#jesus three + weeks without drawing | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

shuadotcom · 9 months

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Main Dish | HJS (M)

☐ Summary: When lunch ends up being inedible, Joshua has to pick something else to eat.

☐ Pairing: Joshua x Afab!Reader

☐ Genres & AUs: Smut, fluff, established relationship!au, absolutely porn without plot

☐ Rating: 18+ (MINORS & AGELESS BLOGS DNI. YOU WILL BE BLOCKED)

☐ Warnings: Profanity, cunnilingus, fingering, dirty talk, pet names (baby, baby girl, sweetheart, honey, good girl), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, squirting

☐ Words: 3.2k

☐ Note: This fic is brought to you by my lack of cooking skills and my insatiable need for Joshua. It was also written for @kpopsblackcreatorsociety Bon Voyage Bingo event! The bingo square/prompt for this fic is camping.

Thank you @horanghater for being my beta ily 🥰

☐ Net Tag: @kflixnet

“Please don’t go off, please don’t go off, please do-”

BEEEEEEP BEEEEEP BEEEEEEP

“Goddamnit!” Working as fast as possible, you grab the pan from the hot stove top, removing it from the heat. The blare of the smoke detector rings out through the apartment and you have to act quickly to open all the nearby windows, waving away the smoke in the air with the dish towel.

Once the smoke mostly clears and the alarms have subsided, you survey the scene in front of you. Grumbling in frustration you eye the now burnt tofu on the stovetop and let out a disappointed sigh. You had just wanted to cook something fun and new for your boyfriend. He’s been camping with his friends for the past week and you figure he would appreciate a home-cooked meal but, as usually happens with you in the kitchen, it turned out to be a disaster.

You weren’t a cook by any means, but you knew how to get by with very basic skills. Boiling eggs, making stove-top ramen, and using the air fryer slash toaster oven you had begged for on your last birthday.

All of the essentials of cooking.

Tonight, the plan was originally to try a new pan-fried tofu recipe you saw on TikTok because it looked yummy. Instead of looking like the wonderfully golden-fried nuggets that they were supposed to resemble, all that sits in the pan in front of you now are uneven little pieces of charcoal.

Great. Wonderful. Amazing.

Standing in the middle of the kitchen, gnawing at a hangnail in distress, you didn’t even take notice of your boyfriend watching you from the entrance of the room, admiring how cute you looked in your little lounge clothes and apron. His entrance had been drowned out by the blaring of the smoke alarms.

“Don’t chew on your nails, honey, it’s not good for you.”

Joshua’s voice is much louder than the music you are playing from your phone on the counter and you nearly leap into the air when you hear him.

“Jesus, Shua! You scared the shit out of me!” Clutching your chest, you reach over and pause the sound from your phone.

He chuckles as he approaches you, wrapping his arms around your waist and drawing you in for a hug.

“Sorry, baby. I couldn’t help it.” He apologizes, but the smirk on his face shows he’s not really that sorry.

Joshua places a kiss and your waiting lips and your annoyance at being jump-scared fades. He smells like outside and a little bit like sweat, but underneath that, he still has his usual warm, homey scent that belongs only to him.

You let him take your breath away a little while longer, arms wrapping around his neck to bring him closer. He rests his head against yours when you pull away, his eyes tired but still sparkling down at you.

“How was your guys' camping trip?”

“Well, Mingyu found a spider in his tent and tore the whole thing down trying to get out, Soonyoung got sunburnt and fell into the lake, and Vernon forgot his allergy medicine and spent all week sneezing.”

“So the usual shenanigans?”

With a chuckle, Joshua nods, looking you up and down. “Basically, but I’m having a much better time now that I’m back here with you.” He leans down to kiss your forehead and you still let yourself get flustered by his sweet words, even after three years together. “And what’s going on in here?” He asks when he finally pulls away, eyes looking over your head at the charred remains of your lunch.

“Nothing, just me fucking up in the kitchen again.” Pouting, you cross your arms, wincing as Joshua steps up to the counter, inspecting what’s remaining of the tofu.

“Ah baby, they don’t look that bad…” He uses the chopsticks you left nearby to poke at a piece, raising it to his face and sniffing it.

“Shua, don’t-” Before you can stop him, he pops it into his mouth, chewing extra slowly. Your boyfriend, always so sweet to you and considerate of your feelings, looks like he’s in physical pain as he crunches the food, his nose wrinkling with each shift of his jaw. With a sigh you walk over and grab a sheet of paper towel, holding it up to his mouth. “Spit it out.”

“It doesn’t taste terrible…” he mumbles between chews, eyebrows furrowing as he does.

“Joshua, just spit it out!” At your insistence he does, expression apologetic.

Joshua watches you take the rest of the tofu and throw it away, shoulders slumping in defeat. He moves across the kitchen to stand behind you, wrapping you in his arms.

“Don’t be upset, baby. It’s just some tofu.”

“But I fucked up lunch for you! I just wanted to make you a homemade meal since you’ve been eating over a campfire all week.” Joshua coos at you, pulling you tighter against him.

“Aw, sweetheart, you didn’t have to do all this in the first place. I think we both know that you would’ve been better off ordering something. There’s a reason I do most of the cooking, remember?” He laughs, his tone teasing.

Gasping, you spin in his hold, round eyes staring up at him as you pout for what feels like the twentieth time tonight. “Joshie, are you saying I can’t cook?!”

Faltering, Joshua’s eyes dart back and forth, strategically planning his next words.

“I - I didn’t mean that you can’t cook, Y/n. I just -”

“I’m kidding, Shua. Of course, I know I can’t cook.” He’s clearly relieved, rolling his eyes at your giggles.

Joshua leans down to pepper your face with kisses, holding you close, ignoring your feeble attempt to escape his grasp.

“I guess it’s a good thing then that I wasn’t even thinking about what I’d eat for lunch.” He places a final kiss on your cheek before pulling back to gaze at you.

“You weren’t?”

“Of course not. How could I even begin to think about lunch when all I could think about was tasting you again?” Joshua smirks at you, laughing when you scoff, your turn to roll your eyes at him.

“How did I know you wouldn’t even be a little bit subtle about wanting to have sex as soon as you got back?”

“Because you know how addicted I am to you and how much I think about you.” You and Joshua are chest to chest, his hands tracing your body, fingertips pressing lightly into your curves.

Joshua’s voice has already lowered an octave, eyes flickering to your lips. You’re in no way surprised at how quickly Joshua turned the situation from silly and domestic to horny, but you’re not bothered in the slightest, more than happy to fuck your boyfriend again. A week has been far too long of a time to go without Joshua’s cock inside of you.

“Oh, so you were thinking of me on your trip? Thought you’d be too busy grilling meat and playing games with the boys.”

“Baby, I’m always thinking about you, but especially when we’re not together.” Joshua ducks down, his nose brushing yours.

“And what about me were you thinking about exactly?” You whisper, holding your breath as you await his next words.

“Well, I was thinking all about how sweet your cunt is and how I couldn’t wait to come home and devour you.”

Somehow you hadn’t registered that Joshua walked you back until the counter pressed into your lower back, trapping you between it and Joshua’s firm body.

“Hmm…then I guess lunch is served whenever you’re ready to eat,” Tilting your head up, your lips brush against Joshua’s. You shift your leg forward, knee brushing against the crotch of his sweatpants. A grunt slips out of him when you make contact with his half-hard cock and he surges forward, lips meeting yours in a feverish kiss.

Joshua’s soft lips move against yours, his hands cupping your face to keep you close. Your hands trail up Joshua’s thick arms, tracing every ridge and dip of muscle. You’ve never been shy about how much you enjoy the new gym rat era he and a few of his friends have entered, making sure to be very obvious about the way you appreciate the new muscle he’s worked on gaining. He also doesn’t hide just how much he loves how the bulkier version of him turns you on, your boyfriend flexing for you so the muscles tense and loosen a few times under your fingertips.

Those same strong arms move to hold your waist, holding onto you as he swallows every pant and tiny whine that you let out. Joshua’s tongue wraps around yours and sucks, the kiss descending into lewd territory as Joshua grinds against your thigh still wedged between his legs.

The kiss feels like it goes on forever, which is in no way a complaint. Joshua’s hands wander all over your body, hands skating down to grab at your bare thighs and up to your ass, grabbing a handful to bring your hips impossibly closer. It’s almost embarrassing how wet you are, feeling your cotton panties clinging to you with each shuffle of the fabric.

Joshua seems to read your mind as he finally moves a hand under your apron and into the waistband of your shorts and panties, his finger grazing your pussy making you jolt and buck into his hand.

“Would you look at that? You’re fucking drenched just from my kisses?” To illustrate his point, he pulls his fingers from your shorts, holding the wet digits up to showcase your juices to you both.

“Fuck, yeah, I need you so badly. I missed you so much.”

Joshua hums, popping his fingers into his mouth, eyes closing as he sucks them clean, savoring your flavor. The scene is enough to have you rubbing your thighs together, easily recalling just how good his tongue feels when it’s on you.

“Mmm, I missed you too, baby. And speaking of, I’m starving, so I think I’m ready to eat now.”

Joshua plants his hands on your hips and turns you around so his front is pressed against your back, walking with you out of the kitchen and around to the island, leaving kisses on the back of your neck as you go. When you reach the side of the island that you usually sit to eat at, Joshua’s nimble fingers untie your apron and lift it over your head, tossing it to the floor. Your shorts and panties come next as he slides the fabric down your legs, letting them pool at your feet.

Your boyfriend makes a sound of appreciation at the sight of your bare ass, big hands squeezing your cheeks before landing a firm smack on one of them. He helps you up onto the island, sitting you near the edge. Joshua pulls up a stool in front of you, spreading your legs wide, and letting out a low whistle.

“Look at all of this, so messy and sloppy all for me.” Joshua leans forward and places kisses on the inside of your thighs, inhaling your scent as he does, small moans rumbling in his throat.

A few whimpers slip out of you with each kiss over your hot skin, Joshua’s breath hitting your core only serving to make you wetter. Joshua loves eating you out, always talking about how good you taste and how much he loves the way you smell when you’re dripping for him.

He doesn’t leave you waiting for long this time (another thing Joshua loves is to tease you, but he seems to want you bad enough to spare you this time) as his tongue finally licks at your clit, the muscle flattening and adding much-needed pressure.

A squeal of Joshua’s name tumbles out of you as he licks a fat stripe from your hole to your clit - once, twice, three times, each go making you twitch underneath him. Your legs almost snap shut, but his firm grip keeps them open.

“Nuh-uh, keep your legs open, baby girl. I haven’t even started eating my meal.”

Your eyes stay trained on him as his hands grab the back of your thighs, pushing them toward you. You lie on your back in a more comfortable position, hands trembling as they hold onto the front of your shirt in anticipation.

“I’ll never get tired of eating you out, you know that? Never get tired of how fucking sweet you taste on my tongue.” To further his point, Joshua’s thick tongue slips into your pussy, lapping at your gummy walls, letting his nose brush against your clit.

“F-fuck!” Your hands dart down, fingers threading through his brunette strands, tugging at the root as he tongue fucks you on the kitchen island.

Every grunt and groan that Joshua lets out is deep, deep enough that the vibrations can be felt throughout your whole body. You can’t help but thrash underneath him, loud obscene slurping sounds fill the room as he works. Joshua’s hands keep your thighs pinned down, preventing you from nearly falling off the counter while his face presses closer to your cunt.

He eats you out like a man starved, a week without your pussy proving to be much too long away for him. The tip of his tongue is still buried inside of you, flicking at your walls at an almost impossible speed.

Fire begins to quickly pool in the pit of your stomach, nails digging into Joshua’s scalp which only spurs him on more.

“Shua, b-baby so good!”

“Mmph?” You can’t quite hear what he says but it sounds like it has a questioning tilt at the end.

“‘M gonna cum!”

That must’ve been what he was getting at because he picks up the pace and moves his hold on you to the sides of your thighs and makes you wrap your legs around his head. Joshua uses this new angle to force you to rock your hips against his face, leaning into you so far that when you glance down, all you see is the top of his hair which you’re still holding onto for dear life.

Rolling your hips you go with his movement, desperately riding his face. Joshua lets you, his tongue drilling into you, bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

When you do cum, you stiffen almost painfully as heat spreads through your body, your thighs squeezing around him like a vice, holding him in place. Your boyfriend happily continues lapping at your sensitive core, murmurs of praise accompanying his coos of delight.

“So fucking tasty,” Joshua sighs as he pulls back, finally taking in air through his mouth. He glances at you, watching your chest heave as you catch your breath. Without a second thought, with your hole still clenching around nothing, Joshua shoves one of his thick fingers into you, drawing a gasp out of you.

“Shua!?”

He has the audacity to blink up at you, faux innocence on his face along with your juices still shining on the bottom half of his face.

“What? I want seconds.” He shrugs, adding a second finger which has you cursing, senses on overdrive. Joshua’s plush lips are back on your clit, sucking the nub into his mouth, ignoring the way your nails dig into his hair again, tugging on his soft locks.

“Ngh, Josh-Joshua! Please!”

“Please what, baby?” He mumbles, lips still suckling on your clit, your legs quivering as they rest on his shoulders. His fingers have no trouble finding that soft squishy spot inside of you that has your eyes crossing, the squelching sound of your wetness ringing in your ears.

“I’m - I just…” You trail off when your boyfriend curls his fingers, the overstimulation derailing your train of thought as you feel another orgasm hurdling toward you. Joshua smirks up at you, loving the way he can literally watch as your brain short-circuits for him - because of him.

His lips go back to your clit, suctioning around the bud. His fingers delve into you faster, your velvety walls hugging his digits, coating them in more of your sticky arousal. Sweat beads at your hairline and tears prick your eyes as Joshua throws you into another orgasm, electricity coursing through your veins and a choked, desperate cry of Joshua’s name tumbling from your lips.

“Yeah, just like that, good girl.” He purrs against your overworked pussy, slowly dragging his fingers out of you. You whimper at the loss, only for the sound to be replaced by a loud wail, Joshua’s slick fingers rubbing rough, frantic circles against your clit.

“Shit! Fuck, Shua I’m - fuuuck!”

“Come on baby girl, one more. Make a mess all over the fucking counter.” The pads of his fingers drag against your clit, body arching as you flail your hands, scrambling across the marble of the counter looking for something to ground you.

The sensation borders on painful, the sensitivity too much to handle as the pleasure builds and your muscles spasm. When you cum this time, it knocks the wind out of you, your eyes rolling back, your mouth open in a silent scream. Joshua leans down, eyes watching with glee as you squirt all over his hand and arm, getting your mixture of arousal on his shirt. He even cranes his head down, mouth open to drink up the remaining spurts of your release.

He rubs lazy circles over your puffy clit, letting you ride out the rest of your orgasm until your hoarse voice begs him to stop and he does, but not before wiping up as much of your wetness as he can on his fingers and popping them into his mouth once again.

“Fucking hell, Shua!” You huff out when you’ve finally sucked enough air back into your lungs.

“What? I told you I was starving.” His cocky grin earns him a half-hearted kick to his shoulder using the minuscule amount of energy you have remaining. He catches your leg, placing a soft kiss on your ankle before he straightens up and sits back to admire your ruined state.

“Are you going to help me up or leave me here for the rest of the day?”

