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wineauntie · 4 months

Note

can you write on for quinn where you cook dinner together

A SUNDAY KIND OF LOVE – quinn hughes x gf!reader (smut)

note: I know this isn’t my Luke imagine but I couldn’t sleep until I wrote this request! I was so in love with this idea and I can’t lie, I hadn’t planned on it slipping into nsfw material but it all just happened before I could stop, so I hope you enjoy it!

Smut will be separated with asterisks***

warnings: SMALL SECTION OF NSFW CONTENT, MDNI 18+, fem!reader, smut, fingering, f receiving, reader is a ray of sunshine, fluff to the extreme– Quinn is so whipped for reader. Use of nicknames: pretty girl, sweet girl and baby. Quinn has a dirty mouth fr, reader likes cooking and baking.

word count: 3.7k+

One thing you had yet to get used to was the coldness that could sweep across Vancouver. Winter was never too extreme here but occasionally, the snow and stormy weather would infiltrate and last anywhere from a few days to a week. You loved the snow with your whole heart, you just hated being cold...hence why the heating in the apartment had been on blast since you’d reentered your home. You'd been sent home early, by your manager when she'd heard that there was a storm inbound. You'd jumped at the opportunity and rushed home as soon as possible.

Upon your arrival home, you'd instantly stripped yourself of your multiple layers and shrugged on a pair of your fluffiest socks. You'd flitted around the apartment lighting several candles around the kitchen, and living room, along with turning on various lamps you'd found in thrift shops downtown.

You hummed lightly, content in the comfort as you moved into the kitchen, an empty cup that had once been filled to the brim with tea tucked in your hand. The kitchen was your pride and joy out of the whole apartment. It had been painted a softened yellow hue, with white vinyl cabinets and rustic wooden shelves stocked with plants, cooking books and various trinkets. Your varnished wooden countertops lay home to multiple chopping boards, even more plants and a range of appliances.

"I'll be home in five :)"

Your smile widened as the text lit up your phone. You bit your lip as you placed the cup by the kettle and leaned against one of the countertops, your eyes scanning the silent kitchen. You turned towards the small radio hidden between the plants behind you on the windowsill, as your thumb scrolled through your Spotify playlist on your phone whilst the Bluetooth connected. Selecting your favourite playlist, you let out a content sigh, turning up the volume to fill the quiet.

You were in the mood to cook. The need always swept over you every time you stepped into the kitchen, but tonight it was overwhelming. You moved around the kitchen, opening cabinets and the fridge, searching for inspiration to hit you.

Your search was interrupted as the creaking of the front door erupted from the hallway. You heard rustling before the door creaked shut once more. You beamed and hurried towards the door, barrelling towards your boyfriend as he swiped the grey beanie off his head.

"Oh, hello," he smiled, letting his arms fall around you as you crashed into his chest. You felt giddy, quite like you always did when you found yourself around Quinn. "Have a good day?"

"Mhm..." You nodded as you unlatched from him, allowing him to take off his jacket and shoes. "Got sent home earlier due to the storm. How was practice?"

"Good, we just ran drills" Quinn supplied before he turned towards you and tackled you in another hug, basically carrying you towards the kitchen. "'m feeling a bit hungry though, will we order in?"

"I was thinking of making something," you spoke, your hands draped around his neck and your feet on top of his as he moved to set his keys on the counter. "I couldn't decide though...I wanted to wait and see what you'd maybe like."

It was Quinn's turn to hum as he bent down to bury his face in the nape of your neck. "What about pasta?" He suggested, as your eyes ran around the shelves for any stand-out cookery book.

"We had that yesterday," You dismissed with a frown whilst your eyebrows scrunched together.

"We could have it again," he shrugged, pressing a soft kiss to your pulse point. "The Italians have that stuff almost every day, surely we'll survive."

Your eyes lit up at his words as you yanked yourself from his grip and bounded across the kitchen. You pulled yourself up on top of one of the counters and grabbed a cooking book from the top shelf. As soon as you moved, Quinn followed, his arms anchored on either side of your legs in case you were to fall.

"How do you feel about pizza?" You questioned with a gleam in your eyes as Quinn helped you down from the counter. "I have a recipe that's easy to make from scratch...ooh! We could also make garlic bread!"

He watched you with soft eyes as you spoke excitedly, your eyes scanning the open cabinets for the ingredients. He loved to see you like this, with happiness radiating out of you. It made the stormy and snowy days like today seem incredibly irrelevant because who needed the sun when you'd bottled it up and released it with every grin you let slip across your face?

"Pizza sounds great, pretty girl." He smiled, his hands running down both of your arms soothingly. "As long as I can help?" He didn't know your twinkling smile could grow any larger, but it had as you practically bounced across the kitchen to grab two aprons.

"Apron up, Hughes," you teased, handing him the pale green apron you'd bought him when you'd moved in.

"I should be saying that to you," he remarked, tying the apron behind his back with a smirk. "I know how messy you can get."

With a feigned look of shock, you playfully whacked Quinn with your apron, stumbling when he caught it in his grasp and pulled it towards him so that you were now nose to nose.

You watched with bated breath as he placed the half apron around your waist, turning you to tie a neat bow in the back. His hands lingered over your waist as you turned around to face him once more. You stood on your toes and pressed a delicate kiss to his lips.

"Welcome home, by the way," you laughed as you pulled away. "I forgot to do it when you walked in."

"Oh, I know," Quinn replied, leaning forward and claiming another kiss before allowing you to grab your cooking book. You hummed along to the song playing in the background as your fingers skimmed through the pages, looking for the pizza recipe.

"Okay, I have dough left over in the fridge from those garlic and rosemary knots I made the other night, so it should be okay to use that for the base," you began as you moved to open the fridge and rummaged for the dough. You retrieved the container you knew was filled with dough and glanced at Quinn. "This should be enough for one big pizza? And we could share it with the garlic bread?"

"Sounds good, baby," Quinn agreed from his place at the sink where he was drying his washed hands. He made his way towards the cabinets and began to pull out an array of ingredients.

You let him walk back and forth to the countertop you intended to use as you scrubbed your hands in the sink. Quinn was continually examining the cookbook, depositing all the ingredients one by one until they were organised in front of the refrigerated dough.

"Okay," you huffed, your hands settling on your hips as you joined his side. "We need to preheat the oven, make the sauce and roll out the dough." You moved towards the oven, pressing a few buttons before returning to your station. "Step one, done! Alright, how about you crush one clove of garlic for the sauce and then maybe four or five for the bread and I'll start mixing the tomato passata and basil?"

Quinn nodded, his mouth slightly agape at how easily you controlled the world when cooking. Whilst he began rooting through the drawers for the garlic crusher, you began to pour out the passata into a large mixing bowl, which Quinn had grabbed and placed down whilst you were washing your hands.

Your humming filled the kitchen as you stirred. Quinn quickly crushed the garlic, looking at you for confirmation as he dumped the one clove into the sauce. You grinned from ear to ear, thanking him as he moved on, crushing the rest of the garlic and grabbing the butter from the fridge. You continuously stirred, ensuring the sauce had been mixed thoroughly. You made light conversation with Quinn as you worked, recounting your day from start to finish.

Quinn listened intently, soaking in your words as if they were honey. He listened as you told him all about your lovely local customers at the cafe to the cat you saw in an alley on the way to work, and he drank all of it in, his eyes finding it hard to focus on the task when your magnetism sought out for him.

"Oh, Q, there should be fresh ciabatta in the bread bin," You told him, "I picked some up when leaving work earlier, just in case we needed it…lucky us!”

"You are something else," Quinn commented with a lazy smile, his hands lightly brushing your allowed back as he moved to grab it. Shivers erupted down your spine at the sparse touch, a breathy sigh escaping your lips.

"Okay, so," You clapped your hands, "the sauce is all mixed, so is the garlic butter–thank you, now...it's just the dough and then toppings!"

Quinn helped set out a large baking sheet and sprinkled some loose flour across the countertop as you retrieved the dough from its container.

"Why don't you grab toppings, and I can start rolling?" You proposed, your bright eyes examining Quinn's face.

"Yes, chef," he saluted, causing you to laugh and push his chest. You slightly shook your head with a smile as you rolled out the dough, trying to maintain an even base. You focused on rolling, your eyebrows scrunched in concentration as your fingers darted out to roll the edges for the crust.

Quinn soon returned to the countertop with an armful of toppings in suit. He placed them all carefully nearby, so as not to crowd you as you focused.

"Why don't we split the pizza into four and do a different topping for each quarter," Quinn murmured, brushing a fleck of flour off of your cheekbone.

"You are incredible," You gushed, your eyes widening at the thought before your face turned rather stern. "but if I see one tiny sliver of pineapple, Quintin Jerome, I will not be happy!"

"No pineapple, pretty girl," he chuckled, "I got it."

Quinn helped to hold the sauce bowl as you gently scooped out and spread the sauce across the base of the pizza before the two of you scattered the mozzarella on top. You and Quinn each took half of the pizza, allowing the two of you complete control of the two quarters.

On one of yours, you placed sliced tomatoes and green peppers with a scattered spread of pesto, whereas on the other, you dispersed diced onions and spinach. Satisfied with your side, you glanced at Quinn, knowing all too well, he would add the meat to both of his. Lo and behold, he had placed pepperoni on one and pre-shredded chicken and red peppers on his other.

His arm fell around your shoulder as both of you stepped back to admire the masterpiece you'd created.

"I almost feel bad having to put it into the oven," you say sombrely.

"I can do it," Quinn spoke, his raspy voice low. "Saves me from worrying about you burning yourself."

"That was one time, mister," you huffed, pointing your finger at him in mock accusation, but your smile betrayed you.

"One time too many," he chided as he removed his arm from your shoulder and cautiously lifted the baking sheet that the pizza had been rolled on, moving it onto a tray before sliding it into the oven and setting the timer.

You watched until he shut the oven door before you sprang into cleaning mode, gathering all of the used equipment and placing them by the sink. Just as you took off your apron and were about to roll up your sleeves, your arms were restricted by Quinn's hands around your wrists as he slowly tutted.

"Nuh, uh," he shook his head with a pointed look, spinning you slowly to face him. "I'll clean up after dinner."

"But–"

"No buts,"

"I thought you liked my butt," you simpered cheekily, causing Quinn to roll his eyes.

"I do...very much," he agreed, pulling you into the centre of the kitchen before he lowered his voice. "Especially when it's squirming beneath me as you beg me to let you come."

All air left your lungs as a nonchalant Quinn stretched out a hand to turn up the music. Etta James' A Sunday Kind of Love had just begun to play, her sultry and smooth voice echoing around the kitchen as your boyfriend held you in his close grasp.

"Dance with me," He held your arms, his eyes searching yours for an answer. You felt heat rise to your cheeks as you stepped closer to him, your chests pressed together, one of your hands clasping his, whilst the other curled around his neck, toying with the strands at the base.

The soft glow of the candles and kitchen lights created a warm ambience, casting intertwined shadows that danced along with your synchronized movements. Quinn's fingers traced gentle patterns on your back, pulling you even closer as the world outside seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you enveloped in the timeless embrace of the music.

Your head lifted from where it had found itself nuzzled into him. Quinn's loving gaze locked onto yours, his eyes reflecting a mixture of playfulness and desire. The warmth of the kitchen, the subtle scent of dinner lingering in the air, and the rhythmic beat of the music made you want to bounce up and down with joy, belting from the rooftops that you adored your boyfriend and anything he did.

The dance floor was the small expanse of tile under your feet, but at that moment, it felt like you were lost in a world of your own creation, each step cementing the love and care you had for the man in front of you.

In a stolen moment with the music as your witness, Quinn leaned in. His lips met yours in a tender kiss as if sealing an unspoken pact, and for a fleeting instant, the only thing you could fathom was the taste of his lips.

Breaking the kiss, he rested his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours. Your smile traipsed across your face as you leaned forward, recapturing his lips, and deepening the embrace. His thumb caressed your cheekbone as you sighed happily, your fingers soothingly twirling around his hair.

In a sudden move, Quinn's hands dropped down and grabbed your waist as he picked you up and carried you towards the dining table. You emitted a loud squeal, the two of your faces remaining close together as he monitored your emotions. You were still laughing when you were placed down on top of the table, his arms caging your body as his nose skimmed along the warmth of your neck. He placed a gentle kiss on the supple skin beneath your ear, earning him a quiet gasp for air whilst he moved across your jaw until finally lingering a mere centimetre away from your lips.

You whined as you tried to lean forward and take his lips with your own only to be stopped by an amused and dishevelled Quinn, avoiding your movement. His blown pupils examined your wide eyes and pouting mouth before he finally crashed his lips to yours once more.

***

This time, your kiss was feverish, your hands grasping at Quinn's shoulders as his ran along your thighs before creeping towards the waistband of your pants. You careened into his touch, panting into the kiss as he slowly shifted your weight so you were against him before he yanked down your pants, and tossed them across the room.

You gasped at the suddenness of it, your head spinning in need as Quinn pulled away to let you breathe, continuing his tirade of kisses down your neck, stopping just above your pulse point to slowly suckle at your skin. You let out a prolonged moan, your neck arching as one of his hands held your cheek to tilt your head, giving him more access to the skin there, whilst the other hand's fingertips traced circles on your upper thigh.

You melted at his touch, your body putty as he ran his tongue over the reddened patch of skin on your neck once more before he pulled away, placing open-mouthed kisses up to your ear. You gulped as his fingers brushed across the fabric of your panties, your eyes fluttering shut as he stroked his thumb against your cheek.

"Oh, baby," his deep and comforting voice drawled, "you're soaked through." You whimpered as Quinn removed his fingers from the material, placing them lightly in your pubic bone. "You been waiting all day for this, hm?"

You looked toward Quinn, whose darkened eyes kept a careful watch on your face. Your throat tightened as your words failed you, nodding frantically, while your hands desperately gripped his shirt.

"Words, y/n/n," he spoke more softly, his nose brushing yours as he shifted his position.

"Yes," you immediately gasped out, your half-lidded eyes overwhelmed with desire. "Need you...please!"

"So polite," he cooed, his finger tucking a strand of hair out of your face. "I'll tell you what, pretty girl, since you asked so nicely, I'll give you what you need." His fingers above the waistband of your panties slipped beneath the fabric as you let out a breathy moan. His fingers met your wetness instantaneously, a deep grumble slipping from his lips at the feeling.

"All this for me, huh?" He murmured, his finger circling your bud as you struggled to speak. Your head fell back in silent ecstasy, with your mouth agape as he slowly worked a finger inside of you, your walls clenching down as he moved it in and out. "You look so pretty like this," Quinn spoke in hushed tones, "all wet, needy and mine."

"Yours," you parroted breathlessly as he sank another thick finger inside of you. His other hand remained cradling your head, his lips ducking to kiss yours as your body trembled around him. He pushed his body closer to yours, causing your legs to spread further, his clothed groin skimming your own.

"You take my fingers so well," Quinn praised, his eyes unmoving from your blissed face. The feeling of his fingers sliding in and out of your drenched core, fired up every brain cell to send you into overdrive, wiping away any thought other than the pleasure he was giving you. Your hips bucked towards his fingers with a shameless moan, as you tried to feel as much of him as he was letting you.

He curled his fingers inside of you as he moved them quicker, his thumb moving upwards to stroke your sensitive bud whilst you crumbled on the table, the only thing keeping you upright being Quinn's steady hand on your face.

"Oh, does my girl need to come already?" Quinn lowly taunted, as he picked up the pace, his fingers now in an upbeat rhythm, in and out of you, as his thumb furiously rubbed your clit. Your staggered breaths and squeaks of pleasure grew rapid as your fists clenched tight around his shirt.

"Please, Q," you babbled as you begged, your eyes swimming as you found yourself stammering—drunk off of the feeling of Quinn's intoxicating touch. "Please, let me come, please?" You practically sobbed out your words, your back arching as the knot of warmth in your stomach grew tighter.

You felt his breathy laugh against your cheek as his fingers continued their onslaught of pleasures. Quinn leaned closer, letting his chest press flush against yours before he whispered a single word.

"Come.”

You needed no more prompting as your eyes fell shut and you cried out, a loud series of moans tumbling from your lips. Your body shuddered as the knot in your stomach snapped and pleasure erupted across every nerve, sending tingles down your spine all the way to your toes as Quinn worked you through your orgasm. He pumped his fingers in and out until he'd drawn out as much pleasure as he could, leaving you a panting and soaked mess.

The sharp ringing of the oven timer resounded and Quinn chuckled, removing his fingers from you as you whined at the loss of his touch. He raised the fingers to his mouth and licked your juices off of them, his gaze never straying from your overwhelmed self.

***

"Just in time," he said as his fingers popped out of his mouth. His lazy grin returned to his face as he moved both of his hands beneath your shaking legs before placing you down on a blanket on the couch in the living room. He moved the blanket to cover your legs as well as the couch beneath you before stepping back.

"You sit here, sweet girl, I'll sort the food." He told you, his hand lightly brushing over your hair, pressing a lingering kiss to your head as you slumped into the softness of the couch.

You sat happily, watching as Quinn moved around the kitchen so freely as if he hadn't just pushed you into oblivion. You found yourself smiling softly as you settled into the warmth and it hadn't taken him long to reappear with one large serving platter with your pizza on top.

He sat down beside you as you quietly sprang to nestle into his side, trying to get as close to him as possible. He held a slice of pizza towards your mouth as you slowly bit into the end, before swallowing it. Quinn talked quietly to you as you ate, choosing to feed you at least one whole slice before he dug into his own. You remained cuddled into his side as you finished the slice, his arm draped around your shoulders.

"The garlic bread's just gone into the oven," Quinn whispered, watching as your eyes searched for something. They snapped towards Quinn at his words and he raised a brow knowing he'd hit the jackpot. You buried yourself in his side once more, his hand running through your hair as he plastered a joking smile across his face- the smile you adored.

"I got so caught up in dessert that I completely forgot about the sides..."

a/n: I am gnawing at the bars of my enclosure for this man <33

#wineauntie #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes x reader #hughes brothers x reader #quinn hughes x y/n #quinn hughes fluff #quinn hughes x you #quinn hughes fanfic #quinn hughes #quinn hughes fanfiction #quinn hughes smut #i need him in a way that is concerning to feminism #literally toothrotting fluff #soft!quinn hughes #I love quinn hughes what a man #nhl x reader #vancouver canucks

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dabisbratz · 1 year

Text

PENITENCE — leon s. kennedy x male reader

w.c: ~5.3k

warning: sub bottom reader, thigh fucking, spit, standing doggy style, dirty talk, leon’s weak pullout game x2, mixed praise/degradation, oral, choking, sexualizing las plagas, breeding mentions, sir kink, finger hooking, drool, infected leon is a lil mean, dumbification, accidental creampie

a/n: got a loooot of requests for a sequel to this!! so here it is! i hope you enjoy! ૮꒰ ´͈ ˙̫ `͈ Ꮚ꒱ა this fic had a mind of its own!! didn get to write leon as feral as i wanted to but… that’s okay!

You’ve never been shot before. Punched, sure, clean in the jaw in the midst of a training session. It caught you so off guard you nearly swallowed your teeth, and the blood gushing from your nose and coating the pearls tasted like rusty gunmetal. But it really didn’t hurt that bad, you felt more congested than anything.

You've never been shot before. Stabbed, sure, right through the hand until thick blood poured straight out your palm like nature’s greatest waterfall. It wasn’t as sharp as you’d think, not some sort of pinch akin to getting a piercing. No, it was panic first, your eyes trailed down to meet the handle of a hunting knife that cut clean through your palm. Then came the realization, Scorching heat beaming through your hand until it began to tremble. But hand wounds heal fast, you barely remember it.

You’ve never been shot before. Grazed, sure, blasted with the shells of a silver shotgun bullet so hard it seared your skin and left an open-mouthed gash. Your bullet ricocheted off an unknown surface, all because you’d taken it upon yourself to practice your aim alone. But it was just a graze, and so long ago the scar had begun to fade.

So the first time it happens, you’re taken for a loop.

Your legs burn, aching as you trudge beside Leon in his hasty motion up a particularly slippery hill. It’s like you’ve been walking in circles, deeper and deeper into the village but somehow passing the same bloodstained tree. For a man who was over a hundred fifty pounds of sheer force and willpower, he sure was light on his toes. Had there not been moisture from previous nights’ rain still lingering in the air you're sure it’d be easier— no mud to slip on, no pockets of rainwater that looked much more shallow than they actually were— but it lingers.

And it’s not just that, there’s an everlasting tremor in your thighs as you walk, you can barely take a few steps without your movements stuttering. You can’t excuse it as a pulled muscle, not when Leon’s been forcing you to sit back and observe. Though it’s partially his fault, you deduce, because you can see the growing pride in his stride as he listens to your trip over your own feet. Almost like it was a mission, fuck the rookie until he cries and let him walk for himself.

