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ellemj · 5 months

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Needs & Wants - Sex Pollen Trope Pt. 2

Bucky Barnes x Reader

**If you haven't read Pt. 1 yet, READ IT FIRST.**

Summary: You fight the effects of the chemical compound for as long as you can, until Bucky makes you an offer that your body can't seem to refuse. But, you each have a rule that the other has to follow.

Warnings: this one is a huge fucking tease, I'm so sorry (I won't be sorry when I release part 3 tonight), masturbation, talk of unprotected sex, profanity, use of y/n, MINORS DNI, 18+!!!

Feel free to comment and let me know if this requires more warnings.

Word Count: 4k (I just couldn't stop the build up)

Author's Note: I cannot believe the overwhelming response on part one of this, I was just in a silly goofy mood and decided to finally use my Tumblr for something other than reading y'alls AMAZING fics every night before bed. I didn't expect anyone to really even see it. My heart is racing as I get ready to post this rn lmao. PLEASEEE tell me what your fav part of this one is, I have to know. Part 3 will be out tonight, I can't make you guys wait too much.

Bucky’s resolve has been steadily crumbling for the past hour, and truthfully, he’s barely placing any blame on the chemical compound that’s interacting with the serum coursing through his veins. He’s placing the blame on you and the needy, whimpering noises that you’ve been making for the last forty-five minutes. After the video conference with Bruce and Tony ended, you were quick to lock yourself in one of the bedrooms of the safe house. You didn’t even say another word to Bucky, you just stood up from the couch with one hand clutched over your stomach, and hurried off down the hall. He wanted to say something to you, but what the hell was he supposed to say? I’m sorry that we’re in this situation? That wouldn’t help a damn thing. You’re in it and there’s nothing either one of you can do except pray that you’ll have enough self-control to make it through the night with your doors still locked.

Bucky sat on the couch for a few minutes after you left, replaying Tony’s last warning to you in his head. You won’t feel relief until your body thinks it has a chance of reproducing, until semen is introduced into your system. It made him feel like shit. He can find relief on his own, he can take care of himself tonight, but you? You’ll suffer for a minimum of eight hours, possibly nearing death, alone behind a locked door. It’s not that he thinks you can’t handle yourself. He’s perfectly aware of how capable you are at handling practically anything. He’s been your partner in the field for two months now and he’s never once had a doubt about your skills, your ability to tolerate pain, or even the split-second decisions you have to make sometimes during missions. You might give each other shit the majority of the time that you’re working together, but when it comes down to it, you trust each other with no reservations. So, why then, does he find himself so fucking worried about you?

He’s been locked in the bedroom across the hall from yours for the past hour now. He thought maybe things wouldn’t be so bad when he heard you tucking yourself away into bed, when he heard you go still and silent for a few minutes. It was smart of you, trying to sleep as much as you could before the chemical fully set in and began to wreak havoc within your body. But after only fifteen minutes, he heard the faintest sound carrying across the hall. He wasn’t sure what it was at first, thinking maybe you’d gotten up to use the bathroom and it was the creak of a floorboard or maybe a door hinge. It was wishful thinking. The second time he heard it, he was sure. You were whimpering in your sleep. For a few moments, he was able to deceive himself into thinking it was whimpers of pain, maybe from your stomach aching in your sleep. When you grew louder, the sounds of your soft, breathy moans mixing with the sound of the sheets rustling as you tossed and turned restlessly, that’s when his resolve began to break apart piece by piece. He sits on the side of his bed in total darkness. His shirt and tactical pants are strewn across the floor where he previously discarded them when the heat emanating from his body became too much to bear. His hands grip the edge of the mattress with enough force to break through the layers of fabric there, but he fears that if he lets go, the next thing his hands will grip will be either his cock or the two door knobs separating you both. Focusing on your suffering is keeping him from feeling his own pain, but the noises you’re making are making it significantly harder for him to ignore the needs that are bubbling to the surface within him. Shit. How the fuck did he end up in this situation with you?

You awake suddenly, drenched in sweat, your sweats especially making you feel like damp towels are wrapped around your legs. You waste no time throwing the covers back and ripping your sweats off, tossing them onto the floor and moving your hair to lay it across your pillow so it’s not sticking to your neck. Fuck HYDRA. Fuck Zemo for killing Dr. Nagel. Obviously, you wouldn’t have wanted him running around recreating the super soldier serum either, but if he was still alive maybe you wouldn’t be lying here in this state. You take a deep breath in, counting to three in your head as you breathe it back out. Focusing in on your symptoms, you try to make a mental list. You think that maybe if you can remind yourself of the science behind the symptoms, you won’t become an irrationally horny mess, you can just reason your way out of the most intense arousal you’ve ever felt in your life. Sweating, tachycardia, abdominal cramping, bone pain…you stupidly let your right hand slide down between your legs. Your fingertips briefly grace the exterior fabric of your black boyshort panties, feeling how wet they are adds another symptom to the mental list, not that you needed to feel it to know. Arousal.

You lean over to the bedside table and feel around blindly for your phone. The screen illuminates and you see that it’s only 10 pm. You’ve only been sleeping for an hour. The chemical compound isn’t even at its peak activity level yet and you’re already beginning to feel a type of desperation that you haven’t felt before. You need relief. Tony’s words swirl around in your mind, making you feel lightheaded and making you want to hunt him down and make him take the words back by force, like that would change the reality of the situation you’re currently in. You won’t feel relief until your body thinks it has a chance of reproducing, until semen is introduced into your system.

You could try finding relief on your own. Tony isn’t lord over all things scientific. When has he ever dealt with a compound like this before? Never. He doesn’t know shit. You’re trying so hard to convince yourself that he could be wrong. Sitting up in bed, you reach over and flip on the lamp that sits on the bedside table, casting a pale glow across the room. You will yourself to think clearly, to make a plan and implement it. You can fight this. You need something that’ll take down your body temperature, slow your heart rate, and ease some of the pain you’re feeling everywhere. A cold shower.

Bucky listens intently as you open your door and your feet patter softly down the hall. He listens as you shut and lock the bathroom door behind you and then as you turn on the shower. He mentally curses his heightened sense of hearing when he hears the tussle of your clothes hitting the floor. He’s been ignoring his hardening cock as it grows beneath the black fabric of his boxers. He’s been ignoring it because he feared if he tried to relieve himself, you’d likely hear him across the hall and he’d never let himself live it down. He can’t be the first one to break. But maybe, with you being in the shower, you wouldn’t be able to hear anything coming from his room. Why the hell are you even in the shower? He imagines the pain you’re in would make it hard for you to stand in there for very long, and it’s not like a shower is going to give you much relief at all. He can’t wonder for more than a quick moment, before the chemical begins to really cloud his mind, his clear thoughts becoming hazy behind thoughts of chasing relief. Fuck it. You won’t hear a damn thing.

Bucky sighs deeply as his lays back on the bed, still in darkness, pushing his boxers down a few inches and freeing his hard length. His flesh hand quickly wraps around it, giving it a slow stroke from base to tip, pre-cum quickly coating his fingers.

“Oh, fuck.” He groans lowly. It’s never felt like this before. It’s as if every nerve in his body has shifted, has traveled down to embed in his cock. His head falls back into his pillow, his eyes squeezing shut at the sensation of his shaft finally being handled. He works his fist up and down, picking up speed and reveling in the feeling of temporary relief. As he strokes his cock, he feels the pain throughout his body slowly dissipating, easing up but not fully disappearing. Before he can stop himself, he’s picturing exactly what you’d look like right now. Your perfectly toned body standing under a stream of water, your hands running down your smooth skin, your eyes closed as you let the shower wash away your discomfort. He feels guilty. Truly, he does. But it's as if he has no control over his thoughts when his hand is on his cock and his veins are corrupted with a potent chemical from hell. Especially not when you’re naked a mere ten feet down the hall. As Bucky nears his climax, his balls tightening and his cock twitching in his hand, a loud crash resounds throughout the house and he’s brought back to reality. He’s on his feet, his boner tucked reluctantly away in his boxers, and his bedroom door flying open in less than two seconds, fearing the worst. He thinks you must’ve passed out from the effects of the chemical, fallen in the shower, maybe split your head open. When he reaches for the bathroom door knob and finds it locked, he’s giving no second thought to breaking the door down. Hell, he decided he was going to break it down before he ever left his room. He takes one step back, ready to use his leg to kick through it, when he hears the shower water cut off and the curtain pull back.

“Y/n?” His voice is laced with concern and it takes you by surprise. You’d only been standing in the ice-cold shower for two minutes when you realized it wasn’t going to do shit for you. You aren’t usually one to lose your temper, but feeling so hopeless and helpless, your only plan failing to provide you with any relief, you ended up slamming your fist into the tiled shower wall out of pure frustration. You didn’t do it hard enough to really hurt yourself, but apparently hard enough to alarm Bucky.

“You’re supposed to be locked in your room.” You call out, your voice coming out a little timid and quieter than you intended. Wrapping a towel around yourself, you step out of the shower and examine yourself in front of the bathroom mirror. Your cheeks are still flushed, your pupils are dilated so much that you’re surprised the lights aren’t hurting your eyes yet, and your rapid pulse is nearly visible in your neck. You let your hair down from the bun you threw it up into for the shower and then pull on the same shirt and damp panties you had on moments earlier.

“I thought you fell.” Bucky says quietly, barely above a whisper. You can tell he’s standing close to the door. You’ve never heard him speak so softly. You freeze, your hands clutching the edge of the bathroom sink as your body responds to his voice, against your rational mind’s will. You feel a familiar heat gathering between your legs and you squeeze your thighs together. He needs to go back to his room. Now.

“Bucky, go back to bed.” Your voice is firm, without a single hint of hesitation. Bucky knows that he should heed the warning. He knows he should turn around right now and go back and lock his door. Instead, he stands there in the hallway with his cock straining against the fabric of his boxers and a conflicted expression on his face. You said earlier that your only option was to lock yourselves in your respective rooms and ride it out until morning. Was that really the only option though? He could easily think of a few more options, though admittedly, he might not be thinking with his brain anymore.

“You have to go back to your room before I come out.” You’re starting to sound like you’re pleading with him. As much as you want to act strong and like you have all of the self-control in the world right now, you’re worried that if you step out into the hall and see him, you won’t be able to stop yourself from reaching out for him. You want to feel his skin beneath your hands as you run your palms from his shoulders, down his chest, straight to the waistband of whatever the hell he’s wearing right now. You want to have him completely bare in front of you, with nothing stopping you from dragging him straight to your bed to find the relief that you both so desperately crave right now. A sharp pang in your lower stomach causes you to let out a soft groan, and the sudden inhale you hear from Bucky through the door doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Not until I see that you’re okay.” Bucky says, still worried that you fell in the shower or hurt yourself somehow. Not wanting to waste any more time letting the chemical stew in your reproductive system, you flip the bathroom light off so you’re thrown into darkness, before unlocking the bathroom door and pulling it open slowly. You can just barely make out his form in the dark hallway, the curve of his broad shoulders, the glint of the black and gold vibranium making up his left arm, and fuck…the ripples down his abdomen. You’ve always thought he was frustratingly attractive, but now? Just looking at him has you insatiable. You realize quickly that he’s not wearing anything except a pair of black boxers and his dog tags. He’s really not making this easy on you. Your eyes flutter closed and you sigh, telling yourself to suck it up and walk past him. Just walk past him. But now you what he looks like with nearly no clothes on, and he’s so close to you. So. Damn. Close. A foot away from you, to be exact.

“I’m fine, just go back to bed.” You whisper. You don’t trust yourself to speak any louder, worried that raising your voice might awake something much more primal within yourself.

“Look at me.” He says, matching your whisper volume. Shit. Shit, shit. Shit. No.

“Don’t—” You’re cut off by the feel of his cool vibranium fingers wrapping around your right hand, lifting it so he can see it better. You suck in a harsh breath at the contact. It shouldn’t turn you on as much as it does, it’s not even what you need. You need skin. You need him against you. But something about the cool metal contrasting against the warmth of your heated hand feels electrifying.

“Did you punch the wall?” He questions, examining your reddened knuckles with narrowed eyes. Your eyes remain closed as you nod your head, and he takes the moment to scan his eyes down your body. Your t-shirt skims along the tops of your thighs and he knows if you turned around, it wouldn’t even fully cover the curve of your ass. Fuck, he wants you to turn around. He drops your hand as quickly as he first grabbed it, letting it fall back to your side as he begins running his flesh hand through his disheveled hair.

“On a scale of one to ten, how bad is it?” Bucky has to know. He knows how high your pain tolerance is, he knows how good you are at putting on a brave face in the worst situations. He has to know how much you’re really suffering right now before he makes an offer that he can’t take back.

“Four.” You fib, pressing your lips together and daring to open your eyes and look back at him. Your eyes have adjusted to the dark a little more and you can see the sweat glistening across his chest, his quick breaths drawing your attention straight to his pecs.

“Don’t lie to me.” His gaze hardens. He hates that you’d try to lie to him. Do you really not trust him enough to just be open with him? Jesus, he’s standing in front of you in his fucking boxers with a hard-on that you haven’t even noticed yet and somehow you feel the need to keep things from him, like he isn’t just as vulnerable as you are right now.

“Seven.” You admit truthfully. The pain in your stomach has intensified, and all you want to do is curl into a ball right there on the floor. You feel like you’ve been doused in gasoline and lit on fire, you feel like someone attempted to extinguish that fire with a gallon of hot sauce, and then ran you over with a semi-truck. You reach out for the door frame with your right hand, using it for balance as your legs begin to feel weaker.

“Y/n-” Bucky starts, ready to make you an offer, but you don’t let him continue. He knows it’s crossing a line. He’s fully aware that if he offers and you say no, things could just get weird between the two of you. He’s even more aware that if he offers and you say yes, it could effectively end your working relationship. But he can’t stand to see you like this. You might give each other shit more often than you’re civil with each other, but something about you being in pain has always sat wrong with him. He worries more about you in the field than he worries about himself.

“Don’t say my name, just…” You cut him off, but your voice trails off as your eyes wander down to the front of his boxers, finally noticing the way he’s straining against the fabric, his tip resting just barely under the waistband. “If you keep standing here, if you keep saying things to me, I’m not going to be able to go back to my room. I need you to walk away before I lose the power to let you.” Your warning should be clear as day now. He needs to leave you alone.

“No.” His refusal hits a nerve, angering you more than you would’ve thought possible. You feel a rush of adrenaline surge through you as you lose control of your actions. You place your hands against his chest, shoving him back, hard. He barely moves, which just further enrages you. “Y/n, we can fix this. I can fix this for you.” His offer is out in the open now. He holds his breath as you freeze in front of him, your hands falling away from his chest and your eyes squeezing shut in contemplation.

“Do you even realize what you’re offering?” Your question hangs in the air between the two of you, and the tension in the hallway makes it feel as though lightning is about to strike the tiny cobblestone house that you stand in. You wish lightning would strike. When you open your eyes this time, the look in Bucky’s eye has changed. There’s something in place of his usual hard gaze, something that nearly draws you in.

“Yes.” He’s offering to fuck you. He’s offering to give you the relief that you so badly need, the relief that can only be found when he finishes inside you. You’re hallucinating. That’s what this is. Because there is no fucking way that he’s standing in front of you right now, the six-foot tall super soldier who you can barely get along with outside of mandatory missions, offering to fuck you raw. “I know what I’m offering.” You only take a moment to weigh your options. Go back to your room, lock the door, and suffer for the next 7-10 hours or have sex with him and hope that it doesn’t ruin your entire life. Why would it ruin your life? Because he’s the only partner that you’ve trusted enough to work with since Nat passed, and there’s no way that things can just be fine and normal after you’ve seen each other naked. Things would get awkward, it’d be hard to look at each other, hard to see each other as professionals anymore. And your work, your job, is your life. Outside of this you have nothing. No family, not a single friend that isn't connected to this damn line of work, not a damn thing to turn to when this inevitably goes to shit.

“Stop overthinking it.” Bucky’s voice breaks you out of your whirlwind of thoughts. Against your better judgement, you make eye contact with him and the way he’s looking at you gives you butterflies. Butterflies? Who the fuck are you right now? “Close your eyes.” His voice is low, making the butterflies in your stomach explode and spread outward until it feels like your skin is tingling. You don’t know why you do as he says, but your eyes close and you stand there with bated breath as the floorboards creak. He’s stepping closer to you, stopping when you feel his breath fanning across your face. He trails his flesh fingertips from the back of your left hand and up your arm slowly, drawing goosebumps to the surface of your overheated skin but leaving some kind of calmness behind. You relish the way your left arm becomes the only part of your body that isn’t in pain, the only part that he’s touching.

“Okay…” Your voice is raspy as you cave to his touch. “But I have a rule.” He pulls his hand away and you wince as the pain quickly returns to the bones deep within your arm. He raises an eyebrow at you as he waits for you to continue. “You can’t kiss my lips.”

Bucky hesitates for a second, caught off guard by your insane rule. No kissing? During sex? Do you hate him that much? Fuck, he shouldn’t have offered to do this in the first place. It’s obvious that you really don’t want this, and he won’t be able to get off knowing that.

“Who’s overthinking now?” You laugh out, brushing past him and heading straight for your bedroom door. You took his hesitation as a rejection of your rule, and if he rejects your rule then you’re not doing this. If he kisses you, you’re scared you’re going to feel something. You can have sex and find absolutely zero meaning in it, that’s not that hard. It’s just a physical act. But kissing? Kissing makes it too intimate, too much of a real connection. You won’t give that away so easily. Just as you’re nearing the door, you feel Bucky’s hand wrap tightly around your wrist and pull you back, spinning you around so you’re facing him. In less than a second, he’s walking you backwards until your ass hits the wall and your hand is pinned above your head, with his body pressed firmly against yours. His nose brushes over the tip of yours and you shudder at the feeling of his skin, his body giving off so much heat that you’re regretting having put your shirt back on earlier.

“Fine, I won’t kiss you.” He rasps. His vibranium hand is gripping your hip, holding you solidly against the wall as he moves to run his lips along your jawline. He doesn’t kiss your skin, he simply lets his lips ghost over it, making you tilt your head to the side in anticipation. “I have one rule of my own.”