“I should eat all of my meals in the kitchen, but I suppose I can help you down.” Joshua laughs at your half-hearted threat to kick him again and offers his hands to you. He helps you sit upright and slowly slides you off of the island.

When you’re back on shaky feet, you move to pick your bottoms up, but he stops you by pulling you against him.

“Wh-”

“Oh, you don’t need those. I’m gonna order some lunch for us, but I need dessert before it gets here.” He presses his hips forward, his rock-hard dick pressing against your ass. Joshua once again envelops you in his warm embrace, lips skirting against the shell of your ear. “That okay with you, baby?”

Between the orgasms he pushed out of you only minutes ago and the dip in his voice, wetness collects between your legs again, pussy clenching at the thought of Joshua fucking you for real.

“That’s more than okay with me,” you rasp, clearing your throat. “I’m feeling pretty empty myself and am dying to be stuffed.”

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macfrog · 19 days

Note

so torn but i need a little 🩵

feel free to send more than one, baby! here all week 🫶🏼

meeting joel 1.3k words | duckie's baby shower 🩵

“fucking – shit…”

the truck squeals around the corner – the same goddamn corner it squealed around five minutes ago. you pass that same lime green mailbox, those same kids drawing farm animals on the sidewalk.

jesus christ, just admit it. you’re lost.

you did visit the place – though, only the once. and that was a couple months ago, now. you didn’t put a lot of effort into memorizing each street in the fucking neighborhood. did the houses look this similar, the day that you viewed it?

you’re sure you’re circling the same rows of houses over and over; sure you recognize the wind chimes hanging from that porch. you take another left, and –

“for fuck’s sake,” you sigh, pulling in down the street from those same sidewalk chalk artists. their cow drawing has a smug smile on its face.

your eyes roll to the right, and there it is. you probably passed it three times over.

it’s humble, quaint. pretty white wood, a wide-open porch. still some budding flowers left in planters by the door. you blink from the bay window to the numbers nailed squint into the column.

it’s so…grown-up. it almost makes you shiver.

you hop down out of the truck into blazing sunlight, lifting a hand to shield your eyes. a lawnmower hums in the distance, the scent of fresh grass diced through the air. a sprinkler whirs a few houses down. the kids across the street giggle and split the yellow chalk in two.

on one side of your new home – a similarly polite house with a row of vibrant tulips leading up to it. reds and yellows and blushing pinks – clipped and groomed within an inch of their life, each one blooming and beautiful.

on the other – a man, stood in front of a blue house, watering his grass. he’s tall, lean. built wider the higher up his figure your eyes climb. tanned, toned arms and broad shoulders which tug at the white tee he’s wearing. a square jawline beneath a thick brown beard.

you catch his eye and lift your hand to wave.

he turns away, aiming the hose at the grass behind him.

“dick,” you whisper, slamming the door.

you jog around to the back of the truck, taking hold of the sunbaked handle. it chinks, but it doesn’t budge.

“c’mon…” you grit your teeth, rattling it again and again. “are you fucking kidding me?”

you step back, sneakers scuffing on the road, and prop your hands on your hips.

your new neighbor is still focusing intently on his grass, spewing a stream of water at the lighter patches. the longer you stare, the more grass he finds to wet.

fuck it.

“hey!”

he gives the hosepipe a jerk, shaking his free hand dry.

“excuse me?” you call, waving an arm.

the man looks up slowly, checking over his shoulder first. making damn sure there’s no one else he can pretend you’re talking to.

and unless you’re eliciting help from the fucking paw patrol across the street, he’s no escape.

“hey,” again, and then, “i’m new around – i’m moving in next door. i can’t get this stupid fucki–freakin’ door to lift. would you mind helping me? please?”

he twists the hose in his hands. you can’t tell if he’s squinting because of the sun, or actually glowering at you.

it feels like the latter, the way he throws the thing to the grass.

he stalks over, a little intimidating in his stride, eyeing you as he approaches. without a word, he wraps two big hands around the latch. he tugs once, and the door doesn’t move.

“see?” you ask, gesturing to the truck. “i bet it��s, like, older than me. might even be older than you, might…”

your neighbor pauses, eyes sliding to yours. his stare is intense – dark, stormy eyes boring into yours.

and this time – you know he’s glowering.

“it’s the heat,” he drawls, giving it another strong pull. his biceps swell, the tattered sleeves of his t-shirt stretching around them. “it’s just a little st–”

the door suddenly shunts, rolling upwards. a rickety noise until it slams at the top.

the paw patrol glance up at the sound, wrists paused. they resume doodling when your neighbor backs up.

“thank you,” you mutter, tugging on the hem of your shirt.

you push yourself up onto the back of the truck, standing amidst the fractured bones of your old apartment. a shadeless lamp here, a box of kitchen utensils there.

the guy takes half a glance at you and double takes, eyes scanning the sea of cardboard behind you. he looks you up and down and back up again – jaw tightening when he notices your hopeful expression.

“do you mind?” you ask, lifting one of the heavier boxes. “if you got somethin’ better to do…” you glance over to his yard, the hose lying in a swirl on the lawn, “…then i understand.”

he sighs, reaching for the box. his thick arms tense when the weight shifts from your grasp to his.

“thanks!” you deliberately chirp, watching his figure swagger off to your porch.

joel miller, as it turns out, is a man of few fucking words.

his name is the most you’ve been able to get out of him – and that’s only because it’s on his mailbox. he tells you nothing else.

up close, he’s graying. the lines of a decently-aged man on his skin – that, or just a miserable asshole (perhaps both). he has a syrupy southern drawl, each word riding a wave from his tongue – but with each answer he relents, he still manages to sound fucking miserable.

he seems like he might have his uses, though. he’s got some pretty good intel on the neighborhood.

“that,” he nods to the house directly across from yours, “is steve and kris’s place. they just had a baby. some nights, you can hear the kid from over here.”

“congrats,” you mutter, following his hand as it moves across the window.

“diane,” joel says. “she’s got a dog – the thing’s a little shit.”

your chin lifts. “diane, little shit,” you echo.

he nods, tongue in his cheek. he turns, hand flicking in the direction of the tulips. “alice,” he says. “let me tell you somethin’ – if there’s anything you want broadcast to every person, pet, and goddamn mailbox in the neighborhood, she’s the one to talk to.”

“nosy, huh?”

“nosy,” he agrees.

you snicker, leaning by him to glance at the swaying flowers. “but look what good care she takes of her tulips.”

“hm. ‘s all a front, you’ll see. she’s smart with it.”

joel helps you unload the rest of the truck, sliding each box across your living room floor. outside, he passes you the last couple, and then reaches up for the door.

his tee lifts ever so slightly – flashing a sliver of skin with a smatter of hair above his belt buckle. a dark trail diving into his jeans.

the sight sears itself behind your eyelids. you drag your gaze from him, bending to scoop up the lighter of the two boxes as he jumps back down. he follows at your heel towards your house again, dropping the last box right by your front door.

he says, “you need anythin’ else, just give me a holler,” but his dry tone – and the fact he’s already halfway out the door when he mumbles it – are enough to convince you that this motherfucker never wants to see your face again.

so – you skip after him, following him to your porch steps.

“nice,” you call, watching him thud down each one, “you any good with diy? i got a shit ton of ikea stuff to build.”

he turns, bottom lip between his teeth.

your eyebrows lift, heel kicking against the wooden step. “a – shit – ton,” you repeat.

joel scoffs, shaking his head. “better get to it, then.”

he wanders back over to his lawn.

#me: a -short- drabble #also me: writes over a thousand words #duckie's baby shower #🩵

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spiderispunk · 1 year

Text

2 A.M.

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x F!reader

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: Smut (18+). Friends With Benefits. Oral Sex (m + f receiving). 69ing. Brief Assplay.

All mistakes are me own. Comments/reblogs are appreciated!!

You swore you were done with this. Done waiting for flirty 2 a.m. texts. Done with hastily packed duffle bags and sweaty trysts in wrinkled sheets. Done with walks of shame the next morning, the delicious ache between your thighs a reminder of all the dirty things you’d gotten up to in the past few hours.

Though, it can’t really be called a walk of shame if it felt so good, and you weren’t really ashamed, can it? And it did feel good to see your phone light up well past midnight with a corny text from Rooster.

Bradley.

The message from him lights up your bedroom now. Casts the room in a soft blue glow. You swipe open your phone, thumb hovering over the screen as you formulate a response.

You up? It reads.

You roll your eyes. Those college tendencies had still not left him, even though he was 5 years removed from the Naval Academy, and considered one of the best pilots in the country. Hell, he’d flown an incredibly dangerous mission six months ago, and was still sending You up? texts.

Typical Bradley.

Maybe that’s part of his charm. The boyish air about him. Youthful confidence that borders slightly on cockiness. It reminded you of old times. Sneaking in and out of dorm rooms before the sun rose, quickies in-between classes. Cheap beer and dim, crowded basements.

Maybe it’s the freedom and the mystery that draws you back to him. Rooster throws himself back into the orbit of your life every three months or so without warning. You fuck round for a couple weeks, and then he disappears into whatever Navy void he came from until the next time he swings back around. Like a horny comet.

No feelings. No strings. Just the best sex you’ve ever had in your life…followed by the worst dry spell of your life. And a strange empty ache. You’d never admit it to his face– don’t want to inflate his ego anymore–but Bradley might have ruined other men for you.

At least, that’s what you think now. Fresh off of involuntary abstinence and a super disappointing fuck.

And so, even though you swore to yourself you’d be done with all this, you send a quick response.

Yes :)

* * *

Bradley’s neighborhood is nice. A quiet line of almost identical brown townhouses with immaculate yards. Must be military. That would explain the harsh conformity, and the high concentration of American flags on the porches.

All of the houses’ windows are dark, except for the one your car rolls to a stop in front of.

Bradley throws the door open and pulls you inside before you can even knock.

“Someone’s eager,” you tease, as you're crowded back against the door.

Bradley’s hands come to rest on either side of your head. “No time like the present.” His soft brown eyes are full of mirth.

He looks the same as he did a couple months ago. Same bright eyes and easygoing smile. It brings faint laugh lines to the surface of his freckled skin. He’s only wearing a pair of grey sweats, so the vast expanse of his body is laid bare before you. Your gaze traces the planes of tanned skin, from the solid muscle of his arms, to his chest and then down to the waistband that hangs low across his hips.

“Like what you see?” Bradley ticks an eyebrow upwards.

You roll your eyes, but you’d be a liar if you said otherwise. “Jesus you’re a walking cliche. You’re one ‘Come here often?’ away from a free membership to the Corny Club.” With great effort, you drag your gaze up from the glaringly obvious bulge at Bradley’s crotch, to his shining eyes.

“Baby, I’m already a card-carrying member.” He leans in closer, and you catch a whiff of his body wash. “That’s my most effective pick up line.”

Vanilla and Sandalwood. The reaction is immediate, you want to bury your nose into his neck and breathe him in deeper.

You suck in a deep breath. “Does it work?”

“You tell me,” Bradley whispers.

His parted lips brush yours, a teasing, barely-there kiss. You lean forward, chasing the touch of his mouth, but Bradley leans away, wearing a shit-eating grin on his face.

“Now who’s eager?” He teases.

You ignore him, and wrap your arms around his broad shoulders to pull him back to you. You had no problem going after what you wanted, something Bradley really liked about you. You thread your fingers through his hair and mold your lips to his.

Bradley presses a hot groan into your mouth. His tongue licks against yours, testing the waters. He meets no resistance. In fact, you almost whimper, body melting against his. You feel the heat of his body against yours, even through the fabric of your t-shirt. It leaves your skin prickly, your nerves singed.

One of his large hands leaves the door, and slides down the curve of your spine. His fingers slide over the waistband of your shorts, grabbing at your ass and trapping you against his body. Instinctively, you rock your hips against the thigh he’s placed between your legs.

Funny how well the two of you meshed together, even after months apart.

The back of your head hits the door, a quiet moan falling from your lips at the sweet pressure. Bradley’s lips leave yours to trace open-mouthed kisses across your jaw and down your neck. He guides the greedy grind of your hips at a nearly torturous pace.

“Fuck,” you whine when he nips at your pulse. You use the grip on his shoulders as leverage to get a better angle.

Bradley watches you, eyes alight with amusement. “It’s that easy, huh?”

“Shut up,” you groan. Your clit catches on the crease of his sweatpants so well, reducing you to a puddle. It’s good. It’s great even. But it’s not enough.

“Nearly drooling for it,” he whispers. “When’s the last time you got laid?”

The answer? It’s been a long fucking time since you’ve had good sex. Actually, if you had to actually count, it would be 137 days exactly: the last time Bradley was stateside. There was that guy from a few weeks back, but he’d jackhammered his way home in 3 minutes– a personal record even for bad lays– and hung you out to dry. You’d left that encounter missing Bradley more than ever. Even entertained the idea of sending him a text just in case he was back home.

“I said shut the fuck up.” You tug his bottom lip between your teeth and pull.

Bradley moans, a deep rumble in the back of his throat. You smile victoriously, digging your teeth in a little harsher before letting go. Bradley’s eyes meet yours, widening a bit as his tongue traces over the indent your bite had left behind.

His cheeks flush a ruddy red, and his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows thickly. “Shit,” he mumbles, and surges forward to kiss you again.

Bradley’s everywhere. He pins your body back against the door. His lips slide over yours hungrily. Tongue pressing into your mouth as if he’s trying to bury himself inside of you. He rucks your shirt up to palm your breast. He squeezes, pinching your nipple between his middle and forefinger. The pain, the pleasure of it all almost makes you dizzy.

Brain foggy, and body keyed up to 11, you pull away from him. “Bradley,” you sigh, blinking rapidly as the world comes back into focus.

Bradley noses at the underside of your jaw. “Mmm?” He presses soft kisses to your neck.

“We gonna take this to the bed? Or did you wanna fuck me up against the door?”

He pretends to think about it for a moment. “Dunno. Door has its merits. I don’t have to move. And I can do this.” He shifts, rolling his thigh against your clit.

A moan tumbles clumsily from your lips. “You can do that on the bed, and it gives us more room.”

“Room to do what?”

You tilt your head to whisper in his ear. “I could suck your dick...”

Bradley chuckles. “You could do that here.”

“I could suck your dick while you eat me out.” You bite your bottom lip.

He pauses. A grin spreads across his face, lighting up his eyes. “Now that is a convincing argument.”

“Yeah?” Your answering smile is just as wide.

“Uh huh.” Bradley frees himself from your grip and takes a step back. He hooks a finger into the front of your shorts and tugs forward. “Just don’t come too early.”

“Me?” You scoff, letting yourself be pulled forward. “What makes you think I’d do that?”

“Yeah, you.” He guides you back through the townhouse with ease. “You just got finished humping me against the door.”

“Weren’t you the one who pinned me to the door as soon as I walked in?”

Bradley pushes the door to his room open and flicks on the light. “So?”

“So, you’re just as riled up as me.” You lick your bottom lip. “If anything, you should be worried about…premature completion,” you finish awkwardly.

Bradley tosses his head back and laughs. A deep, belly-aching guffaw. The rich baritone notes bounce off of the walls of his small bedroom. Warmth bursts in your chest and your heart leaps, in spite of the fact that you’re the source of his laughter. It’s infectious, bubbling up inside of you until it slips through the cracks of your smile, and pretty soon peals of your own laughter twine with his.