Asshole.

You can’t stop talking, not when your brain is working overtime and you have so many questions. Though it’s not entirely clear if he’s listening, Leon’s body subconsciously teeters in your direction, almost like he’s trying to collect your body heat. He’s certainly done that, that and much more. He’s stolen the air from your lungs with a heavy kiss, he’s collected the sounds of your moans and sealed them in a jar.

You spare him a heavy glance, watching the muscles in his back ripple as he marches through the thickening mud. You wish you’d gotten the chance to see him without it, to card your fingers through the strong fabric as he pulls his shirt over his head and balls it up in his veiny fists. To watch his hair fall, golden bundles framing his face and falling back into place like magic, nearly swept over his eye and so unabashedly Leon.

“Would you stop staring at me?” There’s a playful edge to his voice, teetering around the edges as he blows a bullet straight through the frail neck of an infected resident. You’re too focused on the nape of his neck to watch it explode, an amalgamation of blood and arteries and fat splattering onto the ground and surrounding houses. “I mean, if you want a picture all you have to do is ask.”

You can tell he’s somehow watching you through the corner of his gunmetal gray eyes, with your blatant staring, but he doesn’t seem to have much on the tip of his tongue besides a few smartmouthed remarks. Maybe he has eyes behind his full head of hair.

“Ha-ha, very funny.” You purse your lips, tightening your grip around the flashlight paving the way forward.

Truthfully, you’d underestimated just how much cardio and legwork it took to navigate this village— sure, the implication of missing hikers in the area meant there’d be a trail to hike, but in your head it was much more akin to training. Controlled, steep hills that didn’t continue on as far as the eye can see, an obstacle course that had an obtainable goal— it feels like you’re wandering aimlessly.

But Leon’s with you, so surely that can’t be right.

You wonder how much preparation and time he took into this, how many nights of sparring turned into considering your presence under the same blanket of stars, how often he made things with you in mind. Even if it’s just for a mission.

Quite frankly, it was all the time. Thinking of you put an indescribable amount of weight on his chest, it capsized his shoulders, so feathery light, and yet somehow still managed to put strain on his posture. He was always so laid back, cracking jokes and likable by definition. Yet there he stood, second guessing his abilities in protecting you, having you, wooing you. Ashley is his priority. . . but you’re his partner.

And he wants more.

“Leon?” Apprehension builds in your voice, Leon’s steady stride suddenly broken as he looks down at his hands. You bump right into him, colliding face-first into his body. His back is just as sturdy as it looks, barely jolting as you peek around to look at his handsome face.

His veins are turning black, coiling up his wrists from his hands, inky black streaks that branch off up his forearm and disappear under his shirt. Even the thicker veins decorating his bicep— they’ve become an ugly charcoal that looks entirely too unnatural. Painful. As if leeches have burrowed themselves under his skin, the intrusion crawls further into his bloodstream as small, deep grunts escape from his lips.

You still have yet to ask what happened during your separation— after you ran. But, in a way, you’ve got your answer.

“You with me, Lee?” You search his face for something, anything, under the furrowed brows and clenched teeth. His jaw sets, characteristically rigid, which is a generous start. Somewhere beneath the icy blue of his eyes you see recognition, like he’s not exactly looking at you, but he knows you’re there. Lucid enough. Good.

But without Leon leaving a path of bodies for you to walk over, you have to take over and pave the way.

“I’m gonna take your gun, okay?” It’s rhetorical, whether he likes it or not, because he took your gun away before you truly had the chance to use it— and it’s not entirely like he’s in the position to be making demands. You wish you could laugh about it, let a boyish smile wiggle its way across your face, but without Leon there to laugh with you… there’s no point.

And, like most instances, you find yourself jumping into action before you can think, dragging every pound of steel Leon has to offer through the village until you can find somewhere safe. It happens all too fast. One moment, you’re holding onto the pistol while wrapping an arm around Leon’s waist, blowing holes through the infected like you were made for it, watching their bodies topple to the ground in a lifeless display. Then. . .

“Fuck, oh fuck, fuckfuckfuck,” Your heart plummets into your stomach, you can’t help but think you’ve swallowed a bomb. Your blood is cold on your slick skin, flowing down your bicep like sort of fucked up waterfall. It’s thick and sticky, a rich shade of red that only seems to get darker and darker as it pours from your arm. You can’t help but call for your partner, tightening your grip on his waist. “Leon…”

Getting grazed is not the same.

There’s a similar burn, but this time it’s from the outside-in and back out again. Like you’ve been stung by a swarm bees, all at the same time, and in the same exact spot.

It happened so fast, threw you for a loop, the metal of an axe bounced your bullet right back at you, and landed right through your arm.

Your eyes widen, jittery as Leon parts his legs, planting his boots into the mud in a futile attempt at staying upright. Selfless as ever, the blond just can’t seem to sit still when he knows someone he cares about is in danger.

His dusty pink lips are curled into a snarl, one of his veiny hands clasped over your own; fisting at the bunched up fabric by his waist. His eyes, previously clenched shut, are no longer a brilliant shade of blue— they’ve turned yellow, bright like a citrusy candy. His face, still as handsome as before, is adorned with streaky, black veins that cluster near his left cheekbone and disappear into his cheeks. Instinctively, you raise your arm to swipe away his hair in a half-assed attempt at consolation, but the movement burns before you can put away your pistol.

Leon’s eyes flicker to your bicep, watching the red ooze from the inflamed bullet-shaped hole. His gaze darkens, something you can’t quite grasp flashing in his eyes as he takes the gun from your hand and pushes you behind him.

“Leon—”

“Move! Now!” His voice is much deeper than before— still buttery smooth, just dropping in octaves as he yells into the night air. You don’t have to be told twice, stumbling in the mud as he pushes you in the general direction of an abandoned house. In a perfect world you’d use your knife to help, but something tells you sticking around would just worsen the situation for everyone.

So you rush into the house, bursting through the creaky door as gunshots ring behind you. Almost as loud as the static in your ears, buzzing as you search for a closed off room.

The house is empty, fairly sized— equipped with a staircase that leads upstairs. Bedrooms, you presume, since there are only bathrooms and living spaces on the first floor. The floorboards whine and groan under your weight, tracking mud as you keep your hand clasped over your bicep. It probably won’t make much of a difference now, but the bleeding has subsided into thick clots, which momentarily lightens your mood.

You don’t have much on you, it’s best to travel light when you have places to be— heavy backpacks can weigh you down. But you do have a few bandages and travel-sized disinfectant wipes. You can only help Leon effectively if you help yourself first— you’re dead weight if you go back out there dipped in blood— so you get to work.

It’s hasty, messy, and unorganized, but you get it done. Your bicep is wrapped snug, with enough pressure to support your arm without cutting off any circulation. It’s the best you can do for now, with the panic and anxiety blooming in your throat. It burns like bile, attacking your senses until all you can think of is Leon. The look on his face, the sounds of his pained grunts, the veins darkening beneath his skin.

As if he’s heard you, your silent prayers for his presence in its entirety, he crashes through the door. It squeals on its hinges, slamming shut behind him as his heavy boots collide with the wooden floorboards. You can’t quite make out anything else, just the sound of his shoes as he walks through the hall, and into the bathroom.

Maybe it’s just a hunch, an inference, but there’s irritation floating between his steps. You can feel it radiating off him despite not exactly being near him. The sound of poorly running water emits from the small room, muffled through the door, along with a steadier stream of swears.

“Leon?” You ask, pushing yourself off the wooden diningroom chair with the support of your unwounded arm. Would it be best to give him some space? But that’s not really an option, not with what you witnessed. Not with that intrusion trying to take over his body. “I’m coming in.”

Nearly tripping over the red rug decorating the hallway between the bathroom and living spaces, you clumsily open the bathroom door. Just Leon— sitting on the wide ledge of the bathroom’s squat toilet, his gun discarded on the opposing mantel. You can’t see his face, not with his hair casting silky shadows along the expanse of it, but you can picture his tight lipped expression just fine.

The thought makes heat burst through your skin. Nowhere near as painful as a gunshot wound. This time it’s comforting and sweet, it makes your legs feel like jelly and your heart like jam.

“Ocupado,” He sounds rather proud of himself for that one, readjusting his spot on the ledge. The blond lifts his gaze, shades of blue overcasting the previous yellow hues that once clouded his vision. “How do you feel..Your arm..?”

You should be asking him that.

“I’m good,” You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, the strain of your shoulders dissipating into the air the longer you look at him. “You know me. Are you…okay?”

Perhaps ‘okay’ isn’t the word for it. You want to ask if he feels weird, if the deepening of his veins bothers him. What it felt like when he was rendered unconscious. When you felt it— tied to that damned cross— it wasn’t nearly as bad as Leon. In fact, it didn't hurt you at all. You didn’t even notice until the entirety of your arms were decorated in pure, black branches.

“Yeah,” He blinks, not once removing his gaze from the curl of your lips. Still so shiny and wet, soft as they curl with every vowel and syllable that leaves them. He swallows hard, audible as his adam’s apple bobs in his throat. Your eyes trace the small mole just below it, the way his throat bulges. “I’m okay. For the most part.”

He doesn’t seem entirely there, lifting himself up wordlessly until he’s crashing into you, his large, gloved hand finding a place around your neck as he pulls you into a kiss.

The bathroom isn’t an ideal place to do it, though you suppose you two don’t have a clean track record of kissing in the best places. He swallows the air from your lungs, deep and gentle as his lips melt into yours. He tastes just like he did a few hours, just slightly saltier. He tastes like you, you’re still heavy on his tongue and it seems he’s hooked on your flavor.

His tongue is silky, messy in your mouth as you try your hardest to absorb his heat. His mouth is so warm, so wet, and you can’t help but whimper when he pulls away. You want to chase it, that heat, so you can’t help yourself when you follow after his lips.

Oh.

Leon’s eyes— they’re red, and the impossibly dark streaks under his skin are somehow darker.

“Your—”

“I wanna fuck you so bad,” It leaves his lips before the both of you have time to process it. He’s much more surprised than you, pink roses blooming on the apples of his cheeks despite the clear obstruction of his body. You appreciate the honesty, clearing your throat to mask the laugh bubbling in your chest. Leon’s okay, and he’s not just saying it. “…Sorry.”

Leon’s red-eyed gaze is casted to the side, but even in his efforts to avoid looking at you, he can’t help himself. It’s cute, really, charming enough to have your heart doing somersaults in your chest.

“Then do it.”

Blue embers sparkle in his eyes, and suddenly you’re being pulled out the cramped bathroom. Whatever he’s infected with, it’s heightened his abilities, because his grip on your wrist feels just as strong as the rusty chains in the cathedral. He’s holding onto you like you’ll disappear if he doesn’t, an iron grip that feels more comfortable than painful. And through it all, he’s cautious of your injury.

It doesn’t stop him from slapping you against the wall, your back colliding with the old, peeling wallpaper with a loud thud.

“You’re sure—” You start, the words catching in your throat when Leon’s strong hands tear your shirt apart, straight through the middle. The cold air hits you instantly, sending shivers up your spine as you whine in protest. “I only have one shirt!”

“I have a jacket.” His answer is barely audible, as he’s too busy watching the rise and fall of your chest with hungry, predatory eyes. You’re looking at Leon, who has every feature of the man. . . But he feels different. He feels bigger, in every sense of the word, towering over you as his red eyes study you like a bloodthirsty shark.

Next are your pants, you take the liberty of unbuckling your utility belt, keeping your gaze on Leon as he watches your hands pull them down. A considerate patch of sticky wetness decorates the front of your boxers, darkening and dampening the fabric. Leon’s pink tongue slides over his equally pink lips, whatever restraint he’s using slowly slipping away. You expect him to follow suit, but his hands are on you and he’s guiding you down to your knees.

Your face nuzzles against the fabric of his pants, thick but nowhere near as thick as his cock, which has a prominent, twitching outline.Your mouth waters, saliva pooling between your lips as your eyes flutter shut and he presses your cheek against his dick, firm and rough. His hands are so big, cupping the back of your head as he releases a small, hushed groan.

Leon watches you unzip his pants with parted lips and a baited breath. You look so damn pretty, eyes glazed over within the matter of a few seconds and a stupid look in your eye the second you see his dick again. Like you’ve missed it, when it was only just a few hours ago when he was buried deep inside you. He lets you push his pants down to his ankles, your eyes roaming along the skin of his toned thighs, which black vines slowly creep down.

You press a pretty, openmouthed kiss against the head of his cock, watching precum bead at the tip and smear across your lips. Such a sweet boy, kissing his cock as a greeting.

“Goddamn, you’re so cute,” His grip travels down your face to the top of your neck, where your throat meets your jaw. Your gaze is forced upward, straight into Leon’s vermillion irises as he offers a small squeeze. “Just a little slut. Aren’t you, sweetheart?”

“Mhm, yeah,” You pant against his skin, shimmying forward to grind your front against the leather of his boot. “For you— just for you, Sir.”

Yeah, you could get used to this. The girth of his cock, the vein that disappears beneath the pretty head of his dick, the way his balls weigh heavily against your chin. His pubes are a deeper shade of brown, slightly curly and enough that makes you want to bury your nose in it. He’s so sticky, slick and wet like he’s been thinking about this for a while. The thought of Leon gripping himself through his pants is just so hot, the way he’d buck up into his fist and imagine it’s you instead. The way he’d groan and moan into the air, chasing after some artificial tightness that could only simulate you. Your mouth, your hole.

“Think you can be a good boy for me?” You chase after his cock as he pulls it away, gripping it by the base with a gloved hand. You can only imagine how good the leather of his fingerless gloves feel against it. He coos at your attempts to follow along, meanly slapping the weight of his dick against your cheek until you’re messy with precum. “Hm? Yeah?”

You nod frantically, opening your mouth and covering your bottom row of teeth with your tongue. You can be good, you can be good for Leon.

Tears spring in your eyes the second he’s pushing into your mouth, groaning at the sound of your gags as his cock slides in and out, deeper and deeper without warning. He can’t help it, not when you’re drooling all over his pants and whining for it. Not when you’d look so cute hazy eyed and stained with tears as he fucks your throat. Not when your throat bulges around his cock, letting out wet squelches as you struggle to keep your eyes open and watch his hips snap against you.

“That’s it,” Leon sighs, shaky and content as he holds you in place. His good boy. “Just like that, you take it so—f-hucking—good.”

You lurch back, tears blurry in your eyes as you sputter and gag. His precum is salty and warm, coating your throat as you flutter your eyes and hold onto the swell of Leon’s strong, thick thighs. Heat ripples through your body in waves as a low growl rumbles in his throat, bouncing into your ears.

“Shh, I know, I know. Don’t run from me, let me in,” He coos, sliding his long cock from your mouth to watch a long trail of your spit thin out the further he pulls away. “It’s just too big for you, is that right? Hard to focus on anything when all you can think of is dick.”

You’re breathing heavily, panting loud as you slowly register the mess on your face, your chin. Your lips feel swollen, but your mouth feels empty. You must have a particularly dumb look on your face because it pulls a laugh out of the man in front of you, rich and hearty as he lifts you up with an authoritative hand around your throat.

“C’mere.” He mumbles, pulling you in to pepper messy kisses along your jaw. He’s more impulsive, you gather, with whatever’s coursing through his veins. Rougher too, with the way his hand tightens around your throat when he’s throwing commands at you. You don’t mind it, not at all. In fact, it’s made you all hazy, you feel like you’re traveling through a thick layer of fog as you nod along. You want to be good, to earn his praise.

Leon’s hands travel to your waist, dipping into the plush skin until your thighs are spread just far enough for his cock to fit between them. You’ve never felt so exposed, whining high in your throat no matter how pathetic it sounds, and pressing your body against his firm chest.

His cock feels as big as it looks, long and curved as he slides it between your thighs. You can feel every twitch and pulse, you’re sure he can feel you too— with how he’s grunting and groaning against your neck. He fucks into your thighs like he’s chasing after something, trying to satiate it. His grip is punishing, the pads of his fingertips digging into your skin until it hurts.

“I can’t,” You whine, shaking your head as you watch his cock disappear between your thighs. “S’not— I wanna—”

“You can,” Leon growls, making a low warning of a noise in his throat as he tuts in disapproval. It goes straight to your stomach, tingles shocking your body as you clench around nothing. “And you will.”

Instead of keeping you upright by the throat, Leon’s hands leave you to fend for yourself as he slides them down your supple skin, down every dip and curve and slope, until he’s playing with the leftover stickiness of your hole.

You’re certain there’s nowhere near as comfortable as Leon’s arms. They’re big and strong, plush and warm against your skin, and firm in your hand when he’s flexing. They keep you secure and safe, protected from whatever monstrosities are in this godforsaken place, you’re sure he’d hold you till you both fell asleep, and you’d be enveloped in his warmth.

He smells just as warm too, faintly of vanilla underneath all that sex and remnants of polluted air.

“Christ, you’re so… Warm around my fingers. Give it to me, baby, let me fuck you with my fingers.”

You love his warmth, it spreads across your body and travels down your chest, your stomach, your thighs, until he’s taking you apart with it. His fingers are so warm, so thick and perfect as they fuck into you. Even when you’re sloppy like this, sucking his fingers back in like you’d never wanted to be left empty again in the first place, working your hips back to chase after his knuckles. The warmth of his arms as he flips you around, pushes your weight into his own by the base of your neck, maneuvers you just right, keeps you open and vulnerable for him. All for him.

Yeah, there’s nowhere else you’d rather be.

“Hey, you with me?” It’s his turn to ask, and you wonder if he felt the same butterflies you did.

“Yeah, I’m,” You’re breathlessly spreading your legs and pulling yourself apart with the warmth of your palms to reveal the puffiness of your hole, fucked out and shiny from earlier’s abuse. Leon wonders how easy it’d be to slip back in, to inch his cock deeper and deeper inside as you flutter around him and keen with oversensitivity. “M’with you, Sir.”

“Atta boy,” The smile he flashes is all teeth, dangerous and sharp as his canines glint in the dim lighting. You have half the heart to be a bit scared, but it doesn’t mean much when he’s working you open when you’re already so sensitive. Your hips jitter, twitching both toward and away from his fingers as he presses against that same bundle of nerves from earlier— it’s too much. This time you really mean it, because the second he hits it, tears spring in your eyes and you’re fisting remnants of the peeling wallpaper like a lifeline. “Greedy little hole. Didn’t you just take me?”

“Ohh, oh, God! Leon,” He hums in acknowledgement, as if he’s actually listening to your mindless babbling, nodding with lidded eyes as he uses your hips to pull you down onto his fingers. He’s using you like some kind of toy, moving you with one hand as you sit there and take it. You’re melting into the wall, drool slipping through the seam of your lips and trailing down your exposed chest. “You— your fingers, feel so good.”

“I know, baby.”

The way you’re convulsing around his fingers is telling, crying and sobbing and squealing into the wallpaper while he angles your back down. His large palm presses into the small of your back, strong and firm as he pushes and pushes until you’re arching just right and exposed.

“Let me fuck you till I cum, be my toy,” You can barely hear him over your own sobs, shifting your weight between legs as you steady yourself. His cock slips in easy, smooth and wet and perfect. You missed this feeling the second it left, the fullness of his dick inside you. The curve of his long cock as it inches inside, the feeling of that one particular vein pulsing deep inside. “Gonna fuck you over and over. Yeah? Got that? Because you’re all mine.”

“Uh-huh, mhm,” You gasp, every inhale making you sputter and choke on your tears. “Yes, Sir.”

If you weren’t crying before you surely are now, with the sharp thrusts Leon’s pistoning into your hole, loud and sloppy and squelching as he backs you up on his cock. It’s like he’s mounted you, shoving your face into the wall as he slams into you. In and out, in and out, in and out…With every slap of his balls against your thighs you whine, small pitiful sounds escaping your lips until your voice goes hoarse and all you can do is weakly claw at the wall.

But you’ve been good, save for a few whiny noises and indiscreet pouting, you’ve been so good. So Leon lets your uninjured hand wander, even guides it down to your front as he fucks you from behind so hard it feels like you’re going stupid. You can’t see him like this, but you’d bet there’s a feral look on his face. Pupils blown wide as his red eyes focus on the view of his cock disappearing inside you, his brain short circuiting as it repeats the same code over and over.

Breed, breed, breed.

“Wanna breed you,” He rasps, strong arms pulling you the second he’s pulling out. No matter what, you’re full of him. You’re full of him even as his cock slides away, a trail of precum connecting the two of you as it froths between your thighs and his balls. “Can I fuck my cum into your sloppy little hole? Hm?”

