept in his pottery apron. “Don't be afraid to muck around with what I've made. You're supposed to take it apart and rebuild it.”

“If I touch it, I'll ruin it and you'll need to come back for assistance again.”

A soft chuckle escaped his lips as he shook his head. “I don't want you worrying about that. That’s why I’m here, to fix up your messes.” He sat on the stool next to me again for a moment, and when he spoke, he kept his voice low. “I want you to take it less seriously. Have fun with it — work it ‘til your wreck it. Don’t beat yourself up about it. That’s common blunder for someone who’s starting. We’ve all been there.”

“Thanks,” I smiled a little more assuredly. “I'll try to keep that in mind.”

He smiled back as he stood up from the stool. “No problem, just ask if you need anything.”

While I wasn’t sure how I got into the habit of fantasizing about my professor's hands, I did know how I ended up in his class.

I was a Product Design student.

Frankly, only because I didn’t have the grades to enroll in Interior Design like I’d always aspired to. Product Design was the second-best option that would still give me a chance of breaking into the field if I chose my classes wisely.

In order to achieve that goal, I had been planning to take a class on inclusive design this year. However, as I was about to submit my application, my computer crashed, forcing me to reenter all of my information again. Because of this, by the time I made it back to the page, most of the students had already chosen, leaving only statistical literacy and ceramics as open options.

None of those options had even the slightest appeal to me, which naturally made me incredibly frustrated at the time but, at least the choice was clear between them. Anything with the word statistics in it sounded absolutely dreadful and combining it with the word literacy somehow made it sound even worse… so I chose ceramics, despite the fact that I had never tried my hand at it.

That was why I was now behind all of my classmates, which didn't make me feel great, even though no one had made me feel inferior about my lack of skill yet… not even our professor. He was very sweet and attentive, without always being on top of me, which I appreciated. He gave me the freedom to try things on my own, but as soon as he noticed my eyes searching for him, he'd come over to check things out and lend a helping hand.

This wasn't always a positive thing because sometimes the only reason I was looking was because I couldn’t take my eyes off him. It wasn't just his hands that I kept staring at; I found him captivating in all aspects.

His hair was cool. I liked how he kept it in a messy bun and tucked flyaways behind his ears when they landed on his face. He dressed really cute too, I thought — creative yet casual, and the stubble he occasionally sported when he neglected to shave was sexy as hell.

I wasn’t fully aware of his age, but he couldn't have been much older than me when he had finished his Ph.D. in Fine Arts the previous year. In the rumor mill, he had been invited to teach shortly after earning his degree due to his extraordinary talent for clay sculpting, that had made him stand out at our university ever since he started studying there.

He hadn't shown much of his personal work outside of what he did during his school years, but I had heard through the grapevine that erotic themes were his specialty. Another thing I had heard was that because he made art under a pseudonym that he kept as a secret from most people, his work was very difficult to find online.

That bothered me a little because I was interested and wanted to see it, especially after learning that pleasure was the subject he enjoyed exploring the most. Among my classmates, I knew some made jokes about him being a pervert who had only wanted to come teach to score with the female students. My gut told me that wasn't the case, and I was miffed by those people who couldn’t comprehend that someone could find sex fascinating enough to want to depict it in most of their art without being sleazy. Fortunately, I wasn't one of them. I found sex to be an intriguing topic as well… I enjoyed having it, looking at it, and having thoughtful conversations about it.

“Professor,” I called as we finished class. I was still sat by my wheel, while everyone was cleaning and washing up. Being completely honest, I wanted to leave as well… but I made myself stay so I could make my pot look more presentable. “If you're leaving, could you please leave the room key with me? I was planning to stay a little longer.”

He seemed surprised that I wanted to stay.

I noticed his gaze fall on the collapsing walls of my pot as he handed me the key, but he was merciful enough not to comment. “Feel free to stay as long as you like. I'm taking a coffee break, but I'll be back as well.”

Finding that my professor was coming back made the prospect of staying more enticing. I wasn't expecting a lot of interaction with him, though… I didn't want to be a bother, so I would avoid requesting his assistance. It was already embarrassing enough to ask for it in class, even if he kept assuring me it was perfectly okay to do so…

Professor Harry returned to the classroom after about 10 minutes, seeming happy to find me still there. As he walked inside, he cracked a lighthearted joke about how surprised he was that I hadn't destroyed anything yet. I snorted a laugh and said that I was surprised too.

I observed him carefully as he re-tied his apron around his waist. It seemed like everything the man did attracted me. The way his triceps flexed with movement, the contours of his back, the ease with which his fingers tied the knot. None of these things escaped my attention.

“Would it be okay if I turned on some music?” Due to my dry mouth, it took me longer than it should have to answer his question. “I'm not a big fan of working in silence, but it’s okay if you are…”

“Oh, please, go ahead.” I was finally able to react, but my voice came out weird. “I don't particularly enjoy working in silence either...”

My professor smiled, then walked over to his desk and sat down at his laptop. “Have you got any special requests?”