“‘Premature completion?’” He gasps, holding a hand to his chest.

You punch his shoulder lightly. “Don’t laugh at me.”

“I’m sorry.” Bradley makes a show of wiping nonexistent tears from his eyes. “It’s just such a funny way of putting it.”

“Rooster,” you snap.

He presses his lips together and makes an attempt at a somewhat serious face. It lasts all of three seconds before he’s laughing again.

You cross your arms over your chest. “Well not all of us are as crass as you and your Navy buddies.”

“Sorry. It just makes ya sound like a science textbook.”

“Fuck off.” You roll your eyes.

Bradley’s laughter turns to quiet chuckles. “Okay, okay. No need to get so feisty. Even though I love it when you do.” He pulls you close and loops an arm around your waist. “I believe you were gonna show me the merits of a bed.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Now who sounds like a textbook?” Your finger traces over his lower stomach.

“Still you,” he answers cheekily.

You ignore his gentle ribbing. “You’re wearing too many clothes.”

“You’re wearing more than I am.” He tugs at the waistband of your shorts.

“Then you should fix that,” you say coyly.

Bradley smirks. “I will.” He sits on his bed and beckons you forward.

You move to stand between his spread legs and rest your hands on his shoulder. You’re immediately glad that you did, as Bradley’s lips latch onto your peaked nipple and suck on it through the fabric of your tank top.

“No bra.” He mumbles against the growing wet patch. He looks up at you through heavy-lidded eyes.

You shake your head. “It’d just get in the way.”

He hums under his breath. “It would.” His teeth tease your breast, skating over the sensitive skin. Bradley pulls your tank top down and switches to the other breast. His fingers lightly pinch and roll the nipple he’s not currently sucking on.

You moan quietly, and slide your fingers into his loose curls. Bradley doesn’t need much encouragement. He’s greedy, eager. His lips smack against your breast, hot tongue sweeping out to taste your skin. Your knees grow weaker with each passing moment. Each swipe of his tongue. Each of his wrecked groans.

“Fuck,” he mumbles, burying his face into your chest and inhaling the scent of you. Jasmine and ginger. Your body is so fucking warm it drives him crazy. His dick hardens in his sweatpants. His pulse thuds loudly in his ears. He wants to be inside you. Needs it like he needs air.

It’s been too long since he had you like this. Willing and pliant under his touch. Bottom lip trapped between your teeth as he touched you. Bradley’s lost count of how many times he’s gotten off to the thought of this moment. Memories he’d replayed over and over in his head as he stroked his cock. The echo of your soft cries in his ears as he came all over his hand.

This, the real thing, puts all his daydreams to shame.

Bradley’s unoccupied hand slowly slides up your inner thigh. His thumb flicks under your shorts, and he chokes when he meets, not the pesky lace he was expecting, but the softness of your wet pussy.

“Jesus.” He inhales sharply. “No panties either?”

You shrug, hoping to come off as nonchalant, even though your heart thuds in your chest. “They’d just end up on the floor.”

“Are you trying to kill me?” He looks up at you, umber eyes eclipsed completely by desire.

“I’m trying to fuck you,” you remind him. And then, growing impatient, you push him backwards onto the bed. “You’re always getting distracted,” you chide playfully, and pull your tank top over your head. “It’s a miracle you’ve managed to keep your plane up in the sky this long.” Your shorts are quick to join your top on the ground.

Bradley grins up at you. “They don’t have distractions like you up in the sky. And it’s a good thing they don’t.” His dark eyes roam your body. “C’mere.”

“Yes, sir!” You give him a mock salute and he rolls his eyes.

The annoyed look melts away when you climb onto his lap. It turns into slack-jawed reverence when you grind your down against the obvious erection Bradley sports. His fingers grip your hips and he holds you tighter against him as he rocks up to meet you. A sweet groan escapes his parted lips.

“I think,” you begin, walking your fingers up Bradley’s chest, “that I could make you come before you could make me.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Trying to bait me into a bet? Us aviator’s don’t go down easy.”

“That’s exactly what I’m doing. And if I win, you have to,” you pause for dramatic effect, “let me be in charge the next time we see each other.”

“Done.” He cocks his head to the side, that signature boyish grin etching dimples into his cheeks. “What if you don’t? What do I get if I make you come first?”

“Well name your stakes, Lieutenant Bradshaw.”

“When I win–”

“If.”

“When I win…” Bradley thinks for a moment, and then bashfulness flits across his face. “You have to let me take you out one night. And not to the Hard Deck either. Somewhere nice.”

“Take me out? Like on a date?” You ask and he nods. Your breath catches in your throat.

That’s not what this was. This was casual. A 2 a.m. text. Flirtatious banter. Sex to scratch an itch and a See you next time. Not expectations or permanence. Not dinner and a night on the town.

Then again…Bradley’s a good guy. He’s sweet, definitely easy on the eyes. He takes care of you in his own way. Makes you laugh until you cry, and you genuinely like being around him. Plus, he fucks you like none other. Can make you see stars with just his fingers and tongue. You can’t say that for most of the other guys you’ve been with before him or since.

Would one date be so bad? It was just dinner, not a marriage proposal. Who knows, maybe something good could come out of it. Or, if it was terribly awkward, you two could just pretend it never even happened in the first place.

You must hesitate too long, because Bradley shakes his head. “Forget it. I’ll do something else.”

“No, wait.” You smile, and his expression lightens. “I’ll go out with you, Bradley.” You lean forward and kiss him sweetly. “But you gotta earn it first.”

A steely resolve settles over his face. Bradley cups your jaw, before you can pull away and slots his lips against yours. He moans into your mouth as his tongue licks against your bottom lip. You surge forward, opening yourself up to him, getting drunk on his kiss. It’s a messy, desperate clash of lips and teeth. Battling tongues and noses that bump against each other with the desire for more, more, more.

More skin. More friction. More of each other.

His large hand slides down your spine and squeezes your ass, rocking your hips against his crotch. You sigh at the sweet friction of your clit against his sweatpants. His cock, hard and pressed against your inner thigh, makes something heavy pool in your belly. It’s not long before your lips are moving down his body in search of it.

You press open mouthed kisses across his jaw, down his neck and torso. Bradley groans above you, his hand pressing against the back of your head, and you can’t tell if he’s pushing you lower or trying to get your mouth back on his. Still, your lips continue their trek lower, over the planes of his stomach, to the carved lines of his hips.

You run the tip of your tongue over the muscles that lead to his cock. The choked moan he lets out has you clenching your thighs as your clit throbs. You only get his sweatpants down a little more to kiss the top of his thighs, when the hand on your neck squeezes.

“Wait,” Bradley chokes out.

You look up at him, bottom lip trapped between your teeth. “Yes?”

“You’re cheating,” he says, chest heaving.

You sit up and tug his sweats down his legs. “If all it takes is a few kisses to make you come, this is gonna be easier than I thought.”

“You’re gonna need the head start.” He winks and taps his chin. “Get your ass up here.”

You raise up on your knees and turn slowly, wiggling your hips as you position yourself slowly. “Having second thoughts?”

Bradley’s hand lands on your butt sharply. “Not a chance. I’m taking you to dinner.” He rubs the sting away with his large palm. “Fucking beautiful.” He pulls you right over his face.

You hum, and wrap your hand around his stiff cock, feeling the weight of him in your palm. His breath hits your cunt in wrecked gasps, making you shudder. Under normal circumstances, you’d stroke him slowly, relishing his quiet groans. Watching his sanity slowly slip away. Teasing him until he got impatient and either begged for you or took matters into his own hands.

But these are not normal circumstances. You have a job to do.

You lean forward, mouthing at the base of Bradley’s cock. You run your tongue over every ridge and vein, from top to bottom.

“Shit.” Bradley moans. “Fuck, that’s it.”

This’ll be a piece of cake. With the way he’s moaning under you, Bradley will be coming in no time. You’ve got him hook, line and sinker. You can almost taste the sweet victory…and then Bradley recovers from the shock.

He pulls your hips down onto his face and slowly drags the tip of his tongue from your clit to your entrance and back again. He hums at the taste of you, wrapping his lips around your clit and working at the nerves with a flat tongue. You can’t help it. You moan lowly, and rock your hips down onto his chin–all thoughts of the bet wiped clean from your mind.

“Bradley,” you whine and drop your forehead against his thigh.

Electricity races up your spine and you shudder. It’s almost overwhelming. Bradley knows your body too well. Knows all the things that have you careening towards the edge already. It’s embarrassing how worked up you are. Your toes curl against the pillows, and you try to will yourself to get a grip. At the very least, to stop helping him win. You swear you can almost feel his cocky grin against you.

You might have bitten off more than you can chew.

Bradley chuckles, and it snaps you back to reality. You won’t go down without a fight.

You wrap your lips around his cock, matching the fervor with which his lips move against your cunt. You swallow him down, stroking what you can’t fit into your mouth. Your hand glides over his cock easily, aided by the mess of your saliva.

His chuckles turn into a moan. You’re not out of this just yet.

It’s a desperate race. Hot and sticky. Fueled by desire and broken moans. Your bodies writhe against each other, hips lifting and pushing, seeking the warm embrace of lips and spit. Muffled groans and smacking sounds fill the room.

But it can’t last forever, and you won’t last much longer.

You let his cock slip from your mouth and kiss down the shaft. Your hand keeps its steady rhythm, even as Bradley presses a finger into your entrance. Your lips travel over his thighs, teeth digging little marks into his skin. Then, slowly, gently, you suck on his balls.

Bradley loses it. His hips buck up into your hand. He groans and pulls away to bite out a curse. Jesus. His head spins, and he swears he feels his soul leave his body for a moment. He breathes harshly through his nose, steadying himself. In. Out. In. Out. And then a second finger joins the first thrusting into you, and his tongue swirls around your clit once more.

Your legs begin to tremble around his head, the tell tale sign of your orgasm. Holding yourself up has become a chore, and Bradley doesn’t let up. Determined to make you come. Determined to get that first date. But you’re just as determined to bring him to the edge with you.

He takes one of his fingers, slick from the warmth of your dripping pussy, and teases your ass. Pressing the digit into you just slightly. At the same time, Bradley slurps your clit back into his mouth. The combination is lethal, and it’s the breaking point.

You come with a cry that’s muffled by Bradley’s thigh. You rock your hips against his face wantonly as the embers turn into a wildfire. Bradley groans as you explode on his tongue. He works you through it, greedily kissing your clit while his fingers still fuck into you. Licking and sucking at your cunt until you’re an overstimulated puddle. Only then does he pull away with a filthy pop, and a harsh smack to your ass.

You collapse onto the bed beside Bradley, and stare up at the ceiling. “Wow.” You can’t even be upset about losing, fucked out and sated as you are.

You wait for the inevitable teasing, but it never comes. Instead, Bradley kisses your ankle, and rubs his thumb over your knee. Content to sit here with you in comfortable silence until your breathing has settled.

When the rise and fall of your chest has finally begun to steady, Bradley breaks the silence, propping himself up on his elbows to grin at you. “Best two out of three?”

#bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x you #rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw smut #rooster smut #tgm #top gun:maverick #miles teller #bradley rooster bradshaw

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lokisgoodgirl · 1 year

Text

Holy Orders [Avenger!Loki x Fem.Reader]

Part of the Hostile F*cks Collection A Link to my (new) Masterlist is HERE Summary: (17) Loki is working undercover as a priest in Rome. Ecumenical eroticism ensues. Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Heresy. Smuttish. Latin. Priest!Loki. Language. (w/c 3.6k)

The door of your holiday apartment slammed behind you, cursing as you stumbled down a tiny step directly onto the cobbled street. It had been three weeks since the travesty of the Renaissance Faire.

After three days, you had accepted that Loki’s attention denial was not a phase. After five, the absence of his irritating teasing had you feeling an unusually bitter disappointment.

After seven, when he had left for Rome without even a courtesy farewell, you had woken in the night wondering the unthinkable. What if Thor was right?

And after twelve, you had begrudgingly accepted that you loved him.

There was a morning buzz in the air, jostling bicycles ringing lightly as the slap of your sandals sounded lightly on the aged stone beneath your feet. You hurried across the street, trying not to be run over by a moped speeding past, blowing up the back of your sundress. Jesus Christ, you thought; heart pounding before your lips curled in a secret smile. Father Laufeyson wouldn’t like that kind of talk, you laughed to yourself as you rounded the corner and Piazza Navona came into view.

For two weeks, Loki had been working undercover in a small church tucked out of the main bustle of Rome. His home had been the same ancient streets you now walked. And you wondered as you passed the marbled carvings of roman gods hanging against the circular fountains, if he had ever thought about you.

Of course not, he’s been busy, you chided yourself, hoisting the bag strap on your shoulder. When Rogers had assigned him this mission, apparently the laughs of the team could be heard two floors below. But as it turned out, Loki could be as convincing as a priest as he could be as a heartless arsehole. Now that his information gathering was complete, you had been sent to collect the evidence. You volunteered, idiot. A seamless pass-over. In and out, Rogers had said. Fuck, should someone have told him it was me that was coming? What if he’s mad?

You turned another corner, skilfully avoiding a group of tourists buried in a map. And what if he’s not? you thought; a thrill of wild anticipation blossoming in your belly.

“The Church of Santa Maria dell'Anima…” you murmured absent-mindedly, looking up at the flat exterior of the sandy coloured stone building.

As far as Roman churches went, it wasn’t a big draw - favoured more by the faithful local residents than photo-happy tourists. Perfect for a Hydra Vatican infiltration ring, you thought, pursing your lips as the eager congregation filed past you up the short flight of steps to the entrance. Swirling a white shawl around your shoulders, you took a deep breath of heavy, heated air.

Morning mass was about to begin.

You slipped inside the ancient wooden doors, a waft of stale coolness tingling over your skin. The breath seemed to evaporate from your lungs as your gaze drew up, eyes scanning over the high marble pillars and bright frescos painted floor to ceiling. Warm orange and gold infused the air, the sting of spiced incense filling your nostrils. The low hum of foreign conversation echoed around the church from people filing between the wooden pews, facing the altar. And there he was.

Loki Laufeyson stood with a long wooden taper clasped gently between his fingers, re-lighting candles by the far side of the carved stone nave. Strands of waxy hair fell around his cheekbones, illuminated by a hundred flickering flames resting in the metal display.

A thick green vestment embroidered with gold hung over his body down to his calves, making him look even taller than he usually did. Pure white shirt sleeves billowed around his arms, swaying gently as he continued his intricate work unphased.

He looked deep in thought, a calm serenity bathing his sharp profile as he blew out the taper and watched the smoke waft aimlessly through speckles of swirling dust. Loki clasped his hands in front of him, flattening the luxurious fabric of his vestment against the washboard stomach you knew lay beneath.

He turned, bowing lightly towards the crucifix hanging above the altar before ascending the several low steps.

Fuuuuck, you thought; pussy suddenly throbbing. Your hand fumbled to the strap of your bag, lowering it and sliding subtly into the back row. A cold shock of wood pressed against the back of your bare knees, making you wince. When did I get so wet, you frowned; knowing exactly when, as Loki turned towards the congregation.

A bell chimed, summoning another priest from the side of the church. You drew the shawl tighter around your chest, feeling your heart thunder against the clench of your fist. A woman slid in beside you, tucking her hair nervously behind her ears before making a sign of the cross.