“What’s that?” Your voice sounds a lot more confident than you expected it to, like you’re not fighting to hold yourself together inside. He nips at your earlobe softly and you feel the tip of his tongue against it so lightly that you’re not sure if you imagined it or not.

“You’re going to wear these while I fuck you.” He guides your right hand up over the perfect ridges of his abs, across his chest, and straight to the dog tags that hang around his neck.

Next Part

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uravichii · 1 year

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* ੈ✩‧₊* you fell first, but bakugo katsuki fell harder

notes: pls idk what this is ive literally never written anyth like this but ive always wanted to write a fic w/ this prompt,, also im thinking of doing an angst version of this 🤩

genre: fluff, lovesick bakugo + reader flirts w/ him a lot, childhood friends to lovers, tw: BARELY PROOFREAD ‼️

bakugo katsuki doesn't know anyone who annoys him more than you do.

he doesn't believe he's gotten this far in one piece when he's been stuck with someone like you since childhood. there's something infuriating about the way you tug on the strap of his school bag when both you and his mother are insisting that you walk to school together in the morning. it's even more infuriating when he doesn't know what in the world is fluttering in his chest and churning in his stomach when you start tugging on his sleeve instead.

bakugo katsuki has no idea why and when exactly he started doing it, but now his blood boils watching that dorky smile on your face while he carries your bag to school every morning and on the way home too.

"katsuki." you playfully bump your shoulder against his arm and grin, "you love me, don't you?"

"i'm doing this 'cuz you look like a fucking camel with this bulky ass bag of yours." he scowls, trying to ignore the tiny, tingling spark he felt on the fleck of his skin that met yours for a single second. "what hell is even in this, rocks?"

"is your back hurting? let me give you a back massage then. c'mon, take off your shirt and lie down."

he grimaces, a flush of scarlet spreading from his cheeks to the tip of his ears.

"what?" you chuckle. "you know we've seen each other naked before, right? remember when we used to take baths together as children? i even let you touch my-"

"shut the fuck up, l/n."

it's maddening how easily you fluster him, like it's your second nature. a teasing remark and a single wink, and he's all over the place. all he can do is click his tongue and walk straight ahead of you (though occasionally looking back if you're still with him)

bakugo katsuki tries to counter your flirty remarks. he can do better, he swears he can. a multitude of emotions takes over him when he sees a sliver of your underwear peeking through your clothes. his cheeks flush and his nails bury into his palmsー partly from the thoughts racing relentlessly in his head, and partly out of wrath for anyone who would dare to ogle you or loudly point it out to the whole room.

he stands protectively close behind you like a guard dog, obstructing anyone even a glimpse. he speaks in a low voice you didn't know he was even capable of, his breath grazing your skin. "oi. nice underwear." once again, he's annoyed to the brim hearing that faint tremble in his words.

he's relieved and all the same, flustered, watching you realize and immediately fumbling with your clothes, but no matter how many attempts, no matter how much he swears he can be a match to you and your teasing nature,

"nice? i'll let you borrow if you like it that much then."

you are the only losing game bakugo katsuki has ever been in.

what annoys him even more is that for some reason, he's able to bare his soul to you, in spite of the sheer ugliness, the cruelty of it, and the pathetic, endless heaps of insecurities overflowing from him.

he presses his palms against his face in a futile attempt to muffle out his angry sobs. you brush a hand over his heaving shoulder, "it's gonna be okay, katsuki. i promise." when he doesn't flinch nor pulls away, you gently coax him into a light embrace, your torsos barely touching yet emitting such intoxicating and soothing heat onto each other.

"the fuck are you crying for?" he snaps, confused and concerned as to why you're suddenly sniffling with him.

"i know, it's stupid." you hug him tighter. "i swear i'm not making this about me. i justー i wish i knew how to make you feel better."

'annoying,' he thinks as he hugs your waist and buries his tear-stained face into the crook of your neck. "i'm going to kill you if you tease me about this tomorrow, l/n."

"hey, i don't do that." you whisper comfortingly despite the threat. "you know i won't."

he knows you won't.

most of all, it gets on bakugo katsuki's nerves the most when he remembers you've had genuine, actual romantic feelings for him since you were children, and it's not just fickle banter and incessant flirting here and there.

"shit. your fever's still high." he mutters, pressing his large palm on your forehead. it astounds both of you how it almost covers your whole face. mindlessly, he shifts his palm sweetly to your cheek, tucking in any stray hair out of your face. what in the world have you done to have him wrapped around your little finger like this? you have him buying you medicine and checking your temperature with pure and utter concern, feeding you food he cooked specially for your taste, and holding your perfect little hand just because you asked him to.

"thanks for taking care of me, katsuki."

"you're a pain in the ass, l/n."

katsuki anticipates another joke or a flirty remarkー something about ass most likely, but then you look up at him, widely staring, and you speak in the steadiest voice you could muster, "am i really?"

he doesn't answer.

"can i tell you something?" you continue. there's a pang in katsuki's chest when you slide your hands off of his. "i like you, katsuki. i still do after all these yearsー"

"shut up. that's your fever talking"

"no, this is just me talking. even if i wake up tomorrow and don't remember anything i said to you today, i'll probably end up saying the same thing again someday, and my feelings won't have changed at all."

steering clear of your eyes, katsuki starts rearranging the stacks of medicine on your nightstand and adjusting your blanket when your frail hand latches onto his wrist.

"i just need to know if you're actually uncomfortable with me or if i have absolutely no chance at all, then i'll stop. i'll distance myself from you even. if that's what you want."

he would never forgive you nor himself for it.

you laugh weakly and continue, "and then maybe i'll just date todoroki or somethingー"

"fuck it." he hisses. he swings the blanket over your face so he won't have to bear your gaping eyes when he spits out, "dumbass, i do like you. don't ever do that, jesus."

there's half a minute of silence between you, him still distraught over the mere image of you and todoroki, and you still buried in the blanket, sinking everything in. you pull the sheet slowly until your eyes peek out. it's unbelievely annoying, again, how fucking adorable you are, katsuki thinks.

"you do? since when?" you ask in a tiny voice that will echo in his mind for the rest of the day, he knows it.

"does it matter?"

"no?" you pull the blanket over yourself again.

and then another minute of agonizing silence.

"katsuki?"

"what? you need anything?"

"yeah. kind of."

"what is it?" he starts to panic a little, "tell me." your fever completely slipping his mind in the heat of the moment.

"can you tell me you like me again when i get better? i have a feeling i'll remember this is a fever dream, then i won't stop talking about it to you, and it'll be so embarrassing."

his mouth quirks up into a smirk. "how about this," he pulls the blanket off you and leans slowly, your cheeks flushing even hotter. he brushes his hand against your forehead and gently presses a kiss, his heart in shambles when he catches brief sight of you shutting your eyes tight. "i like you."

you open them again to see a devilish smirk on his face, except it's noticeably much softer than the usual one he wears. he kisses your cheek next, inhaling your scent as he presses his lips against your warm skin, "i like you."

you're a whole mess now. it's the feverish heat spreading across your cheeks as his hand makes its way to yours under the blanket, the close proximity of bakugo katsuki, his scent, the immense heat that gets you dazed and hitches your breath when he props his forehead onto yours. it's the years of closeness and familiarity you've always shared with him, now blooming into something more, like a flower that has just learned to face the sun and bask in the sweet, easy morning air.

"i like you." he says again. maybe he is a match for you after all. "if it's the only way to shut you up. i'll tell it over and over again."

you fell first. bakugo katsuki fell harder, much harder. seeing you escape under the blanket again and squealing when he tries to pull it back down, he doesn't remember what is it that he found so terrifying in falling in love with you.

it's you, after all, isn't it? the most annoying little shit he's always loved.

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugo fluff #bnha fluff #mha fluff #bakugo x you #bnha headcanons #mha headcanons #bakugo katsuki headcanons #bakugo headcanons #bakugo katsuki x you #bnha imagines #mha imagines #bakugo katsuki imagines

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freakingholland · 2 months

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"Cold cloths, warm hugs" Jason Todd x gn!reader

A/N: My first ever Jason x reader fic whaaat! I have such a soft spot for this guy ugh <3 also this is so fluffy and silly, I'll see myself out!

Warnings: not proofread, swear words, Jason is feeling unwell so a mention of headaches? use of painkillers

Summary: You and Jay have a night off, what could possibly go wrong? (fluff, hurt/comfort-ish)

Word count: 850 +

If you enjoyed my work: Ko-fi.com/freakingholland

questions/requests/ideas here! - rules here

masterlist (needs a proper update)

You were in the middle of watching some kind of lighthearted show on your night off. Jason had a night off as well, the two of you had been sitting on a couch and simply enjoying each other’s presence. Jason had been reading a book curled up next to your tucked figure, as your back was leaning against the opposite arm of the couch. Unexpectedly his reading session got disturbed. At least you thought so since he had gotten up from the couch, tossed his reading glasses aside on the coffee table and went to the kitchen without a word. At least 5 minutes had passed, and he didn’t return.

“Hey- you alright in there?”

“-Yup, just a sec.”

He didn’t sound very convincing. His response seemed wavering, and it was enough to make you a bit wary. As you didn’t want to possibly annoy him with your raised voice, not knowing the problem yet, instead of shouting from the sofa, you went to check on him.

His head was hanging low as he was standing with his hands resting on the counter. There was an unscrewed bottle of painkillers and a now empty, wet glass. You went behind him and put your hand on the small of his back.

“What’s going on baby?” Your heart ached at the sight.

“--Headache.” He whispered through gritted teeth. His tone made you uptight.

“I- I- gotta lie down.”

“-can you get me a cold-- towel? Please…” He spoke quietly while turning to go to your bedroom. Your hand dropped to your side.

“Course. You’re nauseous?”

He slightly leaned on the doorframe before going further away from you. He shut his eyes as the light hit his face when leaving the kitchen.

“Yeah…”

He then faltered to rest up.

“Shit.” You cursed under your breath putting your head in your hand when he left.

You were hoping that you’d have a calm evening for once, you deserved to have it. It’s been a while since something bothered Jay to that degree, whether it was a patrol injury or sickness, and the fact that he was hurting on his day off made you genuinely irritated.

On the positive side – at least he didn’t try to hide the fact that he was feeling unwell. He also asked for some help without much frustration. It took months to get to this point, but encouraging Jay to open up and communicate more has been paying off. Grief-stricken conversations still happen every so often. Hell, it would be beyond belief if they weren’t happening considering the extent of past trauma that Jason has suffered through.

But his mental health really did improve over the months of you two dating.

You put on the kettle to make him a nice warm cup of tea. With the help of a stool, you managed to find his old but beloved wonder woman mug. It took some digging in your cabinet that really needed a proper cleanup. When the tea had been made you moved on to rummage through your closet to find a cloth for a cold compress. Placing three cubes of ice in between the layers was enough to make the cloth cold.

“Babe did you drink cof—“ you stopped halfway through your whispered question when you were walking into your shared bedroom.

You suddenly stopped in your tracks realizing your possible mistake. Jay was already dosing off, curled under a blanket. His lips were slightly parted. There was a noticeable change in his posture, there was less tension within his upper body, his arms seemed more relaxed than before. You didn’t think he would be falling asleep this fast, but you figured the headache must have been bad and that the painkillers actually started to kick in.

The sight made you sigh as you you’ve been unnoticeably holding in your breath. You tiptoed to his bed side table and put down his mug of steaming tea. You then carefully kneeled down next to the bed in order to place a compress on his forehead without startling him too much. You gently pressed it onto his skin, making sure to place it slightly over his eyelids.

“That feels so nice.” He muttered.

“Shhh ignore me and go to sleep.”

“I don’t wanna ignore you--, come here.”

You stood up and walked around the bed. Before joining Jay, you opened the window to let some fresh air into the room.

“Baby please…”

“’Kay ‘kay I’m coming.”

You carefully crawled under his blanket and big spooned him.

“You know what? I can already feel the headache going away just cause you’re hugging me.” He continued verbilising his loopy thoughts.

“Oh yeah? It must be some kind of magic.”

“Yeah, it’s Y/N’s magic.”

“Just don’t tell on me. Peeps might burn me at the stake.”

“Fuuuuuuck no I wouldn’t let them.”

“Oh, I know you wouldn’t big guy. ” you said running your hand through his hair.

Jay rolled to his side to embrace you in a hug. He nuzzled his face into your chest and sighed with relief.

“JACE that’s cold! Stop it!” you winced and laughed as the compress touched your warm skin.

“It wouldn’t feel so cold if you weren’t so hot.”

“I think we gotta check your temperature…”

Stay whelmed xx Tori

#Jason Todd x reader #red hood #red hood x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd imagine #red hood imagine #dc comics #jason todd fluff #red hood fluff #dc imagine #jason todd x reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x gender neutral reader #dc x reader #dc x you

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hor3nee · 3 months

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• Vows •

Gojo figuring out how arranged marriage works.

CW/TW: Fem! reader, Arranged Marriage, Heavy suggestive stuff, Mentions of virginity, Condoms?, Gojo typical flirting, Reader & Gojo ages implied to be very young (18-23), SFW (Lmk if I should add anything else!)

Characters: Gojo x Reader

AN: Pt 2 of this fic. I will die on this bitchless Gojo hill.

"You look as beautiful as the day I married you hon'." He says with his characteristic wide smile, proud of himself for that line. Even threw in a sweet pet-name, the kind girls like.

"You married me, like, two weeks ago." He should not be proud of himself for that line.

The silence is almost deafening after that, and Gojo hates the quiet. Can't stand it. He's not used to it, he's loud and obnoxious, he's self-aware of that though, part of his charm he says. Charm, he's got an endless bountiful of it, in his ego-ridden mind at least, and honestly, he's not wrong. There's absolutely nothing Gojo lacks.

Killing curses as though it's walking through a park, handing out checks like he's got an unlimited supply of them. A living breathing powerhouse, a god even, some could say. He's young, a very young man, but he's already hailed by Jujutsu society and about anyone with a semblance of knowledge of who he was, The Strongest.

Fresh into adulthood and he's already considered one, if not the most notorious man in Jujutsu society, the potency he holds is incomparable to any other. Handsome too. Fluffy pearl white hair, legs for days, a nice build, toned, keeps it all maintained effortlessly, genetics or the such he thanks for it. A flirt in nature, girls fawned over him, how could they not? An attractive dashing young man such as himself of course they do.

Never been with one before though. A woman.

He didn't date in his teens, school was grueling, he was the strongest and he was busy, always. He could get a girl all buttered up on words sure, he has one hell of a mouth on him... Couldn't actually ask one out though, or kiss one, or get laid by one. His experience with them is non-existent. Truthfully, Gojo is as virgin as a virgin could be, he seems like he lacks in nothing, but relationships? He's clueless.

Yet here he is, married. Weaved into a union with a woman. The papers signed, wedding ceremonies done, vows out and said. Sealed his whole self to another, to you. And as are you, sewn into this 'relationship' same as he is to each other. Orchestrated by the hands of Clan elders, arranged before either of you had met each other.

Fourteen nights of sharing the same bed since, living together as spouses. It's odd, confusing, Gojo who bathes himself in self-assured composure twenty-four-seven, hasn't the faintest idea how this works. But, he is Satoru Gojo, he's hot shit, and you haven't had any complaints yet. Even if you're only two weeks into marriage, he's got this.

Just like he's got everything else in his life, he's sure of himself. The two of you have slowly, but surely gotten more comfortable with each other. Gojo does well, friendly and welcoming by nature, albeit it can come off as cockiness, he brings energy into every dinner you two share so it doesn't feel jarring and off-putting eating with basically a stranger who you'd call your spouse.

The times you touch, comes off as natural. A smooth one he is, Gojo, craftically slipping his hand by your ear to tuck a strand hair, nudging you awake in the morning effortlessly so you don't get startled. The touch of your knees when you sit beside each other. It feels natural, he makes it feel natural.

To you.

But Gojo? His brain is working in overdrive, has been since the day he took you home from the wedding. He didn't realize it at first, still full of himself in ever-lasting confidence, but as quickly as the first two weeks of being newlyweds went by, so did the semblance of stability he held in his ego. Neither of you had even shared a kiss yet. That should've happened by now, right?

Fuck.

Wait, should you two have fucked by now? Lord knows he's thought about it, a lot, he's a young man stocked full of endless libido. And you are his wife, and you're pretty. Every feather-light touch he's managed to sneak in effortlessly you seemed at ease in, but he's been mentally reeling if it's too far. Too inappropriate, but then again you are his wife.

He's your husband, you two are literally married, living together, sleeping together. Sleeping together only, of course, sex feels like something in the distant future. He'd hate to pressure you, especially since you two are just starting out, technically already locked in, till death do us part, but truly just at the start of companionship with each other.

But Gojo, is impatient and a bit aloof. He's not gonna push for anything, but when he saw the condoms at the store and thought 'Hey I have a girl now!' what else was he supposed to do? Immaturity at its finest considering how he's now sat with you, and the condoms stuffed into his back pocket while you two sit on the bed and you'd just shot down his sad attempt at flirting. With his own wife.

"...Is there something you wanna tell me?" Your eyes are glued to your phone as you ask, but he notices they flicker onto him. He's staring, isn't he? You've gotten used to it, his eyes just have a mind of their own, he can't help it he always looks like he's glaring even when he's not, and after a week spent with you sharing a home with him, he can't help himself but look at you. You're beautiful. And you're his.

"Maybe." He'll settle for being a smug little shit instead, still staring at you as he speaks.

"Maybe?" You repeat, putting down your phone in interest as he clearly tries to lure you to talk.

He hums, shrugging innocently and crawling to your side of the bed, used to be his but the night of your wedding you unknowingly took that side and he's been letting you rest on it since. Seamlessly, he pulls his face to yours in a swift but not sudden motion, his nose almost budding with yours.

There's a shared glance, a look into his eyes as he looks into yours, and the density of the air in the bedroom suddenly shoots up straight to 100. Ticklish bouts of his breath fanning lightly against your cheek while he smiles at you, expression, as always, never faltering. But movements telling. He takes your chin by his narrow fingers. You hadn't even seen them move to grasp your face, too transfixed on the look in his palpitating eyes instead.

"Can I kiss you?" There's a second, a moment for you to think, drawn out by the way his voice glides through your ears as he asks. Two weeks together, vowed to one another and you've found yourself caught in his gaze alone. You're starting to feel it, the drum of your heart responding to him.