“Course, f’course,” It’s all out the window, every possible thought you’d ever had about how uncomfortable it could be to be…preoccupied while on a mission. Because you want it, you want to be full. You want him to give it to you, deeper and harder and messier and… More. “..Please..”

“Nice of you to say, but,” He groans high in his throat, voice tight and heavy as his hips grow sloppy and weak. Yet, his cock still feels so heavy in your hole, makes you feel like you’re ready to burst apart at the seams. Leon’s fingers pull at your cheeks, slipping in your mouth and pulling at the skin until your mouth is forced wide, your tongue slipping from your mouth as you drool and cry. “I wasn’t really asking. You’d let me cum wherever I wanted, wouldn’t you? It’s okay, sweetheart, you’re cute when you go dumb on my dick.”

You can’t do this.

You tried, really. You tried your hardest, held it for as long as you could. But you’re already there, almost screaming on his dick as you flutter and clamp down on it, light beaming in your stomach as your body grows sensitive and weak. You’re cumming. And Leon’s hand around your throat doesn’t do anything besides aid it, the way you gush and whine around his cock despite his insistent thrusts. You can’t think, you can’t breathe, and it feels so fucking good.

“Jesus fuck, you take that cock so well. Such a good boy, my pretty slut,” Leon pulls you into him, pressing his chest against your back as he sinks his teeth into the base of your neck. Not enough to draw blood, no, just enough to leave a Leon S. Kennedy sized bite mark along your skin. “Tell me you love this cock, pretty baby. I know you can.”

“I love— ohhh — love your cock, Sir. M’so full.” Your twitching doesn’t cease, instead egging him on as your pretty little hole sucks him in deeper, holding him like a vice. Warm and slick, he can’t help but moan into your neck as his balls tighten and he cums.

“That’s it,” You watch him pant through the corner of your eyes, weighed down by fatigue, sex, and the entirety of today's ordeals. But at least the richness of his veins are beginning to clear up, and his pretty, arctic blue eyes are starting to resurface. You smile around a hearty moan, feeling your insides flood with warmth as his eyes flutter shut and his body shudders. “I could really get used to this.”

It’s hard and fast, much too fast for him to have pulled out to shoot across your back— no, he’s partially shot a thick, creamy rope inside you. His veins pulse at the thought, satiated with the sight of your fucked-out hole drooling with his cum.

“Oh… Fuck.”

He’s hard again.

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peachdues · 8 months

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THE BITTER & THE SWEET (PART 1 TEASER)

RENGOKU X F!ICE HASHIRA SECRET PREGNANCY AU

A/N: the second most-voted teaser option from my 2K Milestone Event is here!

A sneak peek of a scene in Part I in which the Ice Pillar suspects something might be off about her health lately (hmmm I wonder what it could be?)

CW: 18+ • not super explicit smut, but still descriptive • things get hot and heavy • Reader’s eggo is preggo but she doesn’t know it yet

Enjoy equally horny and protective/worried Kyojuro in this, you fiends!

She’d felt the beginnings of another blasted migraine the moment she’d opened her eyes, groaning at the incessant brightness of the afternoon sunlight that beamed through her window.

Like all of her previous head pains, it had started as a dull ache on the right side of her skull. Y/N had assumed that she’d only need to drink water and eat something small in order to prevent the headache becoming so severe that she could not rouse herself from bed.

Kyojuro had already been in the process of dressing, humming merrily to himself across the room as he shook his uniform shirt free of any wrinkles. He’d noticed her wince as she sat up from her spot on the futon, clutching the blanket to her bare chest.

“Is your head causing you pain again?” He’d asked, frowning as the Ice Pillar nodded, her eyes screwed shut as she leaned forward to brace her head between her knees.

Kyojuro pursed his lips, though Y/N knew precisely what the Flame Pillar was thinking, because it was what he’d been telling her for weeks.

Something was wrong.

Y/N had never been so persistently exhausted in her life. It was a given, in their profession, that the frequency with which their bodies were pushed beyond the limits of ordinary man meant that there would be times when she would eventually crash and be forced to rest, but this wasn’t one of them.

She’d hardly taken a mission in the last few weeks. Rather, the Ice Pillar had been spending the majority of her nights on patrol, keeping a practiced ear and eye trained for signs of anything nefarious, of which there had been little.

And even those patrols had been wearing her out more than usual, with Y/N hardly making it through the front gates of her manor before crumpling against the Flame Pillar as he waited for her.

But Y/N did not want to concern her lover, as she knew that Kyojuro was especially sensitive to threats of illness, given everything he’d endured with his mother as a boy.

“Perhaps I’ve been over-exerting myself,” Y/N said lightly, stretching to conceal her wince as she felt another sharp stab in her temple. She added, slyly, “After all, we didn’t get quite as much rest this morning as we likely needed.”

Kyojuro raised his eyebrow at her, a smirk forming on his sensual lips even though his cheeks tinged a faint pink at what she implied. For despite all of exhaustion she’d felt upon arriving home earlier that morning, Y/N had not protested when her flame-haired lover stealthily entered through her slightly-open bedroom window to slide into her futon beside her. Nor had she any complaints when she felt his lips begin to trace up her bare spine, his hands tugging the blankets away from her hips as he promised he’d do all the work, before sliding into her from behind.

Of course, his demonstration of care and consideration for her comfort had only made her need for him grow with every lovingly deep push of his hips against her backside. And so, the moment she’d felt Kyojuro’s hot seed spill across her lower back, she’d flipped them over, effortlessly sheathing him back inside her heat as her walls still pulsed with her previous climax, and began to ride him.

Really, she shouldn’t have been surprised that she was a little dehydrated after the morning’s activities.

Her words apparently struck a chord, as Kyojuro slowly approached the side of the futon, his eyes simmering with a heat that made her thighs clench together. “Then perhaps I should stay at my estate tonight,” his voice was low, almost a purr, as he knelt on the soft padding of her bed, his hands braced dangerously close to where she lay beneath the blankets, still nude. “After all, I don’t want to be the reason the Corps’ beautiful Ice Pillar is unable to tend to her duties.”

His eyes were pools of molten ore as they raked over her. Kyojuro’s nose brushed against hers, and Y/N found herself tilting her face up, the anticipation of his kiss sending tingles down her spine.

“Is that what you want, Y/N?” He murmured, and he ducked around her waiting mouth in favor of grazing the underside of her jaw with his nose, his lips just ghosting over the exposed length of her neck, as he inhaled her scent. “For me not to come to you tonight?”

Her eyes slid closed as she felt Kyojuro’s lips skim over to the hollow base of her throat, where he pressed one, gentle kiss, chuckling gently against her skin as he felt her pulse quicken beneath his mouth.

Y/N found it was easy to forget the piercing pain in her skull when Kyojuro made her whole body thrum with want, as he shifted over her, his considerable, strong thighs braced on either side of her hips. He fell forward, careful to keep most of his weight off her as he caught himself, his arms coming to rest on either side of her head, as he rolled his groin once against hers.

Y/N gasped at the contact, for even between the layers of his hakama pants and her blankets, she could feel the warmth of his desire for her, against her thigh.

Still bracing most of his weight on his arms, Kyojuro lowered himself, push-up style, to graze his lips against hers, pushing himself back up when she tried to deepen the kiss, a teasing smirk tugging at his mouth as she let out a frustrated little whine.

Fine. If he wanted to play, then so be it.

“It might be a good idea,” she pretended to concede, relishing the way his eyebrow rose in surprise. “After all, I’ve always wondered what it would be like to sleep alone, stark naked, and with every window and door of my manor wide open-“

Y/N did not get to complete her taunt as Kyojuro’s mouth slanted harshly over hers with a low growl, his hips pressing firmly down against hers as he pinned her beneath his body. Moaning against his lips, Y/N squirmed beneath him to let her thighs to fall open to him, allowing him to settle between her legs as he pressed his hardening length right against where she needed him most, and ground once.

“Careful, my flame,” Kyojuro exhaled against her lips as he broke their kiss for air. “Do not start what you cannot finish.”

Kyojuro moved to press a slow, open mouthed kiss against the side of her neck, his teeth grazing her pulse point and making her whine as he pushed his stiffened cock right against the most sensitive point between her thighs.

Y/N whimpered as she bucked her hips up into his, desperate for him to relieve her of the bubbling fire he’d stoked between her legs. She was about to reach for his belt and demand he take her rough, and quick, when he pulled back, his weight disappearing from her entirely as he rose off the futon.

A warm finger curled under her chin and tilted her face up towards him, as Kyojuro answered her indignant glare with a smug grin of his own. “Because you know how I like to take my time with you.”

Y/N threw the futon covers off her naked form, and a part of her was pleased at the way the Flame Pillar’s stare darkened at the sight of her breasts and bare core, her lover firmly turning his back to her as he continued to get ready, though she could see the tips of his ears were bright red.

Without the distraction of Kyojuro’s lips and body, the throb in her head amplified once more, and Y/N had to press her hand against her mouth to fight off the sudden wave of nausea that slammed into her as the room began to tilt. She closed her eyes taking two, steadying breaths before opening them again, the walls around her thankfully no longer moving.

Y/N finally stood, shrugging one of Kyojuro’s yukata’s that laid on her futon over her shoulders to cover her bare form before moving to seek out the stash of medicinal tea Shinobu had made for her to help combat particularly bad migraines. But the moment she’d fastened the belt around her waist, the pain in her skull had amplified, going from a dull, nagging ache to a sharp, blinding pain, that made her stumble.

Kyojuro’s attention snapped to where his lover stood near her bedroom door, swaying precariously as her hand raised to the right side of her head, clutching at it weakly. With a tiny oh! Y/N’s knees buckled beneath her. She would have dropped to the floor had Kyojuro not lunged across the room to catch her, ensnaring her safely in his arms as he lowered them to the ground, Y/N’s full weight supported against him.

“Y/N!” Kyojuro’s hand found the side of her face, now flushed and warm as her teeth ground against another dizzying lash of pain. Warm hands gripped under her knees as the Flame Pillar maneuvered her across his lap, so that she was braced bridal-style against his thighs as he knelt on the floor. “Can you hear me?”

She realized that her eyes were still tightly shut as she panted through the stabbing sensation behind her eyes, a dull ring echoing in her ears. Y/N didn’t trust herself not to scream if she relaxed her jaw, so she only nodded, her fingers fisted tightly in her hair.

“I’m taking you to Kocho’s,” Kyojuro’s voice had an authoritative severity that she’d only ever heard him use on lower-ranked slayers, or in battle with demons. “I will carry you there myself-“

“No!” Y/N gasped out, her other hand coming to fist his weakly at the front of his uniform shirt. “You have other duties that need your attention — I can go myself, I’ll be fine.”

The hand Kyojuro had braced at her waist tightened. “Duties be damned,” his voice was harsh, even though the hand that cupped her face was not. “You are my priority.”

Though the splitting pain in her head muddled most of her thoughts, it was not enough to dull the weight of his words — what it would mean, for them both, if Kyojuro showed up to the Butterfly Mansion with her in his arms, wearing his yukata, and having to explain how he’d managed to catch her before she’d wiped out on her bedroom floor.

Why he’d been in her bedroom at all.

But the throbbing in her skull was so strong, had rendered her so weak, that Y/N found herself about to concede and allow him to expose their secret to the Insect Hashira — and thus, to the Corps at large — when a piercing shriek sounded across the room by her open window.

“CAW!” Both Pillars winced at the cry of the crow from where it sat perched on the window sill. “Lord Rengoku! Your presence is urgently requested in the North!”

“Fuck,” a rare curse fell from the Flame Pillar’s mouth, as he turned his attention back down to his lover, “It can wait, you’re more important —“

But Y/N was already shaking her head, planting her feet against the floor as she began trying to rise unsteadily. “It can’t, and you know it.”

Her legs shook slightly as she stood, Kyojuro rising with her, his arm locked securely around her waist as he helped lift her up.

Y/N swayed slightly, her hand returning to clutch her head as she fought to maintain her balance. Kyojuro kept his hands on her, warm and steady, but firm. Though her eyes were closed, Y/N could sense the war that waged within him, torn between his duty to the Corps, and his devotion to her.

The ache in her head had eased somewhat, and weakly, Y/N lifted her hand to his, Kyojuro’s clasping tightly around hers.

“Go,” she said, and when his eyes lifted to hers, she saw the anguish roiling within — and the slightest trace of fear for her. “I’ll get to Kocho’s just fine. I promise.”

A tortured look passed over his face, but he nodded. Kyojuro brought their joined hands to his mouth, his lips pressing hard against her fingers.

“I will be back as soon as I can,” he promised, lips whispering against her hand. “If I have not returned by the time you’ve seen Kocho, or if anything changes, send a crow.” His hand squeezed around her in pleading. “Promise me, Y/N.”

She nodded, rallying her strength to give him a faint smile. “I promise.”

Kyojuro exhaled slightly as he ducked down, brushing his lips twice against hers. “If you need me, I will be there. I will cross any distance,” he vowed. He kissed her hand where it was joined with his once more before he pulled away. “I’ll see you soon.”

LIKES/REBLOGS/COMMENTS ALWAYS APPRECIATED!

#dividers from @saradika #demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #rengoku kyojuro #kyojuro rengoku #kny #kny x reader #kny fanfic #kny rengoku #kny smut #demon slayer smut #rengoku x y/n #rengoku smut #kyojuro rengoku x reader #kny kyojuro #kyojuro x y/n #rengoku kyojuro x reader

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fayeriess · 4 months

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⋆｡‧₊°♱༺ DIRTY LAUNDRY ༻♱༉‧₊˚.

abby anderson x fem!reader

summary: bitter about having to drag your laundry basket down the street for your weekly wash, you have a not-so-nice first encounter with the girl who's wearing the same band tee as you. the good news? she's the type of girl you only see in your dreams. the bad? she's your roommate's girlfriend.

warnings: modern!au, implied cheating, cheating, alcohol usage, mentions of guilt, slight angst, not proof-read

a/n: a republish of a small little unfinished series from last year. before anyone gets on my head, i promise superheaven was not as viral early last year as it is now lolll ( its one of my favorite bands ) anywho, enjoy almost 8k words of tea.... lmk what you think, i love getting feedback!

You were precisely three hundred steps away from your destination; a small, collapsing laundromat a couple of blocks from your lackluster apartment. If you widen your short strides just a bit then maybe you’d be able to cut the distance by a few seconds — maybe, five or ten just to escape the intense rays of the summer sun that beamed down on you.

It was hot enough that the cartilage of your ears were warm to the touch, practically torched by the heat as your fingers ached, feeling as if they were to lock in place at any second from the continuous minutes of strain they had endured. Dirty clothing sat piled in a white, plastic laundry basket, stuffed without care, and unmatched in terms of colors; heavy on the muscles of your arms as you attempted to lift it once more.

The action caused the muscles in your upper back to flex, an ache to accompany the dull throb in protest of the weight that you had tried to pull. A sheen of sweat formed on your forehead; thin enough for you to wipe away with the back of your hand as you puff your cheeks out, letting out a dramatic huff of air.

After you had straightened your back from being hunched over, the heat seemed to creep through you in the form of a dry throat and sticky skin, bare skin trapped under molecules of heat, and clothing damp from the unrelenting ball of fire in the sky. You couldn’t help but let your lips press into a thin line at the feeling of embarrassment starting to burn up on your bare neck, spreading but unseen to the eyes. The band tee you wore did little to shield your self-consciousness, your tension-filled aura seemingly spreading a transparent mist as you resorted to dragging the basket across the uneven concrete of the sidewalk.

Twenty more steps and you’d be able to melt away under the cool blast of the dusty air conditioner. It was better than nothing.

“Do you need some help?”

The voice was one laced with curiosity, a certain playfulness entwined within it as you kept your gaze locked on the tips of your worn shoes.

A second passed by — two seconds, before you shook your head in refusal, pushing wisps of hair out of your face and behind your ear with a finger on your right hand. “No, I think I can manage.”

A dry chuckle reached your ears and that’s what finally caused you to glance at the stranger who had so kindly offered you a helping hand.

She was tall. Her shoulders were broad, and her arms bulky but sculpted so perfectly, the thought that she had to be a bodybuilder had crossed the expanse of your brain. Hell, she had ‘athlete’ written all over here as she towered over you, shielding your frame from the sun, giving you a much-needed break from its unintentional abuse.

In one of her large hands, she held a small bag, a half-eaten empanada taking refuge within the greasy paper staining her fingers in an orange hue that could only be from blotches of oil that littered it.

Her blonde hair cascaded down her back in a fishtail braid, tendrils of it framing her sun-kissed, freckled face as her blue eyes scanned across the expression you tried to mask with confidence; albeit the very lame effort to do so.

You watched as she raised a brow, eying your clammy palms that circled one of the short, white handles of the basket that was filled to the brim with clothing. She couldn’t help but assume that you were someone who waited last minute to do things due to your frazzled state, although she internally slapped herself for criticizing someone when she knew for a fact that she wasn’t in any position to do so. She was way worse.

That’s why she was here too, was it not?

“Doesn’t seem like you’re doing such a good job.”

Immediately after those words were pushed past her lips, she pulled them back in a grimace; realizing just how rude it sounded even though it was unintentional.

With your eyebrows furrowed at the jab, you scoffed with a not-so-nice murmur under your breath before pulling on the basket once more, rushing to move away from the rude stranger awkwardly as her gaze burned into your already heated skin.

Why had that comment bothered you so much? You didn’t know.

But your sour mood was rubbing off on her, you noticed, as she had rolled her eyes before cocking her neck to the left, then to the right to a row of parked cars before her eyes locked on a trash can a couple of feet behind you. She had retreated out of your line of vision, a shuffle of noise being picked up by your ears before a whoosh of air had weaved itself between your now empty hands.

It was only then when you had blinked your dry eyes that you noticed the basket was missing, having been scooped up in her broad arms with ease as she held it in one hand and pulled on the rusting, metal handle of the laundromat glass door with the other, the bell above it ringing loudly as she turned to look at your awkwardly stiff frame stood in the middle of the sidewalk.

“Are you comin’?”

It didn’t take a genius to sense the hesitance that was harbored within you as you continued to stand there, the sun illuminating you in a light glow before you started to move your feet toward her.

Moving past her, you inhaled the faint scent of her — earthy yet comforting; with a hint of cinnamon mixed with sandalwood and clean soap. Turning your head, you found yourself in dimmer lighting and a cooler atmosphere, glad to finally be out of the scorching sun.

“So first you insult my strength and then you find yourself wanting to help me?”

Surveying the empty laundromat, you could hear the small echo of your voice as you questioned her with curiosity, inhaling the scent of different detergents and fabric softeners. If you squint your eyes hard enough, you could spot the small remnants of chewed gum smoothed into the scuffed flooring as it had practically blended in with it from the lack of maintenance the place had received.

Seriously, who was running this place?

Turning on the balls of your feet in a means to face her, you watched as she set your laundry basket down in front of a washer with a small thud. “My goal from the beginning was to help you but I didn’t get my point across in a very polite way, did I?”

“Hm,” You hummed slowly, pretending to think for a second before lifting your shoulders into a shrug. “No, I guess you didn’t.”

Her lips had lifted into a smirk at your snarky response before she jutted her chin outward, nodding in your direction. “Cool shirt by the way.”

With lips open and ready to respond to the sudden compliment, your eyes quickly scanned across her attire. Throughout the small interaction, you had seemingly failed to notice the dark muscle shirt she wore.

Five blue mushrooms with pink stems decorated the front, along with a mint-green snake wrapped around the mushroom in the middle. The words ‘Superheaven’ took all the attention in big, bold lettering in a shade similar to Indigo Blue — but not quite the exact color.

Looking down at your own, you realized that you were wearing the same shirt, and a twinge of interest sparked up in you.

“You listen to Superheaven?”

The girl raised an eyebrow, “Asking me personal questions already and I don’t even know your name.”

Rolling your eyes for what was the hundredth time today, you leaned down to pull the washer door open, shoving a handful of clothes in the small circle hastily before slamming it shut, pushing until you heard the small ‘clink’ of the latch as it was now secure. “It wasn’t a personal question.”

Digging your right hand into one of your back pockets, you retrieved a chipping, neon orange card, inspecting both the front and back side, shrugging in satisfaction at the state of it.

You silently prayed it worked; as you had found it in the depths of your drawer. It had almost faded into the abyss of all the junk in the dusty area as you stared it down. The contemplation on whether or not to save yourself a couple of dollars for half of the bills of your cracking apartment and risk it not working and being fucked — or — spending the money on a good wash and clean but regret it in the hours of the night where you’d find yourself staring at the ceiling in the darkness of your room, mentally beating yourself up for the path you had taken resulting in your financial choices.