“Nel nome del Padre, del Figlio e dello Spirito Santo, Amen.” she murmured, running her wide eyes up and down the ridiculously handsome figure opening the large bible, poised behind the altar. You suddenly wondered if morning mass had always been this popular.

The low tinkle of bells echoed again as the service began. The crowd rose, fifty or so of the faithful bowing their heads as the undercover Avenger took centre stage.

He is loving this, you thought incredulously, seeing his arms rise at his sides. The drape of green and gold vestments shimmered in the light, a warm glow radiating upwards to his pale face bathed in morning bronze from the stained glass. The crowd before you sat down obediently on the lowering of his palms. You fumbled backwards, catching yourself on the edge of the long bench.

Loki’s stare ran over the congregation, covertly scanning every face like only his keen gaze could. It stopped on you, making your breath hitch. You thought you saw the tug of a smirk at the side of his lips, a glint in his eye. Or maybe it was the light.

The next twenty minutes passed in a religiously erotic blur, swathes of ceremonial chants in Italian at Loki’s command making your thighs squeeze together. Heresy, you thought; a shudder rolling down your spine as the god leant forward to kiss the gospel. I’d be burnt in the old days.

The second priest had blessedly taken over to give the sermon, the broken words you could understand not even registering as you watched Loki listen rapturously to the side in feigned interest. He knows I’m watching him, you scowled; realising that every casual smooth of his stomach, every clench of his perfect jaw was for you.

How you wanted to storm up the marbled aisle, grab his stupid fancy poncho in a fist and kiss him violently against the golden tabernacle. Might blow his cover, though; you thought, immediately thinking of what else you could blow as he gripped onto the tall candlesticks by the altar.

The vivid fantasy was broken as the congregation shuffled to a stand. The woman beside you adjusted her cleavage, shaking her hair back. Loki raised his hand. “Pater noster, qui es in caelis, sanctificetur nomen tuum.” he said, the practised words of prayer a chant - that velvet voice sinking through the heavy air like double cream. Even speaking in Latin, it was irresistible.

Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be your name

Your hips shuddered back against the wooden pew, bare skin of your thighs dragging against the grain. You recognised the tempo. How could you not.

“Adveniat regnum tuum. Fiat voluntas tua, sicut in caelo et in terra.” Loki spoke slowly, eye-fucking you menacingly from the top of the raised steps behind the lecturn. His lips hovered on ‘tuum’, a fizz of unstoppable need rising in your belly as you recalled its place in the prayer.

Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done on Earth, as it is in heaven.

Dozens of voices chimed around you, their Italian lilt making the dead language sing. But it was only his earthen tones you heard. Only him.

It had always, only been him.

“Panem nostrum quotidianum da nobis hodie, et dimitte nobis debita nostra sicut, et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris” he rumbled in baritone, tilting his head.

Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses, As we forgive those who trespass against us

You raised your gaze to meet his, knowing it would be waiting as he stood with his large hands encasing the sides of the lectern by the altar. His eyes narrowed briefly, the subtle slant of his brows betraying his utter bemusement at your presence.

“Et ne nos inducas in tentationem, sed libera nos a malo.” he growled, the timbre of his voice making the woman beside you straighten. You could see her fingertips digging into the soft flesh between her knuckles, hands clasped in prayer.

And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.

How appropriate, you mused. You watched as Loki slid the bible from its place, holding it briefly aloft and placing a kiss against the leather before lowering it to his crotch in a gentle hold.

“Amen.” he murmured, solemnly; lowering his chin.

“Amen.” came the ringing response. “Amen.” you echoed slowly, squinting thoughtfully as Loki turned and sat with a smirk.

You sat back down, questioning everything. Did you think that when he saw you it would have been any different from how it ever was? That he would somehow wordlessly communicate that he was pleased to see you? That he had missed you? That he loves me too, you scoffed painfully; flinching as the organ sprang to life.

The communion procession began with those at the front of the church, each person pausing in front of the priest to receive god’s bounty. Loki and his counterpart held the small, circular host aloft, their lips moving before placing it on the recipients tongue. Kinky, you thought; before realising the woman to your right had risen and joined the slow moving queue. Fuck.

You shuffled behind her, rolling your eyes as she fiddled nervously with her hair, smoothing and re-smoothing the same strands. Your gaze wandered to the ornate figure of Christ hanging on the cross above the altar, his limp form getting closer and closer. Don’t look at me like that, you huffed to the disappointed looking Jesus; immediately switching focus to the floor beneath your feet.

“Corpo di Cristo…” a dark voice murmured. It was tinged with weighty intentions, thick memories of feral moans of unrestrained passion in your ear flooding your mind as you fluttered your lashes upwards. Loki’s eyes betrayed none of your history, his stare glazed; the twitch of one dark eyebrow the only indicator that he ever knew you at all.

“Amen.” you whispered hoarsely, parting your lips.

He placed the host gently on your outstretched tongue. Against your better judgement, you felt your lids flicker shut, the soft graze of his fingertip smoothing against wet muscle that longed for his touch.

It lingered, the melt of the wafer beginning to slide down your throat. His wide fingertip pulled imperceptibly at your bottom lip on its withdrawal, making your eyes shoot open. Loki’s brows raised, a light furrow reminding you that there was an entire congregation at your back. You gave a small nod towards him, scurrying around the front pews and back to your seat.

You could feel the burning heat in your cheeks for the rest of the mass, ten minutes feeling like an endless vat of time. The final blessing was, in reality, swift. A few chimes, swings of incense and murmurs of reverent praise and it was done.

Loki disappeared in procession with the other priest behind a door at the back of the church in a sway of luxurious, billowing green. The stillness of the holy space washed over you as attendees left in their own time. You checked your watch. Forty-five minutes. Had that been all?

The clap of your sandals against the marble floor echoed as you walked slowly around the walls, drawn to the beauty of the figures drawn by those long dead. You traced your fingers over cracks in the face of a rather grim looking Virgin Mary. “I know how you feel…” you whispered to no-one, feeling the plaster catch beneath delicate skin.

“I very much do not think you know how she feels.”

Your hand paused on the fresco, falling to your side as you turned. Loki stood resplendent before you, the folds of his holy garment making him look more achingly irresistible than he ever had before. You felt a frown crease your forehead, pursing your lips to stop a moan. It was worse up close.

Loki leant forward, casting a conspiratorial glance towards a small group of locals loitering by the door. “-due to the fact that for one thing, she is a virgin, while you...Agent...” he smirked. Your frown deepened.

“Keep your voice down.” you hushed, glancing over your shoulder. Satisfied, you looked back to Loki, his obsidian hair curled behind delicate ears revealing the white flash of his clerical collar. The bone structure you knew so well against the curves of your body sang in the mid-morning light through the windows, every iridescent inch of his skin glowing with tantalising radiance.

“I see you still managed to wear green.” you scoffed under your breath, making the priest chuckle lightly. “It’s Ordinary Time in the church calendar, Agent. Did you not read the briefing documents? It is the standard colour for the season” he drawled quietly, giving a reverent nod to his fellow priest heading for the door and the beckon of Rome beyond.

“They really think you’re one of them?” you said, turning towards a row of candles flickering to the side. Each one represented someone loved and lost, a prayer. A hope.

“Of course." he scoffed. "Father John Lockhart on pilgrimage from England. Why would they suspect?”

You ran your eyes down the silk embroidered vestment which hid his intensely muscular body. Just. The bulge of his biceps shifted beneath the billowing sleeves making your gaze hover. “Priests aren’t usually so…”

“Yes?” he goaded, raising an eyebrow in amusement. You dropped a coin in the basket, taking a candle and fingering the wick. “You don’t seem like the type, that’s all. I’m surprised you didn’t shapeshift.”

Loki chuckled. “My dear, you clearly don’t know Catholicism. A web of mysteries and contradictions which go far beyond their lore-bound texts...” he said, shifting so you stood with biceps pressing against each other.

“Are you considering a change of vocation then?” you quipped, playing with the wick between your fingers. He faced the wall of candles, but you could feel the stare of his eyes roaming the sliver of skin beneath the parted shawl. “Not quite.” he muttered absent-mindedly. “The reverence and theatrics are appealing I grant you, but there is far too much celibacy for my liking.”

The ghost of his breath skated across your collarbone, the unbearably small distance between you making every nerve in your body vibrate with desire.

“What are you praying for, mio figlio?” he murmured innocently under his breath as the wick of your candle caught flame from another. My child, you thought with a grimace, recognising the taboo of unmistakeable arousal deep in your pussy.

You watched the tear-dropped fire settle from its first rage, flickering gently as it came to terms with its place in the world. Setting it down amongst the others, you turned your chin to look up at him. The blues of Loki’s irises swam with green in the shadowed alcove, the dance of the candlelight illuminating him like a bygone Saint.

“Salvation.” you whispered quietly, voice catching.

Without knowing why, you bowed your head. The god’s fingers flew gently beneath your chin, tilting it upwards once more. His eyes were wide, lips parted as he inhaled softly. “Darling, I-”

“Padre?” a voice muttered tentatively behind you.

You and Loki both turned, seeing the fidgeting figure of the woman who had been your unknowing lust-buddy all through the service.

“Sì, figlia mia?” Loki replied gently, his hands disappearing back into the draped sleeves of his robes as he clasped them together. You rolled your eyes, pivoting back towards the wall of tealit flames. The thunder of your heart was a solid beat in your ears, pounding. His smooth voice rumbled in Italian, the sweet ministrations of his undercover persona clearly honed over the past two weeks. “Grazie Padre…” you heard the woman say, a tremble in her voice; before quick footsteps echoed away from you.

Loki chuckled, resuming his position by your side. “Impure thoughts about an inappropriate figure, apparently.” he whispered, barely contained glee bursting from the confines of propriety. “Wishes to make a confession to me personally at the next session. Imagine that. I wonder who it could be.”

“You are impossible." you sighed, a wave of jealousy roaring in your belly. "I bet you’ve been very popular here in that regard.” you said through gritted teeth, trying to focus on the wavering light of your candle. Salvation.

“Always so quick to judge.” he chuckled, drawing himself stoically upwards. “My dear, I am a priest.” he said, turning to face you. His nose was inches from your forehead, the empty church feeling stifling as the air settled around you both. “I have been a beacon of chastity...and contrary to popular belief, I do take my assignments seriously.”

Slowly, you met his gaze – the sincerity in his face, unmistakeable. “I didn’t think you took anything seriously, Father.” you said, mockingly; unable to stop yourself as you watched his eyes narrow at the words.

“Don’t you mean Daddy, Agent?” he smouldered, “Or am I nothing but a memory to you now with my brief absence?”

In two quick steps from his impossibly long legs, your back was flush against the nearest wall. The curve of the low archway hung dangerously close to Loki’s full height as he loomed above you. His forearm pressed to the marble cornicing above your head, trapping you like a lamb for slaughter.

A long sleeve of forest green shielded you from the gaze of a dozen judgemental statues, the collar around his neck straining against the weight of a hard vein that bulged ominously. “Why must you always think the worst of me?” he growled, the primal sound rumbling deep in his throat hoarse and wild. Familiar burning lust bubbled uncontrollably to the surface in those beautifully dangerous eyes as his chest heaved, daring you to respond.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you said, flustered as the shawl fell around your shoulders to the floor. Loki stepped closer, fingertips of the hand not affixed above your head squeezing into the flesh of your bare bicep.

“I think you know very well.” he spat, all traces of serenity gone as he blazed beneath a façade of restraint. “Why are you here? To taunt me? To parade yourself in front of me while you tease me with your endless games? Anyone else could have taken your place. Anyone.”

Your frown deepened, a deep ache blossoming in your belly as you tasted the rage on his every word. You shouldn’t have come.

“-Or am I wrong? Have you come to confess to me, darling?” he hummed goadingly, the feeling of his tips running down your aching skin making your shiver.

Sarcasm bit through his words, slicing through the intimacy of the moment. “And what better place? What better persona? Are you ready to admit your undying love for me and put this charade to an end? Or have your attentions wandered...”

A staggered breath surged in your throat as his hand traced down your cleavage, feeling your resistance falter. You could feel the swell of his hard erection through the drape of holy garb, the violence of his lust boiling beneath the shroud of theatrical consecration. The words were on the tip of your tongue- But then the game will be over for him. He will have won, you thought with a chill; And what then?

Loki’s brow furrowed, a jolt of his jaw taking you by surprise – like shaking off a fly. Whatever was in your head, he clearly didn’t want to hear it.

“And what about you…?” you managed to quiver through shaky breaths, your hands sliding tentatively over his shoulders. Loki tilted his head, confusion etched across his brow. In a brief second, you saw his bravado falter, features softening as he processed the possible meanings of your request. His tongue darted out, licking quickly over his cupid’s bow before biting his lip.

He shook his head, a solitary gasp of forced laughter gusting against your parted lips.

“I have just recalled I seem to owe you a certain...something, do I not?” he said casually, skating over his previous barbs as he tried to change the subject. You shuffled against the wall, attempting to pull him closer to you and failing. “More than one, actually.” you muttered, feeling the wet slick between your thighs grow hot. It was embarrassing how much you needed him. Above everything else, it was him.

“More than one?” Loki purred disapprovingly, tsk’ing as he raised an eyebrow. His hips dragged up your pelvis, every forbidden inch of his solid cock making you mad with need. You began to pant, as he thrust once against your torso. Creases had formed at the corner of his eyes; his outburst it seemed...forgotten.

He released the forearm from the wall above your head, a theatrical flourish of his arm making the heavy metal bolt across the doors of the church slam shut with an almighty clang.

“Here?” you gasped, feeling the embroidery of his sacred vestment scratch against your cleavage as he pressed his muscular torso against you. “But what about...you know.” You tilted your chin upwards towards the crucifix in explanation, the majesty of the surroundings somehow making you forget to whom you were pinned against.

“Don’t worry about Him, Agent…” Loki whispered, before his lips wrapped around your earlobe, sucking gently. “Mine are the only Holy Orders you shall be following today. Mine, the only sacrament your body desperately needs.” His dirty whispers hummed against your skin, falling deeper into waves of sin with each dark syllable. "Mine." he rasped quietly, the word melting against your breathy moans unheard, before fastening his lips to yours in a desperate kiss.

Continued in Holy Orders: Mercy Part of the Hostile F*cks Collection

Tags @gigglingtigger @meowmeow-motherfucker @muddyorbsblr @imalovernotahater @avengersalways @littledark11 @lokikissesmyforehead @simplyholl @fictive-sl0th @loopsisloops @thedistractedagglomeration @loveroflokiforpoeticjustice @123forgottherest @holdmytesseract @joyful-enchantress @sititran @jaidenhawke @silverfire475 @michelleleewise @vbecker10 @imalovernotahater @thomase1 @morriggannlostinfandoms @marygoddessofmischief @xorpsbane @filthyhiddles @peacefulpianist @maple-seed @yelkmelk @wheredafandomat @mistress-ofmagic @goblingirlsarah @ozymdias @peaches1958 @your-taste-on-my-lips @lokidokieokie @kikster606 @peachyjinx @tbhiddlestan83 @trickster-maiden @k-writer17 @sidepartskinnyjeans @ladyofthestayingpower @joyful-enchantress

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natashatrace · 18 days

Text

“Long fucking day,” Rooster mutters, clinking his glass against Phoenix’s where it sits on the bar.