And so, you nod, his grasp on your chin so gentle you don't even notice it's there holding your face near his as you do. It happens quickly, but it feels like an eternity, a good kind, a soft sort of mere milliseconds between the nod of approval and him moving forward catching your lips against his. His lips are soft, lulling against you and though brief has you leaning into him for more, slouching into him like you're calling for him to caress, to feel more of him in the moment, and he does that, his hands moving to wrap around your waist, pulling you into him.

Once it's done and you two, in natural timing, pull away with a slight wet plop noise breaking the silence you can see it in his eyes. Desire, need, and maybe, just maybe, love. It's small but it's there.

He meant it when he said he liked you, then on that first night, purely by expectation, you're his wife. Of course, he likes you, you're supposed to like him, he's your husband. But two weeks in and he's understanding it more, what it means to like someone, to have them as yours. To have you as his. His dazed expression from a kiss alone tells you that, this is real. He's married and he just kissed a girl, the girl he's promised his life to.

"..Gojo-" You murmur as he reels from the kiss and gathers himself, a goofy grin plastered on his hazed expression.

"Mhm~" He purrs at you, starting to get giddy.

"Are those condoms?" He blinks at your question, stare breaking from your eyes and your lips he'd left wet with his saliva he'd been caught up looking into, to where your eyes had turned to look. He follows your eyes and looks to see the box out of his pocket, crumpled slightly from him sitting on it, spilled open over the bed.

The rubbers are all over the bed.

His hands don't pull off the sides of your waist, and his smile doesn't falter. Instead, his smirk grows, and he turns back to look at you in the eyes again. Giddy expression is written all over his face, his fingers pulling you closer with ease, because you lean into it and situate yourself closer as he does so, responding to him.

"Yup!" Gojo Satoru has no room for shame. Much less with the pretty woman he has as a wife. Marriage, the foundation of family, what makes a house a home, as his elders told him, he's getting it now. Having you here only two weeks it's already starting to feel properly shared with you, his house, your home, both of yours home.

#gojo x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojou satoru x reader #jjk x reader #gojo saturo x reader #gojo jjk #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #satoru x you #gojo x you #no use of y/n #husband!gojo

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agoofyannoyancetolaw · 3 months

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holy

a/n: decided to take some inspo from that very first fic I wrote so tada. It’s a long one so buckle in folks- also some reader dialog because it was needed for plot :/

minors DNI I’m fr.

phillip was a good man, a holy man, a priest. He had sworn celibacy a long time ago and has kept it every day even when the prettiest boys would look at him and his heart ached to feel their touch. He had his church and his small town and he was happy with just that and nothing more- until the little town he loved started to change around him, the church got hard for him to sit in with the feeling of burning pain coursing through him every time he preached.

he just couldn’t understand it?? Why had his god cursed him with these sudden pains in the place he called home? Why has his house felt so hauntingly open to the world as if someone was following him, watching him. And it didn’t help that every damn night he felt as if someone or something was in bed with him and teasing his senses and urges with every passing second.

he had searched his entire apartment, throwing things and moving chairs and desks to try to find where the hell this feeling had come from- only to find a small pentagram on the floor of the last owners carpet which he jumped at.

he fell back on the ground with a thud, his cross necklace falling directly onto the pentagram as a hazy feeling filled the air that made him want to gag or run away on his heels like a child.

your shadowy figure stood over him in silence- long horns, sharp claws, a tail and folded wings; a demon. God what had he done! He didn’t want this, he didn’t want to be killed or dammed or anything else! He was too focused on this thoughts to even feel your hand grip his chin and tilt his head up as if you were inspecting him

“ah. A pretty little priest, hm? Almost a shame you summoned me- although you’re stuck with me now either way.” You hummed with a smile, his eyes widening at your voice and your claim alike

“leave me be!! Creature of Satan-!” graves said in a surprisingly shaky voice for someone so educated on demons

“Aw, it’s not like I’m going to hurt you- but your stuck with me now” you hummed as you knocked him out with a simple tap on his shoulder due to his fear and carried him to his bed.

over the weeks he had gotten used to you. Your figure haunting over him while he tried to sleep and the burning he could feel when he was inside the church with you silently stalking outside past the windows of the church as if you were a normal person- god he even started to like having you around. your handsome voice ringing in his ear or your calloused hands touching him when you moved him around the house… but that would be wrong! You’re a demon, a creature banned by his god!

He tried ignoring it, he really did. But the feeling of your hands gripping at his hips and the feeling of your hot breath on his neck kept reminding him of those sinful ideas; yet none the less it sent his blood rushing to his lower half. Especially when you insisted to sleep next to him every night.

This morning when he woke up he would have to pry himself out of your grip to get ready for the day per usual. Although the feeling of your member practically flush against him was making him whine- he couldn’t contain the urge to nestle up against you and grind against you ever so slightly like a dog in heat. He felt horrid for doing this, sinful even.. but he continued anyway till you woke up with a lazy chuckle, soft pleas already falling from his pretty lips.

He only stopped when he felt your hands grip his hips and play with the waistband of his boxers, his entire body shuttering as he felt your warm hands tease his rim. He knew this was wrong, he knew this wouldn’t be something he could make up for with god- but it felt so good.

he practically lost his breath when he felt one of your digits slip into him slowly, the painful stretch making him scramble to try not to make noise as you played his body like a fiddle. He could already feel a hot coiling sensation slowly tense and build up in the depth of his mind. his pretty little jaw slack and tears dotting his eyes as you slid another finger in and pressed against his prostate softly; his cock twitching against his now tugged down boxers with pathetic whimpers to accompany the sensation. He clenched around your fingers like a vice as you prepped him, half out of it by the time you pulled your digits out.

he wiggled around a bit searching for your fingers again before he felt the burning pleasure of your members head against his rim, the slow push making him feel as if it was in his throat or skewering him whole. He was moaning loudly by the time your hips were flushed against his, his lips bruised from how hard he tried to keep his mouth shut.

his breath was sharp as he desperately tried to focus on the way you bucked into him and bruised his hips With your grip.. god how has he sworn to not do this!? He couldn’t even put together a sentence as he painted the sheets white, clenching around you so tightly that you did the same inside of him. his back arching so prettily when you pulled over and kissed him on the cheek as if he was yours…

he didn’t like the fact he had broken his oath, but he would sell his soul to you just to do it again.

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pupcuck · 4 months

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WASTE ME 3

ft. leon s. kennedy x gn!reader

tags. rape/non-con, painal, vomit like a lot of it, emotional abuse

a/n. so messy n rushed cuz i deleted it like 5 times n rewrote it over n over 😭 sorry it’s so flat from leon’s side but omg rbs n feedback appreciated :3 unedited so ignore typos please :3 leon is um. idk I think I changed his character drastically from the last parts but whatever!!! if u see me using shit from old fics ignore it ong

tumblr has started to remove fics that use tw non-con, tw incest and any nsfw tags in general. for this reason, as i’d like my fic to appear in the tags so i can have the same reach as other authors, please understand that this fic contains dark content under the cut. reading this comes at your own risk.

one / two

“Can you put that away? I can’t concentrate.” Leon’s hands tighten their grip on the wheel, agitation creeps into his voice as you push the visor back into its place, then very promptly - when you think he’s not looking - pull it back down for the umpteenth time to give yourself a once over. “Cut it out.”

“Sorry.” You say quickly, as if the words have been festering in your mouth for a while now.

“Hey, you don’t have to come.” You do, you have to or I'm in deep shit. I bet a couple hundred on this. A date, that is. In all the years he’s known his friends, not once has he brought a date to their annual New Year’s party. “We’re not too far from your house, I can turn the car around.”

“No,” You shake your head, “No, I want to come with you.”

Leon isn’t sure if he wants you to come with him, if he’s ready for the barrage of questions and insults, namely from Claire. He’s taking you ‘cause there’s no one else, and to be quite frank, he considered hiring an escort before he even thought of you. The thing is, you’ve gotten too comfortable around him. Using pet names, babe and baby, so Leon tried to put some distance between the two of you. ‘Cause that made him queasy. You’re not dating. He’s thirty-seven years old, there’s no room in his life to date, you don’t date at that age. You fuck and get it over with.

“I don’t know what you’re nervous about,” Leon hums, he turns the radio down, “You look nice.” He expects you to fawn over him, throw yourself into his lap ‘cause he said you don’t look bad. That’s what you’re like, right? Doesn’t take a whole lot to get your tail wagging.

“Don’t say that.” The tone in which you speak is new, Leon hasn’t heard that before. Not been on the receiving end of any mood swings you’re bound to have. You have the emotional capacity of a toddler - no form of regulation over any of your thoughts and feelings, words slip past your lips like you’ve got the shits. Verbally speaking.

“What?” He asks, dumbfounded by the total switch.

“I don’t like it… I don’t like when you say things like that, it feels like you're lying.” And he’s not. That might be the first time he’s ever told you the truth so directly.

“I’m not, why would I lie about that?” Oh, so all of a sudden you’ve managed to grasp the concept of self respect? Talking back to him and shit. You know, Leon’s kinda proud of you. One of you had to break free from the binds of your swaddling cloth sooner or later. One of you has to cut ties, and it sure as hell won’t be him. It’s not that you’ve grown on him, instead you’ve torn open his flesh and slipped between the cracks in his ribs. Nestled into his chest cavity and made it your home. Or he’s just real lonely.

“I’m not stupid, Leon.”

“I never said you were stupid.”

“You’re looking at me like I’m stupid.”

“What? No, I’m not. I’m looking straight ahead, ‘cause I’m driving?”

“Yeah? Well, keep looking at the road.” You huff through your nostrils, and it’s absurd, the shit you come up with. All it does is show your age. He’s fucking a kid, one that can’t even drink yet.

Leon does just that, neither of you utter a word for the remainder of the journey. When he gets out, you catch up with him, take his arm in yours as if it belongs to you, he’d rather you take his heart. So all the tenderness would be zapped from his system. Leon’s love comes in the shape of your casket, it comes with the engravings on your tombstone, empty and cadaverous. It’s not enough for you, you don’t know that, but he does. Leon’s a weeping sore of a man, the kind that won’t go away, not with over-the-counter pills, not the type that gets drained, not even antibiotics could help him. You’re licking his wounds and getting nothing from it, nothing but a mouthful of infectious pus.

“Leon— Oh.” The smile on Claire’s face drops as quick as it came, her forehead creases, and he’d like to tell her pretty girls shouldn’t frown so hard, they’ll get wrinkles, but she’d have his head. Tell him that it’s a natural progression, and that he’s looking a little rough these days, he should try keto. Leon has been on keto most his life if dick counts as meat.

He wraps an arm around your shoulder, draws you closer, smiling with all his teeth to show Claire that he really likes you when he really doesn’t. Well, he does, it’s just complicated. “Claire.” Leon greets with a nod of his head, he introduces you despite the uneasiness, then guides you to sit on an unoccupied seat beside Rebecca, his hand on your lower back.

From the corner of his eye, Leon watches you shift in your seat as Claire asks him if this is a thing now - cherry picking. If he’s going through a midlife crisis, and that she knows a guy who knows a girl who knows a good shrink, one that keeps real quiet. Then their conversation gets derailed and she begins to talk about Simone de Beauvoir, wrote a book called The Second Sex apparently, Claire reveres it, and Leon is confused on how they got to here.

Hunnigan argues that The Second Sex others women of colour very brashly, and it’s not quite argumentative because Hunnigan talks factually, like everything she says is right, and it usually is. It’s impressive how often she teeters on a condescending edge. She says Claire should read more on intersectionality, and Claire nods, bats her lashes ‘cause she listens to pretty ladies well. The only intersection Leon knows of is a road junction— he wonders how you’re doing with Rebecca, so he excuses himself from the conversation. Hunnigan tells him that he wasn’t included in the first place.

When he catches sight of you, you’re sitting alone, picking at whatever piece of food you can get, leg bouncing so hard the table does too. Chris grabs his arm and drags his arm towards Jill, and then it’s Sherry, who is always a joy, and then Ashley, and her dad who Leon, for some reason, thought was in a wheelchair. He gets to you a full forty minutes later.

“Woah, slow down, are you okay?” Leon takes your wrist in his, wonders how to word this correctly, without you taking any offence. “You’re eating a lot.” Shit. Not the best opener.

“I am not.” There’s a droplet of sweat trickling down the column of your neck, he wipes it with his thumb. “Am I? Did you notice? Oh my gosh, you so did. Did anyone else notice? Why did you take so long? I didn’t know what to do, Leon. Was I supposed to say anything? Was I meant to come with you?”

“Listen, calm down, god, no— just, I told you to sit here, didn’t I?”

“Yeah,” You nod, tremors making your hands unsteady as you take his. “I think I should go.”

“What?” Leon’s face twists, “I gotta stay, Sherry wants me to stay, I haven’t seen her in a long time.”

You bristle at this, shoulders slumping, “No, I don’t need you to drop me, I can just get a cab back, I just feel a little out of place, Leon. Like, I know no one even knows my name, but I just feel like they’re all looking at me and talking about me and I feel so stupid.”

He gets it, truly. “You should stay.” Leon’s fingers intertwine with yours, though it’s nothing gentle, it’s to keep you under lock and key. A threat of sorts.

“Leon, I don’t really, like, I’m just sitting here eating on my own, I look like a freak.” You said it, not him.

“You could try to engage, y’know?” And it’s so hypocritical for him to say, ‘cause Leon needs a drink or five before he can even stomach talking to the older Redfield. Not that Chris is a bad guy, he’s just so intensely stupid sometimes.

“Leon,” You take your hand back, and it’s the first time you’ve denied him of anything, “I don’t think they really care if I’m here or not, I’m going home.” It’s not a question, not Leon, may I go home now, pretty please? It’s an assertion, you’re firm in your wants, and he hates it. You’re stepping out of line.

So Leon does what he does best, he fucks it up. Back to square one with your blood caked beneath his fingernails and your tears salty on his tongue. ‘Cause it doesn’t matter what you want, it hasn’t mattered before so why would it matter now? He cradles the back of your head when it knocks against the bathroom stall, tips it forward so he can kiss you sweetly. And you’re a sucker for it, hands fisting at the fabric of his dress shirt like a baby. When you’re bare, he kneels down, spreads you apart, and you’re so wet there’s slick dripping down your ass crack. Embarrassing how fast you get it on for him, and Leon’s here with a semi you could barely class as a semi. Though that’s more of a Leon problem.

The nip to your clit makes you gasp, you tangle your fingers in his hair, and he likes that. Leon presses his nose to it, laps at the slick to clean you up, but he’s only getting you messier. He spreads your ass to lick deeper into your hole, then his hand leaves so his middle and forefinger can keep your cushioned lips open, teeth scraping over your slippery folds. Leon’s mouth is moving on autopilot, his brain is working overtime, what’s he gonna do? How can he make you stay? Right, right, right, that’s gotta be it. When Leon pulls away with a pop! you whine, he’s always kind enough to let you cum. Not this time.

“Hold on, kid,” Leon murmurs, spins you around and you brace yourself against the walls of the cubicle automatically. They seem paper thin. He keeps a hand on your hip, the other unbuckling his belt with a clink as he lowers his jeans to slip out his cock that hardens only at the thought of taking you this way. You flail when he pushes into your tighter hole. The puffy rim is wet with your arousal, not wet enough to take cock. He wasn’t even merciful enough to spit on it.

“No, no, oh god, Leon, no, I’m gonna die, Leon, you’ll kill me.” Your bones crack out of place with how hard you struggle against him, limbs angled oddly, and he hates it. No doesn’t sound right coming from you. It’s a tough one, breaching your asshole, getting past the dryness.

You clench so hard, try to push him out, he kisses the nape of your neck, the tackiness of sweat salty on his lips. “Stop runnin’ from it, I’ve got you.”

“Please— Please, please, Leon,” Your cheek is squashed against the cubicle door, nails scratching at it till they crack and split. He reaches round to cover your mouth, you’re getting too loud. There’s snot and tears and spit covering his palm, but it’s alright. Worth it.

“Hey, hey, hey, c’mon do it for me. You can do it for me, can’t you? You’re not a baby.” Leon’s teeth tug on your earlobe, he manages to bury himself to the hilt in your ass. A miracle really, ‘cause he can barely move an inch back or forth.

You’re gasping for breath, knees buckling despite him supporting your weight. The pain must be bad, he knows what it’s like, that sickeningly raw pain. Feels like it’s in your guts, stirring up all the acid, tangling your intestines. But he got over it, and you got over it once upon a time. So you can do it, he knows you can.

For a minute, he thinks you stop breathing, you slump over and he struggles to hold you up, then he gets ahold of you. You’re dry heaving, retching as you claw at the cubicle, he draws his hips back and you whimper brokenly into his palm. There’s an abundance of resistance, but Leon’s strong enough to push past it, his strokes are shallow - can’t find it in himself to fuck you hard and deep. Well, Leon would, but it’s too much effort.

There’s no letting up, you’re stubborn today, his free hand reaches round to tweak your nipple, then it trails down your body, cups your cunt and parts your fold to thumb your swollen clit. It does little to lessen the ache, the burn, but Leon hopes you’ll loosen up. “Hey, you got it, jus’ focus on my fingers, okay?”

“Okay, Leon,” You get out through ragged breaths, chest rising up and down unevenly as you try to regain some sort of consciousness, he's raped you into delirium. Leon grits his teeth, that word is harsh on his ears still. “Okay… I’ll try, I’ll try… I’m trying—“

“I know you are,” Leon talks you through it, talks you through rape unlike the first time, so that must mean something, give him some kind of credit. “I know it hurts, it’ll get better, yeah? I promise.”

“I can’t breathe— Leon, I can’t-“ Your hands press down on your stomach, then your chest, heart beating wildly, to the point where he thinks he can hear it.

“You can breathe, ‘cause you’re talking to me right now, aren’t you?” He asks, “Remember what you said to me? You said I could do this.”

“I know… I know, Leon, I’m really sorry— God, it hurts so bad.” Another sob is muffled into his wet palm.

“I know, but you said you would do it for me, didn’t you?”