I pretended to contemplate for a moment, but I didn't want to be the one picking the music. I wanted him to choose because I was nervous about accidentally having him listen to something he didn't like… and I was also curious about his musical tastes. “Not really, no. I'm not picky. I like most music.” That part was true, but he seemed skeptical. “Just pretend I'm not here and play whatever music you normally listen to.”

The look on his face was still skeptical, but he agreed. “Okay, I will. Just let me know if you don't like it so I can switch to something you like best.”

He put on Woodkid's Warm Core album and looked at me to see if I was keen on the choice. “This is cool. I like it.” It was the kind of alternative music I anticipated he would listen to, being an artist and all, and it made me happy because I also liked it.

“Alright, good. If at any point you decide that you no longer like it, feel free to request a change.” I was getting a little hot over how much he was focusing on making sure I liked his music. I’d always had this conviction that one of the ways to tell if a guy is good in bed is to look for signs that he is considerate and eager to please – and already, my professor was scoring points in that department. I glanced at him, and I believe he noticed because he asked, “Is there anything you need help with, or should I just let you do your thing and keep to myself?”

“Um…” I stammered, returning my attention to the horrible looking pot I was working on. I had been right the first time. I shouldn't have touched it after he fixed it for me. “I'm holding up for now. Thanks, professor.”

He smiled at me. “You can leave out the “professor” when we're outside of class. That term is still settling in for me… it's a bit off-putting to be addressed that way when I was also a student here just a year ago - especially when I can't be that much older than you, right?”

I joined him in his smile. “Yeah, I get what you mean. I suppose it's not weird for me because I don't remember seeing you at school last year. How old are you, though, just out of curiosity?”

“I’m 27, you?”

“Wow, you’re really old...” He wasn’t, really… especially since I had assumed he would be in his thirties, given that he was a professor and all. I snorted when he side-eyed me from across the room, where he’d been tidying up and organizing the equipment the students had left behind. “I was just kidding. I'm 22, so...”

His brows furrowed slightly in response to my reveal. “So you're a little older than the rest of the class. Makes sense, you seem a bit more grown-up in comparison to them.” I took that as a compliment because, while my classmates weren't much younger than me – they had to be around 19 – some still acted like teenagers in many ways. “Also, since you mentioned not seeing me at school last year… that’s because I went abroad for a few months to study, and then I had to wrap up my thesis, so I didn't come very often.”

“Oh, that's cool. Where did you go?”

“Norway, to Oslo more specifically. It's a city I think everyone should visit if they ever get the chance to. I had a wonderful time there.” He turned his head away from what he was doing to look at me. “Have you ever thought about going abroad for school?”

“I've thought about it, but I don’t know. It doesn't really call to me right now, to be honest... maybe next year.” I was really interested in hearing more about Harry's experience in Norway, so I shifted the focus of the conversation back to that. “What was the best part of it for you?”

I could tell he was excited to talk about it, as evidenced by the sparkle in his eye. “A difficult question, that. I loved the landscapes and food there, as well as the people. Oslo’s a beautiful city, and it has an amazing art scene that's definitely worth exploring.” He paused for a moment, laughed, and then spoke again, “But I guess I should say that meeting Astrid, my girlfriend, was probably the best part.”

“Wow, that's... something.” Something I'd rather he didn't have, I thought to myself despite my amenable expression. “Has she traveled all the way here with you?”

“Oh no, she stayed in Oslo. We've been doing long-distance and stuff… it isn't always easy, but we make it work.” I could tell by the look on his face that he had somewhat regretted sharing that with me. “Anyway, you should give the studying abroad thing some more thought... you seem like someone who would enjoy that kind of thing. You give off a good vibe.”

“Ha, thanks... so do you. I really like your style.”

I saw his cheeks flush at my compliment. “I don’t put a lot of thought into my clothes, to be honest. Most of the time, I just throw on whatever.”

“Well, it works, so...” Seeing me shrug, he smiled, but said nothing further. I figured the conversation was over and got back to my work. Harry did the same thing; except he was no longer cleaning up and was instead using his laptop. Even though I stayed another hour, he didn't leave until I did, which made me feel bad because it made me wonder if he had stayed on purpose to be there in case I needed anything. “Do you usually stay here until this late?” I inquired as he closed the classroom door.

“Um… it depends, sometimes I do, but if you weren't here I would’ve probably left earlier.”

His confession caused a small contraction in my heart. I now regretted staying for so long, especially since I had spent some of that time merely acting as though I was working. “Oh, I'm so sorry. You didn’t have to do that. I would have been fine by myself. I just wanted to practice.”

“Oh no, don't get me wrong. I stayed longer because I wanted to. I live alone, so… I am by myself a lot. It was nice to have company for a change.”

“Ah, I see...” That was something I hadn’t considered before, but it made sense. Most of Harry’s university friends were probably no longer around, or if they were, perhaps he'd lost touch with them after going away for so many months. That had happened to me with my high school friends, so I knew how it felt. “I was actually planning on doing this more frequently to see if I could improve my pottery skills, so… you're welcome to keep me company if that's something you'd like to do.”