Thus, here you were, sliding it into the beat-up machine that provided small packets of powdered detergent, inconspicuously crossing your fingers in the hope that there was just enough money in there for you to wash your clothes. “Just one someone else would’ve asked you eventually if they haven’t already.” You continued.

Glancing at her from behind your shoulder, a challenging look crossed your features once you had gotten her attention. “Unless you respond to everyone in the same manner you talked to me in and they were put off by that?”

Turning your head toward the machine again, you pressed the dust-covered buttons for your desired laundry soap, watching the price flash in red on the small screen above the keypad as it dispensed.

From behind you, she cleared whatever blockage was in her throat, the muscle behind her closed lips clicking against the roof of her mouth as she thought of a retort.

“No, just you.” She confirmed, moving her azure eyes from your frame to focus on the task of shoving all of her clean laundry from the large dryer in a white, plastic garbage bag; the material of it ripping as she tried to stuff every article of clothing she brought with her inside.

You hummed, nodding your head despite knowing that she wasn’t staring at you. “I still didn’t get your name though.”

She wiped the layer of sweat forming on her forehead, swiping at it with the back of her hand before dusting the perspiration on the denim of the loose jeans covering her thighs. “Abby.”

It was a curt reply to your statement. A simple — but sweet and short answer that caused the corners of your plump lips to quirk up in a lop-sided smile as you bent down, outstretching your arm to grab the small packet of laundry detergent before retreating to your clothing.

“Okay Abby,” A satisfied look crossed over your features as you decided that you liked the way it sounded after it rolled off the tip of your tongue. It suited her just a tad, even though it wasn’t the first guess you would’ve made if she had asked you to play that sort of guessing game with her. “So, judging by the shirt, I’m assuming you listen to Superheaven?”

Opening the small, built-in compartment in the washer for the soap, you poured half of the packet, figuring it was just enough to get the job done before closing it. A couple of feet away from you, you could hear the taller girl shuffle around before she sat on one of the chipping wooden chairs; the object creaking with a small groan under all of her weight.

Watching as she shrugged, you noticed how her tongue broke through her once-closed lips, moisturizing them before she cocked her head to the side. “Kind of? I mean, my girlfriend does. She was the one who got me into them.”

Your finger stopped above the button to start up the machine only for a fraction of a second before you pushed inward, a small beeping noise filling the tension-filled silence before a rush of water signaled the start of your cycle.

Settling for a lame, “Oh, nice!” you awkwardly leaned against the dusty metal of the vibrating machine, looking at her freckled face, flushed and shiny with sweat as she focused all her attention on tying the second knot of the bag.

The old, rusty air conditioning did little to cool the temperature of your body as you glanced around the stuffy area, sniffing lightly from the particles of dust floating in front of you, disturbed from the palm of your hand slapping onto the surface of cool metal behind you.

Abby kept her eyes locked on the torn trash bag as she stood from her position, back cracking slightly as she stretched her limbs, letting the blood flow regularly through her veins once more. “What’s your favorite song by them?”

“Uh,” You paused, biting on your lower lip, scanning your brain for the songs you remembered from their discography which was only about two albums long. “ it’s gotta be their most known one, I'm not gonna lie.”

Abby hitched the bag over her shoulder without struggle, biceps flexing as she snapped her fingers before holding her other hand out to stop you from uttering your next sentence. “Wait, don’t tell me. Is it, uhh…” She thought for a couple of seconds, pushing wisps of blonde hair that had fallen in front of her eyes behind her ear; opting to angle her mouth to blow them away when that temporary solution didn’t work. “... ‘Youngest Daughter?’”

“Close, ‘Life in a Jar’.”

“I was on the right track, though.”

You scoffed playfully, craning your neck in the direction of the impending darkness that awaited you outside, the sun low on the horizon and casting a warm glow of gentle light into the dim, dreary, place.

“By all means, don’t let me hold you up either.” You expressed, gesturing to the bag over her shoulder which she seemed to momentarily forget about with parted lips, raising both brows in surprise that there was even something in her hand.

It came as a shock to you when she had set it down with a small ‘thud’ once more, pulling her phone out of her back pocket a minute after as it had quietly buzzed in the space of her jeans, warm on both sides from being trapped against two heat sources. You watched with bated breath as she sat again, thumbs furiously typing away on the screen, her lips all but pressed together into a thin line.

Turning back to your clothing being tossed about in the wash, you focused on the suds of soap sloshing around the hazy water, clusters of bubbles forming before they’d be ripped apart by the force of the splattering water.

“I was gonna stay here and chat a little longer, but I’m needed elsewhere.” Her words pulled you out of your spinning thoughts, your bottom eyelashes fluttering against your skin as you blinked, clearing your throat.

Before you could speak, the bell above the door rang, and she was out the door with a small ‘it was nice meeting you’ left in her wake as slammed shut behind her, leaving her scent and the previous conversation lingering.

And then you were alone.

━━━━ ◦: ✧✲✧ :◦━━━━

Standing behind the kitchen island, you squeezed the damp, wet rag between nimble fingers, the muscles in your bicep straining to scrub at a particularly stubborn stain on the counter that refused to leave.

Over these past couple of days, an overwhelming sense of guilt has consumed you. Guilt for thinking about Abby.

Whenever her face flashed as if it were a film on the reel of your mind, you thought about the short, meaningless interaction you had to remind yourself that she was just a stranger being nice.

Nothing more, nothing less.

So, why exactly did her name bounce in the space of your brain in big lettering, screaming for attention?

You had no idea.

Sighing dramatically, you grasped one of the sharp edges of the cool, marble counter with your left hand, scrubbing at the same spot with your right furiously.

“Are you okay?”

Freezing in your tracks, you titled your head up to come face-to-face with your roommate, Lorelai, observing how the once relaxed muscles under her smooth skin contorted into that a worried expression as her bare feet padded against the wood flooring. Her eyes never left yours even when she lifted a hand to pull the refrigerator door open, curling her fingers around the handle as she turned her torso to face you.

You nodded, darting your eyes from side to side as you dropped the rag onto the island, discarding it before leaning your lower back against the edge to fully show your interest in the arising conversation.

“Yeah. Why?”

Lorelai shrugged nonchalantly, bending down to get a better look at all the drink choices available in your limited supply of groceries; some of which were close to being unusable due to upcoming expiration dates. “I figured I’d ask 'cause you’ve been a little spaced out these last couple of days.”

Pulling out a half gallon of Orange Juice, she closed the fridge door before making her way to one of the many cupboards in the kitchen, grabbing a glass, and rinsing it with faucet water.

Tapping your short fingers against the polished marble, you spoke. “I just have a couple of things on my mind, but really, I’m good.”

You had met Lorelai in your senior year of high school; having sat next to each other in chemistry class unwillingly as you were given assigned seats for the semester. While others sulked with their seating partners, you and the brunette hit it off as soon as her butt touched the chair. She was an extrovert; a bit on the chatty side, wanting to cover any and every ground possible in terms of socializing without crossing any boundaries. As sweet as she was, the girl who only stood at a mere five foot three deemed herself to be just as scholarly, graduating top of her class and valedictorian.

From then on, you two were stuck at the hip. Spending all three months of summer after graduation vacationing to wherever your near-empty wallets, and even emptier bank accounts allowed.

She was your best friend; so much so that after your sophomore year in college, you made the big decision to move in together.

She scoffed, rolling her eyes playfully before gulping a large sip of her extra pulp-filled orange juice. “Yeah, okay.”

She resolved to put her short glass in the sink once she got to it, “So, you know how I uh,”

Her lips pressed into a thin line as if she was debating on letting her next words slide past them.

After a couple of seconds of her silence, you slowly raised a brow, cocking your neck to the side as tendrils of hair tickled the skin of your shoulder through the material of your shirt; an involuntary shiver being sent down your spine at the movement.

The gasp that left you when she quickly whipped around was low, reverberating in the back of your throat when she stared at you with wide eyes.

“I have a girlfriend and she’ll be here in like five minutes. I didn’t wanna tell you 'cause I know how you go into mom mode making sure the apartment is clean and I didn’t want you to feel stressed, especially since it’s just her.”

Parted lips turned into a slack, achy jaw as you took in the rush of words she threw at you in the form of a confession. The cogs in your brain turned a little too painstakingly slowly, your eyes narrowing into slits as her rant hit you right across your face. “Oh, my god.” You chuckled. The noise develops into a maniacal laugh, then you gasped dramatically, “Oh my god!”

This was her very first relationship. Ever. And you were freaking the fuck out.

For as long as you had known Lorelai; she kept the possibility of meeting someone in a romantic aspect within arms reach; coming to the conclusion that it was something she’d commit herself to once she was ready to make that big of a leap — you guessed this would be the point in her life where that leap was being taken.

For that, curiosity gnawed at you greedily as you found yourself desperately wanting to know who exactly had her on her high horse; apples of her cheeks rosy with admiration, an equally love-drunk smile and a few extra skips in her already peppy step.

But as you went to speak, to let your questions flow out of you as the metaphorical dams had been picked up from your mind, letting you gather yourself; there were three, sharp knocks at the front door.

With a giddy smile on her face, Lorelai ran in place for a couple of seconds, ridding herself of the burst of energy as she looked from you, to the door, then back to you again. “She’s here,”

Looking down at your attire, you decided that short shorts and a crop top wasn’t suitable enough to be meeting a girlfriend — let alone your best friends, so you pointed a thumb back to your room, heart beating erratically against your ribcage.

“I’m gonna go change. Open the door.” You whispered, scurrying back to the confines of your bedroom and closing the door behind you. Looking around, you blew out a breath, eying the pink dresser to your right, a couple of feet away from the foot of your bed before shuffling toward it to yank open the third drawer down.

Ransacking for a pair of sweats seemed to be a hard task on this night out of all nights as you grew increasingly annoyed at the lack of pants you had stumbled upon. The pressure of presenting yourself for Lorelai’s sake in a timely manner compacting tightly, as if to signal that you were treading on thin ice. Loud muffled laughter could be heard, a sound that was slightly foreign to your ears as you shook your head, rifling deeper into your drawer as if it were a bottomless pit.

Seriously, you just fucking washed laundry too.

Your hands ghosted across the waistband of your blue shorts, fingers yanking the material down as to rid yourself of the article of clothing. Sighing to yourself, you bent down to step out of the thin cotton material, throwing it somewhere in your room for you to find later before adjusting the lace of your thong.

It was one of your favorites; all white with small, red cherries patterned across with a lace waistband. You had gotten it on a self-care day, something that you had spoiled yourself with once in a blue moon for all the hard studying you do. Plus, there was a sale at the local mall in Victoria's Secret; Lorelai had all but dragged you right into it as soon as her brown eyes fell on the sale sign.

Shimmying on your sweats, you were able to pull them up to your ankles before a sudden rush of air hit your ass, goosebumps rising on the once smooth, blemished skin there as you grew stiff, the hairs on your arms raising, tickling the flesh covering your body in a taunting manner as you sighed, preparing to turn yourself around.

“Lorelai - I said-“

Only it wasn’t your best friend who you were standing half naked in front of; nipples perked through a thin spaghetti strap, lace thong leaving little to the imagination — it was her girlfriend.

The girlfriend who you saw less than a week ago in the laundromat in all her muscular, blonde-haired glory.

God, you were fucking mortified.

“Well this isn’t the bathroom.”

“Obviously not.”

What.

The.

Fuck.

━━━━ ◦: ✧✲✧ :◦━━━━

“She can’t know.”

“Jaime, I can’t kick her out of the apartment for two hours. She lives here too, just a reminder.” With the heat of your cell phone against the tissue of your ear, you maneuvered yourself around the island counter. Bare feet padded against the hardwood of the freshly mopped floors as you opened the freezer door with a free hand, eyes darting across the small space in search of your dinner for tonight. “She’s also not stupid so she’ll know something’s up.”

From the other end of the line, crackling static was all your ears could pick up before she sighed loudly, breaking the beat of silence. “Well, I have to decorate the apartment for her birthday. What kind of friend would I be if I didn't set up a celebration? Can’t you just ask her girlfriend to take her to do shit? Unless she’s one of those whacko types of people. God, I hate buzzkills.”

Rolling your eyes, you outstretched an arm into the coolness of the frosted freezer, digging out a pint of unbranded mint chocolate chip ice cream. “I’m pretty sure she has a couple of things planned. From what I’ve seen so far she’s in good hands.”

“Okay, so what I’m hearing is that the girlfriend’s cool, and there isn’t an issue with her keeping Lorelai out of the way.” Her chirpy voice held a hint of a smile as she shuffled about. You assumed she was gathering her things; keys, purse, charger, and the decorations she had hoarded up in a brown, cardboard box for the past two weeks for this occasion.

Jaime was a good friend. That was evident from the numerous times she’s run to your side, consoling you in the instances that you’ve cried due to personal happenings… and the group of individuals she’d hang out with. Truthfully, the capacity of your brain couldn’t comprehend the exact reason as to why she rubbed shoulders with who she did, mostly because they had money; something Jaime was practically swimming neck-deep in.

You shrugged, an action accompanied by the edges of your lips which turned into a frown as you focused your attention on the plastic lid of the container, peeling it off with your right hand, the phone still sandwiched between your ear and shoulder blade. “Yeah, Abby’s cool. Bestie approved.”

Abby.

Three weeks. Three weeks and two days had passed since that bathroom mix-up fiasco, and to say things were tense was putting it lightly, to say the least. After you frantically shooed her away, bent forward and pants mid-thigh, the uncomfortable silence that hung in the air after the door closed had your heart palpitating. It was embarrassing to the point where the blood flowed to your cheeks, causing them to be warm to the touch. When the door had closed after the short exchange of words, you had sat in the corner of your bed, pants still halfway on, and eyes as wide as could be.

At the time, you had no idea how much time passed when you sat there before finally taking a deep, burning inhalation of breath and pulling the rest of your sweats up your thighs. Wiping your warm, clammy hands on the fabric of them afterward as a means to rid any nervousness and tension that had weaved itself between your muscles.

Looking back at your past decisions, hiding behind the chipping, wooden door frame that lead to the living room area wasn’t the best idea, as it only made things just a tiny bit more awkward when Lorelai coaxed you from your shell, leaping for you to reveal the look of embarrassment that clouded over your features. The thick fog that compressed your lungs had nearly sent you into cardiac arrest as the three of you stood there in silence, and it had been Lorelai who had been the one to ask if you two knew each other, taking notice of your body language.

It was Abby who had nonchalantly shrugged and said that the both of you had met a week prior at the laundromat, leaning against one of the countertops, muscles bulging from underneath the t-shirt she wore.

This was truly a revelation to you and an unexpected one at that.

Out of all people. It had to be her. It had to be Abby.

Shaking your head, you rolled your eyes at how peppy you sounded, setting down your phone on the marble of the island counter. Twisting your body around to pull open one of the many drawers, your fingers flexed, plucking a silver, metal spoon from the small bin, twirling it in your grasp.

Jaime clapped her hands together, mumbling something incoherent to who you assumed was her cat judging from the low, crackled meows that followed. “Nice, I’ll be there in an hour.”

Opening your mouth to interject, you huffed at the beeping that signaled the end of the call, and your very short conversation with Jaime.

Puffing out your cheeks, you sighed to yourself dramatically, scanning your eyes around the expanse of your shared, empty apartment before stabbing the tip of your spoon in the lush green of the cream, scooping up an extra chocolate chip or two along the way.

It was just you and your thoughts.

On any other day, you would’ve enjoyed it, sitting in silence; listening to the muffled chirps of the birds outside hidden in green shrubs, the whoosh of wind ruffling trees, and the constant honk of horns at the end of the street. It was a thinking period, a time when you’d plan out your day without having to worry about anything — or anyone.

Clearing certain things from your consciousness was a talent, and you pride yourself in your ability to tune out things. It was something Lorelai had learned to live with these past couple of years, even though it still annoyed her to no end.

Practically throwing yourself onto one of the three wooden stools lined up against the outer end of the island. It creaked beneath you when you leaned back, causing the skin of your lips to pull back into a grimace as you continued to sulk in the presence of nobody else but yourself.

Shoveling the cold spoon in the warmness of your mouth, the mint flavor seeped onto your tastebuds, melting as you swallowed. The enamels of your teeth were cold from the contact they had with the dairy, a slight throb forming near your gums when you took another bite.

You had no choice but to text Abby, even though you were deciding against it. After all, you didn’t want Lorelai’s surprise to be ruined and Jaime to hit you upside the head for neglecting the only task you’d been assigned.

So, with the slightest bit of hesitance, you left your spoon in the container and picked up your phone from the counter, typing in your six-digit password and scrolling through your messages to find her name.

Her number had been given to you last weekend by Abby herself, who had awkwardly pulled you aside and silently passed you her phone, the contact info option already open, as well as the keypad. Just as you should’ve been — you were confused, very confused.

In every crevice and dark corner of your mind, there should’ve been a reason as to why exactly she wanted your number, but that question quickly left your mind when you looked at her freckled face, and long, fluttering lashes.

Fuck.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you let your fingers hover over the keyboard as you organized the right words to text in your brain, the sentence a jumbled mess.

“ decorating the house for lorelai :) keep her occupied for an hour or so, please!”

“ for sure. what time do I bring her back? “

“ four?? I don’t know, around there. “

Receiving a thumbs up back in response, you pressed one of the side buttons, clicking off the screen.

━━━━ ◦: ✧✲✧ :◦━━━━

“Happy Birthday!” The numerous voices shouted with you, all facing toward the front door where Lorelai stood, Abby in tow.

It had been three hours since Jaime burst through the door, the box of decorations in hand, giddy with excitement at the opportunity to execute her vision. She had shoved the brown box into your hand, asking you to set it down on the coffee table in the living room as she spun on her heel to start, babbling about where things should go.

The decoration process went more smoothly than anticipated, and it was because you had just stood in the corner the entire time, watching curiously as she set the house up for the occasion.

Once Jaime started something, you just had to leave all the work to her, or else it wouldn’t turn out how she envisioned.

“What the fuck? Oh, my god!” Lorelai’s face morphed into one of surprise, a smile overtaking her lips as she clasped her hands together in front of her. “You guys did this all for me?”

From beside you, Jaime raised her hand, “No, just me. C’mere you big goober.”

The space she once occupied was empty as she met Lorelai in the kitchen area, embracing her in a tight hug before letting her go.

You watched from your spot near the arm of the couch, as Lorelai’s eyes darted from every party guest and straight to you, a big, lop-sided smile gracing her face as she made her way over to you.

Your lips curled upward in response, arms outstretched to hold her in your arms. She smelled like freesia and cotton candy perfume, something comforting to you, but not to the point where you could feel all the guilt melting away.

It was hot on your skin, burning you alive and tainting your very existence, starting from the outside.

You were a bad friend. A fucking horrible one for thinking about her girlfriend, who looked at you from behind Lorelai’s shoulder with a toothy grin, her irises practically boring into yours.

“Happy Birthday, Lai.” You muttered quietly into her ear, cheeks warming once she pulled away to look you in the eyes. They were swimming with adoration — something you didn’t deserve.

“Thank you.” She expressed over the chatter, hands interlaced with yours as she swung them from side to side. “This year’s birthday is tied with last year's so far.”

At that, you snorted. “So indoor drinking is better than the carnival I took you to?”

Her brown hair fell over her shoulder as she cocked her head to the side, and just as she opened her mouth to answer, Abby appeared next to her, guiding a hand to the small of Lorelai’s back.

“This looks nice,” Tilting her head to look at the colorful eyesore of streamers, she pressed her tongue against the inside of her cheek, letting her eyes travel from the ceiling to the walls that were littered with pink balloons. A large “HAPPY BIRTHDAY” sign hung across the width of the wall-mounted flat screen tv, decorated with heart stickers to, in Jaime’s words, ‘make it more noticeable.’ although you doubted anyone beside you, her, Lorelai, and Abby had taken the time to look at.

Nodding your head, you fiddled with a loose string at the end of the blouse you had changed into, something a little more modest than you’d usually go for, but cute nonetheless. “Yeah, Jaime did a good job.”

The fast-paced clicking of heels had you turning your head in the direction of the sound. Jaime stood with four wine coolers in her hands, dangling them in the air from the necks as she outstretched one of her arms.

“I heard my name, so I came with drinks.”

You narrowed your eyes, the gears in your head turning as you tried to decipher what brand rested in her shaky hands, smiling widely once you realized what they were. “I can never say no to Mike’s Hard.”

Abby nudged you playfully, nodding her head to agree with you as she took the two glass bottles from Jaime’s left hand. “In my top five.”

Snorting, you turned to her, jaw agape. “Top five? You have horrible taste. Top three at least.”

She shook her head, tendrils of hair falling from her usual fish braid. “My top three spaces are reserved for the hard shit only.”