“Yes, Leon, I’m sorry, I did— I did.” You shiver, head jerking to the side as he pulls back, then slams his hips back into you - so hard your knees knock against the cubicle. The pressure on your clit alleviates nothing it seems, even when he presses a little harder, you continue to kick and squirm.

“Just a little more, yeah?” Leon tells you, he kisses your shoulder for good measure, starts up a rhythmic pace that rewards him with a squeaky yelp each time he thrusts. You’re uncomfortably tight, and it’s pretty dry, but Leon makes do, most nights his fist is drier.

Sweat prickles at your delicate skin, and your body goes rigid when he cums, he jams himself so far into you Leon fears he might have trouble pulling out. Dick might come off clean. He smooths a hand down your spine, “You’re okay.” Leon says, and it’s more of an order than anything else.

He takes your clothes from where they’re hung on the single hook, he might be a serial rapist, but he’s a gentleman. Serial might be a stretch, Leon’s not quite at that point yet, and he doesn’t intend to be. But he might be your serial rapist, ‘cause it’s happened multiple times and all.

Your gait is off, more so than last time, taking shuddering breaths as you clutch at his arm. Leon doesn’t know what to say, he leads you out the back, ‘cause Claire will look him in the eye and know what he’s done. Step by step, you wobble towards the door to the passenger seat, crumpling against it as you fumble with the handle.

“Let me do it,” Leon grows impatient, steps forward, you jump out of your skin, snapping out of your haze as you manage to open the door. Your teeth are chattering, and you’re clammy, ribs rattling noisily when you cough. He wonders if he’s really done it now, fucked over his chance with you of all people.

Every time there’s a bump in the road, you wince visibly, nails digging into the leather of his seat to try and conceal any noise leakage. “Leon?”

He stops at a red light, turns to you in surprise, didn’t think you were capable of speaking right now. “Yeah?”

“Do you think she’s cute? The one who dresses like Jackie O?” Of course it’s some insecure shit like that, the first thing you say to break the silence post-rape is a question about whether or not he likes a girl.

“Ashley’s pretty.” Leon answers, face that launched a thousand ships - or a thousand Molotov cocktails, right at him actually, by the hands of religious zealots. He thinks that if it weren’t for a lot of things, they could’ve worked out, and maybe he wouldn’t have resorted to getting drunk and raping college kids in alleys.

“Leon, I think I’m gonna throw up.” Your voice is low, shaky, rolling down the window and letting the chill hit your warm face.

“I can pull over.” Leon offers, he can’t bother to go through with dry cleaning. Rather it come out on the side of the road than his carpets.

“No, never mind, I’m fine.” You go quiet again, then, “What about the big guy, do you like him?”

“What?” He looks like he’s constipated, the idea of Chris and him is an interesting one that’s never crossed his mind. Sure, he’s objectively attractive, but he’s so hardheaded it pisses Leon off. “No, well, yeah, I like him ‘cause he’s my friend.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m asking.” You lie, and he knows you’re lying, because you’re you, and he knows you. Predictable little thing. “Okay, so, what about the girl you were talking to at the beginning when we came in. Ponytail, red jacket.”

“God, no, Claire’s just my friend.”

“Yeah, I know, Leon. I’m asking if, like, you like her. As a friend. I just want to know more about you.” Liar, he indulges you anyway. He owes you one, and maybe money for hospital bills.

“She’s my best friend,” Leon claims, she might not think of him that way, but Leon certainly thinks of Claire that way. “Of course I like her, I love her.”

“Then who was the lady with glasses? The tall one?” You peer at him hesitantly, the dark obscures much of your face from him, but he sees your wide eyes.

“Hunnigan? Yeah, she’s hot, I don’t want her though.” Too brash, his tongue slipped. It’s more that she doesn’t want him. Leon wouldn’t tell you that though. He’s patient for you, lets you ask questions that reek of insecurity before he’s pulling up on his drive.

“I don’t want to take them off,” You’re quick to stop his wandering hands, eyes going foggy and faraway when he tries to get you out of your underwear, “Please, Leon.” There’s blood smeared on the backs of your thighs that Leon pretends not to notice.

And because he’s so kind, and reeling with guilt from the whole public bathroom sodomy situation, Leon abides. “You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure, I’ll just get you off.” You insist, squeezing his half-hearted boner, thumbing the tip, cupping his balls, all the stuff he’s taught you to do. He might not get it up, ‘cause he’s had a drink, and ‘cause he’s still spent from earlier. Rape is no joke, shit takes a lot of effort, fucking a dry hole is not as pleasing as bootcamp made it seem.

Your mouth is warm on his cock, you lick along the vein on his underside, kiss the tip sweetly like you love him - it’s not like ‘cause you do love him. The head rests weighty on your tongue, you take half of him easily. You’re not the best at sucking dick, so he doesn’t expect much from you, expectations already reduced to zero, but Leon tilts his head back with a groan when you begin to bob your head. Look at that, you’ve gotten better.

Really, he should’ve known, seen all the signs. The tell-tale bulge in your throat, something foreign, not his dick ‘cause shits not the big. You felt sick in the car, he’d seen you gag over the toilet bowl after he came inside you. Leon’s reflexes are good, but not good enough. When you finally make it to the balls, eyes wet with unshed tears as he pushes your limits, nose in his crotch— you go to raise your head, he makes the mistake of pushing you back down. Biggest mistake of his life. And Leon has made a lot of mistakes.

He’s had monster after monster spew their god knows what on him. Been knee-deep in sewers, he’s been pissed on by military men for fuck’s sake. Somehow, this tops it off. You sicking up hors d'oeuvres on his lap. Vomit on his dick is the worst feeling Leon’s felt in quite a while. He’d rather break his ribs again and again and again and again. Over and over. Have them caved in by a metal pipe.

You lurch backwards, vomit caked around your mouth, coating his cock, dripping down your chin. God, he might add to the mess, but Leon’s got a strong enough stomach to hold it. Happy New Year! God Bless America. Isn’t this just the dream?

“Oh my god,” You gasp, wipe at your mouth drearily with your bare arm, breathing picking up as you stagger away from him, “God, no, no, no.”

He blinks at you, and you stare at him shell-shocked. Leon inhales, counts to ten, he's been through worse. He has. Honest. What’s a little puke on his cock going to do?

“I’m sorry, Leon, I’m so sorry, oh my gosh, Leon, I’m so sorry, what do I do?” You fumble and use his blanket to wipe him clean, doing a shit job as he anticipated. “I can do it, I can do it, I can get you off, I’m sorry, please, let me make it up to you, Leon.” Then you’re clocking in for your shift, sloppy and hurried all at once as you suck him off, only for a moment- then a wave of nausea hits and a second bout of puke is spewed on his lap, waterlogging his sheets as it trickles down his thighs. Fuck, it’s fucking gross. Made the place into a biohazard.

“Hey, c’mon—“

“No, no, Leon,” You retch, spit bubbling in the back of your throat as you shake your head in wild refusal, “I can do it, please, please,” He feels you swallow around him, tight little throat that’s only got space for vomit and not his cock, ‘cause it’s pushed out of your mouth as you gag and drip liquified party food. Your head pops back up, dabbing at the stickiness that covers the bottom half of your face to no avail.

“Kid.” Leon grabs you by your hair, straightens you up so you’re facing him, drool pooling in your mouth, tongue heavy as you’re racked with full body shivers to warn you of more. This time you make it to the bathroom, courtesy of Leon, there’s vomit tracked down his hall, on the rug Sherry bought him to brighten up his boring bedroom. “Let it all out,” He’s trying his best to be comforting, rubbing your back as your head hangs limp in the toilet bowl till there’s nothing but bile and spit.

Leon lets you shower first, ‘cause y’know, he loves sitting around soaked in barf. Really lets it marinate. He watches your figure through the foggy glass, barely able to keep yourself up, leaning against the wall when you have to wash anything from the waist below. God, he fucked you up. Maybe the vomit bath is more than deserved. He feels it crust over on his dick and itches.

“Are you okay now?” Leon mumbles, his body takes on your curled up shape, knows you could use the comfort.

The mattress in his room has been stripped bare, sheets put on a double spin in the washing machine. For now, the two of you lay close in the guest room that’s been unused since he moved in. “I’m okay.” You whisper, placing your hand over his when he wraps his arm around you. He thinks you’ve fallen asleep going by how still you are. “Leon?”

He wonders if it’s worth pretending to be asleep, can’t lie that he forgives you for that, then any ounce of initial hostility ebbs away and he feels white, hot guilt. “Yeah?”

“Before I met you, I would think of all this stupid shit, like I wanted to get ran over so people would care about me, or they’d feel bad for me, and then I stopped thinkin’ like that when we started dating.” You’re not dating him. Leon’s unsure on how to make that explicitly clear. “But, then, I started thinking like that again. ‘Cause I thought I wanted you to rape me ‘cause I thought you liked me, I wouldn’t mind if you liked me, I would let you do anything to me. I thought that you’d feel bad and take care of me after but you don’t, you just act like it didn’t happen.”

Leon closes his eyes, lashes fluttering on the skin of your back, the light tickle is slight enough as to not alarm you. He listens to you, but he doesn’t know what to think, what to say, it’s a lot.

“I only want you to rape me if you like me, but you hate me.” And that’s so far from the truth, Leon doesn’t hate you, and he doesn’t love you, but he does want you. For reasons he can’t explain himself. “I just, I don’t want you to rape me ‘cause you hate me, I want you to hold my hand after and sometimes I want you to kiss me.”

“So if I start liking you, I can do it?” Grown fucking man and he can’t say rape out loud. Leon wonders why it comes so naturally to you, how you can talk so openly about topics he can’t stomach despite being the perpetrator of said topic.

“Yeah, I just want you to like me, Leon.” You don’t beg, it’s pleading, thumb stroking over his knuckles.

“I’ll try.” Leon gives his oath, he’s a bad person he thinks. Not ‘cause of his mom, not ‘cause of dad, not ‘cause of all the shit back in Raccoon City, not ‘cause of bootcamp— none of it. It’s ’cause he feels like it, and he does it to you on purpose, and Leon knows that, but he can’t fix it. “I’ll try.” He repeats to himself, knowing very well his attempt will fall flat.

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

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sophswritingthings · 5 months

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YOUR MIZU WRITING IS EVERYTHING the apothecary!wife fic where they're approaching the brothel and mizu's reaction to the man trying to get her wife hired as a s worker... we need more jealous/possessive mizu content in my mind it could go any way whether the reader is mizu's wife, significant other, or someone she has feelings for (though if it's just a crush i think it'd lean more towards jealousy than possessiveness) if you feel like writing something for that kind of idea i'd love to see it!

pairing: mizu x fem!reader

warning(s): swearing

a/n: oughhhh I love writing jealous characters!! esp when its like the "masc" one that's jealous!!! idk it just hits something with me <3

summary: mizu's definitely crushing on you. hard. she will deny the fact fifteen times over if you even think of calling her out on it; but its evident. so evident that now she's getting jealous.

word count: 733 words / 3,897 characters

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

you were walking. simply walking, your kimono dragging through the snow as you gave men and women alike smiles as you walked by.

she watched you closely, as if a hawk stalking her prey. every way your hand flicked, every time that smile would rise and fall on your lips, and those rosy pink cheeks nipped by the cold wind.

she hated it. she fucking hated it.

how beautiful you were, and goddamn it how nice you were to her. she had the tendency to be cold with everyone, even people she sort of liked, and yet you pushed right through it--you would smile at her every time you caught her looking at you.

what was your fucking problem? why were you just so... nice?

instead, she opted to keep her distance while she was figuring that out.

she was walking alongside ringo, her "apprentice" that she'd gained along the way. she didn't ask for him nor actually want him; but he was rather helpful when it came to certain things--so she didn't bother sending him away. she'd tried that and it didn't work.

"master?" ringo questioned, glancing at mizu.

mizu took the glance at ringo, raising an eyebrow and meeting his eyes. she said nothing, waiting for his question.

"where has, um, (y/n) gone?"

she stopped in her tracks at that, looking ahead. and he was right. you'd disappeared off to who knows where.

she sighs, "only god knows where she's gone," she grumbled. "wait here. I'll find her."

he nods. she walked along the street ways, looking in every alleyway, every shop. deep down she was nervous, nervous that someone had kidnapped you, taken you away where she wouldn't be able to find you.

her heart was racing as she broke into something of a sprint, but she stopped in her tracks. she spotted a red kimono splotched with snow and pretty depictions of flowers and cranes.

yeah, that was you.

she walked toward you. you were standing on the inside of a dimly lit shop, fucking hell, what had you gotten yourself into that she needed to get you out of?

she unsheathed her sword, stepping into the shop. you were talking to some man, of all people. who in hell was he, and what did he want with you?

she pressed him against the counter, sword pressed to his neck.

"what the fuck are you doing with her?" she hisses. she looked him up and down. the clothes he were wearing were a man of a brothel.. "ah. I see. so, what, you see a beautiful woman and you assume she wants anything to do with you?"

"mizu--relax," you grab her arm, making her release her grip on the man. you pull her back. "he was only talking to me, maybe its time I settle down. and here is nice, I--"

an arm wraps around your waist, pulling you into her side as she spoke to you.

"you are just fine with myself and ringo," she narrowed her eyes. "and you are not the kind of woman to just.. sleep with a man. a random, man."

you gaze at her, surprised by her closeness. she had never been so close to you..

"I-i suppose I am not," you whisper, glancing at the man. "t-thank you, sir.. I'll be on my way, I believe."

the two of you step outside the building.

"I was fucking worried about you, you know," she hisses, releasing her grip from your waist.

"more like jealous," you snicker. though your blush is still evident. "you were jealous I was talking to him."

"what? no," she spat. "you can talk to whoever the fuck you want, you act like I care."

you wince at the harshness to her words, "I-im only... never mind."

she saw how much her harsh tone hurt you. she sighs. you weren't wrong; even the thought of you being with another person made her blood boil.

she wanted you. she wanted you all to herself.

"maybe a little jealous," she had decided to humor you. she couldn't have you hating her, or scared of her. that was a big no-no.

"I thought so," you gently jabbed her side. you recoiled after you did so; knowing that it would very likely piss her off.

she gave a gentle laugh, "yeah, yeah, whatever. come on, can we get on with our walk, now?"

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

a/n: im sorry its short, and also a little more "protective" mizu than jealous.. this is the first thing Im writing when I wake up, so its probably not the best! my apologizes for that :(

#mizu #mizu x reader #mizu blue eye samurai #blue eyed samurai #fic #new fic #fanfic #fanfiction #ask #asked and answered #fic request #request

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hsllfirescoopsreblogs · 1 month

Text

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「 ✦ matt murdock ✦ 」

╰┈➤ 18+ none of these stories belong to me! this is a masterlist of all matt murdock stories i’ve read and reblogged! just thought it would be nice to have them all in one spot! (if your fic is on here and you wish not to be, please let me know!) some will have summaries if provided <3

╭┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈╮

♦︎ i don’t want to lose you by @sergeantbuckybarnes

•You’re in a wonderful relationship with Matt, but when the Avengers defeat Thanos and everyone who got blipped is back, Bucky Barnes walks into your life again, and Matt is afraid he might lose you.

♦︎ without you pt2 by @foli-vora

•You return after the ‘blip’. Five years is a long time, and a lot of things can happen in that time. Where does that leave you now?

♦︎ neighbor!reader pt2 by @chvoswxtch

♦︎ @bellaxgiornata

• seeking forgiveness

* Matt always made protecting Hell's Kitchen his priority, you knew that when you'd begun dating him. What you hadn't expected was just how much he'd eventually make it a priority over you, breaking promise after promise to spend his time with you. But when you unexpectedly discover that you're pregnant and Matt yet again breaks a promise to you, the pair of you end up in a fight that ends the relationship before you can even break the news. Though when he later learns the truth, Matt becomes hell bent on seeking your forgiveness

• underneath the mistletoe

* Tired of enduring the obvious pining between you and Matt, Foggy and Karen plan a way to get you and Matt to admit your feelings - or at least to kiss.

• if we’re being honest pt2

* Already having an awful week, you're a bit out of it while at Josie's with your friends, too busy sulking and drinking down your feelings to keep up with conversation. The sight of Matt wandering off with a beautiful woman yet again certainly doesn't help. But when you stay behind by yourself to finish your drink and wallow a bit more, you're surprised when Matt reappears and offers to let you stay the night at his place. Eventually, the night takes a turn you weren't anticipating.

♦︎ happy little accident by @shiorimakibawrites

•You are a klutz. You are pretty used to tripping over nothing and embarrassing yourself. But this time has to be the worse. Because this time, you have gotten paint splattered all over Matt Murdock. Your handsome neighbor that you’ve has an enormous crush on.

♦︎ my tears ricochet by @peterman-spideyparker

• You and Matt Murdock come from different worlds: Matt, the son of a prize boxer from Hell’s Kitchen, you the daughter of a clothing designer and doctor on Park Ave. Meeting in law school was just chance, just was much as you falling for your friend. But fate had different paths for the two of you that pulled you apart, and you felt pain with each tear. Now, just over ten years later, you two meet again by chance, and everything and nothing has changed.

♦︎ close by @lindisworld

•Soulmate Au! In which [Name] has Daredevil as a soulmate and Matt unwillingly wants [Name] in his life. However Fate does its job and always brings them together.

♦︎ call me by @notquitecanon

•You're the Devil of Hell's Kitchen's favorite late night nurse, but he's been avoiding your fire escape since an unfortunate accident. You both miss each other just enough for some emotions to slip through the cracks. You don't even know his name, but you'll settle just to know he's alright.

♦︎ @dameronology

•moments passed

*based on say don't go by t.swift

• the defense rests

* aka romeo & juliet, except you're a hot young d.a intern & matt is a hot lawyer

♦︎ pretty boy by @saberlight1

♦︎ neighbor pt2 pt3 pt4 pt5 pt6 by @amberlynnmurdock

♦︎ deja vu by @dollwritesarchive

•you visit your boyfriend in his new dorm room

♦︎ better alone pt2 by @strangerquinns

•“it’s better if I’m alone. I can’t hurt anyone if there’s no one close enough to get hit by the debris of my fuck up.”

