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qvrcll · 10 months

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Hello :) I saw you are tking requests and I have something on my mind for a quite some time...If you maybe could write Leon Kennedy ID x younger (like in her early 20s) girlfriend reader where they are making love and chris walk on them. But if you dont want to write it you dont need to so feel no pressure. have a nice day :)

rosemary

summary: whilst you and leon share skin to skin contact in the fervent heat of your bedroom, a gentle intrusion seems to knocks things out of prospect. still, does it have to be so complicated?

warnings: female reader, ID ! leon, nsfw under the cut, getting walked in on EL OH EL, fluff if you squint i swear

a/n: hi lovely thank u for the request!! i had a great time writing this and i hope you enjoy :-)

Leon was 180 centimetres of hard, breathing flesh — that, put up against you in such a compromising position as this, made things all too complicated. Brooding, in a sense that make things sweat, heave with pounding release.

Of course, he never played the fair game, however many times he swore he would.

He’s got you folded in half already, quivering cunt spurting a heat so delicious, it sinks him in like a vice when he gives into it. His hands, dangerous aviaries that hold every part of you in place, scavenge across your body like he has never seen you like this before. Never had you quite this deep, this desperate and thrashing before.

But he has, and he knows it all too fucking well.

“Like it when I do that, hm?” he spits out, throat abused by the abundant swell of groans and other string of pathetic noises that leave him. Still, he’s zeroed in on you only — the way you croon against him like a helpless little thing, bundled up beneath him in a mess of nerves, an assortment of pleas, pitching high from “r-right there!” and “m-mhm… just—like that…”

He’s learnt it all — your noises, twitches. The sensitive grip of skin underneath your thigh that leaves you breathless and moaning. Two, three, four slick fingers intruding your cunt, leaving you sore and satisfied the next day. He’s made love to you, and this only seems it, that familiar beckoning gush of your walls pressing against his cock like it had so many other times before.

And it’s barely coordinated, when your hand sinks lower, between the fervent slaps of either of your bodies in a distorted rhythm, seeking to pay attention to the awful throb of your clit and you mewl when his own hands quickly supersede yours in quick fashion. They’re larger, cover more space and bear more weight beneath the flesh, when he grants you some mercy by slathering any wetness against your clit and doing the work for you.

Aw, how sweet of you, Kennedy.

Is what you would have uttered. Smirked with a superlative sense of ungratefulness, if he wasn’t aiming to drill another hole into you.

“Fuck—“ he curses above you, and it all falls out of rhythm. A delicious combination of all your senses. A sign of your impending release.

You remember the gruelling trip back in his car.

You remember the awful coldness of the elevator as he pressed you against the familiar glint of it, mouth all full of the taste you and a raging sense of impatience.

You remember tripping into his room, already bare. Already responding to his cut-throat presses and licks in seconds.

“You close, sweetheart?” He calls you. But for you, it’s a reminder, that you are still here, underneath him. Writhing, thrashing, but with him nonetheless. Heated and throbbing, but fingers interlocked with his in ceremonious fashion. And the thought makes you smile, sloppy and twitching, through the lewdness of the thick air.

And you can do nothing except claw at him, use him as a living, breathing grounding machine. Can do nothing but hold him so desperately as you break, count the wrinkles against his forehead as he pushes into you again. Await the swift hit of release as you choke out, “Y-Yeah… I—I’m… close… mnng—“

“Leon? You in here?”

The additional voice is distant, airy almost. You almost wonder if you’d imagined it, sorted it out of nothing from your deeply calibrated mess of a brain.

The sex must’ve driven me mad, you think. Almost laugh, but don’t, as light hits your eyes.

And that familiar coil in your tummy dampens, aches, is reduced to ashes as Leon scrambles for the blanket with a large scoff, wraps you gently with it and shields your body against his — the heat of your sweat and the lathering material from the blanket does more to irritate you, but it would do, when Chris himself was standing calcified and struck dumb with confusion in the arch of your doorway.

So much for locking the door.

“Chris, get out!” Leon yells, sifts for his shirt. Cards the floor for his pants and undergarments. He’s almost fully dressed as Chris grumbles out an apology, staggering out of the room with a limp you didn’t recognise he had ever worn before.

And you’re moth-eaten, hot, underneath the covers. Some part of you is mortified, but the larger part is aching for relief. Your legs are tense with the course of your muscles and sweat coats you in a messy sheen. But the ache between your legs is stagnant, mulling in sick waters like a beaten soldier.

“Sweetheart?”

It takes you a few counted minutes to realise your current predicament — Chris had seen the two of you in bed by pure accident, and with the last shred of consciousness you possess, you burst with colour. Still, Leon’s voice is molten. Electric. It sends sparks flying and frothing at your skin, as his arm skirts over yours in that familiar fashion — a silent kiss inked into your skin by touch alone, a low voice muttering ‘It’s alright. It’s okay.’

And he smiles, wide and large, smile lines soothing the ache and bringing you to be. You’re almost relieved, almost rid of that throe in you, sex nearly forgotten until he speaks again,

“Don’t touch yourself until I’m back. You can do that, can’t you? Hm?”

And as he leaves, smirking, you swiftly melt into the suffocating creases of your shared bed, charged up all over again.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon x reader #infinite darkness leon x reader #leon drabble #resident evil x reader #resident evil fanfic #requests

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nsharks · 5 months

Text

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part thirteen —other parts

pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader words: 3k tags: death. blood. cannibalism mention. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. there will be sex but it isn't here yet. slow burn!!! enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival.

"Twix."

Blue says your name in a single exhale of relief. You didn't expect her to be awake. She sits with her legs outstretched by a barely-there fire as you enter the cabin, the busted door groaning shut behind you. Fatigue sinks you to the floor beside her. You're about to curl your numb hands within the long sleeves of your new jacket, but the burn on your fingers makes you wince from the friction.

“You're filthy." She reaches for your hand, gently inspecting the burn. "And someone hurt you."

"Well, technically, I hurt them."

Blue shakes her head, the tone of her voice hardening the moment she drops your hand. "You shouldn't have gone."

"It was important—"

"It was stupid. You saw how those guys tried to kill us!" She huffs out a breath before snapping her gaze back to the flames. "You... you didn't tell me you were leaving. You didn't even say goodbye. I just woke up and you were gone.”

"I didn't want to wake you this morning because you needed rest,” you reason.

"That's a shitty excuse," she grumbles back, gesturing to the pink bracelet on her wrist. "I may not have a lot of friends, but I do know they're supposed to tell each other things like this."

Your eyes trail down from the burnt skin on your fingers, red and bubbly, to the cheap, plastic beads encompassing your wrist.

"You're right," you speak softly. "I should have told you."

A few minutes lapse in thick silence. In the midst of it, you swallow a few chalky pills to help with all the pain. You've been conservative in using them so far, but with your additional score of medicine, you figure you can afford some relief. There's no way you'll be able to sleep with your bitten wrist throbbing incessantly.

You're about to lean against the wall and let your eyes flutter shut when Blue speaks again, this time her voice so quiet you wonder if you're imagining it.

"You know, I was excited to go on this trip," she whispers, still looking at the fire. "I even secretly hoped we'd run into other people, just because—" she pauses to swallow, "—because I never get to meet any. And the ones we have met, my dad always kills. Except for you."

She drags her sleeve over her face and it’s now you notice she is crying. A knot forms in your throat and, after the day you've had, you struggle to find the right words.

"He kills them for a reason," you settle on, voice equally hushed. "A lot of people are—"

"A threat, I know." Blue repeats the words like a bitter mantra, then looks at her bandaged leg. "What does it feel like?" she asks after a moment, sliding her glossy eyes to yours. “Killing a person. Ghost told me it feels just like killing an animal or a Grey."

You inhale, then fix your stare to the dark ceiling. "No— I don't think it feels the same. It's much worse. I still get sick from it,” you admit.

"How many have you killed?"

"I don't remember anymore, but not that many." Certainly not as many as Ghost has. "It was always in self-defense. Always because I had to."

"I wish nobody ever had to," she says.

"I know. Me, too.”

With a sigh, she carefully scoots closer to you. "I'm sorry for getting mad. I just want to go home.”

"Don't be sorry. I’m the one who is sorry." You shake your head and offer her a shoulder until both of you have your backs against the wall. Her hair tickles your cheek. A small hand slips around your waist in a tender embrace, her fingers latching onto the fabric of the jacket. The sore muscles of your core flex instinctively from the touch before you finally force yourself to relax. It’s just Blue.

"Your dad says we're going back tomorrow,” you whisper, jaw grazing the crown of her head. “Sleep. It'll be a long day again."

"A long day for you maybe," she murmurs against your shoulder. "I get to ride on his back."

"Lucky you." You drape the heavy blanket over your bodies. Together you are warmer, if only by a little.

Deft wind whooshes through the trees, kissing your wet skin. Splotches of wriggling orange and red follow the water's current, along with a trail of brown muck as you scrub your breasts, hair, and cheeks. The sight of fish makes your stomach grumble. It's been far too long since you've had anything but squirrel and deer and berries, but this is not the time or place to ponder a way to catch one. The blue wash of early morning lightens with each second that passes. You wring out your hair, rewrap your wrist, and put your clothes back on before carefully climbing up the slope, satisfied enough with your icy bath.