“He pulled my papers.” “Why would he do that?”

Phoenix hums, nodding a little without looking over. Her eyes stay fixed on the thin napkin underneath her glass, thumb catching over the rim and pushing through the salt in a couple short, quick passes.

“Did you write me a note, Natasha?” “No. I wrote down my room number.”

Natasha snorts out a laugh, exhaling and bringing her thumb to her lips. Her tongue catches against the callus on her fingertip as she licks the salt away, quickly knocking back half of the top-shelf margarita she’d ordered in one go.

Bradley has an eyebrow raised when she finally does meet his eyes. Grinning, he tilts his head and says, “Well. Pray tell, Phoenix. What’re we drinkin’ about?”

Phoenix turns on her barstool, knees knocking against Rooster’s. She rests both hands on his thighs, squeezing his legs in reassurance as she explains, “You remember when I told you I’d hooked up with an older guy during fleet week?”

“Years ago,” Bradley nods, brows drawing together. “Yeah. I remember. You wouldn’t shut up about him for weeks. Why?”

Phoenix pats one of Rooster’s legs. “I’m very sorry for what I’m about to put you through.”

“Huh?”

“I’m Maverick.” “Oh, I’ve heard of you.” “Good things, I hope.” “Impossible things. I’m hoping they’re all true.”

“Bradley,” Phoenix says slowly, carefully. “I hooked up with Maverick.”

Three things happen in quick succession:

Bradley’s smile drops, he breathes out a sigh, and then he proceeds to empty his glass of whiskey in one swallow.

“Please tell me you’re lying.”

Phoenix covers her mouth with her hand to hide the way she’s smirking. Judging by the narrowing of Bradley’s eyes, it doesn’t work. “Nope.”

“Natasha. Oh my god. Jesus, are you — you gave me very explicit details about that hookup.”

“I think it’s cosmic payback for all the times I’ve had to listen to you go on and on about Hangman’s perfect dick.”

“It’s not even that good,” Bradley refutes, looking away, blushing a deep red.

Phoenix sips at her margarita. “You’re a bad fucking liar.”

Bradley pinches at the bridge of his nose with two fingers. “So you fucked my godfather. What the fuck, Tash.”

“For the record, I’m still on your side,” she says, thinking back to their earlier conversation on the tarmac. “But I also think you need to know, in the interest of best friend honesty, that I’m a little swayed by his absolutely perfect —“

“If you finish that sentence, I’m getting a new best friend.”

“Like you could ever replace me,” Phoenix huffs. She waves a hand toward the bartender across the room and asks, “You want another drink?”

Bradley’s answer is immediate. “Several.”

#mavnix #top gun maverick #reiverreturns #userfrench #userbells #natasha phoenix trace #bradley rooster bradshaw #Phoenix #rooster #maverick #top gun maverick au #I JUST THINK ITS COMEDY #and I promised reiver 100 words of SOMETHING so I am breaking the writers block with this #you are welcome #mywriting

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lesbianrobin · 8 months

Text

family friend

2,051 words

eddie has a new neighbor. his new neighbor has an unusual visitor.

Eddie's gotta figure out how to get away with murdering Steve Harrington.

Steve was a douche in high school, sure, but nothing crazy. He was just standard ignorant jock douchey, not, like, hauling slurs at everyone and beating on his girlfriend douchey, which is why Eddie almost couldn't believe what he was seeing at first.

The Mayfields moved in across the way, and Eddie saw Steve carrying boxes. A bit weird to see Steve Harrington in the trailer park, sure, but maybe the mom paid him twenty bucks or something to help with moving. Not a huge deal. Then Eddie saw Steve Harrington pull up outside that same trailer in his BMW the very next night, around one in the morning. The little redheaded freshman girl came out of her place carrying a backpack and got into the car, and before Eddie could blink Steve was driving off, and Eddie felt like he might throw up.

Sure, technically it's none of his business, but Jesus fuckin' Christ, the girl can't be any more than fifteen at the oldest, and that’s if he’s being generous. He’s almost sure she’s fourteen. Steve's a grown-ass man, so Eddie would probably be well within his rights to call the cops, but what the hell would he say? Officer, I saw them talking. He gave her a ride. The hell kind of evidence is that? Besides, the cops don't give a shit about anything that happens on this side of town, and they sure as hell don’t give a shit about anything that Eddie Munson has to say. Eddie's gonna have to figure something else out.

Three months later, and he’s still drawing a blank. It's not that he's scared of Harrington, he's just being… pragmatic. Wise. Other things that aren't just being a cowardly little wimp. Harrington doesn't come by every night, sometimes he'll even go a week without visiting, but every time Eddie thinks that maybe he's finally decided to leave this poor girl alone, he comes back. Always at night. Well, probably. Eddie's obviously not just staking out this random girl's house all day. Because that would be weird. So for all he knows, Harrington could be coming by sometimes at noon, but Eddie's only noticed it at night, and the girl always comes outside to his car, Harrington never going in, and one time Eddie sees Harrington tug on her braid when she gets into the passenger seat and the kid smiles at him, and Eddie wonders if she knows how wrong this is or if she's just happy to have somebody giving her attention. Too many girls around Hawkins are like that, convinced that even the smallest scrap of affection means they're loved, and maybe it's a bit hypocritical of Eddie to say that because he's so desperate for love and respect that he devotes almost all of his time to making sure a bunch of teenage nerds think he's cool, and maybe if a grown-ass man had shown him a little attention when he was fourteen he'd have fallen into that exact same trap, but Wayne wouldn't have let it happen, and Eddie finds himself hating that poor single mother across the road a little bit even though he knows it's not fair.

Harrington may be a creep, but he's smarter than Eddie would have expected. He never does anything untoward in public, nothing that could give Eddie an excuse to get involved. What the hell is he supposed to do? Threaten Steve Harrington and get his ass kicked? Try to hit Steve Harrington, get his ass kicked, and get arrested for assault? Tell the girl’s mother and get chewed out for spying on them all the time? So Eddie watches. He just watches like a total piece of shit. Harrington’s the only man he ever sees at the trailer, which isn’t surprising. The kid’s mom seems to work too much to have time for dating. Eddie saw Lucas Sinclair once or twice, right around when they first moved in, but he hasn’t been by in a couple of months, and he hasn’t brought it up with Sinclair because how the hell is he supposed to even start that conversation? Any time he considers telling somebody about the Harrington situation, he starts planning what he’ll say, how the conversation will go, and it always ends with somebody wondering why the hell he’s paying so much attention to the little girl across the street and turning Eddie in to the cops, who already hate him and want any excuse to lock his ass up and search the trailer. Besides, Sinclair may not worship the guy like Henderson does, but he still seems to think he's pretty great, so he probably wouldn't be receptive.

One Sunday afternoon, Eddie’s eating cereal and watching TV when he hears a car pulling up outside. The engine's way too smooth to belong to anybody in Forest Hills, so Eddie stands to peek out the window.

Harrington’s BMW comes to a stop so hard that Eddie can hear the brakes squeal. He jumps out of the driver’s seat, leaving his car running, and takes the stairs two at a time, barging into the Mayfields’ trailer like he owns the place, and Eddie’s blood runs cold. Eddie's pretty sure the girl’s the only one home right now.

Steve Harrington gets into a lot of fights.

Eddie puts his cereal down on the coffee table and starts patting himself down. Shit, where’s his knife? In his jacket, probably, and his jacket’s in his room, and there’s no fucking way Eddie’s gonna take on Steve Harrington with his bare hands, so he runs through the trailer, hoping that he didn’t leave his jacket in the van, because the van’s locked right now and he can’t remember where he put his keys, and he keeps listening, waiting for a scream, but he doesn’t hear anything, which somehow makes him even more sick.

Finally, finally, he finds the jacket, finds his switchblade, and he glances quickly out the window on his way to the door—and pauses.

Harrington is carrying the Mayfield girl piggyback down the stairs. He says something, and she thumps his ear. Ow! he can see Harrington exclaim, but he doesn’t put her down, doesn’t retaliate in any way, and Eddie slips his knife into his pocket. He needs to hear what they’re saying.

The trash can’s only half full, but it’ll work.

Eddie tries his best to act nonchalant as he carries the too-light bag of trash outside, pretending like he doesn’t even notice Harrington and the girl are there.

“Don’t worry about it,” Harrington says, bending down so that the girl can open the passenger side door. “Here, careful…” He slowly lets her down, and Eddie sees that she’s balancing on one foot, holding the other one an inch or so off the ground. Harrington offers her a hand and she leans on his arm as she lowers herself into the car.

“I don’t need a hospital,” the girl says, “I just asked if you could take me to get an ankle brace, Mom,” and Harrington sighs.

He lowers his volume, but King Steve’s voice has always carried pretty well, so Eddie hears clear as day, “Look, I can cover the bill, alright? You know I can. Please don’t worry about it, Max, I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

Eddie can just barely hear what Max says next, but he’s pretty sure it’s sorry.

Harrington reaches down and tugs on her braid, a small, sad smile on his face, and he says, “Just be more careful next time, alright? Don’t try new tricks and shit without somebody around to make sure you don’t break your neck.”

They look at each other for a few moments, and the silence makes Eddie suddenly aware that he’s just been standing next to a trash can doing absolutely nothing. He lifts the lid and drops the bag in.

“Alright, your feet in okay?” Max nods. Harrington closes her door gently. He jogs around to the driver’s side, and that’s when he and Eddie lock eyes. Oh, shit.

Harrington gives him a polite smile, holding one hand up in a wave. “Hey,” he calls, and Eddie jumps. Harrington gestures toward the car. “Kid broke her ankle on her skateboard.”

“It’s not broken!”

Harrington rolls his eyes. “You’re not a doctor just because you can put band-aids on skinned knees,” he says as he opens the drivers’ side door, shooting a look back at Eddie like, Can you believe this kid? Harrington gets into the car and snaps his fingers, saying, “Hey, come on, seatbelt, asshole.”

Max Mayfield throws her head back and groans, but she puts on her seatbelt. Harrington buckles his own, waves at Eddie, and puts the car in drive. Eddie watches them drive off, standing next to the trash can, and it feels like his feet are stuck in place.

Eddie noticed a lot of things, keeping an eye out for Max like he was. He noticed Max spending hours at a time wiping out on her skateboard, over and over, skinning her knees and bruising her shins, until she nailed whatever trick she was trying to do. He noticed how many six- and twelve-packs her mother carried inside on a regular basis. He noticed how their TV and their lights often stayed on until the early hours of the morning. He noticed how Max always had dark circles under her eyes, how she never smiled, not really, always trudged to and from the school bus with her headphones on and her eyes to the ground. He noticed that Max sometimes smiled in the passenger seat of that BMW. He noticed that Harrington was the only man who ever came over to the trailer, but more than that, Eddie realizes, he was the only person.

When Eddie gets inside, his cereal is beyond soggy. He eats it anyway, gagging on every mouthful, and thank fuck he’s such a coward or he might have scared off the only person in a lonely girl’s life who’s actually looking out for her. Actually doing shit to help her, not just watching from across the street. Getting her away from her alcoholic mother, from her quiet, shitty trailer, and Eddie suddenly remembers how he heard Madonna playing from Harrington’s car radio one night, and at the time he thought it was disgusting, some old creep playing a little girl’s favorite music so she’d let her guard down, but now it makes his chest feel funny in a good way.

Shit, Henderson was right. How many kids has Steve Harrington adopted? Eddie’s always figured that Henderson worships the guy and Sinclair thinks he's cool because he’ll buy them beer or something, but he’d never quite bought his own theory, because Henderson doesn’t seem like the type. This makes more sense. Dustin’s mom is a little… uh… much, Sinclair had said one time when Dustin left Hellfire early. She might, like, actually have a heart attack and die if he’s home late again. Henderson lives alone with his mom, too, no brothers or sisters and no dad in the picture, and Eddie’s never claimed to be bright but he’s not too bad at recognizing patterns. So, Steve Harrington: not a creep, probably. That’s good to know. Eddie’s not gonna let up on Henderson, obviously, because Harrington’s still a stupid asshole jock, but it’s nice to know his little buddies aren’t hanging with a perv.

Three hours later, Eddie hears the BMW again. He watches through the window as Harrington opens Max’s door for her and helps her up the stairs on her new clunky boot. They're chatting about something, taking turns rolling their eyes and laughing on their way inside. Harrington seems to stay inside the trailer until Max’s mom gets home that night, and when she does Steve meets her on the porch. They go inside together for a bit. When they reemerge, Harrington hugs her, and Eddie thinks he might see a tear or two from Max’s mother, and then he looks away, busies himself with his third attempt at slogging through The Scarlet Letter because it's none of his business.

Steve fuckin' Harrington. God, Hawkins never stops getting weirder.

#lesbianrobin.fic #stranger things #eddie munson #max mayfield #steve harrington #stranger things fic #em talks

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internet-sadass · 1 year

Note

please write more michael langdon smut im beggginggg. maybe hozier's work song inspired???? i just need simp michael plsssss

There's Nothing Sweeter Than My Baby (Grunge!Michael x Reader)

Blurb: Michael gets a chance to worship you in the best way possible

Warnings: smut, oral (female receiving)

A/N: thank you so so much for requesting something! I'm sorry i didnt get round to this sooner!! Hope you enjoy some simpy Michael smut, apologies for how badly I suck at romantic shit (I'm aromantic so it doesn't exactly come naturally to me).

It had been 2 weeks since Michael had last seen you, what with you being busy with university and your badly paid copywriting internship. He understood, of course, that he didn't get his girlfriend all to himself all the time and that you had many commitements of your own to attend to. Knowing that didn't make the empty space in his life that your presence usually filled any easier to accept or deal with.

Leaning back against the pillows on his bed, he checked his phone yet again, both to look at the time and see if any messages had come in from you. Two more hours and then he could see you, the one person except for Ms. Mead, who he actually gave a shit about. He'd been planning this day for the past three days. After all, he didn't normally have the house to himself, which meant he could spend some real 'quality' time with you without the fear of being caught. His hand and the cute pictures of you in lingerie only went so far in terms of satisfying him. Besides, pictures aren't the same as feeling your body pressed against his, hearing your moans and sighs, and being physically inside you.

"Fuck." He mumbled, realising his little daydream about slipping his fingers into your velvety pussy and making you moan his name was beginning to send blood rushing to his cock.

He didn't want to ruin what was coming later on by messing about with himself now. In an attempt to distract himself, he grabbed his headphones off the nightstand. Skipping through his playlist, he landed on Work Song by Hozier. Turning back to the book he had been reading, he passed hours listening to every song that reminded him of you, whether it be because it was a song you'd recommended to him or because there were traces of you in the lyrics.

*** "J-jesus, what's gotten into you!" You managed as Michael kissed down your neck, your feet not even through the doorframe.

He pulled back, a look of mock offence on his face.

"I havent seen you in two weeks, Y/N. That's too long for me not to go crazy when I finally do see you." He resumed kissing your neck as you closed the door behind you.

Noticing that Ms Mead's car was absent, you started to piece together the other reason Michael was unable to leave your body alone.

"Empty house?" You asked, stifling a girlish giggle as you connected the dots. So that's why he told you to (politely) hurry your ass home from class.