♦︎ baby said by @petertingle-yipyip

•(request): Hey, may I make a Matt x Reader request. Foggy wants to meet Matt's new girlfriend. Foggy and Karen are supposed to meet you at Josie's. (You and Matt have a little plan to annoy Foggy.) You arrive later than the others and walk past the trio, foggy notices you and flirts with you. The idea came to me with the quote // Matt Murdock : How would I even know she's a beautiful woman? Foggy Nelson : I don't know. It's kinda spooky, actually. But if there's a stunning woman with questionable character in the room, Matt Murdock's gonna find her, and Foggy Nelson is gonna suffer.

•MASTERLIST

•MARVEL MASTERLIST

hopefully all links work, let me know if not <3

last updated april 16, 2024

#matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #daredevil #daredevil x reader #marvel #marvel x reader #matt murdock series #matt murdock angst #matt murdock smut #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock oneshot #matt murdock imagine #daredevil imagine

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kaydenverse · 1 year

Text

paperwork

ghost x reader x soap

18+ MINORS DNI

genre: smut with a little bit of fluff

word count: little over 3k

a/n: this is my first smut in at least a year or so but i thought of this out of nowhere and cause there’s so few polyam ghostsoap fics i’m now obligated to write it. this is also my first time posting like a longer writing on here so apologies if it looks weird? also i did get a bit lazy with the end ngl, my bad. lower case is intended.

this is a gender neutral fic, they/them pronouns are used and there’s no specification of genitalia!

the readers call sign is “halo” and they’re a very skilled sniper on the task force.

content warnings: there’s plot to this? i think?, just filth for majority of this tbh, there’s a bits of tooth rotting fluff throughout tho, lots of pet names, degradation like a lot tbh but there’s praise sprinkled in, established polyam relationship, i believe in switch ghost and switch soap supremacy, edging, overstimulation, spit, begging, mask kink if you squint, all three of you are whipped BAD, uhh i think that’s all enjoy!

you would like to say you don’t know how you got here but then you’d be lying.

you know damn well that it’s both yours and johnny’s brattiness that’s got you here and you’re glad as hell it did if you’re being truthful.

first, there’s johnny.

he’s laid propped up with his back against the headboard of the bed in nothing but his blue boxer briefs and his hands gripping the sheets as he tries his absolute best not to touch you.

then there’s you who’s on your knees in between johnny’s legs that are bent in front of him and spread to make room for you. your cheek is squish against the scottish man’s lower abdomen due to simon having both your wrists pinned to your lower back and your ass propped up.

now, simon, he’s behind you staring dead into johnny’s eyes as he rolls his hips ever so slowly into yours. the teasing pace draws a pathetic whine out of you and johnny’s face flushes at the sound.

as much as johnny wants to touch you, he keeps his hands to himself and stares right back at simon through that skull mask of his as if you weren’t even there drooling like a cock-drunk idiot all over his stomach.

“i’m impressed, mctavish,” simon’s voice sounds strained as if he’s fighting off a moan. “thought you’d touch them by now.”

and johnny does want to touch you. in fact, he wants to touch you so badly he could cry. but, he’s trying to prove to simon that he can listen, that he can be good.

johnny doesn’t attempt to hide his desperation though because he knows both you and simon would see right through him. you both know him too well for him to try that.

“you gave me orders, l.t., i'm just followin’ them.” the words sound breathless leaving johnny and he can’t bring himself to care much. simon’s mask is pushed up to the bridge of his nose so johnny has a clear view of the smirk that stretches across his face.

“what a good boy, hm?” simon leans down and kisses up your spine. the kiss he gives the scar on your right shoulder you’d gotten on a mission a while back is noticeably a tad longer than the other kisses. “he’s being such a good boy, isn’t he, sweetheart?” you yelp a little when he bites down on your shoulder. a part of you wishes he’d bite hard enough to draw just a little blood.

that’d really drive you wild.

you whine, wiggling your ass desperately in an attempt you try to get him to start fucking into you again. “please, please simon, i’m so close-“

“i asked you-“ simon slid out of you completely, leaving you empty and coming down from your high yet again. “a fuckin’ question, didn’t i, doll?” now you’re the one who wants to cry.

“yes, good! he’s being so good!” you whine in frustration, looking up at johnny with the most desperate look he’s ever seen you give him. he wants to feel bad, he really does, but watching you nearly burst into tears after simon has been edging you for a full half hour has him far too excited.

“he’s being better than you at following orders right now, ” he shrugs as he lightly skates his fingers up your spine. “a first.” the taunt in his voice makes you clench around nothing.

if you weren’t so scatterbrained right now you would’ve bantered right back at him but, alas, there’s nothing going on in that pretty little head of yours except desperation and the need to cum.

johnny just now realizes how hard he’s breathing as well as the fact that if simon keeps this up he’ll come without being properly touched. it’s not helping that you’re squirming, almost frantically, right over johnny’s crotch. ghost lets out a laugh at the pleading look soap tosses him.

“now maybe if you two weren’t such brats i wouldn’t have to teach you lessons like this.”

the three of you had gathered in ghost’s office on your lunch breaks just to be around each other for a bit since each of you were busy doing your own paperwork that needed to be done. you and soap sat in the cushioned chairs facing his desk and you all munched away on your sandwiches.

soap did most of the talking and you commented here while ghost just listened. soap can never stick to one topic for long before he’s onto something else but you don’t mind, neither does ghost. you find it cute in all honesty. you’re both his favorite listeners.

you would’ve lost track of time while intensely listening to soap ramble on if ghost hadn’t glanced at the tiny clock in the corner of his computer screen.

“apologies on interrupting your rant of your least favorite lunch meats,” no one else but you and soap could’ve caught the playfulness hidden beneath ghost’s deadpan sounding words. “but it is time for you two to return to your jobs and not bother me anymore.”

soap groans and you slouch in your chair, also making a mental note of johnny’s passionate dislike for processed ham. “paperwork is boring though, ghost.” you give a poor attempt of pouting at him. “and you love when we bother you.” a true statement.

“boring or not you still have to do it, halo.” ghost leans back in his chair and hums, tugging his mask back down over the lower half of his face. he rests his arm back on the armrest, mirroring his other arm, and his legs are slightly spread.

what a sight.

you don’t even have to look over at soap to know his thinking the exact same thing. for a split second, both of you also think how you’ve scored one of the hottest men alive.

like, seriously.

wow.

“and same applies to you too, soap.” ghost says before the scot could say anything. the small tilt of ghost’s head simply makes him all the more attractive.

soap groans again but still stands up and stretches a little. “i guess we should get going and do our work.” he laughs softly and you stand up as well. “it would be nicer to be doing you though.” he winks at the lieutenant.

the joke is so corny you can’t help but laugh a little. but still, he’s speaking both of your truths.

“get going and i’ll consider letting you do so later.” ghost is quick to reply but he keeps his expression unreadable. he watches both sets of his partners eyes light up and shakes his head. “always need to be rewarded, can’t go a day without it.” he tuts loudly so you both hear his teasing and his shake is head.

“i will have it finished and on your desk within an hour, sir.” soap grins, leaning across the desk to press a kiss over ghost’s mask where his mouth would be. you follow suit and ghost’s heart nearly bursts at the gesture. he won’t ever tell either of you that

but he doesn’t need to, you both know already. you know him.

“i’ll have mine in 45.” you challenge and grin. soap rolls his eyes as he turns towards you, cupping your face in one hand.

“oh, you’re on.” soap smirks at you before kissing you gently. you don’t let him pull back, though. when he does try to pull back you chase after his lips and kiss him again. this only happens twice before the soft whine you let out helps soap catch onto your silly little plan.

he keeps his lips on yours and cups your other cheek while your hands go to his hips, thumbs digging into them just the way he likes. you let him nudge you backwards so you’re sat on the edge of ghost’s desk with your back to the masked man.

you both just go at it, for lack of better words.

ghost just watches. he makes no sounds and keeps his reaction hidden exceptionally well. the only time he moves is to catch the pencil holder you nearly knock over when shoving a hand onto the desk to keep soap from knocking you over with the force of his kisses.

ghost straights the pencil holder, slotting a pen that fell out of the container back in before he finally speaks. “paperwork. get on it. now.”

you two fly apart like you’ve been caught, like ghost hadn’t just be sitting directly behind his very misbehaved partners kissing intensely for a full three minutes.

“yes, sir.”

“i’m on it, l.t.”

“what? now you wanna give me puppy eyes and beg? now you feel sorry for what you started?” the stare simon gives johnny almost makes the scot nearly moan, “or maybe i should place the blame on you?” he leans back down and rests his chin on your shoulder, “i mean,” his voice drops an octave or two as he plants a kiss behind your ear. “you are the one who started up that little stunt. johnny was just being a good boy and following along.”

now, both you and johnny know the ‘no one is allowed to cum until i say’ rule is in place at the moment but my god, was simon making it incredibly difficult just from his words alone. degradation with just the lightest sprinkle of praise gets you and soap ecstatic and simon takes full advantage of that constantly.

“ooh you’re so worked up, si. glad my plan worked.” you’ve finally pieced enough of your brain back together to smart mouth again.

johnny almost shakes his head at you, almost tells you ‘now we’re really in for it.’ but simon is quick to manhandle you onto your back and latch a hand around your throat. johnny whines from the pressure of your back against his clothed, leaking cock and you whine from the pressure simon puts on your throat. a shameless moan rips from you when simon gives a little squeeze.

simon leans in close to your face, giving you a stare that could kill. “were you just that desperate for me to fuck you that you have to go around plotting stupid little fuckin’ schemes for it to happen, hm? need me to fuck you as a reward for everything? must want me to if you had to come up with a plan to make sure it’d happen.”

and just like that, you’re gone again. every single thought being replaced by one’s of simon and johnny, nothing more.

your whole body jerks when simon’s free hand reaches back down between your legs and he uses his middle and ring finger to slowly trace over your hole, both to tease you and as a subtle way of checking that you’ve still got enough wetness to take him again. of course you’d still have enough though, he’s got you so worked up you’re shaking and johnny has tears of desperation starting to prick at his eyes.

“open.” the hand around your throat moves up and his thumb taps your lips gently. you obliged and simon leans down and spits directly into your mouth. you swallow with no hesitation.

johnny’s hips immediately buck up against your back at the sight, “fucks sake.” he breathes out and drops his head back to look at the ceiling.

“eyes on me, sargent.” simon almost growls. johnny hesitates for a second before looking back down at the two of you. it takes everything in john “soap” mctavish's body to not cum on the spot.

ghost has let you sit up a little and leave various hickies and bite marks along his chest. he’s let his guard down just a little and johnny already knows what he’s gonna ask. “i’m good.” he breathes.

“same.” you murmur as you bite down on that spot on simon’s neck that always makes him groan. with that, as quick as the soft moment came, it’s gone again and simon presses two fingers into you. “simon!” you’re caught off guard and whine.

“they’re so fuckin’ wet.” simon hums to johnny who smiles a little. you love it when they talk about you like you’re not even there.

“i bet,” johnny almost reaches out to pet the top of your head but immediately stops upon the warning look simon gives him. it takes simon all but two minutes before you’re whining and bucking your hips the way you do just before you cum.

this time, a tear or two does slide down your face when simon’s fingers leave you empty again. you want to beg, to plead with the lieutenant but all you do is pant and shake. “so pretty.” simon pats your right cheek twice, making sure to smear some of your wetness on your cheek. johnny chuckles when you toss simon a very annoyed glare.

“please.” you manage. the wrecked tone you say it in actually works and simon sits up, tugging you a tad closer to him, so your upper back is pressed right against johnny’s bulge. the movement makes johnny groan again but simon ignores him. why does johnny find simon ignoring him right now so hot?

“since you asked so nicely, darling,” simon hums, finally sliding himself back into you. johnny isn’t sure if he’d rather be in your position or simon’s as he watches simon pick up the pace, fucking into you fast and hard.

you’re falling apart and falling apart fast. you’re moaning, whining, whimpering, just the full show. you should be embarrassed at how quickly you approach your release (four minutes. still better than johnny’s record of about 25 seconds one time.) but it’s been ripped away from you so many times in the past 45 minutes you don’t care in the slightest. when simon shifts his angle just right and nudges into that perfect spot, you know you’re done for.

“can i,” you pant, clawing at simon’s bicep and squirming back against johnny who looks like he’s about to lose it. “please, sir.”

now you knew, you knew, what that title does to him in moments like this. it’s near impossible for him to not want to give you everything and more when you pathetically beg him like that.

“fuck, yes, go ahead let go for me.”

simon barely gets all the words out before you’re arching up into him and your orgasm hits you like a fucking bus. you’re swearing up a storm, simon and johnny’s names mixed in as well.

behind you, johnny is not-so-subtly rutting against your upper-back. simon glares up at johnny for breaking his order to stay but that look, that glare, that’s what has johnny smacking face first into his high only moments after yours. simon should’ve known that would happen.

johnny’s hands fly into your hair and he grabs which punches a high pitched whimper from your chest.

simon just knows he’s going to think about this exact moment frequently for the rest of his life.

simon stills his hips and sits up back on his haunches he watches you make a mess around his cock and johnny make a mess of his briefs behind you.

“where’s my thank you, darling?” simon hums as he slowly drags his hands up your sides. the touch is overwhelming but a good kind of overwhelming.

“th- oh god,” you breathe out when he pinches one of your nipples. “thank you.” you feel boneless under simon as he hums happily at your response. you can feel johnny panting behind you as well as the sticky wetness of his release on your upper back.

“johnny boy lost.” you giggle lightly after a minute or two of catching your breath and putting your brain back together. you tilted your head back to look up at said johnny boy behind you. he’s got a blush that’s spreading down to his shoulder making the freckles that dot them stick out even more.

johnny is staring up at the ceiling and his entire body is buzzing. “uh-huh,” is all he can think to say to which you and simon smile at. you swear your heart skips a beat when you catch a glimpse of simon’s dimples.

simon leans over you and presses a kiss onto the center of johnny’s chest. “hey, i wanna kiss him.” you grumbled and nudged at simon to get off (and out) of you. simon plants a quick kiss on your lips before completing your request. you flip over and you’re on johnny in a second, the both of you smiling and laughing into each other’s mouths.

simon just contently watches for a few moments before tapping your hip. “oi, my turn.” he doesn’t mean for that to come out so playful, wanting to keep up the tough guy act right now, but he can’t help it. you roll onto your side next to johnny. johnny waves simon over and pats his thighs. simon shuffles forward and straddles the other man’s hips.

johnny looks so small with simon seated in his lap despite them being near the same height. the scottish man has to tilt his head up to get a proper look at his boyfriend’s partially masked face.

“you’re so pretty, baby.” johnny’s accent sounds thick as he presses a kiss to simon’s throat. simon only hums, a little worried that if he spoke he’d sound whiny. “take care of me and our lovely darling so well.” he wraps his arms around the lieutenant and plants more kisses around his collarbone.

you watch that switch in simon’s mind flip and he’s suddenly all mush in johnny’s hold, a soft whine slipping from his lips when johnny bites over one of the hickies you had left on him.

only you and johnny know how to flip that switch.

simon is only ever this vulnerable and relaxed around you two. his two. soap and halo, johnny and you. you’re the only two who can just make him melt on command. just piece the right words together in that gentle tone of either of yours and he’s done for, down for the count. he’s just ready to do anything either of you ask. that makes you smile as you watch them.

simon leans down and kisses johnny before any further praises are said. johnny immediately rocks his hips into simon’s and they moan into each others mouths. they start off a little slow but it doesn’t take long before they’re both desperate and rutting against each other like their lives depend on it.

you’re perfectly content just watching them fall apart against each other, soft groans and hushed praises filling the room.

you love it.

you love them.

crazy that your distressing, life-risking job has led you to the most perfect people you could’ve ever imagined.

you’re pulled back out of your thoughts when simon lets out the prettiest whine as he cums onto johnny’s stomach and his own. johnny had gotten riled up again and was shaking through his second orgasm.

you roll over to the bedside dresser and fetch a washcloth out of the drawer. johnny takes it and gently wiped off the both of them and tries to wipe you off but with a 6’4” soldier dramatically slumped against him in his lap it’s not the easiest.

“such a baby.” you snort at simon and take the towel from him instead so you can wipe yourself down. simon, affectionally, flashes his middle finger at you before he finally rolls off of johnny and squishes himself between the two of you.

the three of you lay in comfortable silence for a few minutes, basking in each other’s presence and getting comfortable cuddled together. you’re the first to speak again, “you know, i don’t think i deserved to be edged that long.” you flip onto your stomach as you look over at them.

“oh you’ve handled longer, don’t complain.” simon teases and he’s right. just a month or so ago johnny had you in tears after a full hour of denial and simon just watched from a seat in the corner of the room. johnny laughs in agreement.

“and you love it so now you really can’t complain.” johnny grins when you flip him off. simon snorts and tugs his mask all the way back down.

“are you not hot right now, mate?” soap taps the cheek of ghosts mask.

“i am.”

“then why didn’t you take it off?”

“cause you’ve both got a thing for it, especially you, sweetheart.” ghost nods towards you. well…he’s got you both there.

“well, you’ve got a thing for my accent.” johnny defends himself.

“and my hands.” you hum, drumming your fingers on simon’s bare chest. simon doesn’t bother to defend himself because you’re both right.

you prop yourself up on your elbows. “hey, how come he got off so easy?” you huff. johnny had only been instructed to keep his hands to himself and stay still. he ended up breaking both those rules in the end

“cause he turned his papers in at the time he promised. one hour. you took, two hours to finish yours.”

“i got distracted!”

“distracted by what exactly?”

“…thinking about you and johnny…”

“typical.”

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cozy-cinnamon-roll · 11 days

Text

Stitches (Part II)

(Read Part I Here! used to be We Interrupt This Broadcast... changed the name because I feel like this fits better 😅)

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Pairing: Ler!Rosie, Ler!OC, Lee!Alastor (strictly platonic)

Content/Trigger Warnings: tickling, very brief blood mention, medical themes (non-graphic & painless). And again, this is set right after Alastor gets his ass handed to him by Adam, so you can expect some angst (don't worry, he gets better).

If there are any trigger warnings you'd like me to add in the future (and/or to this fic), PLEASE let me know! I am always happy to oblige. 💕

This is a ticklefic! If that's not your cup of tea, kindly move along.