"Ready," you announce, blowing a white breath into your hands and rubbing them together. Ghost crouches down so Blue can teeter onto his back. The backpack full of ammo hugs his front. He appears exceptionally bulky with all the baggage, and yet, he makes it look effortless.

Together, you head towards the infamous bridge, if one could call it that. Silvery fog makes it hard to see more than ten meters ahead of you, but Ghost seems to have the area memorized. Your hands ball up in your pockets, feeling empty and useless. With no bow, you have to rely on Ghost to get you back. It's a weird thing. Though, you suppose if there's anyone you'd want to be stuck out here with, it would be him. His presence alone offers more safety than the measly knife around your ankle.

"Ghost, we should go behind her," Blue says when you reach the beam.

He steps aside to allow you on first. "Try not to go for a swim this time."

A flush of pink bites your cheeks, though you blame it on the cold. It's hard to believe just four days ago you slipped off this thing. With his hands preoccupied, Ghost can't hold onto your shoulders like before, but he lingers close behind and repeatedly orders you to keep your eyes on the bank.

Once you're all across, a calm quiet settles, a vast contrast to how talkative Blue was the first time around. It makes you absentmindedly pick the skin around your nails. By the time you reach the road, you've looked behind your shoulder at least ten times, half-expecting to spot a burnt face hiding among the trees. Squirrels prattle by. A starling calls above your head. But no people. You force your eyes onward and take a deep breath.

"So, uh, would you rather get mauled by a bear," you break the silence, stepping over a stray tire, "—or be struck by lightning?"

It takes a second for Blue to respond. "Oh. That's a good one. Do I have a gun while the bear attacks me?"

"No. No weapons. Just you and the bear."

"Then lightning." She pats Ghost's shoulder. "Could you take a bear?"

"On a good day, maybe," he answers.

"What about you, Twix?"

"No," you instantly scoff, kicking at a rock. "A bear would rip me apart. I would choose lightning because it'd be quick."

"Okay, I have one," Blue quips. "Would you rather be ripped in half, or fall off a tall building?"

"Ripped in half by what?" Ghost asks, tilting his head back.

"It doesn't matter." You can hear the roll of her eyes.

"It does matter. Might change my answer."

"Fall off a building," you interject. "The way down would suck, but I bet you don't feel a thing once you hit the ground."

"But you'd look like a dead bug," says Blue.

"I don't care what I look like. I'll be dead."

Ghost clears his throat. "My turn, then."

"No! You have to pick one," she exclaims.

"Building," he drawls. A shadow of movement passes to the right of you. You naturally flinch closer to them, but it's just a doe hunkering down tall weeds that reach out of the concrete. A chuff of breath leaves your lips as you look away, only to find Ghost staring at you. For a few seconds, his eyes flicker between you and the deer before he goes back to focusing straight ahead.

"Would you rather," he begins, "—chop off all your fingers, or take out your own eyes?"

"What do I use to take out my eyes?" Blue asks.

"Knife."

"I guess my eyes," she winces. "I mean, I'd rather get rid of two things than ten."

They both glance at you expectantly. A frigid gust of northern air takes hold of your hair, so you tuck the unruly strands behind your ears. "Uh, fingers," you decide after a moment. "I could probably live without them."

In the village, the air stinks enough for Ghost to come to a halt. Before, he was able to pass right through. This time, a group of fourteen or fifteen Greys seems to be trapped on the main street between a crumbled wall and a fallen telephone pole. He has to decide between expending ammo or time. It's not long before he nods to a small building and the three of you scale the rusted fire escape. From the safe distance of the roof, he takes out the Greys one by one with an accuracy that barely leaves a dent in the ample stockpile of cartridges. With the route cleared, he's saved at least an hour or two of precious daylight.

The fog lifts. The ambery sun tries to peek through the clouds, but the sky is bent on staying grey. By the time you are back, your blisters have blisters. Blue has fallen asleep, cheek smushed against the back of Ghost's neck. Relief, thick and palpable, tastes sweet on your tongue. The fence, the rabbit hutch, the much-cozier cabin; none of it is home to you, but still, it calls your name in a welcoming coo.

You have to aim Ghost's flashlight so he can unlock the gate. Blue stirs, but her eyes remain closed even when he pushes inside the cabin. It's shrouded in darkness. You prop the flashlight on the table as his boots scuffle against the floor.

He puts her to bed. As he does, you feel around for the sofa and nearly choke when your worn fingertips graze shabby fabric. Not icy water or solid wood or muddy ground, but something soft. You're about to sink into it, your bones desperate for the springy cushions, when he returns to the threshold of the hallway with an ugly, flannel sheet in his hands.

"Here."

It's hard to be certain if you thank him or not; your brain conjures up the words, but your voice doesn't seem to function quite right. One thing is certain: you accept the sheet, tuck it on with urgency, and then lay down, burying your face in the crook of the pillow and arm. You kick off your boots and let the darkness take you, swift and heavy. It could be a coma or death disguised as sleep, and you figure you'd still slip into it without fuss.

Those first days back are quiet. Blissfully uneventful. You sleep and sleep. In fact, you don't move from the couch except to relieve yourself and eat a little. Ghost and Blue don't seem to do much, either. Or maybe you just don't notice.

At one point, you wake up to a small stack of shirts beside the couch. All black. One long sleeve, the rest short. You change into one and continue sleeping.

At another point, Blue hovers above you with a whisper that draws out a groan from you. "Hey. Ghost is making me skin some rabbits. Apparently, it's the only chore I can't get out of. Do you want to help me?"

"I think I'm good." You stuff the pillow over your face to make your point.

"You've been sleeping for three days, you know."

"I could go for another three."

She takes the hint and staggers away. Walking now. You hear her right leg drag a little.

The sleep is good until it's not.

On the fifth night, you're no longer fatigued enough to keep the dreams squandered. They start as whispers. Hoarse and gritty. Then they get louder and louder, shouting your name until they are so loud it feels like someone is screaming in your ear. Different voices blend into an indecipherable cacophony. One screams in pain; another in anger. You feel someone's cold fingers take hold of your neck and are finally pried awake, flying up against the couch with fiery pants burning through your lungs. But all that's there is a dark room.

Sweat clings to every inch of you. It feels like everything is on fire, and all you want to do is cool down. You haven't bathed since the river. Catching your breath, you swing your legs down and quietly pad to the bathroom where you hope a little water is left. Luckily, in the glint of moonlight, you find a bucket used for washing hands and scoop some to your face. Then, you comb it through your sweat-laced hair.

You unwrap your wrist and brush your fingers over the bite. You dab some water on it. You can't see well, but you feel the constellation of congealed scabs beneath your fingertips. Scars. Wounds. Your nostrils flare as a you wonder if one day you'll be so covered in them you won't even look like yourself. It's a good thing there is not enough light to spot the reflection of your face in the mirror, because you're not thrilled to greet the one now on your brow.

On your way out of the bathroom, something solid and immobile blocks your path. You startle backward, sucking in air as you peer up at a masked face. Ghost. It's Ghost. You haven't spoken to him since getting back, and in this moment, you long for the ability to push past him, but his wide shoulders consume the narrow hall.

It's silly to think you can avoid him when you sleep in the same space now. The thing is— you have no idea what to think of him. Before, it was easy to settle on fear of how easily he could snap your neck, and annoyance for how he treated you. And then, when forced to, you could engage in a pragmatic conversation about how to keep yourselves alive.

But now, you don't know what you are supposed to feel around him, and you have spent zero time reflecting on it so far.

"Sorry. I was just, uh, washing my face."

"In the middle of the night?" he rasps, tilting his gaze down.

You teeter back a step, keeping a healthy bubble of space between your bodies. You're not sure why he hasn't just moved out of the way, or what he would be up and about for at this hour, but briefly, you wonder if he is suspicious of you. If after everything you went through, he still thinks you're trying to do something and might send you back to the shed. The three of you relieve yourself outside the cabin since the plumbing doesn't work, so it certainly does seem odd that you'd be in the bathroom during the night.

"I was sweating a lot." Inwardly, you curse at yourself. "I mean, I haven't bathed since we got back, and I..." You trail off in a whisper.

"And you what?"

"I don't know." You fiddle with the hem of the oversized shirt he gave you. "I'm not trying to kill you or your daughter in your sleep, though, if that's what you're thinking."

He simply stares at you. It feels like he can see right through you, and your eyes drop to your wool socks. Then, he murmurs, “I wasn't thinking that."

"Okay," you reply carefully. "Could you... please move, then?"

Finally, he steps out of the way, but you feel the burn of his eyes on your skin as you brush past him.

"Twix."

You pause, looking back. "Yes?"

A shake of his head. And then: "Take a proper bath tomorrow. You could use it.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. "Will do."

With that, you crawl back onto the couch.

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #cod #ghost #simon ghost riley x reader #zombie apocolypse au

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captain-hawks · 6 months

Text

STRESS RELIEF

♡ — atsumu miya x f!reader

Atsumu may be a legendary setter, but he’s also an incredibly sore loser. And all other forms of post-game slump stress relief pale in comparison to a particular one he shares with you.