His response was an 'mm-hmm' as his hands traced the contours of your waist and hips. It felt like he was touching you for the first time again; your body was both a familiar and unfamiliar landscape beneath his hands. His lips moved from your collarbones to your mouth, drawing you in for a long overdue kiss. Melting into his touch, you pressed your body against him, feeling the beginnings of an erection press against your thigh.

"Excited to see me, hmm?" You teased in a sultry whisper, drawing back from his hungry lips.

"I'm fucking starving for you, dove."

The nickname gave you butterflies, even if it was the hundredth time he'd lovingly called you that.

"Let me taste you. I've missed you so fucking much, just let me show you how much." His low tone couldn't hide the eagerness in his voice, the pure need to worship you in the best way he knew.

You pressed your lips to his again, signalling without words that you consented to his offer. In one swift motion, Michael lifted you up, hands cupping your ass, and carried you to the leather sofa, lowering you down onto it. Falling to his knees, he pushed your skirt up, grateful that you were wearing something so accessible.

His breath was hot against your thighs as he peppered them with kisses, his mop of blonde hair tickling your skin as his lips edged closer and closer to your core. You'd never seen him this eager to have you, not even when both of you were insatiably horny. Even then, he paced himself, never rushing foreplay, always making sure your pleasure came before his. This time, he was already tracing the outline of your slit through your panties with his tongue, moaning under his breath as he did so. The tip of his tongue nudged your clit, applying just the right amount of pressure to make your thighs tense up on either side of his head. Fingers replaced his tongue, rubbing careful circles on your clit before dipping down to rub your slit. A short moan escaped your mouth.

"You missed me too, hmm?" Michael managed, forcing himself to talk rather than bury his head between your thighs and eat you like your pussy was his first meal in a week. His cock was fully hard, painfully pressing against the rough denim of his ripped jeans. As much as his sex drive told him to fuck you into the couch, he wanted this to be about getting you off, not just him.

Two fingers looped around the hem of your panties, pulling them down your legs and to your feet. Michael held them up as if he was admiring them. Red cotton with black lace trim, his favourite pair of yours. They were stained with a damp patch, a streak of your creamy arousal. Making eye contact with you, he licked your slick off the fabric, savouring your taste and scent.

"Fuck." Was all he managed when he stopped his display of self-indulgence and slid the panties into his jean pocket.

No sooner had he pocketed his prize, he turned his attention to your exposed cunt. He felt heat creep onto his cheeks, as if this was the first time he'd ever seen your sex. Looking up at you the entire time, he dragged his tongue up your slit in a broad, slow lick. Your hand grasped his hair, making him gasp. He repeated the action, this time dipping his tongue inside you, flicking it, feeling the silky flesh of your pussy. You moaned again, placing one leg over his shoulder, opening your sex up to him, inviting him to devour you in the way you knew he wanted to.

"You really are starving." You mused, beginning to get breathless as Michael assaulted your pussy with licks, sucks, and kisses.

"Of course I am, I haven't tasted you in so long. And there's nothing sweeter than you." He whispered, lips shining with your slick.

Returning to your now puffy lips, he grasped your thighs, pressing his mouth against your cunt, eating like a starved animal. Every so often he would moan to himself, getting off to the way your cunt twitched when he swirled his tongue around your clit and the various curse words and moans that fell from your mouth. He could feel you climbing closer and closer to your climax; your hand gripping his hair tighter, pressing his face into your needy pussy, whimpering his name, begging him to keep going. Obliging to your demands, he used two fingers to press up into your spongy insides, pumping in and out of you, his mouth still on your clit, sucking and kissing it.

"Oh...fuck, I'm so close, Michael. So fucking close." You groaned out, head lolling back against the sofa. The pressure building in your lower body was almost unbearable as Michael continued to bring you closer and closer. It was such an intense high, you'd never managed to get yourself this desperate to cum. Whether it was the lack of sex for the past few weeks or the fact your boyfriend was so devoted to devouring your pussy, you didn't know and frankly didn't care. All you knew was that Michael was really showing you how much he missed you in the most selfless way possible.

A few more pumps of his fingers and a swirl of his tongue made you come crashing down from your climax, a loud moan leaving your mouth, nails digging into the leather of the sofa as you clawed at it. Thick, creamy cum leaked around Michael's fingers, coating them and dripping onto the sofa.

Michael himself had cum, his boxers a sticky mess and a trickle of his seed running down his thigh. His legs were shaking from his hands-free release. Licking your cum off his fingers, he sat up on your sofa, pulling you onto his lap. The two of you caught your breaths, panting almost in unison.

#michael langdon #michael langdon x female reader #american horror story #x reader #cody fern #michael langdon x reader #michael langdon smut #ahs smut #michael langdon x you #ahs #grunge!michael langdon #grunge!michael x reader #michael langdon imagine #grunge!michael langdon x reader smut #ahs imagine

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daphnaie · 2 years

Text

*~ spin the bottle. steve harrington x reader

Summary: Steve can't stop thinking, fantasizing, dreaming about you but when it's his turn to kiss you during a game of spin the bottle, his mind goes blank. *~ Steve Harrington x fem!Reader

Word count: 0.9k

When the head of the empty tequila bottle points at you, Steve chokes on his beer.

There you are – sitting on the carpet, skirt riding up a little high, hair a mess from dancing with your friends earlier, a glimmer in your eyes, looking like a late summers memory and the stupid reminder to never trust Robin again when she promises a party will be fun.

Who – at his age – even plays spin the bottle anymore?

You, apparently. You who walked into Family Video three weeks ago and haven’t left his mind since.

He knew you before, saw you around Hawkins, but you’re a year younger than him and have different friends. He knew you but he never noticed you. Not until the day, the door at the video store opened and that perfect ray of evening sunlight fell in, burning orange and gold, hitting you from behind, making you look downright ethereal.

And no, he had never used that word before but when he tried to describe you to Robin, stumbling over his sentences like an idiot, she did and he ran with it.

Now it’s not the evening sun that shines down on you but a shitty lamp in a dirty basement. Steve wonders how even this harsh light doesn’t take away from your beauty and simultaneously asks himself when exactly he’d fallen this hard for you without ever talking to you before. Unless that one time counts when he made a joke at Robins expense and you laughed.

Jesus, that laugh followed him into his dreams.

With a bit of luck, that laugh will follow him into this basement too because your eyes are fixated on him, patiently waiting for a reaction. Robin squeezes his shoulder as if she nudges him to wake up, while the other people in the circle begin to giggle at the awkward pause. Steve doesn’t care. All he cares about is the way the corners of your lips twitch.

“Scared, Harrington?”

It’s the first time he hears his name coming from your mouth, soft and teasing, and he takes another sip of the beer to swallow a goddamn huff. Next to him, Robin grins. She knows what’s up. He’s pretty sure that the only reason she begged for him to come tonight and join this game, is this.

“Should I be?” He finds his words again, somewhere in the back of his brain.

Your lips curl up into a full on smile, so full of innocence that the contrast to your following words draws scattered whistles from the people around you: “Why don’t I come over and you find out?”

Every bit of color fades from his face as you follow through on that question. Because you don’t simply get up and walk over to Steve – no, you come towards him on all fours, eyes locked and dark, looking like the main character in one of his fucking wet dreams. The whistles around you grow louder and dirtier and his brain short-circuits.

You stop right in front of him, mere inches away from his face, smelling like tequila and flowers Steve doesn’t bother to describe. After all, he has never been a poet. All he knows is that your scent alone will make him drunk if you come any closer.

“What now, Harrington?” you ask softly. “Will you kiss me now?”

Kiss you. You’re not the first girl he’d kiss, not by far, but for some reason his heart has never beat so fast before when another girl offered herself up to him.

“How drunk are you?” he wants to know, voice hoarse.

You chuckle and he shifts. Not because he’s uncomfortable but rather because all his blood is traveling to a certain region of his body.

“Such a gentleman,” you murmur. Eyes travel to his lips and his heart stutters. “Didn’t they call you King Steve in high school? Where’s that kingly behavior hiding? All I see is a scared boy holding on to his beer like-“

“Oh, shut it,” he whispers and then his hand is on the back of your neck and his lips are pressed against yours.

Fuck.

If he wants to describe the taste of you, he can’t. It’s simply sweet and heavenly and oh so much better than he expected it to be. A teeny tiny gasp leaves your throat at the sudden action but then you melt into the kiss, following the movement of his lips. When they open and his tongue pushes into your mouth, your legs almost give out.

Neither of you care for the howls around you, the disgusted yells to “get a room”. You’re too distracted by the way his hand tightens on your neck as if he restrains himself from pulling you closer.

He is. All he wants is to pull you on his lap, to rip that stupid dress off of you and make that gasp turn into a moan but it’s too public, too loud.

Someone – Robin? – kicks his leg and he breaks the kiss. Breathless, the two of you stare at each other. Your lips are swollen and red, his cheeks flushed, eyes wanting.

“Well, shit,” you say and swallow heavily. “So much better than in my dream last night.”

Steve almost passes out on the spot.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington imagines #stranger things imagine #stranger things x you #stranger things x reader #stranger things steve harrington #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington x y/n

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witchsickness · 2 years

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there is such a thing, steve supposes, as having seen too many monsters. after a while it gets old. you just—you get used to it.

stuff like billy hargrove, grave-muddy and swiss-cheesed and by all means not meant to be alive, fridge-illuminated in his kitchen and slurping mortadella slices like he didn’t die, like, three weeks ago, is ranking pretty low on steve’s shock scale.

‘oh,’ he says, ‘you’re alive.’

hargrove doesn’t exactly face him, but he does sort of growl in acknowledgment of steve’s existence. he also doesn’t stop the fridge raid, so. ‘jesus,’ he slurs, around a mouthful of italian sausage and what steve fears is molding lasagna leftovers, ‘curb your enthusiasm next time.’

‘next time you—come back from the dead?’

‘not my fault you hicks are grave-happy and buried me without checking for a pulse.’

‘oh, we checked,’ steve says, inching closer. three-am lasagna does sound pretty tempting. ‘you were definitely croaked.’

a visible shudder racks hargrove’s form. he looks—taken aback, and way too red-cheeked for a dead boy. that’s one more thing about the horrors they’ve seen. steve forgets, sometimes, how young they’re meant to be.

the fork hargrove has only been half-using clatters to the ground, makes them both jump like banshees are after them. for all they know, right? this is hawkins.

steve feels momentarily triumphant, but it immediately bleeds into guilt. how unfair is that? the asshole he traded high-school punches with saved his life, and now he can’t even gloat guilt-free. with a heavy sigh, he flips the switch. the neon cracks and fizzes and settles, falls mercilessly on hargrove’s blinded ex-corpse. he looks—well, steve’s peripherally watched enough zombie flicks by now to draw the parallels. as long as hargrove’s satiated by mr. harrington’s imported delicacies and leaves steve’s brain alone, they’re good.

he pulls two questionably clean forks out of the dishwasher, hands one to hargrove. that lasagne stopped being edible a week ago, he decides, forking a bite anyway. hargrove flinches when steve leans over his shoulder to assess the rest of the fridge’s contents, but doesn’t pull back. steve doesn’t, either.

‘how’d you get in, anyway?’

hargrove turns around, smirking. he elbow-leans on the counter, crosses a leg over another. the very picture of nonchalance, if you don’t have a clue. steve—knows better. he fights the urge to lick a thumb and wipe the mud off hargrove’s cheek, see if he’s real.

‘window was open, harrington,’ he drawls, chuckling at the way steve allows himself to get caught staring. ‘you should be more careful. never know what’s lurking in the dark.’

steve gives him a look. ‘don’t i?’ he regrets it, instantly. the shadow of shame on hargrove’s face isn’t half as satisfying as it should be, not anymore. ‘locks won’t keep the monsters out, man.’

‘would’ve kept me out, anyway,’ hargrove mumbles. he’s swapped the lasagna for his hangnails, maniacally having a go at them.

‘liar,’ steve tells him, and waits until hargrove’s insulted enough to look at him, ‘nothing would’ve kept you out.’ he gets a laugh, a real one, for his trouble. he bites his cheek and hopes this isn’t a dream.

hargrove tries, ‘your place is close to the cemetery,’ already wincing from the lie.

‘it’s really not. a for effort, though.’ steve takes the tupperwave from him, empties its contents in the trash. ‘look, are you, like, existentially opposed to a bath now? it’s just, the carpet in my room, it’s—it stains, alright? you’ll drag mud all over it, and cleaning it is a nightm—’

‘you gonna carry me to the bathtub, rich boy?’

steve—barely has time to feign offense, before a blood-crusted shirt lands on him. hargrove is standing half-naked in his kitchen. pointedly staring at his earth-stained feet. ‘don’t—don’t move,’ steve groans, ‘i’ll get you some old slippers.’

hargrove’s laugh follows him out of the room. ‘bet you were the type of brat who used to drag strays in all the time. fed them, bathed them, the works,’ he’s saying, which is unfair, and not completely untrue.

the strays usually ended up curled up in bed with him anyway, so.

#harringrove #steve harrington #billy hargrove #my stuff

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ducktoonsfanart · 3 months

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Donald Duck swims for the Holy Cross - Scrooge McDuck as Deda Moroz and Webby Vanderquack as Snjegoručka (Снегурочка) - Duckverse and folk customs

I wanted to post this earlier, but for some reason I didn't get to it and was partially blocked. Now I am publishing these drawings that I drew last week related to earlier holidays and related to the customs of my country and the customs of Eastern Europe.

The first drawing I drew was Scrooge McDuck as the Russian Santa Claus (or called Deda Moroz) and his adopted niece or granddaughter Webby Vanderquack as the Russian Snowwhite (or Snjegoruchka). That in Russia and Russian countries usually Santa Claus together with his granddaughter Snjegoruchka distributes gifts to good children and looks different from the usual Santa Claus. Usually they are shared when the Julian Christmas and the Julian New Year (old calendar) are celebrated. I drew together as a redraw, and it's also a good parallel regarding the Ducktales and Uncle Scrooge comics. I wanted to do a drawing related to Russian customs, but unfortunately I didn't make it, so I did this and I apologize. Another time. In Russia, Scrooge is called Дядюшка Скрудж (Uncle Scrooge), and Webby is called Поночка (Ponochka).

The second drawing is Donald Duck swimming in strong water and having found the Holy Cross. Usually in my country (Serbia), as well as in other Orthodox countries, such a custom is used that brave men go into the water to find the Orthodox cross and thus fight for good strength. This is true only for strong and hardy men who can withstand it, not for everyone, since there is no swimming in winter. Although Donald endures everything, I made him swim for the Holy Cross and he holds it in his right hand. Yes, it is usually done on the feast of the Epiphany where in Orthodox countries it is celebrated because on that day Jesus Christ was baptized in the Jordan River by the prophet John the Baptist. Let's face it, it is different from the Catholic and Protestant understanding because on that day the Three Wise Men came to the baby Jesus to bring gifts. And the day before that is the Day of the Cross, and the day after the Epiphany is St. John's Day. Related to that. If you need, feel free to ask me anything. And yes, Donald in my country is called Paja Patak (Паја Патак).

I hope you like these drawings and again Happy Holidays. And yes, don't use these ideas without mentioning me. Thank you! Feel free to like and reblog this!

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panickingpansexuality · 1 year

Text

Did Something Bad (Part 1?)

Gifs not mine

Darry X Reader

Darry gets jumped and you rain hellfire down on the ones who touched him.