"Almost ready" I said. "Basically finished" I said. Sorry y'all, the Chronic Illness Fairy struck. 😅 I will say this was my favorite part to write, but also the one I'm most uncertain about... bit more angst in this installment and I'm not much of an angst writer lol... but with Rosie in the mix (especially as a ler), angst never lasts long. 🥰

Also I changed the title. Hopefully it's not confusing that way... cuz without Part 1 this fic makes zero sense 😅

One last thing... I'm so happy y'all like Trudy! Was thinking about posting a lil sketch of her at some point (I need a new insomnia project now that this fic is done 😅). I've been having a truly awful few weeks on the anxiety front, so all the positive feedback on Part I has been quite literally making my days 💕

Hope you enjoy!!

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"Ooh, you stubborn little bastard. You're still gonna refuse to laugh?" Rosie mutters.

Alastor doesn't dare try to speak. All he can manage is a defiant shake of his head.

"Look, my friend. If you 'don't mind a little tickling,' and getting all giggly is your specialty…" Rosie tweaks his bottom rib, eliciting a noise that comes just short of a squeak. "What, exactly, is the problem here?"

"I'm supposed to be in control!" he grinds out through his twitching grin.

"You are in control, sir." Trudy abruptly withdraws her hands, holding them up innocently. "You can tell me to stop at any time."

Alastor cringes. He was sorta hoping no one would point that out.

"Which is why I find it so fascinating that you haven't yet." A sly smirk creeps across Rosie's face.

Oh, for fuck's sake.

"I- I'm humoring you!"

"Humoring me?" Rosie tilts her head. "My dear, I hope you're not doing this just for my sake. If you don't want Trudy to check for further injury-"

"No, I do! O-on my terms!"

"This is on your terms."

"Yes, but-"

"In fact, you insisted."

He stumbles again, before mumbling another meager, "…to humor you!"

Trudy shoots her boss a disoriented look - but Rosie, as usual, is hearing her friend loud and clear.

"Alastor." Rosie rolls her eyes, gestures for Trudy to step aside, and scoots over to place a hand on his knee. "Adam is dead. Everyone in hell thinks you're either succumbing to your wounds in some remote gutter or hiding in whatever alternate dimension you just spent the last seven years. You're not even 'on air'." She leans in. "You can drop the act for a moment, if it's what you need."

That certainly hits the mark. For the first time, Alastor's smile falters - not completely dropping, but certainly losing much of the strained quality it's had since he arrived.

"I wish I could, my dear."

Encouraged, Rosie continues. "Well, what's stopping ya? As much as I love spending time with Alastor the Radio Demon… if you wanna take this opportunity to let out whoever's underneath that effervescent grin of yours, you know we wouldn't mind."

Alastor swallows - and for the first time in a decades, Rosie finds his expression difficult to read. "Rosie, I'm afraid I can't really..."

"I mean, you've been holding that same silly show-host-smile for years! Don't tell me you've never gotten tired of it!"

"It's sewn on, Rosie."

"…What?"

He hesitates. "Let's just say today wasn't the first time I've been, ah... stitched up." As he speaks, he gestures to his toothy grin. And for once, there's not a trace of distortion in his voice.

Rosie's dark eyes go wide when she realizes what he means. The cannibal overlord just stands there for a beat, in an uncharacteristic moment of shock.

But, being Rosie, she quickly recovers. "Well, so what?"

"I'm just saying, I'm afraid I can't really drop the act."

"Nonsense! Since when has your act had anything to do with your face?" Rosie flicks her hand, as if brushing the thought aside. "Who cares if you can't show genuine Alastor. I wanna hear him."

"But my microphone..."

"You're doing just fine without it."

Once again, this attempt at reassurance only makes Alastor look more disturbed. "Th-this can't be me!"

"...Well, no. This right here sure isn't the Alastor I know. But…"

Alastor is barely listening to her anymore. His broadcast persona has been his sole identity since he was alive. Now his radio tower has been reduced to rubble, his microphone snapped clean in half, even his carefully-styled clothing left in tatters…

If this is the Genuine Alastor he's now stuck with - panicked, stuttering, weak - he can't imagine how he'll ever be able to face the rest of hell…

But these racing thoughts are once again interrupted by nails tracing up his sides. A sharp yelp cuts the air as poor Alastor just about jumps out of his skin.

"…Perhaps I can offer a little help?" Rosie suggests gently, once she has his undivided (and adorably flustered) attention. "On your terms, of course?"

Alastor just gazes back at her for a long moment. "What do you have in mind?"

"I happen to know something about you that even you can't fake."

The radio demon hesitates… before heaving a sigh and, to Rosie's surprise, giving a small nod of consent.

She breaks into a brilliant (and frankly terrifying) smile.

Before Alastor can brace himself, Rosie's hands have both found his sides and begun working into his waist. Having just watched him squirm around under Trudy's thorough probing twice (and adored every second of it), she already has a pretty good idea of where his worst spots are.

Which is made abundantly clear by Alastor's reaction. Within seconds he's gone from still trying to hold it all in by habit, to giggling into his hands, to cackling hysterically.

And it's the kind of laughter she's spent the last seven years missing. This isn't the confident, taunting chuckle he brings out for battles or brushing off rivals; this is bright, helpless, occasionally hiccuping laughter, the kind that is nearly impossible for him to stop once he starts - and the kind she only has the privilege of hearing when something truly amuses him.

"You can't sew your laughter on," Rosie reminds him. "This is all yours."

Rosie's fingers creep up under his shirt to scribble on bare tummy, adding a couple new sweet spots to her mental catalogue. This technique brings out even more of her favorite little quirks: the way he bats playfully (and completely ineffectually) at her wrists; his repeated attempts to speak around his laughter that only result in frantic spurts of incomprehensible, giggle-laced gibberish.

As she traces her nails across his lower belly she also finds a tiiiny layer of unexpected pudge. Which probably shouldn't surprise her - he's been out of the battle scene for seven years, after all. All those deer carcasses have to go somewhere.

Regardless, she finds it terribly endearing for some reason... and the surge of affection translates into a corresponding surge in the intensity of Rosie's tickles.

"AHaha! Ro- Rosie!" he blurts, his voice jumping a full octave higher than normal. "Stop!!"

Rosie removes her hands immediately. "Stop?"

"Aha- ah- well- I mean, er…" He stumbles breathlessly, and gives a sheepish cough.

"You didn't really want me to stop, did you?"

Rosie resumes with a chuckle, reeling herself in just a little. "How 'bout we say... oh... 'enough,' if you really want me to quit?"

Of course, she has to go and say it out loud.

"M-more of a reflehex..." he admits reluctantly.

Alastor tosses a shaky thumbs-up at her, already too lost in his own giggles to manage a verbal reply.

And he's gotta admit… Rosie was absolutely right. He wouldn't stop her right now for all the souls in hell. There's a reason Alastor has the most recognizable evil cackle of any other overlord. He can't help but find dissolving into laughter as cathartic and exhilarating as always - even if this time, it's not at some poor soul's misfortune. It's a result of his best friend's affection for her darling deer demon.

"As fun as getting your soft little belly is," Rosie muses, pausing to let Alastor catch his breath for a moment, "I can't help but wonder if you're ticklish anywhere else…"

Alastor may be off the air, but Rosie can practically hear the screech of microphone feedback just by the look on his face. "….I plead the fifth."

"Have you considered his ears?" Trudy pipes up shyly. While she'd managed to restrain herself behind an impeccably professional bedside manner earlier, it had taken everything in her power not to stroke Alastor's ears when she'd been close enough to do so. They were just. so. fluffy.

"Ohhh, heavens…" Alastor, for his part, curls in on himself at the mere suggestion.

Rosie grins. "Hey, 'no' is always an option."

A long pause. Alastor can't believe he's considering this. But the sensation of being tickled, as unbearable as it is, does feel awfully pleasant… and it's been so long since anyone has dared to touch him…

And what else does he have to lose at this point, anyway?

"I suppose if you're… very gentle…"

"Are you aware that your ears are the softest thing in the nine circles?"

This stipulation ends up backfiring. When it comes to his ears, gentle is worse. So, so much worse.

Poor Alastor is too busy clutching his stomach and snickering madly into his sleeve to reply.

"I should know, I work in retail. These right here-" Rosie traces her fingers down the feathery-soft edges, sending the radio demon into a new round of hysterics. "-Would fetch a pretty penny."

"They're nohot for saHA-ale!!"

"Nooo, I should say not." Rosie's hapless victim lurches back into the cushions as her fingers find the fluffy region at the base of his ears. Even without the microphone, his cackles have no problem filling the room. "You're the only demon classy enough to wear them."

"And don' you - GAHaha! - f-forget it!" He's so drunk on laughter now that he's beginning to slur his words. His careful elocution has gone the same place as his steady tone, and lack of stutter.

Luckily, he's also far too drunk on laughter to care.

...Right about there, Rosie notices that the faint hum of radio static in the air is no longer just in her head.

He is laughing his heart out for the first time in weeks. Genuinely laughing for the first time in decades. And laughing completely for himself, for his own enjoyment, without need for intimidation or control or image or audience, for the first time since long before he died.

While Trudy typically can't say much for her self-preservation instinct, she's got enough of one to feel hesitant joining her boss in tickling the most powerful overlord in hell (outside the pretense of medical intervention, at least). So she just stands back, watching fondly as The Most Dangerous Overlord This Side of the Pentagram utterly destroys the deer demon.

...At least, until she notices a flicker of green light out of the corner of her eye. Lying forgotten on the end table, the splintered ends of Alastor's microphone are sparking and crackling like live wires.

The surgeon creeps over for a closer look, staring in fascination. And then - just as Rosie gets poor Alastor behind the ears and delivers a scribble to his tummy at the same time - she ever-so-gently nudges the fractured ends closer to one another.

To her surprise, a bright green spark arcs clear across the gap. For a fraction of a second, the whole staff radiates a flash of a familiar green glow.

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

"Keep him laughing, Rosie," Trudy murmurs over her shoulder. It appears the Radio Demon's downfall will be nothing more than an intermission.

Thanks for being so patient with me y'all! Hope it was worth the wait 💕

💜- Cozy

#lee!alastor #ler!rosie #ticklish!alastor #oh deer he's ticklish #hazbin hotel tickling #hazbin hotel tickles #ticklefic #dr. trudy sawblade #my ocs

61 notes · View notes

ririglow · 1 year

Text

Here With Me | Joe Burrow

pairings: joe burrow x artistic reader

warnings: short fic, sexual innuendos, language, an abrupt ending (I really wanted this out my drafts)

genre: fluff

synopsis: joe becomes needy for his girlfriend who is too occupied in her workshop to notice.

You felt two things: relaxation and inner peace. The clump of earthenware clay spun softly before you on the pottery wheel. In the right-hand corner, there was a small bowl of water you could dip your fingers into. It took several tries to mold the stubborn clay into the desired shape, only for you to huff and groan in frustration. After it finally turned out to be in your favor, discouragement gradually turned into elation. Pottery has been in your life since high school you've found it to be relaxing and has the ability to showcase your creativity. As music blared throughout your charming workshop and natural light filtered through the open windows, it was clear you were in a happy mood.

Guiding the long blade-shaped tool along the brownish-red terracotta, you smoothed out any imperfections. Holding in a breath you carefully looked over it a couple more times without making any mistakes like you did before. Your mood is perfectly portrayed by the next song on your playlist, Lizzo's "About Damn Time." As you look over the unfinished vase you smile widely.

Oh, I've been so down and under pressure

I'm way too fine to be this stressed, yeah

Oh, I'm not the girl I was or used to be

"Uh, Bitch, I might be better!" You sing along noisily, bobbing your head along the beat, still intensely focused on what you're creating. The last thing you want is to make a major blunder in the sculpture you've been trying to perfect for the past thirty minutes? Or is it forty five? Regardless, you've come too far to mess up now.

'Babe, It sounds like you're having a party without me,' Joe's voice comes from the small walkie that's been attached to the front pocket of your worn-out overalls. Your workshop was on the opposite side of the fairly large house, where you spent most of your free time when you weren't working. To stay in touch if you couldn't get hold of each other, you thought of having walkie-talkies. At first, Joe was hesitant about the proposal, wondering why not simply use our phones? "Because walkies are way cooler," you responded. And the fact you've always wanted one.

"Babyyy," Joe says again. "Are you finished yet? I miss you, and Joey B Jr misses you as well."

He did not just say-

You rolled your eyes at the last part; even if you wanted to respond, you couldn't because your hands were caked with clay and you were currently preoccupied with something far more important than sex.

"Fine." He mutters disappointed at the fact he was met with silence. "I made dinner and it's your favorite." He stated in a persuasive manner.

Okay, now that definitely piqued your interest You couldn't stop your mouth from watering at the mention of food; you hadn't eaten since that morning, and it was now quarter past five, and you were long overdue for a good meal. However, the persistence of completing the task at hand continues to shape you. You continue the main project while ignoring your needy boyfriend.

Joe huffed in the middle of the kitchen, thwarted by your lack of response. You'd been gone all day, and the last time he saw you was when he kissed you goodbye before heading off to Black Sheep for his daily workout. Joe arrived home, exhausted from the intensity of the exercises, looking forward to finally having you all to himself. You have little time together these days, whether he's on a trip for endorsement deals or you're being a conscientious worker by working the extra hours at your job. It's been a literal hell, and he needs you now more than ever. He remembers his mood boasting when you mentioned that your job had granted you a day off, much like an addict who has finally gotten their fix.

When he entered your shared home, however, the expectation was that you would eagerly engulf him in your sweet embrace. But he found you occupied in your creative craft space, muttering obscenities at the disfigured clay in front of you. He had no worries since he knew that eventually you'd get fed up with it and come spend the remainder of your spare time with him. But that never happened, and the minutes he waited quickly turned into hours. You were still not out of that damn craft cave, so Joe picked up the plate of food and headed in the same direction you were.

He walked in to find you in your own little world, noticing that you were in the early stages of creating—whatever you had planned. Joe walked over to the blaring music coming from the Portable speaker and turned it down, almost completely off.

You quickly look over your shoulder to see your boyfriend standing there in just a pair of grey sweatpants, holding a plate of delicious provisions you were sure made by the chef—not him. His hair looked slightly wet as a few strands drip down his forehead giving off his usual post-shower look. Joe examined your appearance, noting how adorable you looked with clay on your cheek, and arms along with some scattered on your light-washed overalls, which barely covered your bare breasts underneath.

You looked so fucking cute and hot at the same time, not either, but both. He mentally groaned, wanting nothing more than to just hold you, kiss you, bite you, anything to satisfy his need for you among other sinful fantasies.

Call him dramatic but not being near you for nearly half the day has made him miss you terribly.

"Okay! Time to wrap this up." He announced walking further into the room.

"What? No!" You couldn't stop now not when you were in the rhythm of things going good.

"What do you mean no? You've been in here for hours and you haven't even eaten anything." He said as he gather a nice amount of food with the fork before shoving it in front of your face. "Say-ahh"

Not taking your eyes away from the clay you immediately opened your mouth welcoming the delicious food. He was right you had been in here for quite some time but you didn't want to stop not when this adorable pink mug is turning out the way you wanted it to.

"Ten more minutes?" You knew he was growing angsty considering this was one of the rare days you two have the opportunity to spend time with each other.

He wanted to protest and question the veracity of the time you provided. Ten more fucking minutes what were you going to do with that mug in ten minutes? It seems already finished to him. To be honest he was quite curious. Instead of whining that he in fact can't wait much longer, he took a seat by your workshop bench that had all of the previous work you had done earlier each one was better than the other. He admires your persistence and determination especially when it comes to your craft whether it's painting, sketching, or gardening.

"Babe, how many did you make?" He chuckles analyzing the different shapes and sizes of mugs, miniature vases, and even a bowl.

They were definitely eye-catching in a good way, every single one of them had different patterns and colors. So bright and bubbly. Just like you.

"Huh? Oh! They're for my co-workers." You looked up for a split second before returning back to you task.

Joe immediately furrowed his eyebrows. "Babe...."

There are times when he dislikes your overly kind nature. As selfish as it sounds it sometimes gets in the way of you and him. Like now.

"I know, I know! But Reece made his rounds around the office showing everyone the cup I made him for his birthday. And the ones I accepted I promise to have them done by tomorrow." You explained.

"Wait Reece is a guy?!" Joe asked. He'd heard you mentioned the birthday present last week and but didn't know it was for a guy at work

"He is married and has kids that's around our age Joe." You said rolling your eyes.

He shrugs and grumbles. "So why he couldn't ask one of those kids to make him one then?"

"Because they don't got the skills like do." You said smugly.

"You sure do got skills." He smirked watching your hands place a new clump of earthenware on the wheel watching your wet messy hands gently cradled it into shape. "....a helluva technique too."

Like clockwork all the cockiness you expressed prior now turns into bashfulness. He watched the shy smile crept on your face as you tried to intensely concentrate on the clay. He finds it incredibly amusing the demeanor you show now is the complete opposite in the bedroom.

"Shut up, you are messing me up." You said trying not to laugh dipping your hands into the bowl of water.

When your hand made contact with the water it made a high pitched slapping sound.

"I know that noise all too well." He says leaning his elbow on his knees to get a better look at your reaction.

"Oh my god, would you stop?" You laughed your face began to become warm as you flickered droplets of water in his direction.

"Okay fine." He said with a chuckle. "Can I try?"

You looked at him surprise.

"Really?!" You asked eagerly.

Joe smiles at your excitement and nods his head. "It looks easy, plus you have five minutes left, and I would rather help you in the last few minutes."

"Are you giving me the opportunity to live out my Ghost fantasy right now?"

"I don't know what that means." He grimaced.

"You know the movie Ghost? With Patrick and Demi?"

He looks at you puzzled. "What?"

"You seriously never watched Ghost?"

"Babe you know I don't watch horror."

"It's not scary." You exclaim looking like he got three heads. "Oh, we have some work to do on your movie tastes."

"I know, you never fail to remind me." He playfully rolled his eyes.

You peeked at him expectantly. "Well? What are you waiting for? Get over here."

He immediately stood up and practically rushed over. You told him to sit behind you on the bench that was big for the two of you. His large legs enclose yours comfortably and his arms followed suit.

"Finally!" He exclaimed muffled by his face buried in your neck as he squeezed you tightly around your midsection. As he breathed in your sweet scent, he became enchanted. Like always.