18+ ONLY

wc — 2.4k

prompt — lactation kink

additional content — established relationship, fingering, squirting, coming in pants, coming untouched, unprotected sex, rough sex, creampie, cockwarming, questionable refractory periods, multiple orgasms, cum eating, insatiable Atsumu, Miya twin bickering, timeskip!Atsumu

╰┈➤ kinktober masterlist

“Is there a reason ya always call me to babysit after losin’ a game?”

Atsumu can hear the exasperation in his brother’s voice on the other end of the line, dulled slightly by the hum of customers chattering away in the background. He ignores Osamu’s question, shifting slightly from where he’s seated on the bench in the locker room as he tugs at his sweat-soaked MSBY jersey, pulling the material free from its damp grip on his chest.

“Some godfather you are,” he snarks back, offering Bokuto a wave as he slaps him on the back while walking past him on his way to the showers. “And how’d ya know we lost anyway, ain’t ya at work?”

Osamu snorts, “Had the game on in the office while I was working on the books. You played like shit.”

“Bite me,” Atsumu huffs, running a hand through his haphazard blonde locks.

“I’m leavin’ the restaurant in about an hour.”

“I’m droppin’ her off in forty-five.”

“Take a goddamn shower first, ya pig. I can smell you from here.”

“Fuck you, Samu.”

He can practically hear the middle finger that his brother proffers to the phone as Osamu laughs, hanging up on him. Atsumu trudges to the showers to wash away the grime from the court—and hopefully some of his sour mood in the process.

—

In the years that you’ve been together, Atsumu has always been a sore loser when it comes to his favorite sport, even more so once he went pro. He cycles through different ways of working through his disappointment with himself after tough games, ranging from forcing himself to run miles on end until he’s nearly throwing up when he regretfully calls you to come and pick him up halfway across town, to dragging Osamu out for impromptu boxing sessions (“Ya tryin’ to make yer face even more ugly?!”), to binge eating ice cream on the couch (until he’s then also throwing up).

Sex, of course, is also one of his favorite (and least self-destructive) options, though his frustration-fuelled stamina is enough to leave you both fucked out beyond belief.

However, following the birth of your daughter just over a year ago, Atsumu found…a new form of stress relief.

One where he’d prefer to have no interruptions.

Hence the recruitment of Uncle Osamu, who probably just thinks his pouty, needy brother forces him into babysitting duties to have loud, raunchy sex with his wife all night.

Not quite.

—

“You’re worse than our daughter,” you fondly groan at Atsumu when he immediately starts tugging off your jacket the moment you step in your front door after swinging by Osamu’s house, his impatient energy coming off of him in waves.

Atsumu’s sound of protest dies in his throat when he spins back around from hanging it up to watch you slip off your shoes, his pupils expanding from eager to lust-blown the moment his gaze falls on the two wet spots already soaking through the thin material of your sundress.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, his lips slotting tenderly against yours as he pushes you up against the wall, one hand coming up to cup your tender breasts.

His tongue dances along the seam of your lips, and you part them, sighing into your husband’s mouth as he deepens the kiss. You card your fingers through his still-damp hair, keening at the feeling of his thumb teasing your peaked nipples through the fabric. The arousal simmering in your gut sparks, pleasure seeping through your nerves with each deft sweep of his hands along your skin as he effortlessly unhooks your bra, tosses it to the ground, and pulls down the straps of your dress.

“Can’t even wait till we get to the bedroom?” You ask teasingly.

“Nope,” he replies, though the sound is muffled from where his mouth is now latched on to one of your engorged, leaking tits.

Atsumu has never been one for patience.

You haven’t pumped all day, and the soothing feeling of Atsumu needily lapping at your tender nipples, milk flowing into his mouth, has you whimpering in relief. Knees going weak with a flush of arousal, you start to slide to the floor, and Atsumu follows suit, his warm body slotted between your spread legs as he continues to drink from you.

The house is quiet save for the wet, sucking sounds of Atsumu’s mouth slurping at your swollen tits, punctuated at intervals by his groans—the vibration of which makes you shiver—and the breathy, keening noises falling from your own lips.

You reach down, carding your fingers through his hair, running them from his messy, blonde strands to the soft, dark brown undercut beneath. He sucks harder, letting his teeth graze a pert nipple in the way he knows makes your toes curl, and you gasp, arching into his touch as you give his hair a rough tug in return.

Atsumu moans, and you do it again, tipping his head back enough to take in the dazed look in his eyes, milk coating his lips and dripping down his chin. Suddenly, you become very aware of the way your arousal-soaked panties are clinging wetly to your folds, sticky and plastered against your eager, aching cunt.

A knowing smirk teases its way across his full lips, and Atsumu snakes a hand up the skirt of your dress, running a finger down your slit. Separated from his deft touch by both your stockings and underwear, he teases you by pushing his fingertip firmly against the nylon and cotton where your fluttering entrance is. The material gives just enough, breaching your hole and scraping wetly against the tight walls of your cunt, and you whine, bucking into his touch as you plead for more.

You can feel another spurt of milk dribbling from one of your tits, and Atsumu dips his head back down to catch it, tongue tracing a broad stroke from your belly to your nipple as he laps it all up. And just when he latches back on to milk you further, you hear a ripping sound as he tears a hole in your stockings, one large enough to slip his hand into. He then uses his thumb to pull your panties aside, swiftly plunging two fingers right into your damp pussy knuckle deep.

“Atsumu,” you pant out, bucking up into him, the slick squelch of him finger fucking you warring with the sounds of his wet mouth fervently sucking on your breasts.

He groans your name, drinking deeply from one tit as he massages and squeezes the other, pulling away for a moment to let milk squirt and spray against his lips. The feeling building inside of you burns its way down your throat and into the pit of your abdomen, your tightly coiled composure beginning to unfurl amid a slick, exhilarating thrum of pleasure.

Feeling the way the muscles in your thighs have clenched, he swipes his thumb over your clit, stroking circles into the sensitive bundle of nerves as he firmly curls his fingers inside of you. The tidal wave of pleasure bursts, clear liquid spraying from your cunt as you come hard.

Atsumu’s own steady sucking grows sloppy as he moans loudly when he feels you squirt all over him, smearing spit and milk across the swell of your tits. Bringing his fingers to his mouth, he pauses in his ministrations for a moment to suck off the creamy results of your orgasm before returning to the streams of milk leaking down your chest.

“Haaaaaah, oh f-fuck,” he groans as his entire body tenses and then goes entirely limp, arms wrapped loosely around your waist as he presses his forehead against your breasts, breathing hard.

“Did you come in your pants again?” you ask, already knowing the answer.

He nods, voice slightly muffled against your skin, “Ya know what you squirting does ta me.”

Playing with his hair, you smile, “Good thing we have all night.”

And Atsumu makes the most of it, both of you stumbling into the bedroom in your post-orgasmic bliss and collapsing against the mattress, slowly taking turns peeling off one another’s clothes until you’re both naked, his cum-soaked boxers left forgotten on the floor.

The thrum of anxiety and frustration from the game still lingers, and you know Atsumu hasn’t had his fill yet.

If this didn’t turn the both of you on so much, you know he’d otherwise latch on for hours on end without stopping once for air, suckling every last drop of milk from your swollen tits till the sun begins peeking over the horizon. And it’s not that you don’t spend hours with him lapping up your milk on nights like this, it’s just also always littered with copious amounts of orgasms, his normal refractory period taking a backseat to whatever milk-fuelled stamina keeps cum pumping from his cock far more times than either of you could ever hope to count.

An hour later, you’re on your back, legs spread as Atsumu drags his tongue up your slit, lapping up a glob of his cum that’s leaking out of you. He leans in to kiss you, his filthy mouth slotting against yours tenderly, and you can feel as more cum from his last two climaxes drips out of you and onto the sheets below.

He’s left your tits untouched for a bit, mouth otherwise occupied swallowing down your moans as he fucked you deep and slow. Milk dribbles down your body, and you arch your body up into his where he hovers over you, grabbing one of his hands and dragging it through the wet, sticky mess.

“Here I thought I was the needy one,” he quips, a boyish grin on his face.

You raise an eyebrow. “Don’t act like you’re done.”

“Not even close.”

This time, when his hot lips latch onto your tits, there’s nothing slow or gentle about it. He’s greedy in the way he sucks and slurps, palming at your breasts and groping your ass and squeezing your thighs. Need courses through you as you wrap your legs around his waist, both of you moaning in unison as his thick cock sinks into your cunt again.

The sound of him fucking his cum back inside of you is filthy, and you revel in it, nails digging into his shoulders and the heel of your foot pressing into his lower back as you urge him to go deeper.

He bites and sucks at the sensitive skin of your breasts, the mattress creaking loudly beneath you as he begins to roughly fuck you into it, cum leaking onto his balls and dripping down your ass. Your chest heaves as pleasure snaps through you like a whip, drunk on the combined feeling of the downright feral way Atsumu’s drinking your milk and the relentless way he’s pounding into your tight cunt.

When you come this time, it’s with a shout, vision going white as your pussy clenches down on his shaft. His orgasm follows in kind, Atsumu sucking on your nipple like his life depends on it while his cock pulses within the grip of your slick walls, once again filling you to the brim with another load of hot cum.

Atsumu collapses on top of you afterward, both of your bodies limp with exhaustion, though not enough to stop him from keeping his mouth latched to one of your tits, idly sucking away.