Rolling your eyes, you shooed her off, watching as she handed Lorelai one of the bottles, leaning down to whisper something in her ear, which earned her a giggle from the brunette as she slapped her bicep.

Averting your gaze from the pair, you sighed, grabbing one of the bottles Jaime held out to you, and popping the cap open with your shirt. Wasting no time, you chugged half of it down, the cool liquid soothing the dryness in your throat before removing it from your lips, licking the saccharine sweetness that lingered.

“Why the fuck are we all standing in a circle? I have a game of beer pong set up in the kitchen, let’s go birthday girl.” Taking her hand, Jaime dragged your best friend to the island counter, initiating a conversation with two other kids from campus for what you assumed was the game.

You weren’t sure who connected their phone to the portable speaker, but you were grateful that it was no longer silent, especially with the building tension between you and the muscular girl next to you.

“So,” Abby began, leaning against the wall, leg crossed over the other, “I kind of wanted to talk to you about something.”

Taking another swig from your bottle, you pulled your eyes away from the crowd sitting on the couches, a very intense match of uno taking place.

It took everything in you to stare at her straight-faced, despite your curiosity. What could she possibly want to talk to you about?

“Yeah?”

You watched cautiously as she focused on the miniature opening of her alcohol bottle, index finger tracing the rim once — twice — three times before she puffed out her cheeks, sighing. “Did I do something?”

“What?”

She lifted her shoulders in a shrug, “I don’t know. I’m trying to be friends with you and it seems like that’s not what you want from me. If it’s about what happened a couple of weeks ago, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

Turning your body to face her, you noticed the rosy tint that consumed the apples of her cheeks, beet red and burning. “What common interests do we have other than Lorelai that calls for us to be more than just acquaintances? And I wasn’t embarrassed, I was mortified.”

A dry, airy laugh made its way past her lips. “You and me both.”

“Didn’t seem like you were.”

“Oh, I was.”

You downed the rest of your ‘Mike’s Hard’, lifting it to your face to observe the label. It was something to keep yourself busy to not stare at her again. Because, fuck, if you stared at her again, you were sure you’d go into cardiac arrest.

“Besides that, as I said, there isn’t a reason for us to be friends.”

Abby raised an eyebrow, staring at you with a hint of curiosity swimming in her eyes. “You said we don’t have any other common interests besides Lorelai, I don’t think that’s the case. What about Superheaven?”

You were surprised, even if your face didn’t show it. She hadn’t forgotten that meaningless three-week-old conversation? Interesting.

“See, the only common interest we have.”

“No, we still have Mike’s Hard to talk about.” She pressed, eliciting a low laugh from you.

“What? You want us to discuss our favorite flavors?”

Abby clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth, “That depends on if you want me to get you another drink or not.”

If this was her attempt at trying to pry a conversation out of you, she succeeded.

“...Okay, surprise me.”

━━━━ ◦: ✧✲✧ :◦━━━━

As seconds turned into minutes, and minutes turned into hours, your crowd of friends retired home for the night.

That left you, Lorelai, and Abby alone in the apartment, separated by walls and your figure hunched over the toilet.

Mentally, you were slapping yourself at the excessive amount of drinks you consumed throughout the night on an empty stomach. And the cold sweat you were in made it all the more worse for you.

Lorelai had gotten violently drunk, stumbling all over the place, words slurred and incomprehensible, the world slowly spinning. She was always a clingy drunk. That was evident from the multiple times she had hugged you and Abby throughout the night, drunkenly expressing how much she cared for the both of you, switching between holding both of your faces in the palm of her hands.

Her actions pierced your soul. She had been nothing but kind to you, showering you with positive affirmations and listening to your rants about things that bothered you, because she cared, she always did.

You did too, but not in the way she did for you.

Unlike you, she considered people’s feelings. Especially when it came to relationships, and unbeknownst to her, you were slowly weaseling your way into hers.

It wasn’t like you wanted to. As the days turned into nights and the process repeated itself, you tried damn near everything you could to get her girlfriend out of your mind. You failed — miserably.

Clutching the sides of the ceramic toilet, your stomach empties its contents, causing your mouth to taste sour and the saliva to pool at the surface of your tongue, bringing you to swallow back the bile.

You gasped at the unforeseen knock at the bathroom door, brushing a hand through the knots in your hair.

“Yeah?” Clearing your throat at how hoarse you sounded, you could hear Abby’s muffled laced with concern as she spoke.

“Are you okay? I heard you throwing up so I brought you some water.”

Setting your butt down on the tile flooring once again, you brought your knees up to your chest, closing your eyes to see if that would make you feel any better. “I’m fine. You can come in.”

Her broad figure stood in the doorway, a bottle of water swallowed by her right hand as she pursed her lips, closing the door quietly behind her. She stared at you for a couple of seconds, ocean-blue eyes searching your face for any sign of discomfort.

“Don’t look at me like that.” You snapped.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re judging me for not knowing my limits.”

Her face scrunched up, the skin there creasing, as if she ate something sour. “What? I wasn’t looking at you like that. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” Bending her knees, she leaned down until she was face to face with you.

You swallowed thickly, “Where’s Lorelai?”

Abby lifted a hand to scratch the back of her neck, biceps flexing as she did so. “She’s sleeping. I got her changed and put her to bed.”

You opened your mouth, “Oh.”

“Yeah, you should probably lie down, too.”

Waving a hand in her direction, you lazily shooed her off. “No, I-”

There it was. You making an embarrassment of yourself, vomiting for the third time in the toilet bowl, spitting, and pressing down on the handle to flush.

“See, I told you.” She chuckled, amused at your stubbornness and the fact that your face had turned an unappealing shade of green.

The blonde took the initiative to hold your hair back as you threw up again, liquid this time as you had filled yourself with nothing but alcohol and ice cream earlier on in the day.

She didn’t know why she was sitting in here with you, you were fine, you could take care of yourself. She should be with her girlfriend, already tucked beneath a thick, warm comforter, drifting off into sleep.

But here she was instead, with you — someone who she assumed harbored some sort of dislike for her.

To her, that was unfortunate because after she had left the laundromat the day you two met, you were all she could think about. She was filled to the brim with guilt, even without knowing who you were, and when she found out — hell, it made the battle in her mind ten times worse.

She watched as you lifted your head, tilting your head back against the coolness of the wall, hoping to at least lessen your sickness slightly to eventually pick yourself up from the floor and drag yourself to the confines of your bedroom.

This was enough for today.

Uncapping the cold, plastic bottle, you let the stream of water slide down your throat, gulping mouthful after mouthful until you were satisfied.

“Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

Abby didn’t know why, but she found her limbs moving without her mind catching up to match her actions, hands on either side of her cheeks, thumb brushing over her cheekbones, feeling the heat of your flushed skin against her own.

She was full of surprises today, and you weren’t prepared for the last one of the night.

It concluded with the flesh of her warm, chapped lips against your cold, wet ones, despite the numerous times you dipped your head in the toilet.

And just like the bad friend you are, you kissed her back, hard enough to knock her off the tips of her toes and onto her bottom as it came in contact with the tile of the bathroom floor.

She pulled away, looking you straight in your eyes without a hint of guilt giving away how she felt right now, but the hammering of her heart against her ribcage gave you the answer you needed.

“What’re you doing to me?”

#abby tlou #abby anderson #abby anderson x reader #abby the last of us #abby anderson smut #abby anderson x you #abby anderson x female reader #abby anderson x y/n #tlou part 2 #tlou2 #abby anderson angst #abby anderson fluff #tlou abby

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impala-dreamer · 3 months

Text

Captive Audience

A Story from The Boys Universe

~Y/N gets invited to a party but fails to realize that she's the favor...~

Soldier Boy (Ben) x F!Reader

1,700 Words

Warnings: NSFW. Sex and Drug Use. 18+ ONLY

A/N: Written for @jacklesversebingo . "Lick it and find out." Please show some love and reblog. Reblogs are important!

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist ~ Patreon ~ Published Works

Green. Green. Green. Everything about him reminded her of a forest. A deep, dark, mist-covered wood that should have scared her, but managed to ensnare her every single time.

Dark green eyes like the leaves; body solid and long like a tree trunk.

Looming over the table, he cast a shadow across her nakedness, blocking the light and noise from the party raging beyond the swinging kitchen door. It was loud, obnoxiously so, flooding the big house with new wave rock and roll and the unmistakable sounds of ecstasy cresting.

But none of that mattered.

There was nothing in her eyes but him, nothing on her mind but the delicious nervousness of wondering what he’d do to her next.

Ben had tied her up good, wrapping prickly kitchen twine tight around her wrists and forcing them above her head. They dangled off the end of the wooden slab and he had attached the rope ends to the closest table leg, keeping her stuck there in place. Her arms ached already, but she was happy to be on display for him.

Blunt nails dragged up her bare legs and dipped between her thighs. He pulled away with a grin.

“Nice an’ juicy. I like that.”

His voice was slow and certain, not a hint of flirtation lingering in his tone. He didn’t need to charm her anymore, she was already right where he wanted her and there was truly no escape.

Not that she’d try anyhow.

The table was cold but warming to her body heat more and more every moment. Her top was warming as well, both from his hands and his gaze. His eyes were like laser beams working their way up and over every curve of her form, and she wondered if x-ray vision wasn’t one of his powers. Patience surely wasn’t one, as he reached for her tits, callously closing his big hands around each globe and kneading almost too roughly. She hissed at the touch and moaned when his thumbs grazed over her nipples.

“Fuck…”

She whimpered. He grinned.

“Oh, you’re gonna be a blast, arentcha?”

Pleasure sparked through her system as his nails dug like pinpricks into the dusky shadow around her nipples and she chewed her bottom lip. Her eyes fluttered when he twisted; her breath caught when he tugged.

“K-keep going and find out, soldier,” she teased, hoping to earn another hard twist.

He obliged and her back arched off the table.

“God!”

Ben chuckled under his breath. “If I had a nickel for every time a broad called me that, I’d be… well, I’m already rich, so...”

Y/N shivered when he pulled back. “Rich, handsome, kind of a jerk- what else you got?”

Amused by her flirtatious bite, he stood back and dug into his pocket.

“Got some party favors,” he replied, pulling out a small baggie full of white powder.

“Thanks…” Y/N licked her lips. “I’d love some.”

He laughed and sucked his teeth. “Oh, this ain’t for you, dollface.” The plastic tickled her stomach, but he warned her through gritted teeth to hold still.

She held her breath too, just for good measure, and closed her eyes as Ben drew a line of cocaine down the center of her.

“This is new,” she whispered.

“It’s fuckin’ hot is what it is,” he corrected.

His breath was like steam on her flesh, the thick shadow on his cheeks beautifully distracting.

He bent over her and pressed his nose to her chest, breathing in the drugs and her scent from tit to clit.

Ben stood up with a jolt and wiped at the powder on his nose.

“Fuckin’ hell, that’s good shit!” He shook himself and his pupils dilated, eclipsing the green. The surge invigorated him and Ben dropped down again, this time running his tongue down the length of her, following the pale trail the coke had left behind.

Her moan was loud and needy.

“Delicious.” He hummed against her soft skin; tongue lingering at the peak of her cunt. “Does your cunt taste as good?”

Vibrant eyes flashed upwards and Y/N melted, spreading her legs for him.

“Why don’t you lick it and find out?”

He cocked an eyebrow and then grabbed at her, strong fingers peeling her thighs apart even further. The skin burned under his touch, bruises readied themselves to spring up once the pressure was gone.

Y/N sucked in a heavy anticipatory breath as he exhaled against her folds. She was soaked already, throbbing just imagining the feeling of his lips on her cunt.

She didn’t have to imagine for long.

Ben kissed her clit.

She gasped.

He dragged his tongue down her slit.

She whimpered.

He jabbed two thick fingers into her.

She nearly screamed.

“Don’t be shy,” he urged, curling his digits deep inside. “Ain’t a real party if no one can hear you having fun.”

Y/N’s arms twisted against the ropes, desperate to drop a hand to his head and tug on the gorgeous tawny locks. “I’ll be sure to keep that in- holy fuck!”

Mid-sentence, Ben jerked forward with his mouth and bounced his tongue against her clit, sending sparks through her system. He licked fast and hard, almost to the point of hurting her, but he held back just enough to make it worth every ache.

Right at the brink, he pulled away. He gazed down with a smirk on his plump, ruddy lips and laughed.

“You seem stressed…”

Y/N thrashed on the hard table, denied and pitiful. “Frustrated is more like it.”

He winked.

The bastard winked at her, knowing full well how close she’d been and how bad she wanted it.

With a seeming snap of his fingers, he was naked next to her, clothing tossed haphazardly onto the floor by the door. His shoulders were huge, arms like thick branches, chest hard and twitching with every movement. His cock already hard and hanging down on his left thigh. Y/N’s eyes shot to it instantly and Ben puckered his lips, enjoying her lustful stare.

He wiped her juices from his face and rubbed them on his cock before stroking slowly. “You like that?”

She nodded. “Mmm, I do.”

His fist bobbed over the tip. “How much? Tell me.”

Y/N wriggled, stuck and hungry for him. “Love it so much. Fuck, your cock is so perfect. I need it…”

“Yeah?” He picked up speed; his upper lip twitched.

“Please… I need your cock so fucking bad.”

Teeth bared, he breathed deeply; chest heaving and biceps flexing as he jerked off in front of her. He put on a show; stepping up on his toes and arching his back as he thrust into his hand. He was crazed and wild-eyed; preening like a porn star. He always loved a captive audience.

Y/N was near to drooling; every bit of her wet and desperate for him. She squirmed and pouted, begging with everything she had.

“Please, fuck me, Ben. Please!”

“You need it bad, don’t you, doll?”

Y/N rolled her hips against the air. “Please!”

Ben licked his lips and looked her over. “So many choices…” Finally, he moved to the head of the table and pressed his legs against the edge. His cock dangled aside her face and he looked down, face glazed with authority and thirst. “Open up.”

Her jaw dropped immediately and her tongue shot out, reaching for his swollen head.

Instead of a gentle slide inside, Y/N earned a hard slap against her cheek. His cock was solid and smooth. The hit stung. She winced and it came again, another quick hit, this time against her lips. Y/N pushed her tongue out as far as she could and Ben rubbed his cock over it, tapping a few times before jabbing into her mouth.

He hit the back of her throat and Y/N swallowed down a retching gag.

He was big and unrelenting.

“Fuck, you take my cock so good… Knew you would. Fuck!”

Her neck was twisted, throat full and struggling. Her breath was quick and her body shivered. Every thrust rolled her eyes deep’ every pull back left with a tight pop of her cheeks.

Ben was vibrating, fucking her throat deep and hard. He sneered as she sucked; head tossed back and eyes glazed.

“So fucking good!”

When he could feel it surge, he jerked away from her mouth and climbed onto the table, straddling her hips. She tugged at the ropes, wiggled beneath him, but there was no release for her in either way.

Bending close, he squeezed her tits, thumbed at her nipples again. Y/N moaned loudly, screamed when he bit down hard on her right tit. His teeth dented the flesh, nearly breaking the skin. He licked it clean and sat back, fisting his cock once more.

“You want this?” he asked, jaw set tight, eyes narrowed on her lips and the longing in her eyes.

“Yes, please!” She gasped, body aching badly.

He sat back, crushing her thighs. “You want all this? You want my cum?”

Unconsciously, her mouth hung open again. “Please!”

His lip trembled, his wrist quickened.

He came with a roar that echoed in her bones.

“Fuck!” Ben doubled over and sprayed her stomach with his hot cum. He rocked into his fist again, shooting another quick load that landed on her chest.

He grinned and took a beat, breathing deeply, laughing with satisfaction.

“You…” He wagged a finger at her. “You’re a fantastic piece of ass.”

He was gone before she could reply, hopping down from the table and scooping up his clothing from the floor.

She watched him dress, lying helplessly on the table, still bound and painted in his cum.

“But…”

Y/N whimpered and he spun around, seemingly remembering she was there.

“Oh, yeah…”

Ben came close and pressed his lips to her ear. She held her breath, waiting for a kiss that never came. He exhaled against her throat and left her with a few words that sizzled in her brain, forever rattling around and reminding her that he was not one to take home to mama.

“Thanks for the fun.”

2024 Forever Tags (Always Open! Send an Ask!)

@akshi8278 @babysimpala @beardburnsupersoldiers @chenshemesh1 @cosicas-cuquis @deans-baby-momma @deanwinchesterswitch @feelmyroarrrr @foxyjwls007 @hobby27 @impalaspixie @jackles010378 @kazsrm67 @k-slla @leigh70 @lyarr24 @nancymcl @peachy-vans @pizzagirlxnsfwx @rachiem4-blog @sexyvixen7 @the-wounded-healer05

#soldier boy #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy/you #the boys #the boys fanfic #one shot

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yuta-nation · 4 months

Text

summary: you misdial when trying to reach your brother. it all works out in the end

content: sfw. alcohol and police mentions.

wc: .7k

a/n: happy 2024!

“Hey, can you pick me up?” You asked into the phone as you shrugged on your coat. Your roommate had dragged you to a house party for New Year’s but she was occupied with beer pong and ignored your pleas to leave before sunrise. She obviously didn’t hear the sirens quickly approaching the neighborhood, a telltale sign that the party was about to be shut down. At this point, she could get arrested for all you cared. You were glad that your lease was up at the end of January, you didn’t want to spend 2024 living with that bitch. Tonight had majorly sucked, and you just wanted to take off your makeup and sleep.

“Uh, yeah, I can. Did Yuji not answer? He was pretty sloshed when we got home,” a voice that definitely did not belong to your older brother responded. You immediately knew what happened. You had typed “Yu” into your contacts and selected the second option instead of the first. You were talking to your brother’s roommate, Yuta, instead of your brother, Yuji. This wasn’t the first time you had called the other man by mistake when trying to reach your brother; it happened at least once a month. Yuta was always nice about it, and usually with Yuji anyway, passing him the phone for you to give your brother whatever message you had. But still, you were embarrassed to have called him so late just to ask for a favor your brother should fulfill. But it sounded like Yuji was in no condition to drive.

“Yeah, I’m sorry, he didn’t answer, and the cops are about to show up at this party.”

“Oh shit. Text me the address, I’m putting my shoes on now.”

“Thank you so much, Yuta.”

“It’s no problem.”

Seven minutes later, Yuta pulled up in front of where you sat on the curb, watching the red and blue lights flash around the house you were just in. You got in quickly to escape the cold, thankful that he already had the heat full blast.

“T-thank you!” you said through chattering teeth.

“You’re welcome. Let’s get you home.”

“Actually, can I sleep on the couch at your guys’ place? I’m not happy with my roommate right now,” you asked as you hovered your hands over the vents to thaw your fingers.

“That’s fine with me. Happy New Year, by the way.”

“It’s off to a rocky start. I can’t wait to move.”

“Yeah, your roommate sounds like a character. Did you have any fun tonight?”

“No, I didn’t even finish one drink, some guy knocked into me and spilled it on my shoes.”

“Ahh, that’s why I smell strawberries.”

“And my ex was there too, sucking face with his new girlfriend at midnight. I didn’t even get a New Year’s kiss.”

“Damn, I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do to make the rest of the year better?”

“Find me a new boyfriend and ensure my roommate can’t make bail,” you said bitterly, crossing your now warm arms over your chest and looking out the window.

“I don’t know if the bail thing is within my power, but I do know a guy or two better than your ex.”

“I’m just joking, mostly. Who needs a boyfriend when I have you, Yuta?” you teased, tapping your head against his shoulder as he pulled into his driveway.

He put the car in park, and you were unbuckling your seat when he spoke again.

“It’s a little late, but I can still give you one if you want.”

“One what?”

“A New Year’s kiss,” he said softly. You turned to look at him to decipher whether or not he was being serious. It was dark, and his face was only illuminated by the street and dashboard lights. But you could see his eyes, and in them, you could make out earnest anxiety and hope.

“Yeah, I’d like that,” you responded with a small smile.

Yuta returned your smile before leaning in and connecting your lips with his. The kiss was simple, a little shy, and exceedingly sweet. He cradled your face in his large hands like you were a precious gem, and his lips moved gently against yours. Too soon for your liking, he pulled away to look at you. He was beaming as he whispered against your lips.

“I’ve been wanting to do that all year.”

“You’re not even funny. Kiss me again.” He happily obliged, and your lips met once more before you heard the yelling.

“BRO ARE YOU KISSING MY SISTER? TURN YOUR FUCKING HEADLIGHTS OFF! BOTH OF YOU, IN THE HOUSE NOW!”

2024 was off to an interesting start.