Tws: mentions of kinda kidnapping, men being sleezy, revenge plot, threats and mentions of violence.

You were at the house tidying up when you heard Pony screaming from outside. Immediately, you ran outside and saw him running towards the house.

"They got Darry! The Socs came and jumped us and-and there's ten of them, Darry he-he."

"Breathe Ponyboy." You said trying to stop your worry from being apparent. "Go sit down, I'll be right back. You understand me? Don't you dare leave the house. Call Soda and Tim ok?"

He nods as you run out the door in the direction Pony came, you figured that they must've been walking home from the movies or school and there's not too many ways the Socs can follow through with eh fences and if Darry was trying to get them to follow him then he'd take one of the main roads.

You hate to say you were right, but you were. You found him nearly knocked out against a building clutching his side two miles from the school.

"Darry?!" You say in a panicked voice, he looks up and gives you a half smile.

You run to his side and pull out your first aid kit from your bag, Darry, knowing the drill by now pulls up his shirt.

"Jesus fucking Christ." You whisper looking at the damage. "Pony said there were ten of them. Is that true?"

"Eleven." Darry muttered out. "Thankfully I got half of them before they did this to me."

Rage consumed you. How many knives had been covered in Greasers blood cause a Soc couldn't keep their hands to themselves? Why couldn't they just leave y'all alone? They always wanted a fight. Always.

You knew Greasers pulled their fair share of punches but the amount of times you've had to run to someone because some high class snob wanted to fight was ridiculous.

As you patched Darry up, Dally's car came passing by, the tires screeched to a stop as he saw you two. He gave you a lift back home while Darry filled him in on what happened.

When you got home you sent Darry straight to bed, without so much as a fight from him.

Dally stuck around and waited to see everyone else.

"Pony," you say gently. "Do you remember who all was there?" You ask.

He shakes his head.

"I know the license plate number." He says.

"Perfect." You say grabbing a pencil and writing it down.

"Now wait a minute (y/n)," Dally says. "What are you doing?"

"Youu'll find out." You reply.

The next day you walk home with Pony, Johnny, and Dallas from school.

"Point them out." You tell Ponyboy as you three sit by the steps of his school, and he does so perfectly.

Over the next week you follow those boys around, finding out where they go every night, what they do after school and even where they live. You're not proud of it, but you're tired. So fucking tired of being scared for your boys, tired of living through this every Goddamn day. They were going to pay.

"I need a favor." You tell Dallas Friday night.

"Ok.." he says uneasy.

"I need you, Tim, and whoever else we can get to come with me to the Drive in tonight. Don't tell Darry or Pony, you're going to wait while I draw those boys out. You'll know when to step in."

"So what else do we get out of this other than beating up some Socs?"

"Free cigarettes for two months." You say.

And wouldn't you know it the boys were in on it for less, Tim and Curly needed some extra convincing but you certainly didn't mind it.

Darry was working late that night, so you were able to get as dolled up as possible and quite frankly you looked like a hooker.

You slipped out of the house without any notice, and the group that so very kindly volunteered went with you to the drive in. You say in the drive in by the snack bar and just as you predicted the bait took.

"Hey sugar." The first boy said. "Whatcha doing out here by your lonesome?"

"My date stood me up." You say with your biggest puppy dog eyes. "I feel like my whole nights ruined.."

"Oh don't worry dear," the boy said running his hand up your thigh, "I'm sure we can make it better." You but your lip and pulled him out of the drive in by the woods.

"You're so sweet." You say stopping with your back up against a tree.

The boy leaned in to kiss you and that's when the Dally struck him behind the head, knocking him out cold.

"One down," he said.

You led the ten other boys out in identical ways until all eleven of them were being dragged into the middle of the woods, tied up and gagged.

"You're fucking crazy (y/n)." Tim said putting on the ski mask.

"it'll work." You say lighting a fire around the tied up circle. "They'll be scared shitless."

"Hope this doesn't backfire."

"It won't." You say, "We're not using specifics."

When the boys woke up, they were terrified, so screaming and struggling like it was gonna help, you laughed, and whoever could turn their heads, did. Around them the boys who volunteered to help had paper bags that looked like they had guns in them.

"Shut up!" You finally yelled.

They did.

"So not only are all of you sleezy little dirt bags but you also like to attack helpless people."

Some of them shake their heads, the nerve.

"Now," you say. "I could easily kill you all right here but I'm feeling so generous. You're going to all swear that you'll never attack anyone again. You'll find ways to get your kicks anyway and anywhere else but the Greasers side of town. You'll stay away from any Greaser, even if they're calling you out. Or else the next time you wake up you'll be six feet under. Do we understand?"

They all nodded.

"Good." You say sweetly, the boys drop their bags to the ground and pull out blades just as you do.

"but just so we understand each other."

You don't cut anywhere vital, and you leave a butter knife outside the circle of fire for when it burns out. Quite frankly in your opinion you were being so kind.

You all go to Bucks for the evening drinking away that entire night.

"Fucking crazy." Dally tells you, "That was kinda hot."

You laugh and pass him his payment.

"Well," you say. "Couldn't have done it without you and your friends from out of town."

"Hey!" Tim says from beside you. "Of course I mean you two as well!" You say with your hands up.

"(y/n)," Dally says, "We should tell Darry about tonight."

"Hell no." You say, "This would terrify him just as much as it did you guys, I never want you to see me like that again."

"Why not?" Dally asks, "It was hot and powerful."

"I'm not that woman Dallas." You say, "I did it to protect you guys and to get revenge for Darry. That's it. It's done."

"He should know." Tim said.

"And what if it injures his masculinity? I know you guys don't view him as any less after what happened but right now he needs to heal. Maybe when he's healed up but not now."

"Ok." Tim says smoking a cigarette, "But you gotta tell him."

When you get home Darry is waiting on the chair, you've changed out of the clothes from earlier into some jeans and a shirt.

"Hey Superman." You say smiling.

"Hey," he says sleepily. "Where were you?"

"With Dally and Tim, sorry I should've left a note."

"It's ok." He says.

You go to his chair and sit on his lap, kissing him sweetly and long enough for him to smile into it.

"How ya feeling?" You ask.

"Better." He grunts. "It'll scar but I'll be fine."

"Another spot for me to kiss." You say kissing him again, your hands run up his chest and he pulls you closer.

"Bed time?" He asks.

You two go upstairs and he kisses you, letting you take the lead this time, you have him feeling loved and have his legs shaking by the time you're done. You clean up the both of you and quickly Darry falls asleel. You're still awake. You know what you did will work, but looking up at your sleeping lover you wish it didn't have to come to this in the first place. Darry lets out a small snore and you smile softly, but for him, for the boys.. you'd do anything.

#darry curtis x reader #darrel curtis #darrel curtis x reader #darrel curtis imagine #darry curtis #darry x reader #the outsiders x reader #the outsiders book #the outsiders imagines #the outsiders 1983 #the outsiders #the outsiders headcanons #possibly triggering #potentially triggering

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aries-writingblog · 1 year

Text

Enemy Fire: 25

Summary: There's a new kid in town, and she's got a city to usurp.

Pairing: Jason Todd x Fem! Reader

Word Count: 4.7k

Warnings: language, stab wound, violence, mention of gun violence, alcohol consumption

AN: it’s here, babes. The moment we’ve all waited for. Photos from Pinterest (credit to original creator)

Jason paced over the carpet in the hallway. The strands of thread worn into tracks from how he had been continuously treading over them.

The room to his left was silent— barely even the thumping heartbeats audible. But fuck, was he relieved to hear two.

His hands hadn’t stopped shaking since Bruce told him. He’d shoved them deep into his pockets, forcing his face to stay neutral when his heart exploded into fragments. Piercing his insides, slicing his organs.

In that instant, Jason wished he had let her leave Gotham. He wanted to go back and get her out before anything else could happen.

Go back to the stakeout mission, get up, throw his cup away, get on his bike and leave.

He should’ve known that his luck would bleed into her own. He was cursed and it was on her now.

There was no escape anymore.

The door clicked open, and the tall frame of Alfred presented itself. He closed the door firmly, his gaze swinging onto the flushed face of Jason before him.

“What happened?” Jason demanded, his eyes wide. Boring into Alfred’s face.

The boy was disheveled, clearly distraught. Alfred blamed Bruce; All he was probably told was that YN was stabbed and Alfred was working on her. It was no good, riling Jason up, that way.

Making him worry over nothing.

“She aided Master Bruce in stopping a robbery. One of the thieves pulled a knife. On Damian.”

“She took it for him?” Jason asked, confusion riddling his features.

YN took a knife? For Damian Wayne, of all people…

“Then she shot them.” Alfred continued, untroubled by the bewilderment of his ward.

“Damian?”

“The criminals, Master Todd, keep afoot.” Alfred advised, linking his hands together behind his back.

Jason pressed his hand to his face, exhaling a soft sigh. Adam’s Apple bobbing as he swallowed; His fingers moving to comb through his hair, pushing it back from where it flopped over his forehead.

“She lose blood?”

“Not much.” Alfred informed. Jason’s knees almost gave out from relief. “I’ve finished bandaging her wound, but I’m putting her on strict bed rest for a week. Until I know more about her healing patterns.”

“Oh yeah, that’ll be fun for all of us.” Jason muttered.

YN would not take kindly to being told to sit out on her newly acquired taste of freedom. Even if it was to heal an injury.

Jason approached the door, his hand on the handle.

“Master Jason,” Alfred interrupted, drawing his attention back to the elder butler. His face as solemn as ever, the same gleam to his eyes as always present. “I would advise keeping the arguments to a minimum. The poor girl was just stabbed, I’m sure she wants some rest before the two of you pick it back up?”

“And let her get away with being stupid?” He asked, shaking his head. “No promises, Alfred.”

He opened the door and stepped through.

The blinds and curtains were wide open, allowing as much sunlight as possible to filter through.

That much, he was certain was Yn’s work.

She always seemed to sit in patches of sunlight, like a cat. Relishing in the warmth provided by a star, millions of miles away.

The closest she would let comfort be.

YN sat, sulking on her bed. Hands in her lap, her head turned to stare out of the window. Her lips pursed, face pinched. Blankets over her legs, pooled around waist.

“Jesus, Tails.” Jason grumbled, slamming the door behind himself.

She frowned, her head turned further away from him as he stalked closer.

Without any formalities, he sauntered to her bedside. Using three fingertips, he yanked her shirt up enough to see her side.

“Ow.” She jerked away, slapping at his hand to leave her alone.

Jason resisted her attacks; Though he dropped her shirt, he towered over her body. Glaring down at her.

“Can you maybe not get stabbed while my back is turned?” He asked, gesturing with one hand, down to her injured side.

YN crossed her arms, a pout on her lips.

“I can’t help that.” She croaked, voice harsher than he had expected. “Don’t turn your back, keep an eye on me at all times— I thought that’s why I moved into this godforsaken mansion to begin with and here we are—“

“YN.” He interrupted. She faltered, wide eyes focused on his face. “Shut. Up. You panicked, again.”

Like a child scorned, she bit down on her lip, eyes cast into her lap. She seemed to be retreating into herself.

“Sorry.” YN apologized, softly.

Jason’s hand pushed through his hair. Hesitating, debating whether he would be welcome into her little world she seemed to have retreated into.

He sat down on the mattress, his weight only halfway secured. When she didn’t curl further into herself, he settled more.

He had to wonder, what it was like in her childhood. Having been brought up an instrument of pain. Of terror.

What happened when she failed?

What made her panic every single time she was forced to make a decision?

He didn’t know if the answers were better than the questions.

Jason reached out, carefully. His fingertips lightly brushing her arm before falling to the sheets beside her thigh.

“It’s okay here; You can panic here.” Jason consoled.

Yn’s eyes met his, still watery from pain and tired from her exhaustion and whatever Alfred had prescribed.

“I didn’t freeze up, out there.” She clarified.

Jason smiled, no teeth showing— he didn’t doubt that. YN never froze, exactly. She just… rushed in.

“But you made reckless decisions when shit hit the fan.” He explained, nodding down to her injury. YN’s frown returned, as did her avoidance of eye contact. “It’s something you can learn to control, you can use it to your advantage. Your fight or flight will kick in, but you have to wait it out. Identify what can help you and not just jump to the first thing that comes to mind.”

YN sank deeper into the mattress. She supposed he had some semblance of what her thought process was. Bruce had told her stories of a younger, much less experienced Jason.

One who rushed, far too often; One who fought too hard to prove himself.

Who disobeyed orders and followed his straying emotions to his own death.

A boy who had poured his soul into being who he was today.

She couldn’t compete with that. She had been led around on a leash— aimed her weapon at whom ever stood before her. Unquestioning.

It was why she was doubting herself now, wasn’t it?

YN winced, pulling her knees to her chest. Wrapping her arms around her legs, hugging the solidness against her body. Grounding herself from the spiral she had been caught in one too many times before.

“You think I can?” She asked, her lip half quirked into a smile. It didn’t stick for long; Just enough to flash at him before she buried her face in her arms.

Curling tighter.

Closing herself off.

“Stop doubting yourself.” Jason scooted closer, tilting his head to catch her gaze. “I don’t know what you’ve been told before us, but people can change. They do, all the time.”

“You have a lot of faith in me.” She decided, her eyes meeting his.

Because you don’t seem to have any, he wanted to grab her, shake her, scream at her. Jason had to have faith in her, because he was carrying enough for the whole family.

She had to prove them wrong.

YN could be better.

Because that would mean Jason wasn’t faking. Two data points were always better than a single incident. A lucky mistake.

A fluke.

An accident.

Jason’s tongue kissed his teeth.

He didn’t know what was worse: the skepticism in her tone or the fact that she said it at all.

Sometimes, she was her own worst enemy. Sometimes, she just needed to shut up and stop thinking.

Without warning, Jason swept forward and pressed his lips to hers. YN jumped— startled by his sudden movement. As she jolted back, the kiss disconnected; Not for long, as she surged forward, teeth clashing messily.

She noticed, instantly— his lips were cold. In fact, there was little to no body heat coming from him. His hands that cupped her face were equally chilled.

An unsteady flare burned her chest, her skin grew warmer. Jason’s face burned, his skin warm from the heat emanating from her body. She was so… warm.

God, she was warm. Warmer than her normal, scorching temperature.

This felt cosmic— like he was standing too close to the sun. Tempting the flames to caress his face, burn the oxygen from his lungs.

He broke away, panting, his breath fanning over her lips and his forehead pressed to hers.

His mismatched eyes flickered between hers, analyzing every color and pattern he could. He had rarely found himself that close, or at least, without being harmed.

Even so, she didn’t back away either. Keeping the proximity zero to none; Inhaling each exhale.

“What the fuck was that?” She whispered.

Jason closed his eyes, shaking his head. He knew he had to explain his actions but he didn’t quite trust his voice.

Her fingertips scorched her prints into the skin of his neck. Heat bled onto the edge of his scar— and she could feel his chilled touch, thumb brushing along the raised edge of the scar on her cheek.

“I don’t know.”

YN sighed.

She was actually speechless. His skin felt heavenly against her own— cold, but far from lifeless.

Her eyes closed, eyelashes still wet from her earlier tears of pain and the fit she threw with Alfred’s stitching. The wound that had relatively calmed since her arrival, flared again— every rapid heartbeat sending a fresh wave of dulled, throbbing pain down her side. Washing over her entire body.