—

You don’t realize that the two of you fell asleep, not until you rouse to the soft morning light coming through your bedroom window and a round of knocks coming from your front door. When you go to shift, you find Atsumu’s head pillowed on chest, still unconsciously sucking on one of your nipples, even in his sleep. You roll your eyes fondly, stroking his hair.

Atsumu hums, stirring slightly. Softened cock still lodged inside of you, he rolls his hips, and you moan softly at the combined pleasure from the feeling of him sliding through the copious amounts of cum he filled you with and the hypersensitivity of being touched when you’re still half asleep. His eyes open slightly, and he gives you a tired little smile as he groans, mouth falling open as he rocks into you again.

His cock is quick to react, the feeling of his thick shaft hardening inside of the tight squeeze of your cunt leaving you breathless.

There’s another series of knocks at the front door, followed by the buzz of a text message on his phone.

Atsumu presses a kiss to your nipple before dragging his lips up the column of your throat, mouth capturing yours.

Another knock.

He pulls out and thrusts back into you deeply, languidly, cock dragging against your cum-soaked walls with ease.

Your phone buzzes.

Lazy, gentle kisses follow.

His phone begins to ring.

Atsumu reaches out in the direction of the nightstand, shoving his phone to the floor and ignoring everything but the way you keen and writhe beneath him as he fucks you through one more wet, tired, blissful orgasm.

—

Osamu, fully dressed in his Onigiri Miya uniform, looks like he’s weighing the pros and cons of fratricide when Atsumu finally opens the front door in a robe, his hands and a brush no match for what an all-night marathon of sex and sucking on your tits has done to his hair.

“I have a staff meetin’ in an hour, ya horny bastard,” he growls when he walks in, the malice a direct contrast to the way he then proceeds to coo over his sleeping niece when he sets her down in her carrier.

“We slept in,” Atsumu says casually, though his air of nonchalance is thrown off by the way Osamu unceremoniously shoves the diaper bag into his arms.

“Yer a shit liar.”

Exiting the bathroom looking far more put together than your husband, you place a finger to your lips as you gesture to your child, who’s somehow conked out despite their raised voices.

Osamu offers you an apologetic look, though he shoots his brother another glare when you make your way into the kitchen.

“Thanks again, Samu. Want something for breakfast before you head to work?” you ask him.

Atsumu pours himself a glass of orange juice in the meantime.

“Toast would be great.”

“Thought ya were in a rush,” Atsumu snarks before rolling his eyes and taking a large sip from his cup.

Rifling through the fridge, you brandish a hand in the direction of the myriad of beverages on the shelf. “Drink?”

“Milk’s fine.”

Atsumu chokes.

— likes, comments, &/or reblogs are greatly appreciated!

#atsumu miya x reader #miya atsumu x reader #miya atsumu #atsumu miya #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu #haikyu #haikyuu smut #dee writes

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kenjakusbraincum · 4 months

Text

Walls

Sukuna x Reader

A small addition to Vows

Synopsis: Two scenes exploring the first times reader and Sukuna respectively break down in the face of reader's terminal illness. Tags/Warnings: sick!gn!reader, master/pet dynamics, angst, hurt/comfort. (Chronologically takes place after reader and Sukuna talk about him taking new pets in the original fic!) Word count: 1.2k Author's note: This is probably as vulnerable as I'll ever write Sukuna :3

You tried to be strong. So long, so hard you tried to be untouchable. You knew sukuna hates weaklings. But you're in so much pain. You can barely swallow anything properly with how sore your throat is from the coughing. It takes so much out of you, physically and mentally, to pretend that this harrowing illness is nothing, and that you're somehow okay with it and ready to die. You're not. You don't want to die. You don't want this life that you've built with Sukuna to end. At least not as abruptly as it seems it will happen. One day you just can't pretend anymore.

Sukuna always asks if you're doing okay. He hopes that one day he'll hear you say yes. But you don't. You mutter a quiet no, and hope the topic would quickly. Not quickly enough. Because you break down crying. It starts small, your usual, timid little crying, but as you talk through it, the weight of your illness presses down on you like a rock - and you break. Loud, helpless. Hysterical bawling, the crying that leaves you breathless, the crying that drains you of everything you have and more.

And Sukuna doesn't know what to do - usually telling you to stop would work, because you would obey his every word, no questions asked. But this is different, this isn't your usual crying about something small, something you aren't allowed to do or something mean Sukuna said. This is a honest, heart wrenching breakdown that has been impending for a while. And he can't tell you to stop - because you can't stop. All he can do is hold you tight, and remind you to breathe.

There's nothing he can do. Healing you is a double edged sword, that provides relief, but at the cost of crashing hopes when the symptoms return. They always return. How useless of him. He can't properly comfort you because he's so detached from human emotions and interactions, he can't save you from this hardship... And he can hardly make it any easier. All he can do is sit with his guilt, little weeping you curled up in his arms, and... that salty drop of liquid that just escaped from his eye to his lip. What was that? Is he?... No, it's impossible.

Of course, reader falls asleep quickly after this. Sukuna stands up to leave, but he finds himself unable to part his stare from the bloody napkins and abandoned crochet projects by your bed. Tea gone cold and plates still full of food and sweets that you didn't have the strength to consume. Clothes untouched, folded neatly in your closet - you don't change out of your sleepwear anymore. The doorknob to the terrace, the one that leads to the garden you love so much, gathering dust after days, weeks of being unopened. You used to go into the garden every day. Your descent is slow, like that of a flower, whose petals slowly dry and detach, until none are left. His favorite flower, the one he loved to admire every day, at every opportunity. The type of flower that grows, blooms once in a hundred years and more.

And Sukuna is a stone, was a stone, stoic and unshaken for the longest time. But he is not as he was before. Love spares no one. Love leaves no one unchanged. He breaks.

You're in his lap in the garden, during one of the last sunny days of autumn. He stares into the distance, lost in thought as he often is, but... his face looks different. Tense, with his brows furrowed and his lips tight. He looks worried, almost sad. You ask him what he's thinking about, and he hesitates. There's a lump in his throat, and you hear it in his voice when he finally speaks. Nothing. He should've said nothing. What a fool.

He tells you he struggles to imagine life without you. And then he looks at you, and you feel it so vividly. A punch to your gut, a knife to your heart. Oh. You know you're dying, but if you had even the slightest of doubts, it's gone now that Sukuna is opening up to you. Sukuna and vulnerability don't exactly go hand in hand.

You sit up and plant a kiss to his shoulder. You tell him what you believe to be true - that the pain is fleeting, and that one day he will be complete again, alone or with someone else in your place. He frowns at you, once more unwilling to accept that scenario. But you want that for him. You truly, wholy believe that he is worth your - and anyone else's love. That he's beautiful, he keeps you safe, provides for you, pleasures you, listens to you - what more can anyone ask for? There's a thousand humans who would die for a chance to be loved like that, who would be just as genuine and grateful as you - and he crumbles, telling you to just shut up! He turns his head in another direction, facing you with the veins popping in his neck. He should've known you would try to make it better. He should've known you wouldn't let him wallow in his misery.

You crawl closer, reaching your hand for his face and trying to pull it towards you, but he doesn't budge. He holds his breath. He really doesn't want you to see him like this. Weak, pathetic.

Sukuna. You call him by his name. So intimate, forbidden. So personal you don't think you've ever called him that outside his bed, and even then it was pried off your lips, pulled from the depths of your conscience, out of your control. Anyone else would've paid for the mistake of uttering his name with their lives. But it's nothing new that you have privileges others don't.

Sukuna. You wrap your arms around him and lean into a hug, and he accepts it, squeezing you so tight he almost leaves breathless. You kiss up his neck, his cheek - wet, and his lips, almost trembling as they touch yours. There's so much more you want to tell him - but he shushes you. Kisses you again, tells you to forget it, it will be fine. You're not sure if he's saying it to you or to himself.

You tell him you know, that's what you've been trying to say the whole time. Then you smile at him, that angelic smile of yours, and smooth your hands over his face, wiping the frown off of his face. What a magical little being you are, he thinks to himself as he savors your beauty. You always had the power to take his anger and turn it into love.

No, Sukuna doesn't think that he could ever scoop up another little human like you out of the crowd. For a moment he thinks maybe it's better that you die, simply because he fears how far he would keep falling for you if nothing stopped him. He thinks maybe he would've become a different man. A better man. But your fate is sealed, and with it, any and all hopes for a changed Sukuna. Soon you will breathe your last breath, and Sukuna will once again be a monster, unbound by anyone or anything. Free of the confines that you've passed upon him - the heaviness of a human conscience. Closer to the man he was before he met you. But never, ever the same again.

#sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna #sukuna #sukuna x you #ryomen sukuna x reader #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #jjk angst #sukuna angst #sukuna fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen #this fic has authenticity points #bc it was written when i was sick with the same symptoms as original vows reader #so like if this actually sucks its bc i was genuinely sick #and if it doesnt thats bc i was in character lmaoooo #help..#vows

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therainywriter · 14 hours

Text

Na-Baron (Suggestive)

Pairing: Feyd Rautha x Reader

So sweet and polite, you didn’t belong in a place like this.

Everyone around you was a scum, a lying piece of filth that would only use that innocence to their own benefit.

You knew this, you weren’t ignorant, but you couldn’t find it within yourself to treat them as they did you, as low as it made you feel.