#ghostqueues #angelshubnetwork #eveningatthemoviesnetwork #okkotsu yuta #yuta okkotsu #🩵: yuta #🩵: writing #jjk x you #jjk x reader #yuta okkotsu x reader #okkotsu yuuta x reader #yuuta okkotsu #okkotsu yuuta

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dirtyvulture · 5 months

Text

Darkest Knight - Part 4

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Mutant!Reader

18+ only, read at your own risk

Summary: You meet a pretty woman in a bar...

Word count: 3787

AN: Please enjoy the long-awaited finale!

Click here for Part 3!

Natasha tears after you, light-headed from the sudden change in emotions. She can barely keep up with you down the hall until you suddenly screech to a halt, holding your arm out to block her from going further.

“Y/N–”

“Shh,” you hiss, your hands clenching into fists, the silver, razor-sharp claws bursting out of your knuckles. “Wait here.” You slip silently around the corner and Natasha holds her breath in wait. She hears a man cuss, then the muted blast of a gun, and she cringes when she sees splinters fly from the wall. There’s a few thuds and cut off screams and you suddenly pop back, blood on your hands and the front of your shirt.

“I definitely ruined the professor’s curtains,” you say with a heavy sigh. “Let’s go the other way. Stay close. They’re only here for you.”

Natasha hates being reminded that she is the reason for this chaos and bloodshed, but she knows it’s the truth and you probably didn’t mean to remind her so brashly. She grabs onto the back of your shirt, tailing you closely, her heart beating in her throat.

“We need to find Storm. Or Jean. Or anyone, really,” you explain, not sure why there hadn’t been a better plan for this inevitable scenario. But you follow your nose, although the air is now muddled with unfamiliar scents. You’re careful to use all your senses to stay on high alert, but it seems like the Red Room agents have learned a thing or two from your past encounters.

A thick white smoke fills the second floor of the mansion and you grope behind you for Natasha’s hand in desperation. You duck into a room.

“Get the windows open,” you tell Natasha. “As wide as you can.”

“Are we going to jump?” she asks fearfully.

“No. But Storm can get a nice breeze in here to push out the smoke.”

Natasha doesn’t question you further but struggles to open the stiff latches of the old windows. You come over to help her, waving plumes of smoke towards the open screens.

“Let’s keep moving.” You make your way through two more rooms uninterrupted. Outside, the sky has taken an ominous gray tone and a powerful wind rips through the trees. “Hey Nat, we should–”

But the moment you turn around and see Natasha being held at gunpoint by a Widow you lose all control. Four male soldiers funnel into the room, blasting lead slugs into your chest and stomach. You don’t even have to unleash your claws as you slump to the ground with a loud thump, your arms accidentally pinning underneath you. You wheeze raggedly, your body pounding in agony.

“Y/N!” Natasha screams as the Widow drags her out of the room.

Blood leaks out of your mouth as you try to push yourself up, but your body is too weak to cooperate. The three soldiers run up to you, punching and kicking every inch of you they can reach. You curl into a ball as best as you can, humiliated by your inability to fight back. And you’ve lost Natasha.

“This is for Antonov!” one of the soldiers shouts as he stomps on your head, leaving an imprint of his boot on your cheek. Pain rattles in your head and you can’t even breathe, trying to wait for a break, but they don’t let up.

“You’re a fucking mutant, aren’t you?” Someone grabs your hair and wrenches your head back. You spit a spray of blood and saliva in defense and he leaps back, cursing and kicking. You hear a shotgun reload again, squirming on the floor to free your arms. “Stop moving so I can put you down like the animal you are.”

You’re not sure how well you’ll take another gunshot at this close range, but you’re about to find out. You close your eyes and brace yourself.

Suddenly, you hear four different screams and feel an immense heat singing the back of your neck. You crack your eyes open to see familiar red laser beams sweep across the room, knocking the soldiers into the walls. Scott stands in the doorway, shoving his glasses back on as he surveys the damage.

“Y/N, are you okay?” You feel Jean’s hands on your back as she helps you up.

“Nat,” you groan. “Where’s Nat?”

“I thought she was with you,” Scott says.

“No,” you grunt. “They took her.” As you stand, the pain in your gut is more obvious than ever and you almost crumple back to the ground, but Scott comes forward to steady you.

“We’ll find her,” he says, and despite the differences the two of you have always had, you know you can count on him.

“Go find her,” you say, clutching at your stomach as you feel one of the slugs trying to push its way out of your body. “I’ll catch up.”

“We’re not going to leave you, Y/N,” Jean says.

As frustrating as it is that your teammates won’t leave you, you know they’re coming from a good place. “Okay,” you resign, taking your first unsteady step. “Let’s go.”

***********************************************************************

Natasha feels totally helpless as the Widow drags her away from you. Out in the hall, a group of them swarm her, handcuffing her hands behind her back and forcing her to walk with a hunch, facing the floor as if she doesn’t already know the surroundings. The Widows form a diamond around her, like they would a prisoner, and she wants to laugh at the irony.

“I know none of you have any control over what you’re doing, but please don’t do this–” she starts.

“Shut up, traitor,” a Widow says in Russian, thumping Natasha hard on the back of her head. “Dreykov is waiting at home to kill you himself.”

“After he has some fun with her first,” another one adds and a chuckle spreads through the group as dread turns Natasha’s stomach into knots.

They force her down a staircase, kicking open a door and dragging her outside. The weather is violent, a complete 180 from how it had been when they had just been watching the students take off in vans. Natasha had been curious how exactly Ororo’s powers worked, but it was obvious they were in full effect now. The wind picked up in great gusts that had the Widows ducking down to their knees, unable to stand at full height without being bowled over. Natasha dropped to her stomach, curling up as the wind spun around them.

“Hey, she’s one of ours!” She hears a man with a Russian accent boom. Fearing a fight will break out between the Widows and the Wolf Spiders, she hunkers into a tight ball and hopes they don’t try tearing her in half. But then she hears the Widows scream and scatter, and peeks up to see Peter, the enormous man she had met previously, his entire body covered in a coating of metal, effortlessly picking up the Widows and throwing them far out into the driveway. Kitty is here too and Natasha swears she’s seeing things when she blinks and Kitty dives through a Widow, turning around and slamming the confused spy onto the ground.

There’s another young man here that Natasha doesn’t immediately recognize. He drops to his knees and splays his hand on the ground, shooting out crackling beams of ice that encase the soldiers’ and stop them in their tracks.

“We got you, Nat!” Marie is suddenly by Natasha’s side and helps her up. A Widow staggers towards them, but Marie strips off her glove with her teeth and grabs onto the Widow’s exposed hand with her own. The Widow freezes and gasps, tensing up like a board and flopping back onto the ground. “Bobby, over here!”

The boy who could make ice appear out of thin air jogs over and Natasha guesses this must be Marie’s boyfriend. He shadows her and Marie protectively, freezing any of the soldiers that get too close to them.

“Thank you, thank you,” Natasha says, impressed and a little shocked by the powers of these teenagers. Marie and Bobby lead her back into the mansion while Peter and Kitty handle the rest of the Widows. “Have you seen Y/N?” she asks Marie, panic filling her when she thinks about the last time she saw you.

Marie shakes her head. “Don’t worry about Y/N. She’ll be fine. Besides, she told us that we were supposed to protect you at all costs.”

Natasha wants to cry when she hears this. She can’t think of anything she’s done in her life to deserve someone like you.

Peter and Kitty rush back into the mansion and shut the door.

“Nat, turn around,” Kitty instructs and Natasha obeys with some confusion. She feels Kitty wrap her hands around the handcuffs and push down; suddenly there is a clatter and Natasha feels her wrists completely freed.

“How did you–”

Kitty waves her off. “All part of being a superhero,” she says with a wink.

“We have to move. They’ll find another way in,” Peter says, moving large pieces of furniture in front of the doors.

“Well, they did just get their asses handed to them by a bunch of teenagers, so maybe that’ll make them think twice–” Kitty says.

“We can’t hold them off forever, so what do we do now?” Bobby asks.

“You’ve all done enough.” Everyone whips around to see Professor Xavier roll into the hall, closely accompanied by Ororo. “I see the Danger Room training has been of great use,” Professor Xavier notes. “Excellent job, everyone.”

There is a loud crash from the top of the staircase. Natasha’s heart leaps when she sees you again at the top, although Jean’s arm is around your waist to help you down the steps and a feral pulse of jealousy shoots through her. Natasha runs over and takes the stairs two at a time to push Jean out of the way and take her place next to you.

“I’m fine, Nat, I’m fine,” you insist as she surveys you for any injuries. While you’ve mostly recovered, you are secretly enjoying the doting, even though it’s not really the time for it. You let Natasha help you to the bottom of the stairs, feeling Jean’s cold gaze on your backs but for once relishing in her jealousy.

“Maybe I should just give myself up,” Natasha says suddenly, her fingers tightening in your side.

“No!” you respond. “Absolutely not.” You would fight the Red Room agents until your entire body gave out if you had to.

“No one is going anywhere,” Professor Xavier says, and you relax a little when he takes control.

“But Professor–” Scott starts, and you’re going to smack him upside the head if he suggests that Natasha sacrifice herself.

“One moment. No one move.”

Natasha presses closer to you and the hairs on the back of your neck stand up in anticipation. You can smell the blood, sweat, and fear as the Red Room soldiers traverse through the empty halls in search of your group. They’ll be bursting in any minute.

“Y/N,” Natasha whimpers and you quiet her by holding her closer to your body.

“Watch,” you tell her just in time as everyone hears the clamor of armed men and women run into the foyer. But they all freeze mid-movement, guns raised but trigger fingers straight. You can move freely and you leave Natasha to walk up to one, staring down the barrel of his shotgun with a smirk. “Not so cocky now, are we?” you say, even though you know he can’t hear you. Purely out of spite, you release your claws and slash his gun in half.

“Y/N!” Scott admonishes.

“Sorry, it slipped,” you respond.

Professor Xavier’s eyes are screwed shut, his concentration deep as he holds all the Red Room soldiers still. “You will return where you came from,” he says. “You will tell your leader that Natasha Romanoff was not here. You will look elsewhere and you will forget everything you saw here today.”

Natasha feels like she’s in a trance herself as she listens to the professor’s calm voice wash over her. She sees the glazed looks in the Wolf Spiders’ and Widows’ eyes. What kind of power does the professor have to control them like this? She shudders at the thought of what he could do if he wasn’t on their side.

“Now go.” With Professor Xavier’s final words, the Red Room soldiers snap out of their stupor.

The soldier holding half a gun stares at it in pure shock, then looks back at your face.

“You heard the man,” you snap and he drops the remainder of his gun, spinning around, frantically searching for an exit. There is a stampede as they funnel out the windows and front door that Peter has wrenched open once more. All of you wait until the last Widow darts across the driveway, retreating to their armored tanks and peeling away.

“Couldn’t have done that from the beginning, Professor?” you comment as all of you crowd in the double doorways to watch them flee. The sky brightens back up courtesy of Storm, the sudden winds and darkness earlier drifting away.

“You were all getting a little too comfortable around here,” Professor Xavier teases. “Now Marie, if you’d be so kind as to get the cleaning supplies from under the kitchen sink, I think Y/N has some curtains to clean–”

“Oh hell,” you mutter, as everyone laughs.

***********************************************************************

Life at the school quickly returns to normal the following week. Any damage done by the X-Men or the Red Room agents is quickly repaired and the students are none the wiser of the true reason for their impromptu weekend getaway. And once everything is settled and well, you and Natasha can finally pick back up where you had left off.

She has you pinned to the bed, her lips frantic and demanding on yours, as her fingers make quick work of the buttons on your shirt. Your head spins as you’re overwhelmed by her scent and taste, jogging your hips up to show her how desperate you are for her. You’re not usually one to beg, but you absolutely mean it when you say you’ll do anything for Natasha Romanoff.

She yanks open your shirt and flattens her palms on your chest, pushing you down harder into the mattress as she leaves a hot trail of kisses across your face and down your neck. The marks she leaves there heal almost instantly and she grumbles in frustration.

“What’s wrong, Nat?” you ask, squeezing her sides.

“You heal too fast,” she says, her cheeks tinging pink.

“It’s okay. Everyone here knows I’m yours.” You hear her heartbeat pick up when you say this.

“Mine?” she says.

“All yours, darling.”

Gone is the shy, hesitant demeanor the first time you and her were in bed. Natasha takes the lead with a stunning amount of confidence, removing her own shirt and tossing it somewhere in the corner of your room. You swallow hard when you see her exposed flesh, marred with a few faded scars that you want to trace and kiss.

“It’s okay,” she whispers, so quietly you’re not even sure if you heard correctly or you were imagining it. “You can touch me.”

But you hesitate, reminded of the damage you’ve caused and the lives you’ve taken with your bare hands. Natasha is too pure for you and you’re afraid to ruin her by keeping her in your life. And no matter how much you like her, you don’t know if it’s the right choice to stick around with her.

“Y/N,” Natasha says. “It’s okay.”

“Are you sure?” you reply, your hands frozen to where they are on her waist. “Are you sure you want to…be with me?” You hate how nervous you sound, but you’ve never been around someone who’s given you so many butterflies before.

“Of course.” Natasha grabs onto your hands with hers, interlacing your fingers together. “You’re the first person who showed me I was worthy of being comfortable and safe and…loved.” Your heart beats harder. “I only want to be with you because I trust you and I know you’ll take care of me.”

“Nat…” It takes a lot to get you emotional, and now you feel yourself embarrassingly getting choked up.

“I love you,” she says, her own voice choking. “And I want to show you how much I love you.”

If you had any doubts before, you don’t now. Both of you remove the remainder of your clothing and you moan when Natasha rests her bare center on your abs and rocks back and forth. The heat against your skin is intoxicating, almost as much as the smell, and you’re tempted to ask her to sit on your face until her legs are shaking.

But Natasha seems to be taking the lead with some other plans, grabbing your hands again and bringing them to her breasts.

“I said it was okay if you touched me,” she reminds you with a wink.

“O-Okay,” you stammer, can’t remembering the last time you were this flustered in bed with someone. But the moment is so intimate and exciting, you don’t want to be the one to mess it up. Natasha looks down at you and surveys your body in what you can only describe as lust, and you are secretly thrilled you can make her just as happy as she makes you. You roll your fingers over her nipples until they stiffen and she pants at the attention, her arousal heightening. She holds onto your forearms, squeezing them experimentally as if she can feel your claws housed there, then she leans forward and to grasp onto your biceps.

An added effect of the metal on your bones meant you were carrying around an additional 200 pounds of weight. While your rapid healing prevented you from completely tearing apart each time you moved, it also kept you in peak physical condition, something Natasha seemed very appreciative of right now.

Natasha grinds harder on your stomach, the stickiness of her center more apparent than ever, and you can’t deny yourself any longer. You let go of her breasts to put your hands firmly on her hips again.

“Scoot back, babe. I want to feel you,” you say, delighting in her increased heartbeat. With your hands as guidance, Natasha shimmies her body back until her center is almost above yours. You bend her left leg across your stomach so she can sit at a more comfortable angle. The moment she lowers herself and her heat touches yours, you feel like you’re going to melt into the mattress.

“Oh fuck,” Natasha moans, her arms shaking as she braces herself on your abs and thigh.

“Does that feel good?” you ask, pushing her hips in a gentle rocking motion. You wonder if Natasha can feel the way you’re throbbing against her the way she is against you. The stimulation is so incredible, you’re worried you won’t last much longer and then the moment will be over.

Natasha can only nod as she tries moving her hips faster, but you force her to slow down and savor the moment.

“F-Fuck, Y/N,” she pants, digging her nails harder into your skin.

“Look at me. Hold my hand,” you demand, offering her one of your own and she squeezes it tightly, shifting her eyes to yours with a little bit of nervousness, but mostly trust and love. “It’s okay,” you assure her. “I got you.”

“Thank you,” she whispers back. You roll your hips to match her rhythm, all your thoughts and worries quietly drifting from your head as you focus on your moment with Natasha. You separate your legs a little wider so she can press her center harder against yours, her wetness and yours creating a slick surface for her to ride on, your entire body buzzing with a rush of adrenaline and endorphins.

“Just like that,” you guide. “That’s my good girl.” Natasha looks so perfect sitting atop of you, riding you with determination to satisfy you. Your clit throbs when Natasha brushes against it and you can tell she’s close from the way her breathing becomes more and more uneven. But you don’t even care about your own release anymore. You just want her to feel good.

“I…I think I’m gonna–” But Natasha can’t even get the words out as she cums, in too much ecstasy to even vocalize the pleasure you’ve brought her. You keep moving your hips, so turned on by Natasha’s reaction that it sends you to your own peak. The bliss is so overwhelming you go limp on the bed, and when you finally calm down, you find Natasha curled up on your chest, her face tucked into the crook of your neck. You wrap your arms around her, almost crushing her against you and she whispers for you to hold her closer.

***********************************************************************

“This is nice,” Natasha says as the two of you stand on the balcony. A strange game of volleyball is going on with one student duplicating himself to play on both sides, and another with an enormous pair of what she can only describe as angel wings, flies high into the air for a deadly spike.

“Yeah, it is,” you agree, tightening your arms around her waist from behind.

“I know they aren’t looking for me, per se, but I know this bubble of safety won’t last forever,” she says.

“Nat, I told you, you’ll always be safe with me.”

“I know.” She turns around in your arms to look at you. “That’s why I want you to come with me.” You tilt your head in confusion. “We’re going to find where the Red Room is, and take them down from the inside.”

“No one knows where the Red Room is,” you say, not realizing how dumb it sounds when you remember the kind of people you have on your side. “I mean, I’m sure the professor could pull some strings and…” You pause. “That’s way too dangerous, Nat.”

“Will you come with me?”

You think it’s a silly idea to track and take down an entire organization infamous for producing deadly spies and soldiers. But you know how important this is to Natasha. Maybe you could even talk some of the others into coming for backup, but you know her mind is already set, whether or not you accompany her.

“Of course I will.” You kiss her in confirmation, loving the way she seems to melt in your arms every time you touch her. “Whenever you’re ready.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

AN: A happy ending as promised!

I would absolutely love to continue writing this AU, so maybe I'll come by soon with something. Thanks for reading! Please leave likes, comments, and reblogs! 🥰

Update: I wrote a one-shot sequel to this fic, which you can find here. Happy reading!

#natasha romanoff #black widow #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x reader

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sarahghetti · 6 months

Note

Could we get a mix of 27, 28, and 40 with the moonknight guys! Love your work! xx -V

ooooo had a lot of fun with this one!! request more kisses from this list!

pairing: marc spector x reader, steven grant x reader, jake lockley x reader

summary: you go to steven's work event with the boys. aka, the boys + a comforting kiss (#40), a sloppy kiss (#28), and a soft kiss (#27).

warnings: none! only fluff <3

word count: 1.3k

MOON KNIGHT MASTERLIST | ALL MASTERLISTS

Warm, low-hanging lights are strewn throughout the ballroom, and chatter fills the air. The band’s playing something jazzier than they were at the start of the evening, and you can see the effect it’s having on Steven’s coworkers with the increasing sway of their hips.

Well, that, and all free drinks are probably hitting them by now.

There’s no sign of Steven, though; his neatly styled curls and the sharp lines of his suit are nowhere to be found. You frown. He was only supposed to be away for a few moments while he grabbed some water.

“Excuse me,” you smile before slipping away from the group you were talking to. He’s been gone a little too long to have been in the washroom, and you’re awkwardly peering at the door when you feel your phone buzz.

I’m outside.

It’s quieter in the courtyard, a small gardenesque area with shrubs and park benches lining the edges of a lawn. You spot him instantly. His back is to you, arms crossed as he leans against lamplight. But there’s a stiffness in his shoulders that’s a bit much for your Stevie.

“Hey, Marc,” you greet and he startles, tension easing from his body as you rest your hands on his chest. Steven’s tie hangs loosely around his neck, and a curl falls onto his forehead from how much he must’ve been messing with his hair. “You okay? Didn’t think I’d see you tonight.”

“Neither did I,” he mutters, scowling over your shoulder towards Steven’s work event. The bright lights and busy crowds—it’s all precisely what Marc tends to avoid. You cup his cheek, worried, and his gaze finds yours again. “I’m fine. Just needed some air. Steven should be back soon.”

There’s an unsaid or else at the end of that last sentence and you snort, leaning forward to brush your nose against his. His arms come up to wrap around your waist; his hands clench into fists behind your back.

“I’ll wait out here with you, then,” you say. You feel Marc tense up underneath you as he readies himself to absolve you of the responsibility, to tell you to just go back inside and enjoy the party, but you’re faster.

You tug lightly at his neck, and he folds easily under your touch—always willing to do whatever you ask of him—until you’re able to press a gentle kiss against his forehead. He lets out a long breath, clutching at your back to keep you close as his eyes flutter shut.