But she didn’t regret that. Not now. Not when she had just tasted paradise. From such an unlikely source.

What… the… fuck…

A sudden, stressful knock on the door sent both pairs of eyes flying open. Both parties scrambling away, disconnecting and shattering the strange, uncertain air between them.

“Hey, YN?” Duke called, standing behind the closed door.

YN cleared her throat, busying her hands with the blankets and her own clothes— anything to keep her mind off the walking enigma known as Jason Todd.

“You can come in.” YN answered, her voice nearly level.

Jason was mildly impressed— slightly annoyed— at her ability to act as if nothing had happened. To brush all her vulnerability back under a rug, hide it with a neutral face.

Because his mind had malfunctioned. He felt sluggish and tipsy. Off kilter— his world had just been rocked off its axis by a single kiss. Two pairs of lips brushing together had deconstructed his entire surroundings into 2D minimalist artwork.

Everything had shifted just two degrees.

Just left of normal.

“Jason, hey. I didn’t know you were here.” Duke’s voice was breathless. As though he had run all the way from the city.

“Just leaving.” His voice was hoarse. His face burned as he cleared his throat, cramming all the unidentifiable emotions back down his throat— successfully this time. As they all made it down without getting hung. His eyes flicked to YN. “I’ll be back here in a few hours, Tails.”

YN nodded. Though her mind was flying down the tracks— screaming and crying and, by all means, in full panic mode.

But she was not going to get up and start screaming, without prompt. She was going to act normally until she could think it through.

She could act normal for five minutes until his irritating face left her sight.

How fucking dare he kiss her like that— kiss her at all, really?

Who the fuck did he think he was, and why didn’t she just push him away when it happened?

YN blinked, realizing that she had, one, been glaring at him in silence, and two, he wanted an actual answer. With her words.

Now he was taunting her.

Her skin flushed with another bout of heat, only this time, she recognized it.

Anger.

“Got it. Enjoy your freedom.” YN snipped, folding her hands over her blankets.

Jason tipped his head.

“Enjoy your imprisonment.” He responded, quickly turning to make his hurried exit.

YN clenched her jaw, her hands spreading over the blankets. Smoothing them out. She inhaled deeply before turning her attention back to Duke.

“What’s up with you?” She snapped.

Duke paused. Maybe she wasn’t the best person to ask; She looked extra pissed today. Jason probably had something to do with that— they fought like alley cats on good days.

This seemed to be a bad day.

But he had no one else to ask, at the moment. Other than someone who seemed to be an expert. Or at least, closer to one than any one else of the Manor.

“I might need your help.” He started, hands wringing together. YN lifted a brow, urging him to continue. She might’ve been injured but she didn’t want to sit there all day, listening to his problem. “I have this friend… she had a blood test done last week and found out she has the Metagene.”

This was his problem? Seriously?

“This friend have powers?” YN asked.

Duke thought back to the spark against his palm when he touched the door handle. It could’ve been static, but it had happened every day, at least three times a day, for the past week.

Maybe coincidental.

Maybe abilities.

“No.” He answered, to be on the safe side.

“Then she’s a carrier. Next.”

He blinked.

“Carrier?”

YN scoffed, her eyes piercing through his skull.

She really was in a bad mood today.

“Are you deaf? Carrier. No abilities, you pass it on. What’s the problem?” She snapped.

Duke’s face broke out in a large grin— relief draining down.

He nearly leapt forward to press a thankful kiss to her forehead, until he thought better. Realizing that she was injured, not restrained.

“Absolutely nothing— it is a great day!” He cried, hands on his hips.

YN rolled her eyes.

These people were truly irritating.

“Hey, dickhead,” She interrupted his parade, prepared to rain bombs if she needed. “Being a meta isn’t the worst thing to happen to a person.”

Duke’s smile fell. Guilt stabbed his heart; He didn’t realize that in his celebration, she would be impacted.

He was practically spitting in her face.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” He started, shaking his head. Before he could continue, she scoffed. Her eyes rolling as her head turned away, arms crossing.

Hurt flickered across her features before she covered it with anger.

“Sure.” Her voice was monotone.

Duke pressed his lips together. If he spoke further, she would just become more angry. There was no explaining or apologizing now; She was already stirred up.

She would only lash out and leave both of them hurt.

He turned away, his hand on the doorknob. Stopping for a moment to look back at her.

“Thanks, YN.” He called.

He opened the door and stepped out, hearing a slightly sarcastic ‘no problem’ behind him.

Roy pocketed his keys, shouldering his door open. Jason ambled in behind him, his eyes already bleary. Limbs jelly.

He had nearly broken into the apartment hours prior, jimmying the window and sliding in. He crashed on the couch when he heard very loud, very abrasive singing from the shower.

The first of him that Roy saw was Jason’s ass— as he lay face down into the cushions. The last of his vodka sat on the coffee table beside him.

So after prying his friend from the couch, and putting pants on, Roy downed the rest of the alcohol and then dragged Jason out on the town.

In search of the nearest liquor store.

Which was where they were returning from.

Roy tossed his keys, missing them completely as they came back down, but left them on the floor. He was much more interested in the bag he carried in his arms.

He put it down on the kitchen table, rubbing his palms together eagerly. Jason had stumbled after him, picking up the keys and turning the lights on.

Roy pushed a bottle of something into his chest, before rifling through the bag again.

Jason cracked it open and downed a large gulp, without thinking. He winced at the tingle in his throat.

“What the fuck is in this, gasoline?” He coughed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Roy’s eyes rolled, head tilting to glance over his shoulder. His hands stalled, glass bottles clinking together in the brown bag.

“You wanted liquor. Mkay? L-I-K….” His eyebrows furrowed, mouthing the letters again. “That’s not right. Liq… liquor.” He shook his head, the thoughts leaving like an etch-a-sketch. Just like that, his brain was blank again. “You wanted to get fucked up. This is the fastest solution.”

“I didn’t want to sear off my tastebuds.” Jason complained.

He thrust the bottle back into Roy’s chest, forcing him to take it. He ambled over to the cabinets, rummaging through the various cups and mugs for shot glasses.

“That’s the sacrifice you make, my friend.” Roy responded, crumpling the bag up. He was definitely feeling the effects of their pregaming; He blinked heavily, trying to clear his bleary eyes. “You never drink, anyhow. What’s the problem?”

Jason groaned, snatching the glasses and leaning his forehead against the door.

Flashes of heat filled his memory, coals being raked across his flesh.

A shiver ran down his spine— he could feel the press of her lips to his. The warmth. The eager reciprocation. His hands on her.

He shouldn’t have run out like that. He should’ve stayed and talked through it all. It wasn’t fair to her.

He squeezed his eyes shut, grinding his teeth. No. No, he did the right thing. He needed to leave right when he did. If he had stayed, he would’ve become a jerk.

He would’ve snapped at her, retreated into himself. Protected himself. And she would’ve gotten pissed and it would’ve ended in a fight.

They always fight.

So why did it feel so good?

“My fucking life is the problem, man.” Jason whispered, his eyes cracking open again.

Roy paused, his mind sobering.

“Jason,” He spoke softly, steadily. He swallowed, teeth running over his bottom lip. “If it’s this again, we’re getting you help, this time. I’m not letting you go through this alone.”

Jason turned, taking in his friend’s stance. The tenseness in his shoulders.

Roy thought…

He left the glasses on the counter, hand extended to his friend.

“No, it’s… no.” Jason stumbled as he stepped forward, a wave of vertigo smashing into his head. He pressed his hand against the sink instead and shifted his weight into the counter. Then, he sank down to sit on the floor, pressed to the cabinets. He pushed his palms into his eye sockets until he saw stars. “I just, I don’t know where my head is at. Every decision I’ve made these past few days have been clouded. The whole situation with YN and Bruce. My family.”

Roy exhaled, blinking away his watery eyes.

He leaned across, snatching the glasses and two bottles before sinking to the floor across from Jason. The steel toes of Jason’s boots pressed into his tibia.

“What’s going on, man?” He asked, settling into place. He cracked the lids of the bottles, pouring up two shots and tapping Jason’s leg.

Jason looked up, seeing Roy knock his first shot back. He accepted the other glass, letting it slide easily down his throat.

He exhaled sharply, allowing Roy to refill the glass. He shot it back before brushing a hand through his hair.

“It’s all just… jumbled up at this point. I don’t know anymore.” He complained, gratefully accepting his next shot.

“Start at the top. What’s eating you the most?”

Jason stared into his empty glass.

That was the problem: everything was. Bruce and Dick, YN. Alfred’s cryptic glances when he asked where YN was. Tim’s doubtful looks on both of them. Cassandra’s extremely concerning, ever growing bond between her and YN.

Because one of them loved to light things on fire, the other could do it with her body.

He didn’t know what was bugging him the most because everything was bugging him. All of it at the same time.

So he spilled.

Everything.

Anything he could think of came tumbling out of his mouth, crashing into the still air of Roy’s kitchen.

The more Jason spoke, the more Roy understood why he wanted to drink tonight. He couldn’t trust himself to tell it sober, so he was forcing his own hand. Talking everything out, speaking it out loud. Forcing himself to come to terms with his situation.

So Roy let him keep talking, and kept pouring drinks.

“And I don’t even blame Bruce anymore, that’s the fucked up thing about this.” Jason spat, infuriated by his torn apart mind. All the narratives he had listened to and choices he made, a toxic concoction of confusion. “I want to be angry at him, at all of them. But they make it so hard to stay angry.”

The redhead hummed in sympathy, a soft grunt escaping him when he shuffled to sit beside the rambling drunk in his kitchen. He settled in, back pressed to the cabinet, shoulder pressed to shoulder. Their extended legs nearly touching, Roy’s wiggling, shoeless foot tapped rhythmically against Jason’s boot mindlessly.

“And YN scares me. I don’t admit it to her, but she scares me. She’s powerful, and she can control the abilities but she can’t control herself.” He slammed his fist into his knee, pounding it like a gavel. Declaring his judgement over this enigma of his mind. “But it’s not even her abilities— it’s her. She is this… giant, fucking problem. It was one after the other and, granted I may have caused a few of those problems, but it’s just… it’s like trouble knows how to find her. She’s a divining rod. And she always lets it get to her. And dammit, she drives me insane; With her— with her, cocky arrogance and her absolute need to be right all the time. And this childlike sense of right and wrong, it’s like she’s not even empathizing.”

“Oh, shit.” Roy tilted, nearly falling over as he grabbed for the runaway cap.

He let it roll across the room— he didn’t need it anyway, the bottle was empty.

“And what’s worse: Dick is on her tail. He’s dogging her about being this hero and saving the world, when she doesn’t even conceptualice being her. She’s never lived.” Jason exhaled, tongue running along the inside of his teeth. His palms lay flat on his kneecaps, wiping sweat onto the fabric of his pants. “And that’s wrong. It’s not fair; To pull her from one fight to the next.”

He released an exasperated breath, marking the end of his tirade.

His chest didn’t feel as tight, he supposed that was some relief. He didn’t feel as constricted, as trapped. That had been the original purpose of the whole night.

But now he was hijacked. His mind replaying the moment. The moment he decided to let his body take control, instead of his mind.

And the first thing it did was press itself to her. Cradled her closely, as if it was possible of softness.

How long had this been going unnoticed— unsupervised? How long had he been suppressing his body’s thoughts, his heart’s thoughts? All in favor of keeping everything under his mind’s control.

In favor of keeping his control.

“I think….” Jason paused, his thoughts muddy. All he knew, for certain, was the feelings that pooled in his chest. Right beneath his sternum, sloshing against his heart. “Roy, I think I love her.”

The red head hiccuped, his brow furrowing.

“Who?” He asked, head tilting against the cabinet to look at his friend.

He squinted, zoning in on a single Jason— because he was seeing multiple.

Jason ignored his drunken stupor, and kept going. Unable to stop himself from regurgitating all the thoughts and feeling he had kept pinned, like a moth to a cork board.

All of it piling on top of each other for weeks— months.

Every time he thought back to a moment in time with YN, he could feel every tilt in the relationship. Pushing it toward the present.

God, he had been so blind.

“For these past few weeks it’s been like this weird… tingle in my chest and my palms get all sweaty. And I thought it was a heart attack or something,” Jason admitted, voice thick with Gothamite drawl.

“My grandpa had a stroke once.”

Jason buried his head in his hands, pressing the backs onto his knees.

“God, what am I supposed to do?” He moaned, voice muffled by his own legs.

Roy grunted, pushing himself onto his knees and flopping directly in front of Jason. He put his hands on his friend’s shoulders and pushed him back, where he could see his face.

“Tell you what we’re gonna do,” Roy slurred, his eyes glassy. “We are getting in your car and going to BurgerBats and getting those shitty little kids meals.”

Jason blinked, heavily.

Had they even been having the same conversation?

Even though, he couldn’t deny that his stomach felt empty. His chest felt full enough for his whole body— bursting at the seams. Waiting for him to explode.

“First, we can’t drive.” Jason reasoned. Roy hummed, disappointedly.

“You’re right, I never even passed my drivers test.” Roy grouched, hands falling from Jason’s shoulders. He settled in at his feet, sliding off his knees and onto his ass.

“Second, it’s BatBurger, you dumb idiot.” Jason scolded, leaning back into the cabinet. Lips pouted, he had already started sulking.

“Hell, what do I know?” Roy exhaled, leaning against Jason’s knees. They sat together in the silence, a comforting, drunken silence, steeped in camaraderie. Roy blinked, his brain reeling to catch up from minutes of words being spoken at him. “You love her?”

The quiet of the kitchen wasn’t oppressive or even passive.

More contemplative.

More troubled. Confounded; They sat, stewing in Jason’s contempt. The faintest taste of happiness in his mouth, on his tongue.

“At the very least.” He confirmed. He exhaled shakily. “I kissed her, Roy. I didn’t even think about it. I was just so relieved to see her alive that I… I just went for it.”

Roy propped his chin on top of Jason’s knees, peering up at him through his lashes.

Jason wasn’t the Casanova of the family— by any means. He didn’t kiss anyone, barely even acknowledged someone’s presence.

There had always been too much on his mind for it to think of women. Well, his exception of Wonder Woman, but that was more of a childhood fascination than anything.

“She burn you or somethin?” He asked, peeking at his forearms in search of any markings.

Jason shook his head, his eyelids drooping lower. He had nearly exhausted himself, and the hard, cool tile of Roy’s kitchen was becoming increasingly appealing.

“She’s warm. Really, really warm. It felt like kissing one of Alfred’s cookies when they’re fresh.” He divulged. His hands held out in front of him, palms caressing her invisible body between them.

“Damn.” Roy slumped more weight against Jason’s legs. He cast a side eye glance to his friend. “D’you make out with cookies when we aren’t watching?”

Jason sighed, cracking one eye open.

“I wish I could kill you.” He teased.

Roy grinned, a doped up, full teeth smile.

“That’s suicide, Jaybird.” He warned. Jason’s brow crinkled in confusion. Roy only shrugged.

Jason pressed his palm to Roy’s forehead and pushed backward, sending him flat on his back.

It was silent for a moment before the redhead burst out into a barrage of giggles, his hands falling to rest on his shaking belly. Face turning various shades of red as he ran out of air.

Jason tilted his head back again, a smile pulling his own lips back.

#enemy fire #jason todd x reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd x f!reader

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