Fear kept you quiet and respectful as well. All it took was one slip up, and no matter how little you’d be begging for your life.

You’re the newest addition to the Harkonnen’s house, a servant for the Na-Baron, Feyd Rautha Harkonnen. They never enlightened you on what happened to the previous chambermaid, and you weren’t sure you wanted to know.

Some things were best kept unheard of, especially in this treacherous place.

You kept your head down, sticking out like a sore thumb amongst the perfect women around you. They all were beautiful, delicate with a smooth complexion.

Much like their shared appearance, their lack of joy was all the same. At times they seemed almost lifeless, their souls worn down and stripped of any hope for a better life.

Sadness for them bit at your chest, this was no way to live.

Feyd watched you with an unreadable gaze, and though he paid you little regard, his eyes were always searching for yours.

He observed the way you shifted in your stance, fingers intertwining behind your back as you grew nervous. How easy it was to make you squirm.

You hadn’t thrown yourself at him like the others, offering your body as means to please him. They all were so eager, but you- you shied away from him.

In the halls you always pay notice to him with a small smile before bowing your head down, eyes glued to the floor as you passed by him.

It drove him insane that such a meek little being could push him to madness.

His eyes hardened and grew dark, he wanted to ruin you, to corrupt you entirely, to own your very existence. Then, perhaps he would see you as he does every other woman in this house.

The day passed slowly and before you knew it you were rounding the corner to the Na-Barons chamber.

You moved quickly, knocking a couple of times before entering when you heard no reply. His room was always clean, pristine even.

It was his training quarters that always seemed to be splattered with blood and laden with needle sharp weapons.

You clean the knives first, washing the somewhat fresh crimson off with a worrisome mind.

You always wondered whose blood was spilled. The rational part of your brain knew they were discarded in a bag somewhere, but you could only hope that they didn’t face their end at his hands.

Feyd watched in the doorway as your hands halted their cleaning, your mind was elsewhere, eyes staring distantly as a familiar red swirled down the drain.

“Careful,” his velvety voice insincerely warned.

You jumped, finger sliding against the edge of the knife, skin splitting like butter on the blade. You gasped and pulled your hand back, a loud clink meeting your ears as it fell into the sink.

With a tsk, he moved toward you, holding back a smirk at your wide eyes. “I told you to be careful.”

You gulped, “Forgive me, Na-Baron- you startled me..”

He now stood in front of you, his hand reached for your wounded one. It took every fiber in your body to not fight against him.

Dark, sullen irises stared into your own as he let your blood flow from your finger to his. There was a malicious glint in his eye that made you want to cower away.

“Na-Baron, wha-“ your words halted in your throat as he stuck your finger in his mouth.

His tongue swirled against your lacerated flesh, sucking gently as he coaxed more irony syrup from the cut.

Your skin burned where his hand held your wrist, his long digits wrapping around it so effortlessly. He was enjoying this, his eyes shut as he hummed at the taste.

Your insides twisted at his unhygienic yet somehow intimate behavior. You liked it.

You nearly crumpled at the realization, burning shame coursing through you.

He only drew closer when you tried to pull away, his lean body pressing you against the sink. Your heartbeat was hammering in your ears, mind hazy at his sudden proximity.

His mouth released its hold on your index finger, black tongue darting out to lick his lips.

“There’s something about you,” he said, voice laced with slight irritation, eyes sharp and piercing.

He was enjoying this too much, playing around with you. He wanted to wrap his hands around your pretty neck and choke you until you told him why.

But he didn’t. No- he rather pressed closer, knee sliding between your thighs, lips skimming along your cheek.

Your breath hitched, body tense as you couldn’t possibly lean back anymore. Your brain was screaming for you to run, but you couldn’t.

His hand gripped your jaw, and lips moved to yours, ghosting over the warm skin. His eyes locked onto yours, “Tell me,” he purred against your mouth, “are you scared?”

“Yes,” you responded, voice hushed and small.

At this, he grinned. Black teeth shining at you as he chuckled, the sound low and disgustingly attractive.

He was pleased with your response, and before you could so much as blink, had the knife you’d been cleaning pressed at your abdomen.

“Good,” he said lowly, “always be afraid.”

Your brows slightly knit together in both conflict and confusion.

His lips pressed against yours, tongue forcing itself into your mouth as he kissed you. You moaned against his mouth, leaning up for more when he pulled away.

“Do as you were,” he ordered, twirling the blade between his fingers as he left the room.

Your lips were puffy and mind in disarray, what cruel game he was playing at?

#i couldn’t help myself #this man #working on requests!#na baron #feyd rautha #feyd x reader #feyd x you #feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha x you #x reader #kind of dark #my writing #rainywriter #dune part two #dune part 2

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yanderemommabean · 7 months

Note

You know a concept stardew fans seem to not bring up? How wonderfully pathetic Yandere Clint would be. Like he is such a pathetic and insecure guy but I have a feeling he can become dangerous if in the right circumstance. Like we know he’s a blacksmith and you’ve even mentioned he’d make cuffs/chains. So what if he decided enough was enough and chose to take his beloved for himself.

I can already imagine how it happens; After so many years of pining for Emily, he’s grown tired of being alone and can’t work up the nerve to talk to her… But then a charming new farmer arrives and he can’t help but fall head over heels! He tries to deny his love for the farmer since he doesn’t want his years of loving Emily to feel like they went to waste, but the farmer seems to naturally grab his attention. He starts using his crush on Emily as an excuse to ask for the farmer’s help, but in actuality just wants to get close to them.

But naturally, the farmer has both men and women fawning over them and Clint feels threatened by this. He closes up out of fear of rejection and is terrified that he’ll end up pining for the farmer just like Emily. He doesn’t want this and decides that his only course of action would be to take the farmer away from everyone else.

(Sorry if you’re not up for discussions of stardew valley, I just remembered seeing one of your posts during my dive into the tags)

Omg??? I can’t believe I never considered this option. I’m not the biggest fan of Clint but he hasn’t really done anything for me to hate him, so this really puts him in a new light!

He really does just want someone to love him and once he finally gets someone to show even a shred of attention to him, he makes sure to hold an iron grip. He doesn’t want to hurt the farmer, not ever, but sometimes in order to have what you want you have to do some…questionable things.

Such as spreading rumors that you up and left once the bus was fixed, finding the town horrible and the people obnoxious. The whole town is left broken hearted and bitter about it but Clint seems more or less unphased. Swears he’s just not that attached to you and you leaving was sad but won’t hurt his life.

They all go with that lie too. They don’t question the banging coming from his shop because well, he’s a blacksmith, heavy clanging and banging is apart of the job. They don’t pay attention to certain marks and scars along his arms either, probably just apart of his job too, accidents happen.

Gunther started poking around a bit too much but a brutally busted display and some broken museum artifacts made him stay in his place. He didn’t know who did it, but his job and reputation isn’t worth the risk.

All of this while you’re locked in a new addition to his shop, beneath his bedroom, nice and locked up where no one can take you. It’s nice that you’ve learned to stop screaming for help, your poor throat used to get so sore!

It’s nice to have all this alone time with you too. Most of the town stays away from his shop, not really needing anything unless they want to sell some odds and ends. Just you, and him, and all the time in the world.

-Mommabean

#mommabean #yandere Clint #yandere stardew valley #yandere scenarios #yandere imagines #yandere male #yandere prompts

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k0komis · 1 year

Note

hello! i really loved your hcs about having a lover sensitive to cold and i was wondering if i could get the same thing but with alhaitham and heizou :) have a nice day !

❦ Having a Lover sensitive to Cold (II) ❦

Pairing: Reader with Al-Haitham, Heizou and Diluc (separately)

A/N: I'm glad you liked the previous part! I'm more than happy to provide you with more characters!! Saying so, hope you don't mind me adding Diluc because 'the Rule of Three' ~

Warnings: Established Relationships, Al-haitham and Diluc are smooth bastards, I used Heizou's birthday art I'm sorry

.｡.:*♡ At first, you were self conscious that your boyfriend Al-Haitham might judge you due to your weakness to the cold. You tried to hide it from him, pretending to be busy or distracted when it came to anything cold.

.｡.:*♡ Of course, you should've known it was never possible to hide anything from the Scribe himself. He caught you in your act and had got suspicious of you.

.｡.:*♡ When you sheepishly told him that you were just weak to the cold, a smile painted his face- the most rare sight on Tevyat.

.｡.:*♡ He had simply shaken his head, gently scolding you for scaring him like that. He later gave you the biggest lecture on how it is completely normal and valid to not like the cold.

.｡.:*♡ He was careful about learning your comfort zones and would always visit you during Sumeru winters to make sure you were healthy.

.｡.:*♡ When one day you greeted him with a sore throat, he was very unpleased and a sense of protectiveness enveloped him.

"You are NOT doing anything labour intensive today." He commanded you, checking your temple for any signs of fever. You huffed, he had already told you that ten times before.

"Who's cooking then, you?"

The look he gave you felt almost mocking.

"I'll go grab something from Puspa Cafe, silly." He remarked, before picking you up bridal style.

"Weakening yourself like this will prove to be a great tactical advantage for your enemies," He said, "And anyway... Guess what?"

You looked up at him, hands wrapped around his torso. He leaned closer to your face and whispered, "Only I'm allowed to make your throat sore."