He acknowledged my invitation with a courteous smile. “Ah, thanks. I appreciate that.” When he didn't respond right away, I assumed he wasn't interested, which made me feel stupid for having suggested it. Why would he want to spend time with a student five years his junior? He was probably cringing at the thought. That was what I was assuming, until he started speaking again after a pause. “I reckon as long as you really don't mind me being around, that could be something that works for me.”

•·················•·················•

Over the course of a couple of weeks, it became a habit for me and Harry to spend time together after class. Most times, more than once a week. The days when I didn’t have class until late, I would wander to the atelier after his class and spend the next few hours there. It was really easy to get along despite our slight age difference.

I didn't know Harry well enough to say that we had a lot in common, but we just clicked really well. Having a conversation with him was easy, and his presence was warm and reassuring.

We would sometimes work separately, but Harry had taken it upon himself to teach me the things I had been falling behind on. He taught me how to use a kiln to fire and glaze pottery, as well as a bunch of different building and decorating techniques. I liked the last one most because he got to sit next to me and help me paint and texturize. I was really proud of a mug we had made together. Harry had commented that the wavy handle I had made for it looked like the tail of a fish when we put it in, so we went on to decorate the rest of the mug to fit that concept.

“You’re a good painter…” He complimented me as I painted the fish’s fins. I wrinkled my nose at him. Painting had always been a fun activity for me, but I had never considered myself good at it. Harry, on the other hand, was a true artist, thanks to his Fine Arts training and skillful hands…

I looked at the fin I'd drawn and noticed that it was unmistakably more unsightly than the one on the picture I was taking inspiration from. Harry couldn't possibly believe I was talented as a painter. He was just trying to say something nice.

“What? I'm serious…” He assured me, appearing a little surprised by my doubtful demeanor. “And you have a great eye for color too.”

“Hmm, I find that last one is a little more believable; I'll take it.” I said before returning to straightening out my wonkiest brush strokes. I'd spent enough time designing pretty rooms in Intericad Lite to feel reasonably confident on my ability to mix and match colors so, accepting that compliment wasn't too difficult. Besides that isn’t really a talent, is it? It's something a lot of people have.

“Hey,” Harry’s voice drew my attention back to him. “I meant both of the things I said. I wouldn’t have said anything if I didn’t.”

The seriousness I was met with when I looked into Harry's eyes made me feel emotional and flustered at the same time. “Thanks,” I smiled a little before looking down at my mug. “I think I haven't gotten a compliment on my painting skills since I was a little kid…”

“You used to get compliments on it when you were little?”

“Sometimes, yeah… mainly from teachers because I always colored inside the lines.”

“I think it's really unfortunate that we stop getting compliments as we get older… I can't really complain because I've been lucky to grow up in a supportive environment, but I know that after a certain point in most people’s lives criticism becomes the norm, while praise for rightdoing is never given.”

“Yeah, that’s true.” I grabbed another brush and continued to color my mug because the topic we were discussing was now making me feel like I might actually start crying if I didn't keep my emotions under control, and I didn’t want Harry to see that. “My parents were never particularly supportive of me or my interests, so I haven’t felt much of a difference as I grew older… I think that’s why I find it a bit difficult to accept people’s compliments nowadays, though. I tend to doubt myself and others a lot.”

“I’m not gonna lie, I had a hunch that was the case with you.” Harry’s statement surprised me a bit. I knew professors could usually read their students well, but I wasn't aware of how see-through I was. “When we first started class, I was a little nervous because I could tell that you were lost at times and could use some help, but I wasn't sure of how to approach you. I was afraid that if I made it known that I could tell you were struggling, you would withdraw even further. I didn’t want that. I wanted you to feel comfortable and know that I wouldn't judge you.”

“You never made me feel uncomfortable… I just felt embarrassed to ask for help because everyone in your class comes from an arts background and knows more than me. I didn't want you to think I was dumb or that I was wasting your time with questions that I should have known the answers to.”

“You could never waste my time. I like teaching you a lot… you always listen and all the questions you ask are perfectly normal.” He gave me a reassuring smile and I felt my insecurities melt away with the rest of my body. “And on top of that, it's easier for me to teach you since you are a blank slate, as opposed to some of the art students who come with stubborn vices they won't get rid of. Experience isn’t always an advantage.”

“You're a really good professor, Harry.” I said truthfully. “I'm really glad I ended up in your class, even if it wasn’t my first choice.”

“It wasn't your first choice?” His face pretended to be shocked, but I knew he wasn't. Given that I had told him about my goal to pursue a career in Interior Design, I knew he had to have known by that point that there was no reason for me to be in his class other than by chance. “Okay, now I'm offended, and no amount of ego-puffing will help you remedy that…”

I shook my head and smiled at his antics as I dipped my brush back into the paint palette. “Not even if I admit you're really cool to talk to and have great musical taste?”

Following my brush dip, Harry dipped his as well. “Give me a little more detail on that and I might re-consider.”

•·················•·················•

I hope you guys liked this first part 💜

PART 2

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