“As long as you need.” You affirm, and Marc nods mutely. Through half-lidded eyes, he’s far more at ease than when you first found him, looking at you so softly like you hold his heart in your hands, like you’re the cure for all his ailments.

Like you give him peace.

Steven’s not one to get drunk very often, and you’re beginning to see why.

“C’mon, Stevie.” You tug lightly on his arm as he waves over his shoulder, still saying goodbye to his coworkers even as you’re trying to escort him home. An exasperated smile pulls on your lips. “Let’s get to you to bed.”

“Wasn’t that a blast, love? I can’t believe they got Dr. Ibrahim as the keynote speaker, oh, her work is incredible—” All the alcohol has loosened his lips, and no amount of stumbling over his words stops his thoughts from streaming out anyway. If Steven is enthusiastic while sober, then he’s positively beaming now.

He continues to babble into the night. You hum in affirmation as you eye the streets for a cab, cool air nipping at your skin. It’s colder than you thought it would be. You’d forgone a jacket in the name of fashion and look at you now, rubbing your arms in a lame attempt to generate some heat.

Steven acts immediately. One second, you’re yearning for the warmth of a car interior and the next, Steven’s suit jacket is draped onto your shoulders from behind. His hands, still gripping the lapels, wrap around your torso in a hug as he bundles you up like a cocoon and proceeds to not let go.

“Steven—” You laugh as his weight presses down on you, his breath warm against your ear. He pulls you impossibly closer so that you feel the entire length of him against your body, then cranes his neck to press sloppy kisses on your jaw, your cheek, the corner of your mouth—anywhere his lips can reach. You splutter. “We gotta get home!”

“In a bit,” he promises in between trailing his kisses down your skin, snickering at how you squirm, ticklish. “Have I told you how lovely you look tonight? Because you look gorgeous—radiant, darling.”

It’s like you can hear the moment when his focus switches from the event to you, and the air is promptly filled with his glowing praise in between the loud smacks of his lips. When he reaches the junction of your neck and shoulder, you think, surely, he’s done now. But all he does is switch to your other side and start his journey anew. “Just—one—more.”

Drunk Steven is a mushy liar, but in the warmth of his embrace, your cheeks straining against how widely you’re grinning—you can’t complain all that much.

Steven toes off his shoes as he makes his way through the living room, then promptly faceplants onto the couch.

You can’t help but laugh, prodding at his back in an attempt to stir him. “Steven—Stevie, you’re so close, just a few more steps to the bed, up you come.”

His response is garbled nonsense into the throw pillow, although there’s an intonation in his voice that makes you pause. He continues, words still too muffled to understand, but you can make out the accent more clearly now that you’re looking for it.

“Hang on—Jake? Is that you?”

An affirming groan.

Your hand languidly strokes his back, condoling. “Did Steven leave you to take care of the body?”

Finally, Jake turns his head, and the indignant pout on his face is truly something to behold. “Steven just passed out. Marc is probably mad that I accidentally put him in the driver’s seat earlier.”

“So that’s what happened.” You shake your head. Still, you lightly tug at his arm to try to get him up. “C’mon—it’s bedtime.”

His eyes flutter shut. “Just let me sleep here.”

You quickly do a once-over. Half his body is hanging off the couch, arm and leg resting on the floorboards. His neck is angled in a way that’ll kill whoever wakes up tomorrow morning, and that doesn’t even cover the hangover that’s surely waiting for them. You tug at him again. “Nuh-uh. Let’s go, Lockley.”

Reluctantly, he follows, feet dragging on the ground as you lead him to the bathroom. He complains the whole way through the shower and brushing his teeth, and you do feel a little bad even though it’s for his own good. Exhaustion seeps into his movements, and he nearly knocks over the cup of water on the nightstand as he gets into bed.

You slip in beside him, brushing damp curls away from his face. Already half-asleep, he leans into your touch.

“Can’t believe Steven left me here. ¿Qué te gusta decir? This is cruel and unusual punishment.”

Now it’s your turn to pout, feigning disappointment. “Aw, that hurts.”

You try to remove your hand in order to settle in, but his hand comes to cover yours, keeping you close. Without opening his eyes, he presses a lingering kiss to your palm. A sleepy sincerity has replaced his annoyance. “Cada momento a tu lado es una bendición. Sleep well, darling.”

You can't help but smile back. “Good night, Jake.”

#moon knight x reader #marc spector x reader #steven grant x reader #jake lockley x reader #moon knight #marc spector #steven grant #jake lockley #moon knight fanfic #my writing #moon knight asked #thank you for requesting !!

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timeslugarts · 3 months

Note

Hello! I love your writing!! Can I request Lucifer X Reader where the reader is a sinner that was originally from the Arctic (say, Alaska)? And the reader is lowkey suffering from the heat of hell? Sorry it’s so specific but this has been on my mind since I watched Hazbin hotel xd-

(Can I be ❤️‍🔥 anon? Is that taken?)

Hi anon!! I'm sorry this took so long, but like work and regular adult life and blah blah blah. I really hope you enjoy it!!

❤️‍🔥 READER X LUCIFER

When the two of you had arrived home from a late night gala, Lucifer immediately knew what was coming.

He chuckled

Without hesitation, as soon as the front door closed behind you, you had begun stripping down to the bare essentials. In nothing but your underwear to relieve yourself of this blasted heat.

Ever since "moving" to Hell life has been somewhat miserable, if only because you weren't used to this temperature! Any chance you got, you would immediately shimmy out of all your clothes and lay starfished out on the floor.

Lucifer thought it was adorable. He felt bad of course, but there was only so much he could do considering you guys were in Hell.

If guests ever decided to come over he had to make sure you knew, if not it could lead to come fairly embarrassing situations. Charlie was a blushing mess when she accidentally walked in on you sprawled on the couch.

"Luciiiii." You leaned on him, bare chest pressing into his back. "It's soooo hot today."

You were making it very hard to focus on his work. "My dear, if you keep this up it's only going to get hotter." He spoke softly, eyes lidded, but the grin on his face was unmistakable.

"It's too hot for that." You rolled your eyes and stretched across the guest chair on the opposite side of his desk. Making very sure none of your limbs were touching each other.

Lucifer pouted. "I can't believe you'd deny the King of Hell his desires?"

"Maybe when the King of Hell learns to turn the AC down, then he can get his desires." Sarcasm dripping from your voice. If you could roll your eyes any harder you would.

"Well if that's the case-" Lucifer said leaning down to one side of his desk.

You heard him rifling through his bottom drawer for something, which peaked your curiosity. You leaned forward a little to get a better look.

"I WAS gonna wait for your birthday, but it seems someone's a little impatient… ah there it is." Lucifer pulled out a small light blue rubber duck, it almost made you laugh if you didn't know the man handing you the seemingly innocuous duck.

You gently took from his hands and gasped immediately as your fingers brushed against it.

Lucifer was grinning like mad. He so liked to give presents, especially when he knew you were going to love it.

The duck was cool, almost icy to the touch. It felt great against your burning skin, you smiled up at Lucifer, eyes soft as you looked at the thoughtful man.

"But wait, there's more!" He leaned forward and pressed a small button on the duck's head. Its mouth opened up and a small fan started blowing air from its beak. You giggled.

"Luci this is incredible!" You were mesmerized by this little duck, who would've thought that Lucifer Morningstar, damner of humanity, was the most thoughtful person you've ever met?

"Hold on." He laughed, taking your hand holding the duck into his own. He shook it gently. The duck started to snow, it was like a snow globe, but on the outside. You were enraptured. The soft snowflakes drifted from the small toy, vanishing into the space around it.

"Lucifer, this is absolutely beautiful." You beamed and he returned your smile, pleased that you liked his little gift.

You swiftly removed yourself from your chair and crashed your body into his. He chuckled heartily as your arm encircled his neck. His own hands coming up to rest gently on your hips.

"Maybe a little heat isn't such a bad thing." You said with a sly smile.

"Oh?" A devilish smirk soon took over his own face as he pulled you into a passionate kiss.

#hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin hotel #lucifer #lucifer x reader #lucifer x oc #requests

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carmybears · 2 years

Text

Permanent Feelings

I'm back on Tumblr and writing fanfic for the first time in years because of carmy mf berzatto. Could be garbage, y'all tell me.

pairing: carmy berzatto X female!reader

summary: soft smut with carmy and he starts to realize the gravity of his feelings for you.

word count: 2k

By the time Carmy staggered into the apartment after work, he thought for sure that you’d already be asleep. Imagine his surprise when the door opened to your cozy 1 bedroom and he found you, sprawled out on your couch, glass of wine in hand as you tipped your head back and laughed heartily alongside your best friend. On the TV screen, he recognized some early-2000’s romcom, and on the couch he spotted a giant bowl of popcorn nestled between your two pairs of legs in a nest of fuzzy fleece blankets.

“Carmy, baby,” Your eyes lit up as you spotted him, your face beaming at him. “C’mere!”

You flung an arm out to him as he dropped his backpack and shrugged his coat off, hanging both at the hook by the door.

“Don’t let me interrupt your night,” he mumbled as he approached you, dropping a kiss onto the crown of your head as you wrapped an arm around his lower back.

“No, no,” you insisted. “I was just starting to wonder where you were. Long night at the restaurant?”

He hummed lowly as he nodded his head.

You squeezed his hand, “M’sorry baby. Did you eat? There’s leftover Thai in the fridge.”

He nodded a quick greeting to your friend, then wandered over to the fridge, opening it to see that there were not only leftovers, but that you’d purchased him his own full portion of his usual favorite Thai curry from your usual spot around the corner. Something about it made his chest feel tight and warmth bloomed around his heart at the thought of you thinking about him and his needs, even while having an evening of fun for yourself.

He set to work heating up his food as you paused your movie and wandered into the room. The microwave beeped as your best friend topped off your glasses of wine and began making small talk with him.

How’s life at the restaurant? That new menu coming along ok?

Hey, did you get that promotion you were up for a couple of weeks ago? It sounded like you had it in the bag?

As they chatted, he thought of the first time he had met her; your relationship was still fairly new but you insisted that she was the most important person in the city to you, so god help him, he needed to take one night off at the restaurant to come out and meet the two of you for dinner. When he’d arrived for dinner, a part of him had wished that he could just skip straight to meeting your parents instead because he was in no way prepared to be so immediately sized up and interrogated before appetizers had arrived. Apparently, he had passed whatever test she had for him though, because all of his subsequent meetings with her had gone well as they slowly but surely warmed up to each other. She was protective of you, and at the end of the day, he had to respect it – after all, he felt a similar amount of protectiveness over you himself.

“Ok ladies, much as I’d love to keep talking, I’ve gotta be in early tomorrow to help Marcus with these new pastries he’s been working on,” he announced, standing with his plate in hand and rinsing it off in the sink.

You placed a hand on his bicep and kissed his cheek softly. “Ok baby, we won’t be much longer. This movie will be over before you’re even asleep.”

He dismissed himself down the hall to the bathroom beside your bedroom, turning the shower on at full blast just moments after hearing you switch the TV back on. He showered and readied himself for bed quickly before slipping into your room, dressed in a pair of sweatpants and an old t-shirt, soft and faded from years of wear.

As he sat on the bed, he took a deep breath and looked around the room. It never failed to astound him how different your lives were sometimes, especially when comparing apartments. Whereas his own apartment was scarcely furnished –merely a place to land between shifts at the restaurant – your apartment was bursting with signs of life. A vining philodendron hung in a planter in the window, books were stacked in an ever-revolving pile of cracked spines and dog-eared pages on your bedside table, and recently, a framed photo of the two of you had appeared on the dresser beside your jewelry box; you both had your arms flung around each other and your mouth was open in laughter while he looked not at the camera but at you. Everywhere he looked, there were signs that you were settled into your life, that your existence here was permanent. And, the more he thought about it, the more it made him feel permanent about you too.

You had been right that your movie would be over before Carmy was even asleep. Although, in all fairness, he had never been the type to fall asleep easily.

The faint hum of the TV out the living room turned off, and he heard the low murmur of voices in the kitchen as you did the washing up. Eventually, there was the faint click of the front door opening and closing, followed by the soft thud of the lock in the deadbolt. He must have dozed off at some point when he heard the water running in the shower of your bathroom, because he didn’t wake up until he felt the weight of you settling into bed beside him.

Groggily, he tried to say your name, but what came out was more of an unintelligible mumble.

You giggled softly, reaching out to stroke his arm softly. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

He blinked heavily as he turned over to face you and mumbled lowly. “Wasn’t asleep.”

“Hmm, sure,” you mused as you tilted your face up toward his, your lips brushing against his softly, sweetly. More sweetly than he sometimes felt like he deserved.

Feeling much more awake now, he brought a hand up to your face, his thumb tracing the swell of your cheekbone as he deepened the kiss. Your lips parted for him and he tasted you, the spearmint of your toothpaste invading his palette. In turn, you shifted your hips and tugged at his shoulder, effectively pulling him over you.

Your hands tangled in his hair, paying special attention to the still-damp curls at the nape of his neck. When he felt your nails scrape gently against his scalp, he groaned involuntarily and his lips fell away from your mouth, seeking the column of your neck while his hands slipped under your shirt, tracing patterns into your soft skin.

It wasn’t long before you were panting beneath him. With practiced ease, he rolled the bud of your nipple between this thumb and forefinger, all the while sucking a mark onto the base of your collarbone.

“Carm…please,” your voice pleaded with him as you bunched his shirt into your fist. “I need more of you.”

In an instant, he had his shirt off, pulling it over his head in one swift motion. Underneath him, you finished the job of removing your own shirt and started to wriggle out of your sleep shorts before his hand covered your own.

He took his time with you, as he loved to do during nights like these, unhurriedly hooking his fingers under the waistband as you lifted your hips. As was often the case, you were bare underneath the soft cotton and he heard a whine escape the back of your throat as he left a line of searing kisses over your stomach, your hipbone, your inner thigh.

He could have had you begging underneath him; could have buried two fingers into you knuckle deep while his tongue spelled out his reverence against your clit. But he didn’t want to play games tonight. Tonight, he wanted you gathered in his arms, your legs wrapped around his hips and your voice in his ear.

“This all for me, babygirl?” He mumbled as he reached out to touch you, slick and warm and pliant under his touch. He slipped two fingers inside you and you gasped at the stretch, your hips tilting upward as you chased his touch, needy for more.

“Please, baby,” you whined. And something about the tone of your voice and the tremble of your hands as they tugged at his hair told him that you didn’t want to play around tonight either.

He sat up on his knees as you both made quick work of discarding his sweatpants and boxers. Your hands were on him in an instant, stroking his length and spreading the bead of precum over his aching tip with the pad of your thumb.

He teased the fat head of his cock along your folds, spreading your arousal along your core as you writhed every time he brushed along your clit, and then lined up to enter you. You gasped softly into his mouth as he slid inside and he swore he saw stars dancing in his vision as he tried to remain focused on you underneath him. But he knew that if he thought too hard about your pink swollen lips and how delicious it was to hear his name falling from them, he knew he’d fall off the cliff far too quickly.

He pawed at your thigh, fingertips finding purchase on the supple skin there, and hitched your leg around his hip. And with a steadying breath, he began to rock his hips against yours in long, languid strokes. God, he could live in this moment with you forever.

He knew he hit your sweet spot when you gasped his name, arching off of the bed and clawing at his shoulders. With all of the single-minded precision of a perfectionist, he focused in on that spot, driving in on that one place deep within you that made you babble incoherently in his ear. Eventually, he was buried so deep within you that his thrusts were more like grinding against you, his pelvis giving you much needed friction to your clit as you fucked up into him, maintaining a deep pressure where you needed him so badly.

Your walls began to flutter around him, and he didn’t even need you to tell him how close you were; he could see it in the glazed over expression on your face, feel it in the tension of your whole body wrapped around him tight as a rubber band threatening to snap.

“Come for me, babygirl,” he groaned into the hollow of your shoulder. “Need you so bad.”

And then you were gone. Your head was thrown back against the pillow and your walls clenched down around him so fast and hard that his own orgasm hit him like a freight train, knocking the breath right out of him as his hips stuttered against yours for the last time.

When he finally regained his breath, he rolled off of you, groaning at the loss of contact. You reached an arm out to him limply as he stood and he brushed his lips against the pads of your fingers.

“Be right back,” he promised, slipping out of your room and around the corner to the bathroom.

He returned a moment later with a warm, damp washcloth in hand to help clean you up. Overly sensitive, you squirmed away from his touch as he gently ran the cloth over you. He made a mental note to use that hyper-sensitivity another night.

Satisfied that you were clean, he tossed the rag into the hamper and crawled back into bed with you, dropping sweet kisses along your chest and shoulders as he wrapped himself around you and pulled the sheets over your spent bodies.

Your noses bumped together as you peppered small kisses over his face.

“Do you know how much I love you, Carmen?” You asked.

He pushed a stray strand of hair away from your face, tucking it gently behind your ear. As he peered at you in the dim room, he thought of all the ways his life had improved since you came into it. The (slightly) shorter days at work, the decrease of anxiety and increase of laughter. He had never thought of himself as much of a romantic before, but if he was imagining a forever, he could imagine it with you.

He kissed you once, twice and smiled warmly. “I think I can imagine.”

#carmen berzatto x reader smut #carmen berzatto smut #carmy berzatto x reader smut #carmy berzatto smut #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto

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kimpossibooty · 2 months

Note

tell me the worst or weirdest fact about x men. Also I’ve never seen x men so if you could factor that in please & ty.

Cyclops, this guy

Shoots laser beams out of his eyes

BUT they are laser beams

Instead of heat, they’re blasts of concussive force

BUT actions opposite reactions etc etc, they should snap his neck if his eyes are pushing out massive amounts of force

BUT his eyes aren’t generating the force

His eyes are instead

Portals

To the Punch Dimension

A dimension made out of kinetic energy

So he opens his eyes

And energy from the Punch Dimension comes out and wrecks shit

Now this is technically only canon through the reference books and hasn’t been proven in a canon story BUT marvel put out those reference books so they did it themselves AND Al Ewing confirmed the Punch Dimension exists in a comic recently and I trust that bisexual king with my life so it’s real to me

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angelaestheticbaby · 7 months

Text

Safe in your arms

Summary: Aleksander would do anything to protect you.

Warnings: some gunshot, mention of war, not panic attack but close to it, lmk if I missed one

A/N: It's my first request. I hope you like it. Also, requests are open!!!

You were an Inferni grisha. It was your first mission with the black general himself. You weren't exactly a fighter. You were innocent, and gentle with every soul. You were afraid of this mission. Not really knowing what to do.

You had only heard of the general from the tales of the soldiers about him. They all described him as ruthless and merciless, that he had no limits. You were scared, you just wanted to do your part and leave alive. You took a deep breath as you knocked on the general's door, your stomach was churning.

You heard a few footsteps before the door eventually opened, revealing a pair of dark grey eyes. The general smiled.

"What do you need, little one?" he asked in a calm voice.

"I...the Commander said that we need to leave now" you told him quietly. You hands were shaking as you felt so close to the war.

He noticed your discomfort immediately, "First time in the field, little one?" he asked while closing the door behind himself. "Take my advice, don't be so tense. Relax, there is no need for you to fear anyone. When the time comes, our powers will do the heavy lifting. For now, I just need you ready for action, understood?"

"I..uh..thank you sir" you nodded.

"You're welcome." He smiled gently. "But please, call me Aleksander. I'm not a fan of formalities" he looked slightly annoyed with the subject. "It's your first mission, yes? Tell me, what kind of grisha are you?"

"I'm an...Inferni..si- Aleksander" you corrected yourself with a smile.

"Ah, I've seen how dangerous your powers can be" he said with a slight grin "But you're also a smart girl, you wouldn't use them carelessly. I want you by my side for the deployment, you'll provide cover to help your partners on the battlefield" he was walked away from you, but he suddenly stopped and turned back.

"Oh and, little one?" you nodded. "Good luck"

"Thank you" you beamed at Aleksander.

The gunshots and screams rang in your ears, they were getting louder and louder, but you were too scared to move. Your heart was pounding out of your chest and your breath was coming back in short gulps. You curled up under a wreck and tried to protect yourself.

Suddenly you felt two arms wrap around you, the heat of the general's body was surprisingly comforting and for a moment you were able to forget the danger you were in.

"Shh, it's alright, little one, don't be afraid" he whispered in your ear.

You sobbed out quietly and held tight onto Aleksander.

"I..I don't want to dieee" you mumbled.

"You won't, I promise" his voice was so soft and gentle, "I'm holding you, I won't let anything happen to you."

A particularly loud gunshot rang out from behind you and you flinched in fear, but the general's hold grew tighter. "Stay calm, and keep breathing. You'll be safe as long as I'm here" he tried to calm you.