The heat that rose to your cheeks was enough to combat the cold outside.

.｡.:*♡ Being a detective was very demanding. One thing people rarely talked about was about how you need to run from place to place to gather even the tiniest of leads or clues. Being Heizou's partner in many cases meant you had to often go to these locations in his place.

.｡.:*♡ Heizou had noticed how there were specific places you simply refused to go to. He had noticed these places were mostly wintery lands. At first he had concluded maybe you had something personal against Snezhnaya and the Cryo Archon.

.｡.:*♡ But when he found out you were reluctant to indulge in cold foods too, he finally understood that you had problem with the temparature itself.

.｡.:*♡ He absolutely adored teasing you to hell for it, albeit making sure you were okay with it at first. But at the end of the day he was very gentle and caring for you too.

.｡.:*�� He loved buying you a cold drink and then warming it by holding it between his palms. He remarked how it was "warmed with his affection".

Heizou had brought you over to Tomoki's stall. Apparently he had made a new drink in addition to his dango-milk. It was some form of creamy slushie.

"Are you sure about this?" You asked him, tightening your shawl around your body. He laced his fingers through yours, giving you a warm smile.

"Trust the detective." He winked.

As usual, he ordered one large serving, for you two would generally share the same drink. He didn't mind his cold drink being warm at all, he just wanted you to be safe.

You leaned on his shoulder and watched him warm up your drink. You smiled, and promptly placed a kiss to his cheek. He did the cute thing where he'd pout after any pda.

"I appreciate you so much, love." You murmured.

.｡.:*♡ Diluc undeniably owned the concept of warmth and fire. You felt relieved knowing that whatever may come, your boyfriend will always be able to protect you.

.｡.:*♡ When you had told him your fear for the cold, it had reminded him of the harsh winter scape of Snezhnaya, and he had embraced you in the tightest hug ever.

.｡.:*♡ Sometimes winters in Mondstadt got too cold, and in those days Diluc would unapologetically take all his days off to spend time with you in the Dawn Winery.

.｡.:*♡ He'd have you sitting on his lap, his vision making his body slightly warm so that you fit snug on his chest. You loved hearing his heartbeat echo in your mind.

.｡.:*♡ He appreciated how you coming into his life made his vision hold a much more higher value to him.

.｡.:*♡ His kisses were direct on your lips, fiery and passionate. It made you feel hot inside, not that you were complaining.

Night light poured in through the big windows on Dawn Winery. You were in Diluc's embrace, slowly dancing to the rythm of the music gently playing in the background. Nothing seemed to matter in that moment except the eye contact you two held.

He lifted you up by your hips, spinning you around him once, twice, before you were all giddy and giggling, begging him to stop.

You laughed and kept you head on his chest as he smiled and caressed your hair. How he enjoyed the soft silence that hung in the air. There was no tension, no past grievances he had to worry about.

#alhaitham x reader #heizou x reader #diluc x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact #al haitham x reader #shikanoin heizou #alhaitham #diluc #diluc ragnivindr x reader #diluc ragnvindr #how many tags can i give lol-#heizou #shikanoin heizou x reader #genshin impact x reader #is it obvious that i started my writing playlist from heizou's part?#💦 writings

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flowerpotmage · 8 months

Text

Tight Grip, Broken Dam (11)

<< Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter >>

You don’t question it anymore, when Miguel appears in your bed at night. He’s not there for sex, no, you’ve never even kissed—though you would be lying if you said you weren’t open to the idea of kissing him. He’s there for comfort. For rest. If only it could stay so simple.

Pair: Miguel O'Hara & GN!Reader

Notes: for series: slow burn, ambiguous relationship, found family dynamics, reader is in their late 20s. for chapter: sexual tension, injuries and injury aftercare, grief

Word Count: 4.6k

Read this chapter on Ao3 here. If you like my work, please consider leaving kudos there as well! You do not need an account to do so.

author's note: hiiiiii i'm so sorry i did the post-and-nuke thing again. most of this chapter remains the same, with the addition of one new scene and the removal of another (that will instead be in a following chapter), as well as edits and extensions of another

Neither you nor Miguel say much the next morning when the morning light starts to leak into your apartment and stirs you from your dead sleep, both of you clinging to the warmth and comfort of dreams. Your neck and shoulder are, admittedly, a little sore from sleeping on one side the whole night for the sake of your ribs—and your hips feel stiff.

You don’t need to open your eyes to know Miguel is still in your bed. You can feel his hand on the mattress between the two of you, the end of his fingers barely grazing the skin on the side of your palm. You can hear the soft and near silent sound of his relaxed breath, feel it move softly across the space between you. You breathe in, deeply, inhaling the smell of him wrapped up in your sheets.

Your exhale is a content sigh.

Miguel shifts, the mattress moving slightly under you both as he inches closer. Under the blanket his legs graze yours, the hum he lets out in response is low enough that you feel it more than hear it.

He stills, his leg touching yours.

“You didn’t mention your leg was injured too,” he whispers, voice softly roughed with sleep.

You suppress a groan, not at him, but at the stiff soreness of your body as you roll slightly onto your back. “It’s only surface,” you whisper, nose wrinkling at the sound of your own morning voice. “I don’t even have a limp.”

He hums, as if annoyed that you’ve made a valid point in defense of your injuries.

“I still would have liked to know.” It’s a whisper, a disgruntled admission, and you can’t help but chuckle softly, finally opening your eyes and turning your head to look at him.

He’s laying partly on his side and partly on his stomach, but his head is still turned completely towards you. His hair is softly mussed from sleep, and you can’t stop the small smile that grows on your face at the sight, your arm twitches once with the urge to move it off his forehead and watch it flop back over.

“Why are you smiling about that?”

I appreciate you, you think. You’re beautiful and so ridiculous. “I’m not,” is all you say, and watch him frown in confusion, eyes flicking over your face. You smile wider.

He sighs, hiding his smile in the pillow when you laugh at him.

“Do you at least have food in your kitchen?” He looks at you again, an eyebrow raised.

You scoff, wave his criticism off with a lazy hand. “Of course I do.”

He grunts in acknowledgement before pushing himself up on his arms to rise from the bed, and whatever little quip had been forming in your throat dries up before it can even reach your mouth, eyes locked on the skin and muscle of his arms.

“I’ll make breakfast. Rest as long as you need.”

And then he’s out of your room.

Miguel is making pancakes and eggs when he hears you emerge from your room and go down the hall, hears the bathroom door close and then open. He listens as you restart an old load in the dryer, hears the soft rumble of the machine become muffled as you close the little door that keeps it out of sight.

“What are you making?” you ask as you take a seat at the counter behind him.

“Pancakes and eggs,” he says, turning to glance over his shoulder at you. “You need the protein. And the carbs—for your ribs.”

“Mhm,” you agree absently, blinking when you meet his eyes.

Your placid expression doesn’t fool him—it’s obvious now, in the light of morning, that there’s fatigue lingering in your body and pain in the dark circles under your eyes. It lurches his stomach unpleasantly when he remembers last night: the blood on your skin and the calm way you sat while he cleaned and patched you up with hardly a flinch. He doesn’t think you even realize how painful it really is, or how hard on your body the fresh wounds are. He hadn’t seen any other marks indicative of such large injuries, not that he had been searching or let his eyes wander—

He flips the pancake on the stove, checking that both sides are done, before adding it to the growing mountain on the plate next to the pan, pouring another circle of batter out.

“Think that’s enough pancakes?” you tease, your lighthearted, dry tone ruined by the following yawn. He doesn’t need to turn around to know that your nose is wrinkling, your eyes squeezing shut and your hand shaking with the effort of the yawn as you try to cover your mouth.

“They’re not all for you, you know.”

“Right,” you say behind him, offhandedly. “Gotta feed all those muscles, I guess.”

He’s glad that you can’t see his face, because there's no way he could hide the surprise and flustered expression sure to be on his features.

He just grumbles a noncommittal response, concentrates on not burning breakfast, and focuses on keeping his mind off of hypotheticals and what ifs and alternative paths of alternative lives.

He's been thinking about those things more, since Miguel-209 arrived.

Miguel shakes his head, blinks hard, and shoves his frown and his thoughts away. Now’s not the time for that particular psychological torture.

“Here,” he says, placing a carefully plated dish of pancakes and eggs in front of you. He tries not to frown at it—he would have liked to add fruit, but the small amount you had had started to go bad.

Still, the smile you give in thanks, no matter how tired, bruised, and shadowed, makes him forget about the fruit entirely.

“Thanks,” you say, and he moves the butter dish closer, passes you the little bottle of syrup.

The first stretch of breakfast is quiet, Miguel watching you out of the corner of his eyes as he eats. You're eating slowly. To anyone else's eyes you would seem to only be taking your time, savoring the taste, but to Miguel… he recognizes the heavy rest of your hand on the counter between bites, the way chewing almost seems to leave you out of breath, the way your eyes droop heavily with exhaustion.

“Alright,” he says, taking your plate when it's clear that you can't eat anymore and need to rest again. “Time to rest.”

He leaves you there in your apartment, tucked into bed and already sliding into the depths of sleep, and returns to his own dimension.

He does, at first, go to Spider Society HQ of course. He has a job to do, a self appointed responsibility to perform. Anomaly alerts pop up, he sends people after them to bring them back—and then be sent home. He works on his extra suit, and on more gizmos and gadgets besides.