"Joe!" You giggle softly due to his lips tickling you. Loving every second of it.

After a couple more minutes of him smothering you with tiny kisses alongside your neck. He finally let up and focus on the task at hand. You instructed him to control the pedal as you guided his hand movements. Your smaller hands cover his large ones.

His bare chest is pressed against your back and you couldn't help but to lean into him. There is no doubt that you missed his touch as much as he missed yours. You look at him and are surprised to see him focus intensely on the clay, it was a blubbering mess and completely ruined due to how heavy-handed he is.

Speaking of his hands...They were oddly attractive covered in clay and water.

"Babe? Are you listening?" He said snapping your away from your thoughts.

Clearing your throat you quickly compose yourself. " Sorry, I was zoned out for a bit."

"Jesus, am I really that bad?" He places his chin on your shoulder titling his head slightly to get a better look at you.

You glance down at the disfigured clay that's continuously spinning. "It's fine to play with it sometimes."

Joe's entire body tenses up. His mind stuck in the gutter.

"Oh yeah? well, what if I want to play with something else?" He takes his foot off the pedal stopping the spinning wheel. Your faces were just inches apart he could make out the tiny freckles across the bridge of your nose. That's one of the features he loves most about you.

The first is being those bright and dazzling eyes staring back at him that are now darkened with familiar lust.

#joe burrow #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow x black reader #joe burrow x oc

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itgetzweird08 · 2 months

Text

Stuck.

Katsuki Bakugo x Gender Neutral!Reader Angst Hcs

A fic based on July by Noah Cyrus (I am so NOT sorry for this :)

Warnings: Nothing major, just mentions of drinking, implied cheating, and heavy language. Also general angst

A/N: I know a lot of y'all want the next part of Endevour's Secret Daughter and The Spark That Lit His Fuse. I'm working on it I swear, just got a little writer's block. But I promise I'll get it done soon! For now, enjoy this sob fest :))

I've been holding my breath

I've been counting to ten

Over something you said

The stress of growing as a hero was heavy, of course, you knew, but recently Bakugo seemed to be taking it out on you. When there was a bad mission, he would come home with a hard slam of the door, sparing you nothing but a hard glare. He would push you off and away when you would offer comfort, and when you tried to suggest he take a breath, he raised his voice to you.

“Can you get fuckin lost? Hell, I wish you would stop being so fucking annoying!”

I've been holding back tears

While you're throwing back beers

I'm alone in bed

This wasn’t a once-off either, as now it seemed like he would snap every time you would look at him. You felt like you had to hold your breath every time you were around him. But now, it seemed like everything was only getting worse. At least for a while, he would still come home, but now there were nights where you laid in the cold bed alone for hours until he would come back smelling like sweat and beer... and perfume.

You know I, I'm afraid of change

Guess that's why we stay the same

You knew you could leave, you knew you should. But fuck- something in you just couldn’t handle the thought of losing him. You had been together for so long, you liked the consistency of your relationship. And you didn’t want to feel as if you were giving up. You never gave up. To you, this was all just a hard challenge that you would overcome eventually. This hard roadblock would pass…wouldn’t it?

So tell me to leave

I'll pack my bags, get on the road

If he told you to leave, you would. But you wouldn’t be able to just give up on your own, not while you still felt some semblance of hope that your relationship could survive this.

Find someone that loves you

Better than I do, darling, I know

You wouldn’t be mad if he did decide to leave. Maybe he was right, maybe you weren’t cut out to be the partner of the number two hero. You were quirkless, and went to school for art. You knew nothing about having a special ability or hero work for that matter. Maybe he needed someone who did understand.

'Cause you remind me every day

I'm not enough, but I still stay

“What the hell do you know? You’re quirkless, you’re nothing. You’ll never be able to understand what I’m going through.”

Feels like a lifetime

Just trying to get by while we're dying inside

Six months…you’ve been stuck like this with Bakugo for six months. Nothing has gotten better. The small spark of hope you had for the relationship was slowly fizzling out. Now every bit of this relationship felt like torture. And yet you didn’t go anywhere.

I've done a lot of things wrong

Loving you being one

But I can't move on

You knew there were probably plenty of people in this world for you. But none of them were Katsuki. Maybe falling for him was a mistake. Everyone had warned you whenever news got out that you were dating him. Even his own friends, while teasing, dropped subtle hints.

‘I’m surprised anyone could stand him’

‘I can’t believe he found someone he’s considered worthy’

‘Thanks for putting up with him, I know he can be..a lot’

No matter what they said, you didn’t listen. You could never regret loving Katsuki.

So tell me to leave

I'll pack my bags, get on the road

“You’re too much of a distraction. You’re only holding me back.”

“What are you saying, Kats?”

“...I’m done, Y/N. I need to focus on being number one, not on being your boyfriend.”

Find someone that loves you

Better than I do, darling, I know

‘Dynamite and Uravity, Japan’s new IT Couple’

'Cause you remind me every day

I'm not enough, but I still stay

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aziraphales-library · 3 months

Note

Hello, lovely admins! I've gotten the itch for fics where Aziraphale becomes a fallen angel, I don't know why, but I do. Any recommendations? Pls and thank you 💙💙

We have a #fallen angel aziraphale tag you can check out. Here are some post-series two fics in which Aziraphale falls to add to the collection...

Aziraphale Come Down by TheNapoleonOfCrime (T)

Crowley stared at the television with wide eyes, dropping the drink he held right on the floor and causing it to shatter. He watched the video that had been captured of the angel, his angel, Aziraphale, walk through the busy roads like nothing. Aziraphale, his friend who he always knew to be cautious, to be perfect, walking around as if he was drunk. And his wings, what had happened to them? What had they done to him? Without another thought, Crowley ran out of the bar he had been so comfortably situated in. “Angel-!”

If You Don't Recognize Yourself (That Means You Did It Right) by Lem00nOak (T)

Aziraphale is Supreme Archangel, he's where he is meant to be, where he can make a difference, a change. Or is he? A story about betrayal, falling, self-hatred and acceptance with a sprinkle of love +*+*+* Or my prediction for Season 3

when my time comes around (lay me gently in the cold, dark earth) by fluffy_miracle (E)

After a millennium of service to Heaven as the Supreme Archangel, in the midst of a troubled time for Heaven, the most unexpected occurrence happens to Aziraphale. He Falls. And Hell is somehow there to pick up the pieces with a lot of familiar faces and an unusually kind Ruler of Darkness at the helm. Hell is transformed from the terrible place Aziraphale had known it to be-- and so it becomes the place where he gets one more chance to start over and finally let himself be just Aziraphale-- nobody with no allegiance to anything-- except maybe Crowley. But Crowley isn't available, not like he used to be, and the new fallen angel has to learn to deal with himself, and heal, before they can meet again properly. Even if he has missed him desperately after all this time. Especially since he no longer has to be God's strongest soldier anymore...

Bad Omen by lavender_mo0n (T)

There is a common misconception that owls are a bad omen, a warning sign for death and destruction that is to come. On the contrary, a better way to describe it is to say that they are a symbol of change. That change may come in the form of death, but perhaps that is more in reference to the death of life as we know it.

No Light, No Light by PolarisVega (T)

Aziraphale left his life on Earth behind to take the job as the new Supreme Archangel of Heaven. Delighted to be welcomed back and to have finally earned the respect of Heaven, Aziraphale is doing as much Good as he can from the inside. But when Heaven's plans for the second coming of the Apocalypse are revealed. The consequences of his choices, past and present, are greater than he ever imagined.

Grip Me Tight and Raise Me From Perdition by LyricalKris (M)

It was a trap. Of course, it was a trap. The Metatron had been counting Aziraphale’s sins since that first lie in Eden. If ever an angel deserved to be a demon, it was this one. Trouble was, the only one who knew how to turn an angel into a demon was God, and She hadn’t been around lately. But that wouldn’t stop Hell from trying, now would it? Not every day they got their hands on a powerless, fallen angel. And bonus, nobody knew where he was, so there would be no interruptions from filthy, red-haired and yet overprotective traitors. Trapped in a pitch-black, super-heated room in a deep pit of Hell, a tormented, abandoned angel prayed to a demon who was too angry and heartbroken to listen.

- Mod D

#good omens #good omens s2 #ineffable husbands #fallen angel aziraphale #hurt/comfort #mod d

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callsign-marlie · 2 years

Text

Acts of Service (18+)

pairing: bradley "rooster" bradshaw x wife!reader warning: 18+ (minors dni!!!), unedited, porn with plot, switching perspective, bradley's an ass man, massage, f-feet for a line?, oral (f receiving), reader gets the softest ride of her life, unprotected s3x (please wrap it before you tap it), face down ass up that's the way we like to fUCK, dog tag kink, creampie finish summary: a stressful day leaves rooster's hardworking wife in need of a massage. she's lucky rooster's got the "magic touch" to make all of her pain disappear. a/n: @mandoowhorian wanted Rooster the Ass Man™ giving back shots and i am a simple woman, who am i to deny? HAVE A WHOLE ASS (pun intended!) FIC, CONGRATULATIONS FOR GETTING MY BRAINWORM STIMULATED.

--- Rooster liked to think he's a kind man. He donated to charity, helped little old ladies cross the street and even volunteered some time at the local children's hospital to read stories to the kids there. He found joy in helping others feel better. Seeing a smile on someone else's face because of a simple gesture he did made him feel incredibly warm inside. Yes, it was fulfilling, yet no act of kindness compared to that of helping his incredibly hardworking wife unload after a hard day. The man was whipped, much to Hangman's devious delight, but Rooster couldn't care less. She stumbled into his life one drunken night at the Hard Deck and has been his other half ever since. He wasn't enough of a romantic sucker to believe in love at first sight; but then, he met her. To him, she hung the moon in his sky and had since only changed his life for the better. He learned how to keep their home clean, do the laundry, hell, even cook all thanks to his incredible wife.

He found that the bare minimum made her the happiest like a surprise bouquet of flowers or making her coffee in the morning. The bar was so low on the ground, every small token of affection gave her stars in her eyes. "No one I've been with has ever been this kind to me," she had said one night, crying over a basket of goodies he had made for her to help her through a particularly bad period that left her stuck on the couch for a week. On the day of their wedding, Bradley swore into the ring he placed on her finger to do everything in his power to keep that smile on her face.

So, when his wife came home with a scowl on her lips and her brows furrowed in pain, Rooster knew what he had to do.

"Honey? You good?"

He was sweatpants clad only and was folding their laundry into piles, having gotten home from base early thanks to the forecasted thunderstorm landing a few hours before it was supposed to. Grounded and drenched, he pulled rank and took the evening off to help his wife with the chores they've both been ignoring recently: dishes, dusting, vacuuming, and conquering the dreaded Laundry Chair in the corner of their room.

She gave him a weak smile, shrugging her jacket off and shaking her wet hair out of its slicked pony tail. "Yeah, yeah, I'm ok. Just really sore after today."

Bradley took his time folding down a pair of her scrubs and was careful not to crease them. "A patient gave you a fight huh?"

"Yeah, and the patient was in the form of a chunky, 140 pound Bernese Mountain Dog who didn't wanna be sedated for his teeth extraction."

She went down on the living room floor in all fours, spreading her arms out above her head to a modified child's pose. Her arms were long outstretched above her and a tiny expanse of her low back was revealed under her folding scrub top. His eyes travelled further up and Bradley just couldn't take his eyes off that ass.

Holy hell, was he a lucky man.

Rooster loved every ounce of his wife even before they got married, but he was so incredibly glad that she had been putting on some weight recently. Why? One, because he knew he was feeding her well and two, because it all somehow ended up going to that glorious, incredible ass. She would complain all the time that she was 'eating too good, her scrubs were getting tight', and had to do little jumping squats to try to squeeze into them. The image didn't stop Bradley imagining her riding on top of him with her cheeks smacking against the top of his thighs.

She let out a tiny, muffled groan. "God, that's the stuff."

"You want a massage? It might make you feel a little better," Bradley said, tossing one of her lacy thongs on top of the underwear pile.

"Mmhmmm, please baby, that'd be wonderful," his goddess muttered, rolling herself over onto her back. Her hair was damp down to her shoulders, her smile angelic and her arms were crossed over top of her head. What he wouldn't do to pin those hands above her and kiss his way down her body, feel her skin heat up under his lips and hear the most holy of moans fall from her lips...

Stop. This isn't about you, Rooster.

He helped her sit up and removed her tight scrub top. He caught a pretty pink blush crested her cheeks at her sudden nakedness left in only her bra. He ghosted a small kiss on the tip of her nose. "It gives me better access. Get on the couch."

He took each laundry pile and placed them precariously on the freshly vacuumed floor. She took her position on the couch, chest pressed provocatively into the velour. She crossed her ankles in the air to show Rooster the tops of her feet and perfect manicured toes. The brat tossed him a wicked little wink over her shoulder. He grinned just as fiendishly, forcing her feet down to sit on the back of her thighs and gave her a teasing spank on the bum. The flesh rippled beneath the fabric of the lycra and he could imagine the gentle pink blooming on her skin.

"Enough of that, you little minx! Here, put the pillow under your hips."

She let him guide the throw under her, her lower back letting out a satisfying pop at the induced flexion. "Ohhhh my god, I sound like a glow stick," she muttered, her face flopping to the sofa in defeat. "I'm all ready for you, baby. Just... just make the hurt go away"

Bradley rubbed his palms together to warm them before letting them dust across the surface of her skin. "You know I give good massages, right?"

She shivered at the touch, letting out a small chuckle. "Only if you consider good massages feeling like a train running over my spine!"

Bradley sat up straight on his knees, hands on his hips. "Now Mrs. Bradshaw, that wasn't very nice! You hurt my feelings!"

"Just telling it as is, Lieutenant Bradshaw. You can fly a plane well, but you didn't really luck out in the hand dexterity department." She turned around to put her face on her hand, elbow propped under the sofa cushion. "You have yet in our year of marriage to convince me of these rumored 'magic fingers' of yours."

He laughed out loud, "Oh really now? Just you wait then, Mrs. B. Be back in a flash."

He scooted off the couch to rush to the bathroom, grabbing the rose oil that she liked to use after her baths. It was a thicker liquid and the smell was quite intoxicating: definitely his favorite scent on her. Plus, the shine it gave her legs after using it was his absolute favorite.

He hopped back into his position on the couch and rubbed a bit of the sticky liquid between his palms. The oil conducted his body heat and he rubbed the soothing musk over the tops of her shoulders. Immediately, she relaxed into a mewl.

"Ohhh, the rose oil. Now show me the magic, baby."

"Yes ma'am," he replied, gently working the fluid into her skin. The shine that rose out gave her a sparkling hue under the standing lamp. He rubbed slowly and deeply under her shoulder blades, making sure to press out all of the small knots that crinkled under the bone. She was breathing deeply, definitely enjoying the pressure and the smells that surrounded her.

"Mmm, lower please," she moaned. Bradley spotted a small drool spot near the corner of her mouth. "How are the magic fingers treating you, baby?" His voice was soft, the tinking of the pouring rain outside louder than he was. He was leaned over her form, putting pressure on the apex of her shoulders to smooth the muscles outside to her arms.

"You have a little more to do before I can give a proper review," she grinned, moving her hair to the side away from the oil. "Keep it up and you may get a prize."

Bradley continued to work, reapplying the oil to his hands a few times before he escaped to her lower back. He pressed a particularly tender point and she seized up for a moment. He backed off quickly. "Oh jesus, I'm sorry, you ok?"

"Y-Yeah," she sputtered, lifting her head to look behind at him. Her eyes were still glazed over in bliss. "Just... go a little gentler. 'Makes my legs hurt when you push there."

"Your legs too?" Bradley questioned, raising an eyebrow. "I have no problems massaging them as well. But, you have to take these pants off if you want the luxury assessment."

His wife groaned, attempting to loop her fingers through the front of her elastic waist band, but gave up quickly. "You gotta do it. I feel like jelly."

Bradley chuckled and shook his head, fingers pulling back the material to reveal the prize he craved the most. Her skin was gorgeous and hugged dangerously to the curve of the pretty gemstone blue thong that graced the top of her hip bones. He pulled the pants down just to the top of her thighs, reapplying his oil before getting to work.

The soft flesh of her ass kneaded into his palm. Her little moans were just too cute; he wanted to hear more. He moved down to the crest of her ass and cupped it gently, giving it another pass with the oil. "How's that?" "Sooo goooooood," she drawled, wiggling her ass between his fingers so it slid off the oil. Holy fuck.

"You have no idea how tasty that ass looks right now," he blurted, taking his time to scoop his fingers along the sides of her hips. "And I'm starving, baby. I could eat you alive."

His love sucked in a breath from the bottom of the couch. He could feel her feet rubbing together behind him. She was trying not to let him see her squirm. "O-oh yeah? We haven't eaten dinner yet though," she whimpered, the tension at the sides of her hips melting with each pass of his calloused digits.

"Fuck dinner, we're going right to dessert."

Rooster slid down the back of her thighs, his teeth nipping at the supple skin of her ass. She let out a strangled moan, the pressure from his mouth sending shivers up her spine. His cool dog tags dangled precariously off of his neck, hitting the back of her thigh with every sudden movement forward. His wife made every attempt to slither forward away from his grasp, but he held her tightly in place. A hard slap ricocheted of her skin, leaving her gasping out loud.

"B-Bradley!"

"Don't move," he growled. He was a predator now. His pupils bled dark and zeroed in on the skimpy, dampened fabric between her legs. The beautiful blue had turned a deep navy in the matter of minutes. Rooster let his fingers run along the silken material, his wife attempting to hide another whimper from his ears.

"Let me hear it," he muttered, his other hand working the muscle of her thighs. "Let me hear you."

Bradley couldn't see her face, but he knew she was flushed and panting. "I-I want..." she started, completely fumbling through her words. His fingers were dragging lazy, slow circles around her clothed clit, the fingers of his other hand still working down, down, down towards the back of her knee. "Hmmm?"

"Your mouth!" she blurted. "Fuck, I need your tongue in my pussy, Bradley, please."

He parted the fabric to the side and without a word swiped a single lick up her pussy. The moan that came from her was a release in itself; he could hear her smile through the sound. His left hand worked to spread apart her ass to give him better access. He dove in deep, her taste salty and sweet all at the same time. Two fingers from his right came around to circle her bud again and her hips struggled against the pillow propped under her hips.