"Why did you even come with us when you're this scared...? I'll take you back" he whispered into your ear. Ashiver ran down your body, you immediatly felt safe.

"I... I thought I could be of use" you responded hesitantly, unsure if you were doing enough, "I'm trying, I just... don't want to die"

You felt how tightly the general held you, how he was so much larger than you. You felt safe.

"You're doing fine" he assured. "Just stay here, and whatever you do, don't look out in the open" he took a deep breath in and out, "It's going to be fine"

A particularly loud blast caused you to flinch and the general pulled you closer to him, "Just stay close to me" you stayed curled up tight against him. You could feel his warmth against your body.

"I will always protect you" he said softly. "Nothing will ever hurt you while I live"

Outside, the sound of gunshots continued to echo through the air, but you two didn't care. For the first time in forever, you felt safe.

"But... I have to say... You should work on your fear, it might seem cute now" he teased. "But it can get you killed"

"I'd do anything...Anything to prove to you" you said firmly. He leaned down a bit, your faces was just an inch apart.

You felt him move closer to you, you could feel how his lips touched your ear when he spoke.

"You don't have to prove yourself to me, little one" he whispered, "You only need to stay safe"

He was still holding you tightly, but every once in a while he would loosen his grip slightly. He wanted to show you that with him you weren't an inexperienced, insecure girl. You were under the protection of a powerful general, and nobody dared to lay their hands on you while you were with him.

Before you could do anything, his lips touched yours.

That kiss made you sure about everything he just said.

The whole world around you disappeared as his lips pressed against yours. It was nothing like you had ever felt before, it was as if your soul was on fire and your body was going to explode.

You couldn't hear anything else anymore, the sound of the gunshots was completely drowned out. Only now did you realize that the general's lips were still pressed against yours. Every part of your body felt as if it was burning. You knew in that moment, that nothing could pull you apart anymore.

You were safe, you were strong. But above all you were with him.

#aleksander morozova #aleksander morozova x reader #the darkling fanfic #the darkling #ben barnes #ben barnes fanfiction #ben barnes x reader #ben barnes imagine

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stylesloveclub · 7 months

Text

Prose (sneak peek!)

In which y/n's taking way too many units, and Harry's the teaching assistant for her Literature class.

+++

He locks the door behind them, with y/n lingering closely by, waiting for him. “Do you live far?” he asks.

“No, not really. Just a 15 minute walk.” They walk towards the building exit, and Harry pulls out his umbrella. “Not too bad, as long as there isn’t a monsoon going on outside,” she finishes with a petulant grumble.

Harry chuckles lowly, his dimples shining brightly. “I was just going to offer… y’know, since it’s still raining and you’re umbrella-less…” his eyes twinkle teasingly, “I could drive you home? Wouldn’t want you to get soaked again when you’ve only just dried off.”

“Oh!” she bubbles, looking at him with wide eyes. “Really? You would do that?” He nods, but she presses, “Are you sure that wouldn’t be a hassle? I mean– like, really I could just stay here and read until the rain dies down–”

“S’not a hassle,” he reassures. “Y’don’t even know when the rain will be gone– could be all night. It’ll be cold, n’dark… it’d make me feel better knowing you got home safe, yeah?”

“Gosh that’s… that’s really nice of you,” she says, almost pouting.

He just smiles, pushing the door open and opening his umbrella for the two of them to huddle under. His car is parked in the graduate student parking lot, so it’s not too far of a walk (although they’re doing more of a brisk speedwalk, trying to get out of the rain and wind as fast as possible). The rain patters harshly on top of his umbrella, but they manage to stay dry, shoulders brushing together and their warm bodies radiating heat onto each other.

He unlocks his car and opens the passenger's seat for her, making sure that she’s covered from the rain as she slides into her seat. He then runs over to his own side, quickly shutting his umbrella and throwing it into the backseat. His fingers are numb as he turns the car on, and he immediately blasts the heat for the two of them, putting his frozen fingers in front of the warm air. “God, not even three minutes out there n’ I’m already freezing m’bits off,” he mumbles to himself. He turns to her, and smiles when he sees her copying his actions, “Isn’t this so much better that walking home?”

All she can give is a nod, wriggling her fingers in front of his heaters. Her teeth are chattering as she barely manages to chatter out, “S’freezing.”

“Wind would’ve blown you away before you even made it home, I reckon.” He plays with the windshield wipers until they’re on the highest setting, but even then his windshield is blurry from the rain. He makes sure to drive extra slow and cautiously, reversing out at the speed of a snail and turning his high beams on.

It’s only when she’s sitting in the front seat of his car that a somewhat important thought floats to the forefront of her mind – “is this allowed?”

“Is what allowed?” He's half paying attention, half checking both sides of the road before turning left onto the street.

“Like– I mean you’re sort of my professor, I guess,” she stumbles over her words, “Is it… would you get in trouble? For like… giving me a ride?”

Harry’s eyebrows pinch thoughtfully, “Well, first of all– Dr. Richmond’s your professor, not me. Secondly– I don’t see why it would be against the rules. S’just a car ride,” he shrugs.

She relaxes in her seat, nodding. She supposes he’s right. It’s just a car ride.

“But– if anything,” he adds on with, turning to her momentarily with a mischievous glint in his eye, “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

Y/n’s lips curl. “Okay,” she giggles.

It’ll be their little secret. :)

+++

HELLOOOOOOO TUMBLR! TARRY COMING THIS SATURDAY 10/7! :) i hope u guys are excited for him he is super fall cozy vibes HEHE :) PARTS 1 AND 2 HAVE ALREADY BEEN POSTED ON MY PATREON!!! THIS IS NOT A PATREON EXCLUSIVE MEANING ALL OF IT WILL BE POSTED ON TUMBLR. PATREON JUST HAS EARLY ACCESS!!!!! CHECK OUT MY MASTERLIST FOR OTHER FICS HOPE U GUYS R EXCITED XOXO

#harry #harry styles #harry fic #harry styles fic #harry styles fan fic #harry smut #harry styles smut #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fluff

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songsofadelaide · 8 months

Text

2006.

It's nearly the end of June but summer's relentless heat still beats over your head as you sighed and sank your teeth into the slightly softened Ramune-flavoured popsicle in your hand. Shoko handed it to you just moments ago before vanishing into the morgue once more.

Summer always meant more assignments and missions and the lack of your classmates' and upperclassmen's shadows in the campus. The second years just returned from a low-risk mission and bagged some snacks for everyone. It was a thoughtful gesture and surely something they mulled over for a bit before eventually deciding— yeah, let's take some home for the kids, too.

You were tasked with cleaning duty today, sweeping up dead leaves and twigs that littered the school entrance. The task required little thinking, and you could hardly do so with the afternoon sun roasting you right where you stood. You were ready to fight the sun at this point.

It hits you all of a sudden— a sharp, stinging pain in your head that sends a shiver down your spine as you hurriedly chewed the frozen treat in hand. "Ack—"

—Pins and needles in my brain— you thought, almost losing your balance, too. A larger hand landed on the small of your back as you tried to steady yourself. "Oh! Gojo-san!"

It was Satoru— tall, shining blue eyes and silver hair— standing right behind you. Your upperclassman greeted you with his easily recognisable cheer and a smile that could rival the sun itself. Only you didn't want to fight this sun.

You liked this sun.

"I heard from your chat with Shoko that you like Rilakkuma."

You did, but you were surprised he manage to take note of such a quick-passing mention in a conversation he wasn't even part of.

"I-I do," you confirmed with a small nod.

"Great. You don't suppose you can take these off my hands, then?"

He beckoned you to hold out a hand to him, which you did. He dipped a hand into his pants pocket and fished out a handful of colourful Rilakkuma stickers— Rilakkuma, Korilakkuma, Kiiroitori, and even Chairokoguma, all in their signature baby pink, mint green, and light yellow backgrounds.

"Ah! These are so cute! Thank you very much!"

Satoru noticed the little twinkle of delight in your eyes as you received the stickers, all of which came free with his favourite convenience store melonpan.

Worth it, he tells himself.

He'll never speak of these tender affections, though, out of fear of rejection. He is normally so sure of himself, but the possibility of you turning him down cripples him into dejection. But he'll never tell you that.

Much like how he'll never tell you about how he forced everyone around you to eat the melonpan and return the free stickers to him.

The heat of the afternoon is long forgotten, replaced by the amusement with these simple treasures. Why he decided to give these to you, you'll never know for certain.

Satoru couldn't possibly fancy you, that's for sure. He had an air of sophistication about him despite his supposed immaturity— plus, he's so handsome, so why would he even pay attention to a country bumpkin like me—

"If I find more, I'll give it to you, too," he said, your reverie disintegrating. Reality was much sweeter, though, with Satoru beaming at you so warmly you were sure you'd pass out from a heatstroke.

2018.

"Now this takes me back," you laughed to yourself as you happily opened the convenience store melonpan. It was among the many snacks that Satoru's pupils shared with you. The free sticker caught your eye— Oh, it's Aggretsuko!

"What a blast from the past that is," Shoko remarked as she sat across from you. "Gojo used to buy those for us all the time."

"Really?" How curious, you thought.

"Yeah. He'd collect all the stickers that came with it, too. I suppose it's no secret now since you guys are already together, after all."

"You mean to say that Satoru collected all of those for me?"

Huh. Now that you thought about it, Nanami and Haibara often snacked on melonpan when you were students.

"Are you only finding out now?" Shoko asked with a chuckle. An amused smile painted her lips as she picked out another melonpan from the bunch. "I suppose he'd want us to give you the stickers here, too."

So she gladly does, handing over the little sticker wrapped in glossy plastic as she munched on her snack.

"Thank you, Shoko."

You flashed her a smile of gratitude, the very same one that brought so much delight and satisfaction to Satoru that he'd eat melonpan after melonpan just so he could give you all the stickers he got from each one.

Satoru doesn't make his presence known anymore, not wanting to interrupt this rare moment of quiet for you and Shoko, but you hear the floor creak and quickly notice him standing outside the door left ajar by Yuuji.

"Satoru!" You beamed at him, beckoning him to eventually come into the room. "Welcome back!"

Still worth it, he thinks. Your smile is worth all that more.

And then he doesn't, finally emptying his mind as he crash-dives into your arms. "Back! Which one did you get this time?"

#songsofadelaidewrites💛#jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo fluff #i love rilakkuma lol

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elizabethemerald · 5 months

Text

Servitor of a Death God

AO3

Kara Zor-El crashed into the street, shattering the concrete under her. She pushed herself shakily up for a moment before she collapsed again. She could feel every broken rib as a separate screaming pain. Blood bubbled and foamed at her lips as she forced her eyes to open. Kon slammed down only a few feet from her, a pained groan his only sound.

Doomsday had once again come to Metropolis.

Kal was fighting him as well as he was able and the rest of the available Justice League was doing everything they could to keep this from becoming a slaughter. However there was only so much any of them could do to even hold Doomsday back, much less stop the monstrosity. It was now even more dangerous and smart enough to overcome any foe.

Kara could feel the tremors from the blows of Kal and Doomsday as she once again tried to lift off and rejoin the fight. Wonder Woman had been thrown through several buildings. The Lanterns were all but broken. Aquaman was crushed under Doomsday’s foot with so much force that it was only Kara’s super hearing that told her he was still alive at all.

Kon forced himself back to his feet and used his telekinesis to throw a piece of rubble before he fell to his knees again. Kara pushed off from the ground and landed behind the behemoth landing several blows to hopefully give Kal a chance to regroup and attack with new energy.

Doomsday smacked her down and stomped her into the pavement. Oh blessed Rao that hurt. Kara could hardly hear past the ringing in her ears. She was only distantly aware of Lois holding Jon back and keeping him from joining the fight. If he did then the entirety of the surviving members of the Noble House of El would be fighting to stop this creature. And if they fail, the entirety of the House of El would die in the fight.

Several super powered punches knocked Doomsday back away from her as Kal tried to rally. He was bleeding, Kryptonian blood flowing, a rare sight. She could hear his heart racing and he kept rising to face the final gift and curse of Krypton.

She pulled herself out of the hole Doomsday had driven her into with difficulty in time to see Kal backhanded down the street. He skidded like a stone skipped across a lake. Kara roared in fury, her eyes blazing red as her heat vision blasted out catching Doomsday in the back and almost driving him to his knees. She held the beam, trying to force him down, but its strength and durability was greater than her stamina and it pushed through her heat vision to knock her to the ground.

Kara gasped in pain, then almost immediately choked as it slammed her into the ground several more times. Each blow brought a new wave of pain as her bones, normally strong as steel, shattered like toothpicks. Her invulnerable skin was torn to shreds under the claws and bone spurs of Doomsday. After one final all mighty blow, Doomsday picked her up and flung her from the battle.

She crashed to the ground, leaving a furrow carved into the ground like a meteor. Blood choked her as she tried to catch her breath. Her hands shook and she couldn’t feel her legs at all. She forced one eye open, her other swollen completely shut, if it even still worked.

It took several attempts for her to actually understand what was surrounding her. Tombstones. Doomsday had thrown her directly into a human graveyard. If she had any breath in her chest she would have laughed at the irony, because this would surely be where she died.

Kara couldn’t help thinking back about her childhood as blood poured slowly from her lips and her many, many wounds. She remembered the lessons she had about the history of the Noble House of El. They were once priests to one of Krypton’s gods. Dan-El, the dark god of death, the opposite of Rao’s light. As the people of Krypton developed scientifically and dedicated themselves to isolation, their gods fell to the wayside. The people lost their connection to death and to Dan-El as the years progressed.

Her father had mourned that so much of their culture was lost, so many of the messages and means of worship of the different gods vanished, and now with Krypton gone, and the last Kryptonians fighting to death in the city streets there seemed to be no way for the scriptures of worship to Dan-El to see the light again.

She turned herself over with difficulty, a choked scream gurling out of her at the unspeakable pain. She pulled herself to the closest headstone, her vision fading. One of the last scriptures of Dan-El that had remained was one promising that he would return to save the House of El, if they only would call on him.

“Dan… El…” Blood bubbled and foamed at her lips as she whispered to the headstone. “Please… please…”

Her vision faded almost completely, only a tiny pinprick remaining as her breath stuttered to a close. Over the ringing in her ears she could hear the beating of her heart slowing, and stilling… and stopping.

“Please…”

A bright radioactive green flashed before her eyes, as the last daughter of Krypton faded from her adoptive planet.

The sky over Metropolis split as a brilliant green lightning bolt flashed across the sky. Those who were sheltering away from the battle between Titans taking place in the streets shuddered in fear, terrified of what new threat could be appearing. Superman and Doomsday stilled in their calamitous fight as the lightning arced from the outskirts of the city to crash at their feet, driving them apart.

Clark fell to his knees as a being stepped out from the column of light that remained frozen there in the air. Even the pebbles and shattered glass thrown up by their fight moved as if in slow motion. The figure, back lit by the green lightning, was tall with fine white hair that floated as if he was in space. A cloak of stars and a crown of green fire graced the shoulders and head of the figure. Clark’s jaw dropped as he saw the Kryptonian God of Death, Dan-El, before him. He perfectly matched the historical records from the Fortress of Solitude.

Dan-El turned to him and Clark found himself frozen. He wanted to fight, to run, it couldn’t be his time to die yet. He had to defeat Doomsday, he had to survive, his family was counting on him.

“You are fortunate, son of El, that someone remembered the ancient prayers.” Dan-El spoke, his voice seeming to pierce directly into Clark’s brain. “It is not yet your time, you have many more lives to save.” Dan-El paused and glanced back at the column of light behind him, then gave Clark a kind look. “You have honored your ancestors, Son of El, your family is proud of what you’ve accomplished, and what you have yet to do.”

Then he turned and Clark felt like the entire weight of the sky had fallen from his shoulders. Tears sprang to his eyes at his relief even before he processed Dan-El’s words and the tears became a torrent. Then the God of Death turned to Doomsday and offered it a hand.

“Poor creature of destruction, Death was never the relief it should have been for you, only a new torture at the hand of your creator. Come to me, and come to your rest. Let Death finally embrace and hold you.”

Doomsday hesitated, its biologically prerogative screaming that it must always survive, no matter what, but after thousands upon thousands of painful deaths, what little of its brain was not dedicated to destruction desperately longed for peace. Doomsday reached out to Dan-El and the two turned and stepped into the burning light, until both disappeared in an instant.

Clark blinked the light from his eyes and looked around. The column of light had vanished and with it Doomsday and Dan-El. The fight was over. Metropolis stood in silence, stunned that Death had come to the city.

In the months following the fight with Doomsday, Metropolis recovered as it did after every fight, battle or invasion that happened in the city. The citizens held their breath in the hope that Doomsday was truly gone and would not return again to devastated their home. Each day that went by without his shadow darkening the horizon and no return of the flash of green lightning that had taken him away let the people breathe a little easier.

Superman healed from his injuries and was once again seen patrolling the skies over Metropolis and the rest of the world alongside his two sons. The world and the Justice League returned to their regular everyday levels of chaos and world ending threats, hopeful once again that the day would be saved by a hero in a crimson cape.

However there was one crimson cape that had not returned to the skies. Kara Zor-El, Supergirl never again took to the air over Metropolis after her confrontation with Doomsday. While she still lived, her time as a hero was over.

Her recovery took longer than Clark’s, her injuries were far too severe. Sometimes she could stand strong and tall just like any of the other Kryptonians. However, many times, her hands shook too much, and her legs couldn’t bear her own weight. The best scientists and engineers of Earth combined the best of human and Kryptonian engineering to create a wheel chair for her, yet still she did wish to return to combat.

Instead of facing down threats as a caped hero, she worked on creating a temple to the Kryptonian god of death, Dan-El. The temple had information and sacred rites of the almost forgotten deity, as well as the history of Krypton. Unlike the other museums and history books, the temple had the true and accurate history of those people. Their most arrogant and humble moments are all on display, along with all the average, everyday moments of life on a planet now long gone.

Kara had given up her red cape in favor of a black, floor length cloak, embroidered with the stars Dan-El loved. Her colorful skirts and outfits were handed in for the robes of the ancient clerics of the House of El. During and after her recovery she dedicated herself to serving the god that had stopped Doomsday.

The worship of Dan-El was at first limited to those within Metropolis, but slowly it spread across the globe with the help of Kara and her temple. She gave sermons that were broadcasted worldwide, whether she was standing proud or sitting in her wheelchair with her hands shaking so hard the rattling could be picked up by her microphone.

Some of the hero community were baffled by her choices, that she would willingly step away from saving people, none more than Clark. Even with her injuries she could still help the superheroes even if she didn’t want to be on the front lines herself, just like how Oracle still helped as a computer specialist. He brought it up with her repeatedly, but each time she turned him down and said that she was serving her purpose.

“Kara, please-” Clark tried again after one of her sermons on Dan-El’s teachings.

“Clark!” Kara interrupted him. She glanced at the followers who were learning how the Kryptonians venerated death before she led the way into her private office. “I’ve made my choice and you need to respect it.”

“Kara, you still have the power to help others. Don’t you have a responsibility to do so?”

She scowled at him. “I am helping people. I’m helping them come to terms with the vast world of Death.” Clark took a breath to speak, but she spoke over him. “And I am fulfilling my oath to Dan-El in exchange for his assistance with Doomsday.”

“Kara-”

“Listen to my heart, Kal.” Kara ordered.

Clark looked at her in confusion before focusing on her. She watched his face twist and fall in confusion and dismay.

“Wha-?”

“I died that day.” Kara snapped. “I breathed my last in the graveyard where I called him. He promised to answer my final request, to spare you from Doomsday’s wrath, without any obligation, in this life or the next. However, he offered me a chance, a chance to keep facing the world, despite my pain and my tremors. He froze my heart in between one beat and the last. I will never fully heal, so I have chosen to utilize the borrowed time to act as his Servitor. I will spread the word of Dan-El, the Phantom King of Death, to those of Earth. Because he gave me the time.”

Clark looked at her frozen, grief raging across his face.

“Kara, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know.”

“You weren’t supposed to.” Kara said simply, before she lifted the hood of her cloak over her golden hair. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have another sermon in a few minutes.”

From his frozen throne within the Infinite Realms, Danny Phantom, known as Dan-El to the Kryptonians, watched his Servitor. His name had all but disappeared from the thoughts of mortals, yet now it would once again be able to spread across the universe. He hoped that his message would help. Help prevent the fate of Krypton from repeating itself. Help prevent the fate of his own home universe, where the actions of a corrupt government led to all of life being cut off from Death. He had spared her, the last daughter of Krypton, in the desperate hope that all the various worlds of this universe, and the many universes they have contact with would spread his messages.

#danny phantom #dp x dc #death god danny phantom #kara zor-el #supergirl #doomsday

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