And then, again, he caves. Old videos and old pictures pulled up on his floating sulfur colored holoscreens. His mom. Gabriela. Two men who could both conceivably take the title of his father, and neither of whom he would ever willingly grant it to. Old friends—a photo of Gabe and Dana with him and Xina, before things changed.

Miguel pulls up your medical charts, the file that Doctor Parker would have filed after you came in bleeding and heroic from your anomaly capture. He grits his teeth, not for the first time, at the fact that you risked yourself alone, and then his stomach twinges unpleasantly at the memory of the almost-fight between you two. He should have expected that you would notice not getting as many backup calls, and he had meant it when he acknowledged it was unfair.

But he’s not sorry. He doesn’t regret that it kept you safe.

“It looks like they should make a swift and full recovery in no time,” Lyla says. “As long as they take it easy.”

Miguel rests his elbow on his crossed arm, touches his fingers to his lips in thought. He can feel his brows pulled together by the drawstring of frustration—no, stress, that seems ever present these days.

“We’ll have to revisit their backup status after they’ve recovered,” he says.

“You got it boss.”

He pauses again, eyes skimming over your chart. “Are they still sleeping?”

Another, smaller screen pops up with a loading bar, and then makes a pleasant bloop when a vitals snapshot loads.

“Vitals indicate deep sleep.”

“At least they’re actually resting. The anomaly?”

“Queued to go home.”

Miguel nods, eyes lingering on the vitals snapshot, before swiping it closed with a gloved hand.

It’s no longer morning, when you wake. Dim Sunday evening light spills through the blinds, painting your bedroom in shades of gold. You go to stretch and wince at the pain that zings through your body, then freeze, attention going to your side. You release aslow, careful breath when no immediate sensation of wetness or stretching that shouldn't be there makes itself known.

It’s silent, in the apartment. Stillness sits in a way you feel hesitant to break, but even so, you do. Carefully, mindful of the lingering pressure and slight throb in your side from your waking almost-stretch, you rise from bed. The living room is bathed in similar shades of liquid gold and melted warm honey through the uncovered glass of your balcony doors. This part of your home, too, is silent and still, though it sits less heavy now that you are up and moving. You listen down the hall, towards the bathroom, and with a quick look you see the door there is open, the light off.

At some point during the day while you were sleeping, Miguel had gone.

You sigh, shoulders relaxing slightly. Whether that is in disappointment, or relief to be alone once more with space to lick your wounds… Well.

In the hall, your clothes have been put in the dryer with the previous load folded in the basket—thank god it was only towels—and in the kitchen you find the dishes are done, dried and put away. Slightly spoiled fruit has been tossed out, and your garbage and recycling is empty. As usual he has left your home cleaner than he found it; the only trace of his presence aside from the clothes he borrows to sleep in, his lingering scent on your sheets, and sometimes even on your skin.

In your meandering investigation you find that even the dishwasher is empty.

All at once it comes rushing back—your dream of several nights ago, you in the kitchen, Miguel’s hand tracing a torturous path down to–

A knock at your door jolts you out of your reverie, face hot.

Get it together.

A quick look through the peephole reveals an unexpected, but welcome, visitor.

You open the door. “Peter?”

He lifts a box of pizza, the name of a place you don't recognize on the cardboard lid.

“Dinner!” He beams, stepping past you and into the kitchen. “Jeez, kid, did you get more plants since I was here last time?”

“Peter, I’m almost thirty. Come on with the ‘kid’ already.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he waves you off. “You've still got a couple years to go. I was in highschool when you were born, therefore: kid.” He gestures at you, plopping the pizza box onto your counter.

You smile begrudgingly, closing and locking the front door. “Fine, whatever.”

“Plates?” He asks, looking around your kitchen and opening all the wrong cabinets.

“There,” you point, careful not to raise your arm too high.

Peter gets the plates down, piling a few slices of pizza onto each plate, and immediately taking a huge bite off of his.

You watch him, your own plate untouched.

He looks at you, sighs, puts the food down. “I overheard Miguel and Lyla talking,” he says, offering an explanation for his surprise visit. “What happened, kid?”

You search his face, finding only concern and sympathy, no shock or surprise or incredible revelations. So you pause, fidgeting with the edge of your plate. “Got a little scrape at the nightclub on Friday,” you say, looking down. “Venom anomaly.”

Peter sucks air in through his teeth. “Ouch.”

You nod, looking down at your food. The sick wet crunch echoes in your head, bodies rent and devoured—

You push the plate away.

“Now, when you say ‘scrape…’” Peter prompts.

You try to muster a smile, but even on your face the half-baked expression feels forced. “Depends, what did you overhear?”

Peter raises an eyebrow at you, something in his gaze evaluating. “Just that it's bad enough for you to get benched.”

You sigh, the sound slightly disgruntled at the reminder, and your hand goes to your ribs. “He got me pretty good.” Your hand draws an impression of the wounds, your fingers a poor imitation of Venom’s claws gashing open your skin. “Can’t lift my arms or stretch ‘til it closes up.”

“Ah.” Peter’s face is sympathetic, but not pitying. “Well. Good thing I came by then to keep you company!” He swerves around the counter and into the living room proper, swiping up your TV remote. “You know, I’ve always been curious about TV in other dimensions.”

You laugh, following him, and grateful for the distraction.

“What is… Ceramic Destruction,” he squints at the screen, even though it’s easily almost the size of your coffee table. Another inheritance from your aunt.

“It’s one of those art competition shows,” you wave your hand off. “They make ceramics. Then they destroy it. It bums me out.”

“Ah.”

Peter keeps searching, eventually landing on something you can both enjoy without too much focus, and setting the remote down on the coffee table.

“Where’s May?” you ask. “It's weird seeing you without her.”

“Feels weird too, lemme tell you. MJ’s got a day off, so we figured it’d be good for Mayday to get some quality ‘Mother-Daughter Time.’ Since she’s always with me, y’know? Felt unbalanced.”

“You’re not worried about MJ being able to handle her little spider-toddler powers?”

Peter shrugs. “I took away her web shooter. And we got creative with the baby proofing.”

You chuckle. “I bet.”

You sit in companionable silence for a while before speaking again.

“Thanks for visiting, Peter.”

“Hey, of course,” he offers a sympathetic smile, knocking your shoulder with his knuckles. “What are friends for?”

Peter leaves after a little while, mutual promises to talk soon exchanged along with smiles and a careful pat on your shoulder.

You're tired again, or maybe you're just tired still. Having slept through the day leaves you in a strange state of disjointed wakefulness that leaves reality off-kilter, the feeling coming to the front now that Peter is gone.

He had of course put the leftover pizza into your fridge, the plates on the counter by the sink at your insistence that you would take care of it yourself. Which apparently means just putting them into the sink and splashing water onto their surfaces. You don't even move them into the dishwasher, the sleek silver surface reflecting back blurred shapes and shadows.

You brush your teeth and go to bed, and wait for sleep to return.

Miguel doesn't visit that night, but he does the next morning.

It’s early, or at least it feels it, when something gently lifts your mind from the realm of dreams and gently sets you back in your body. Light on your eyelids makes everything peachy and warm, and it's with herculean effort that you open them to find the cause of your waking crouched by your bedside.

Miguel.

Even lowered as he is, he’s still looking down at you with a slightly raised eyebrow. Still tall. Under the calm and collected exterior some softness slips through, just around the eyes.

“Miguel,” you say, blinking and pulling your head back to look at him better. “Wh’ you doin’ here?” it’s only partially confused and mostly surprised, your sleepy smile betraying how pleased you are to see him.

A quirk of his mouth belies his amusement at your sleepy confusion. “I came to make sure you haven’t bled out yet,” he says, and pats the mattress as he stands. “Come on. Let’s change those bandages.”

You grimace at the thought of getting up, and then—

Dear lord, he’s tall. Miguel towers over you at the best of times, but here where you lie on your bed and he stands over you at the edge of it? You stare unblinkingly at him in sleep-addled amazement before realizing you must be gawking, and then you look down.

A mistake.

Within arm’s reach are his thighs. You can only be grateful that he’s not in his suit, skintight and inky blue-black, but even so the way the fabric of his pants fit over his legs—

Your face heats and you look away. You want to clear your throat, but instead you let your watering mouth choke you.

“Up,” he says, seemingly unaware of your reaction and subsequent predicament as he turns around and exits your room. “I’ll get you something to eat.”

You lay there, willing your face to cool off and your heart to slow, before you finally heave yourself up, stiff and sore from sleeping in one position for the third night in a row.

Miguel is, yet again, in your kitchen. He pulls down a bowl, gets out a spoon, places the box and the milk on the counter for you.

“What, no pancakes and eggs this time?”

He raises an eyebrow, standing there with his hands on his hips until you assemble your easy breakfast. While you eat he goes and gets the first aid kit, brings it back and waits for you to finish eating on the seat next to yours.

“Shirt,” he says softly, gesturing with his hand.

You don't take it off completely this time, that feels too intimate—too much—after the recent reminders of your repressed attraction. So you lift the hem instead, baring your ribs and bandages to him and hold it up as high as you can.