"Oh my god," she cried, her wobbling wrists doing their best to support her weight. She was arching back into him now, attempting to rock against his face at the sensation.

"Delicious," he muttered through her slick. "And all for me. What a treat."

His mouth returned to biting while he let two fingers take place of his tongue. She cried out in rapture, her walls rippling around him the moment he slid them home. The heat coming off of her was intense enough that sweat rippled down the side of her forehead. She mewled and bucked in spasm as he continued his slow languid movements to fuck her through her surprise release. In and out... In... and... out.

"How'd that feel?" He mused, kissing up her spine, from the top of her tail bone up to the side of her neck. She let out a groan at his weight pressing on her, her eyebrows still knitted together at the pleasure. "M-More, Roo. I need more."

"More?" he crooned, his dog tags raking themselves against the sweat of her shoulder blades. "What a greedy little thing you are. You want more, yet I've been the one doing all the work. You take and take and don't return the favor, huh?"

She keened as his fingers suddenly quickened inside her pussy, his fingers gently pulling apart her walls, preparing her for the main event. "But that's completely fine honey," he whispered to her. He left a gentle kiss on her temple, the salt of her sweat delightful on his tongue. "Tonight's all about you. I'll take care of you, baby. I'll take care of you, you deserve it."

But just like that, his fingers were gone.

The overwhelming sense of emptiness overtook her as his weight left her back. She whimpered out loud, readjusting her body so her arms were holding up her chest. The spittle that hung from the side of her mouth should have been embarrassing, but she couldn't do anything to stop it from continuing to pool in her mouth. The man made her come so hard, she saw stars just from his fingers going inside her.

Before she knew what had happened, his hips were up against the ridges of her ass. Rooster had returned in all of his glory, stark naked by the feeling of the velvet smoothness of his cock rubbing languidly against her ass cheeks. Her head sunk back lower on her hands, forcing the arch up in her back to bare herself whole to him. He groaned in appreciation at the sight, a finger scooping some of her essence from her entrance.

The rose oil lit over her skin to make her sweet sweat stand out even more. She was glowing; a rose herself. Bradley couldn't help but let his cock rest between her ass cheeks, rubbing slowly up and down, up and down. Her slick gave him the perfect lubricant to rub between her skin. The feeling was divine.

"Holy fuck," he drawled, his head leaning back. Both hands had come back to squeeze the sides of her ass together, encasing his already hard cock in the silky heat. He could hear her little mewls underneath him, obviously the grazing of his skin against her cunt causing its own reaction to her. "You feel amazing, baby. Just incredible."

Rooster paused for a just a moment, pulling back completely before teasing the tip into her pussy. She groaned at the feeling of the thick head making way, whimpered at the pause, and felt like crying as it left her. He was so close, she was about to beg for him to just fucking take her already. He ground himself in between her ass cheeks for a few strokes again before plunging back in, this time just a bit deeper.

Every pass he'd enter deeper and deeper, her moans getting louder and more egregious. Bradley preened at the effect he had on his wife. She was a stunning, incredible beauty and only reacted this way to him. A feeling like this could get to his head.

He let his cock in all the way finally, the warmth and squeezing of her walls caused him to double over on top of her. His dog tags jingled down off of his chest to rest in the valley of her spine. He placed gentle kisses on the back of her neck; a job well done for taking him in so well. She raised her head gently in thanks, smiling up at her husband. "Want you to move, Roo," she whimpered. "Want all of you right now."

Who was he to deny such a beautiful plea?

Rooster rocked his hips gently at first, nice and slow to savor each drag of his cock against her walls. He pulled out to the tip before plunging back into the comfort of her cunt. She had keened at every thrust, the pleasure boiling inside of her stomach to a rumble. He took his hands and gently wrapped them under her chin, leaving soft kisses in her hair. Her ass bounced off of his stomach, the sound of skin on skin echoing against the pitter patter of rain on their window pane.

His wife didn't need to be fucked tonight. No, she needed to be loved. She needed to be cared for softly, gently, as if she was a piece of glass. God, he would let her know how he felt for her just by making love her her on this one night. He felt like no word he ever said was good enough to express how much he adored her. Every thrust was a love note, ever kiss was a sonnet. It would solidify every word of love and passion he had ever said. He meant every. Damn. Word.

"Mmm gonna," she whined, her eyes opening to face him. She was wanton and lovely, the flush on her cheeks extending down to the front of her chest. So beautiful, like a Renaissance painting with warm hues and lace. "Gonna come again. Baby, baby," she babbled, the word the only thing left in her head. Baby. He embraced her around her chest, just under her breasts to hold her tight to his chest. She fluttered around him, her breath stalling for a moment before she took large gasps beneath him.

He shushed her and gently rocked his hips to work her slowly through her second orgasm of the night. "Oh sweetheart," he cooed, his hands drifting down her upper back to press a little on her shining muscles again. "You're so good for me honey. You're the greatest thing that has ever happened to me, I love you so much."

She nodded quietly, still unscrambling her brain through the spasms, her breathing ragged.

The sight of his cock, pulling in and out of her weeping pussy, made him move again. His eyes were dissecting each movement: each ridge of his cock disappearing inside of her, the pull of her labia against his skin, the subtle sponge of her inner walls. He picked up his pace, watching the way that she devoured him whole. Every drive forward was met by her still-greedy pussy with the same burning intention. Her perked asshole fluttered gently with every push and pull.

The whole image of the scenario was so erotic, Bradley felt his end drawing nearer the longer he kept his eyes open. The rope in his own stomach was about to snap and shred to pieces. "B-baby," he stuttered, hunching back over her. His hands rested to cover both of her own, their fingers interlocking. "I'm so close."

"Come inside, Bradley," she said gently. Her fingers tugged slightly at his, the cool metal of their wedding rings clashing. She truly sounded like an angel, almost far off in the distance in his haze. "Come inside of me."

Permission was all he needed for him to finish. He placed his hot forehead against her upper shoulders, his moans echoing against the hollow of her spine as he filled her to the brim. She was mewling on her own at the heat flooding her body. They stayed like that for a moment, attached, basking in the aftermath of their passionate fire. His dog tags were no longer cool to the touch, pressed deeply into the lines of her skin to leave the seal of his name in her body.

She was his and only his.

Rooster withdrew and grabbed his shirt, dirty by now and did a sparse clean up. He hobbled to the bathroom, legs still shaking, to grab a cool cloth to clean his girl. After rinsing himself clean, he went back to the couch to find her still bent in the same position her hips raised. A small stream of cum was dripping down the side of her thigh, but thankfully didn't drop on the couch.

"We should have put a towel down," Bradley laughed, cleaning her thoroughly. She patted away the pillow bolstering her hips up and let her body drop flat on the couch. Her hands went to press on her lower spine and she sighed, content. "I feel better," she grinned. There was his girl. Beautiful, bright and colorful again.

They slipped into some idle chatter, ordering dinner, deciding what movie to watch for the night and the likes. Bradley had slipped his sweatpants back on and his wife had favored one of his old naval shirts that hung lose on her body for pajamas. They were cuddled back up on the couch, paying more attention to each others eyes rather than the screen.

"Who would have thought all you needed was for someone to blow your back out a little," he chirped, ego inflating just enough to issue a playful smack across his chest.

"Or maybe it was your 'magic fingers' all along!" Her smile was just infectious as he couldn't help but return it. "I won't lie, adding the oil made it feel really good. Almost like a bike running me over instead of a train."

"Abracadabra!" Bradley wiggled his fingers in her direction. Her laughter rang through the apartment as he tickled her sides, the sound just music to him.

Bradley liked to think he was a kind man. He would do anything just to keep her smiling.

---

tagging: @cherrycola27

#top gun maverick #bradley bradshaw #rooster bradshaw #rooster x reader #rooster fanfiction #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #rooster bradshaw fanfiction #top gun maverick ff

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hxney-lemcn · 5 months

Text

Worth It — Alex [Adult World] x gn! reader

summary: reader is sick, so they have to call out. Only for Alex to surprise them and becomes their personal nurse for the day.

tw: mentions of insecurity, a bit of self neglect

a/n: I love his character so much. He's such a sweetheart and I needed to write some tooth rotting fluff. Also, I normally don't care for sick fics, I don't typically get sick so it's hard for me to relate to them, but this just hit me out of nowhere.

wc: 2k

Master List

The moment I woke up I realized there was no way in hell that I was going to work. My head held a dull throb and my body was aching even though I hadn’t moved a muscle. My throat was sore and I couldn’t stop sniffling. I blindly reached over to my night stand. Shuffling some random things I swore I was gonna put away but never got to, I finally found my phone. I let out a small groan as the light blinded me, making my head pound a little harder.

I sleepily messed with my phone, barely registering what appeared on the screen. Before I could debate whether to text or call, my body already seemed to press the call button for my manager. I sleepily closed my eyes as the dial tone sounded through my ears. I willed myself not to fall asleep, blinking my eyes open.

“Hello?” The soft tone of Alex’s voice greeted me.

“Hey,” I rasped. Damn I sounded bad. I coughed, trying to clear my throat a bit.

“Are you okay?” He asked. I can practically see the concerned expression he held on his side of the phone.

“Mhm,” I murmured, fluttering my eyes like that would suddenly wake me up. “Well…I guess not. I’m not feeling too good, don’t think I’ll make it to my shift. Sorry.”

“No worries,” Alex replied. “Shit happens.”

“There aren’t many workers though,” I mumbled, fatigue taking over. “I don’t want you having a double shift.”

His soft laugh sounded through the phone, “Don’t worry, you were paired up with Amy. I’m sure she’ll understand. Not like a lot happens there anyways.”

Halfway between sleep and being awake, I managed a hum. It was silent for a minute, and I felt myself slipping deeper into the dark abyss of sleep, only to be violently pulled out of it by Alex’s voice once more.

“You…you got anyone to help you?” He asked. Even with my sick, fuzzy addled mind, I couldn’t help but melt at how much he seemed to care for me. Yet my fuzzy mind seemed to forget how Alex and Amy totally had the hots for each other.

“I’ll be fine,” I hummed. “Jus’ sleep it off like I normally do.”

“...okay,” He replied quietly, I almost missed it if it weren’t for the fact my head throbbed the longer the call went. “Get well soon.”

“You too,” I replied, confused at why Alex chuckled. A few beats too late, I realized my mistake, “I meant thanks.”

“See ya,” He chuckled lightly before the call hung up. I tried to put my phone back on the nightstand…only to hear it go crashing down to the ground. Without an ounce of care, I shuffled into a more comfortable position closing my eyes, finally falling into an okay sleep.

Having woken up a few hours later, I mindlessly scrolled through my social media. It was hard for me to concentrate on anything. My head felt only slightly better, the throbbing has dulled into an ache. I had only gotten up to go to the bathroom, the thought of making something to eat was too big to conquer in my current state.

The sound of knocking at my door startled me, causing my body to tense, which in turn caused my body to ache. I let out a sigh, unsure who could possibly be visiting me right now. Then my phone buzzed, Alex’s cute smiling face popping up as his contact photo.

I blinked a few times before answering, “Hello?”

“Hey!” Alex replied, sounding far too chipper for the day you’re having. “I thought I’d stop by to check up on you. Mind letting me in?”

Even though I wasn’t as tired as I was earlier, it still took me a second to comprehend what he said, “Oh, yeah, sorry.”

Hanging up quickly, I stumbled out of my bed, only to pause because the world started to spin around me. Whether it was the lack of food, low iron, or sickness, I wouldn’t know. Perhaps a combination of the three. After I knew I wouldn’t fall or pass out, I rushed to the front door. Alex smiled at me from the other side, his curly hair slightly ruffled, lifting a plastic bag up.

“Come on in,” I mumbled, holding the door open for him. After he entered, he placed the bag on my living room coffee table as I closed the door behind him. “What’cha got there?” I asked as I took a seat on the couch next to Alex. He made himself at home, but we’d hung out quite a bit outside of work.

“I got some cold medicine, cough drops, y’know, the works,” Alex shrugged. “Wasn’t sure what you had. I also got some candy.”

“Oh, Alex,” I crooned, softening at the information. “You really didn’t have to.”

At that exact moment, like the world wanted to laugh at me, my stomach grumbled. I pressed a hand on it, glaring as it wouldn’t stop.

“Did you eat anything?” Alex asked, his smile stayed, but the look in his eyes turned to one of concern.

I paused, hesitating to admit it, “Nooooo?” He gave me a disapproving stare and I rambled my excuses, “I was too tired, and okay…yeah and lazy. But I’m so sore, it hurts to exist.”

“You should’ve told me,” Alex replied with a small pout. Damn he was too cute for his own good. “I would’ve picked something up for you to eat.”

I rolled my eyes, leaning my head to rest on the couch, “I’m not gonna make you waste your money on me.”

“It’s not a waste,” Alex fought back, nudging me lightly. Even so it caused my body to flare up with an ache, a small ‘ow’ escaping me. “Sorry,” He winced. “But you gotta eat to get better. And knowing that you're better would never be a waste.”

I felt warm, warmer than this current sickness was making me. Alex patted my knee on his way up off the couch. I watched as he made his way to my kitchen. I knew that he wouldn’t find much. I’ve been procrastinating on my much needed grocery run, and now it seems to be biting me in my ass.

Fatigue creeped up on me once more, and I decided to lay down on the couch. I turned the tv on, switching it to something to try and keep me entertained. My eyelids felt so heavy, but my hunger started to overpower it. I closed my eyes, listening to the sound of pans in my kitchen, Alex must’ve found something to make.

I wasn’t sure how many minutes passed until Alex made his way back into the living room. He placed a steaming hot bowl on the coffee table in front of me, and then started rustling through the bag.

“Once you get that food in your system I’ll give you a dose of this dayquil,” Alex motioned to the bottle he held.

I let out a long whine, “Do I have to?”

He raised his eyebrow and I sighed. Grabbing the bowl, I looked down in surprise, “Chicken noodle soup? I didn’t realize I had any.”

“Lucky find,” Alex smiled, plopping down into the loveseat next to the couch.

“When’s your shift?” I asked before starting to eat the soup. Must I say, it was doing a number on my throat. I took a second to just drink the broth, reveling in the comfort my throat felt.

“I’m supposed to close,” Alex sighed, kicking his feet up. I let out a sound of disapproval. “I might just tell Amy to close early though.”

I furrowed my eyebrows, “Why?”

Alex blinked at me, giving me a look like I should already know, “To make sure you don’t rot here.”

“I’m not a kid,” I grumbled, plopping the bowl back on the coffee table.

Alex just shrugged, that boyish grin tugging on his lips, “You just ate for the first time today and it's noon.”

“That's called bad self care,” I pointed at him.

“Exactly,” He nodded, soft curls bouncing with the motion. “Which means I’ll be here to take care of you.”

I opened my mouth, trying to think of a rebuttal, but the thought of Alex taking care of me somewhat short circuited my brain. No ones ever really taken care of me like that. Especially not since I moved out of my parents place. But even when I was an older teen, my mom just kinda expected me to care for myself. Told me where to find the medicine and left it at that. So for him to be so willing to take care of me, and admit to it so casually, it really threw me for a loop.

“But close is when it gets busy,” I muttered back feebly as Alex poured me some dayquil.

He looked at me with amused eyes handing the cup over, “I think you’re a bit more important.”

I felt butterflies flow through my stomach, and I started to drink the vile liquid. Alex seemed to falter, losing a bit of confidence, “I mean…if you don’t want me to I can head out.”

I scrunched my face as I finally finished the dayquil and shook my head. I sat up fully on the couch, looking off to the side, “I just don’t want to waste your time.”

I missed the way Alex frowned, eyebrows furrowing. I didn’t realize he sat next to me until the couch dipped, and we sat thigh to thigh. I looked over to him, unsure if I may have gone too far with my self depreciation. I know it can be a drain on people, but most of the time I don’t even realize I do it.

“Hey, look at me,” Alex murmured. My throat tightened and I turned away, coughing into my elbow.

“I’m gonna get you sick,” I commented, scooching away slightly. Only for Alex to close the gap again.

“I don’t care,” He dismissed. “You’re important to me. Nothing I do for you would be a waste because it’s for you.”

My heart felt like it was going into overdrive. My eyes danced over his face, meeting his dark brown eyes which held such a sincere burning passion it was like I could feel gentle flames lick at my skin. Looking down, my eyes landed on the small freckle on the end of his nose which I always found incredibly cute. Finally ending at his pink lips. I felt myself flush as I realized I was staring at his lips for a little too long before rushing to meet his eyes once more.

“You keep saying stuff like that and I might just fall for you,” I muttered, my brain feeling fuzzy once more. A mix of love sickness and regular sickness.

Alex hummed, a bashful smile forming on his face, “I’m just sayin’ the truth. But if that's the outcome I won’t complain.”

I rolled my eyes, trying to ignore just how close we were to each other, “You’re gonna get my hopes up that I have a chance.” I said it before I could stop myself. I’ve never been so forward before. Stupid sickness, it was making it hard for me to think, to keep a filter. Stuff I typically keep to myself spilling out through insecure words.

“With you on my mind 24/7, I think you’ve got the biggest chance,” Alex replied boldly, causing my neck to snap to him. I stared at him in shock, mouth slightly open, unsure how to reply. “N-not in a creepy way though.”

“I-is this a confession?” I asked, letting out a small cough.

“...only if it doesn’t ruin things between us,” He replied hesitantly, his vulnerability clearly shown.

I smiled bashfully, not believing that this was actually happening. I looked down at my hands as I fidgeted with them, “Well, it just so happens that I think about you 24/7 too. Not in a weird way.”

Alex let out a soft laugh, our eyes meeting in joy. Reaching over, he grabbed one of my hands with his, and I couldn’t help but notice how his hand seemed to engulf mine. Suddenly, he kissed my cheek.

“You’re seriously gonna get yourself sick,” I grumbled, trying to mask how much he really affected me.

“You’re worth it.”

#alex adult world x reader #alex x reader #evan peters x reader #kai anderson x reader #ahs x reader #alex adult world #evan peters #x reader #tate langdon x reader #imagines #kit walker x reader #kyle spencer x reader #jimmy darling x reader

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