Miguel leans forward, carefully peeling the medical tape and gauze so as not to pull the skin. This time there is no wet field of blood slathered over your ribcage like cheap paint over brick, and so there is no prolonged waiting while he washes your skin, no cool down period from the way your skin lights up under his fingers. He trades the old gauze pad for a new one, taping it down just as carefully as last time. Fingers press against your skin to smooth the tape down, and dip under where the hem of your shirt has started to slip down to put the tape where it needs to be.

The tips of his fingers dip under the waistband of your pants, and your attempt at an affirmative hum–

You tense, swallowing.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, pulling his hands away from under the hem of your shirt.

“‘S fine,” you say, shifting slightly and keeping your eyes down on the counter in front of you.

His other hand is still resting flat and splayed across your ribs, keeping the gauze in place until he gets enough tape to do the job for him.

“Pizza last night?” He says, making small talk.

You shrug your opposite shoulder, smiling lightly. “Peter visited.”

If you weren't so hyper aware of his hand on your body you would have missed the way it shifts, almost relaxing, when you mention Peter’s name.

“Hm.”

He finishes taping the gauze down, his hand sliding away from your ribs to touch your hand that's keeping your shirt up, giving it a gentle ghost of a squeeze to let you know he’s done and you can let the fabric of your shirt fall back down.

“Are you gonna let me see your leg?”

You blink at him, sticking your leg out into the air. He chuckles, shakes his head, and slides off his seat to once again crouch in front of you.

Miguel. Crouched on the floor in front of you.

He barely pauses before he puts his hand on the hem of your loose sweats, rolling the fabric up your leg with careful and efficient dexterity. Here, again, he carefully peels the tape (already peeling and fuzzy with lint at the corners) and gauze back from the injury on the outside of your calf. He sets it aside, a hand remaining on the inside of your leg—holding it in the space between the ankle and the calf.

You swallow, pressing your lips together and breathing steadily through your nose.

When Miguel turns back to face you and your leg, your eyes catch his. He clears his throat.

“Sorry, I just need to turn your leg to see better.”

You realize he’s asking permission to move your leg where he needs it, and so you give a short nod.

His hand moves slightly higher up your leg—no reason to lift it if he’s only going to put it back just an inch or two higher, right?

You swallow again.

Miguel, grip firm and soft, gently turns your leg at an angle so that he can see where Venom scratched you better. “You’re right,” he says, and he sets your foot on his thigh just above his knee to keep your leg in place, give it something to rest on. “Not nearly as bad as the other one.”

You nod, clearing your throat. “Uh-huh.”

He glances at you, then back down. With a few alcohol pads he cleans your skin, gentle and mindful of the scabs working to knit your body back into one piece. These are much shallower, and there's far less dried blood to clean since they never reopened from an inconveniently positioned nap. Lastly he rebandages it, gauze wrapped carefully around to hold the pad in place. Neater than the medical tape from before, less likely to peel and stick and grab at your clothes this time.

“Done,” he says, and pauses, looking at your leg. Your foot still rests on his thigh, the shin just below your knee at his eye level. He blinks, glances up at you, then rolls your cuffed sweatpants leg back down, gently removing your foot from his leg and then standing. “I wouldn't try to rewrap that one yourself, you’ll just stretch your ribs too far again.”

You watch him tidy up and close the first aid kit.

“Back to work?” you ask.

He nods, gives you a sidelong glance. “The multiverse won't take care of itself.”

You nod back, watching him. “Thank you,” you say. “For…” you gesture at your ribs, at your leg.

“You’re welcome,” he says, smiling just slightly.

He stays long enough to wash your dishes again before he goes.

You take the train to a place you rarely have time to visit anymore. It doesn’t help that it’s a bit of a journey, made longer by the fact that you don’t like to come here as Spider, but… it’s overdue.

The grass here is trimmed, freshly mowed and spotty. Bare patches of dirt create clear desire paths through rows of headstones, and you adjust your sunglasses under the gray glare of the mid-morning sun through blanketing clouds. It’s a weekday—Wednesday, you think, or maybe Thursday. Less than a week of healing, but the scabs are thick and itchy under the taped gauze carefully reapplied last night by Miguel. You don’t need them for bleeding anymore, but to resist the urge to pick and to prevent them from snagging or flaking on the soft fabric of your clothing and your sheets.

The graveyard is as sparsely populated as you had hoped at this time of day, at this point in the week. You’ve brought flowers—orange ones, her favorite color—and you carry them with care to the headstone three quarters down this row, three quarters into the graveyard from the entrance.

Her row, her graveyard.

Finally, you come to a stop. The grass here hasn’t been worn away to dust yet, and a sprinkling of grass clippings stick to the base of the headstone bearing the name of your aunt.

You’d thought your story unique, before meeting Miguel. Not the loss of a loved one, no you don't think you're so unique as to be the only one to have experienced grief, but the circumstances and aftermath. Your aunt, shot and dying in your arms with her last words carrying through your following life, and commitment, as Spider. You still oscillate between gratitude that others can understand, and angry grief at this being the fate of so many families across the multiverse, and the fact that you wouldn’t have been able to save her even if you’d been there in time.

Fucking canon.

Of course, you’d found her before she died, and of course she’d said what so many Uncle Bens of so many Peter Parkers had said—with one small, weighted change.

With any real power comes a responsibility to be kind.

You sit there, on the grass of her grave, and set the flowers down. The words there hurt your eyes, carved into stark white stone. Her name. The years she lived. Far too few, in your opinion.

“I’m sorry I haven’t visited in a while,” you say, voice not quite hoarse yet. “You know. Multiverse stuff.” You sigh. “Still haven’t met another me, which means no other you. There’s a new Miguel, though. I think he used to know a different me, so maybe there is a you out there, alive.” You shrug, picking at the grass like a kid. “Dunno how weird that’d be. Probably pretty weird, if the other Peters and Gwen and this second Miguel are anything to go off of.”

Your chest tightens, and you swallow against the lump in your throat and the hot feeling in your eyes. You wait for a family to pass down the path at the end of the row, before continuing.

“Miguel, not the new one, the first one,” my Miguel, you think, before brushing the thought aside and continuing, “still visits. I got banged up pretty bad last Friday—I’m fine though, so don’t worry—and he’s been coming by to help me out, since… Well, since all my old friends are gone, and my new ones don’t know either. He changes my bandages and everything.” You laugh, trying not to blink, because then the heat in your eyes will start falling. Your voice falls to a whisper; “I still wish you could meet him. I think he could use someone like you in his life, someone… He would like you.”

You can’t help it now: thick, hot tears begin to fall, and still you don’t blink, head bowed and sitting there on the grass.

“I could use someone like–” you choke on your words, hand pressed to your mouth to keep the sob inside. “I miss you so much, still,” you say, the whisper as quiet as the breeze, your face folding in on itself.

The breeze chills the bare skin of your hand, and you pull your sleeve over it before covering your eyes, crying into the fabric. You stay, lingering long after your tears have dried, both waiting for enough energy and will to return to carry you through the trip home and just to be there. Making up for lost time, and neglected visits.

You tell her about life. The first new friends you’ve made in ages outside of the other Spider-People, since your old friendships withered away after your spider bite. You talk about Gwen, and Peter, and how much you wish you could see them both more often, and how May is growing so fast. You tell her about how Miguel hasn’t cried in front of you again, but you don’t think it means he’s doing better.

When you do finally leave, you kiss your fingers and touch them to her headstone twice, one gentle tap after the other.

“One for you,” you say. “And one for Gabriela, if you see her.”

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#x reader #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel x you #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara fanfiction #gn!reader #miguel x gn reader

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bluecookies02 · 2 years

Text

YANDERE!SUKUNA X READER COMMISSION

word count: 2.1k

warnings: yandere, breeding/creampie, oral(both recieving), dubcon, alcohol consumption,throat fucking, biting

additional: afab reader, nicknames such as princess and darling

"Too much?" he smirks, lowering the bottle as he hands you a glass of wine, the fourth one for that matter.

Now you can down a few glasses without a problem , but when they are all absolutely filled to the very brim, little by little it adds up to be a bit more than you can handle.

"Of course not" you say with confidence, sipping it a bit before placing it back on the table, looking for any sort of distraction to get you out of drinking it so fast. Maybe you'll sober up as time passes by. (said every ass-drunk person ever).

You can hear chugging to your left, yet you refuse to unglue your eyes from the screen. He does it effortlessly, the luxury of not being human coming in handy more often than not. You're not even sure if he can get drunk. For every glass you had, he surely had a whole bottle or more.

"You stalling?" he pokes, fingers pinching right below your ribs.

"I just prefer to enjoy it, unlike some rascals here" you mumble, swatting his hand away, reaching for another sip to prove your point.

"Such a kind word princess, you're getting soft on me?" he teases, bringing the glass back to your lips.

"Come on I've had an earful of your cockiness just a couple of hours ago...what has you so shy now?"

You're not prepared for the wine that invades your lips, some of it dribbling down your chin as you gulp, not wanting to make a mess.

"Ah, come on. it's quite impressive anyways, some people would already be passed out by now" he coos, wiping the corner of your lip, a tongue darting out of his palm to lick the remains on your chin.

He puts the wine away, adjusting you on his chest, his hands pulling your back flush against him.

"You're so tough aren't you" he whispers, warm breath tickling your ear.

"Don't be embarrassed, you're much more bearable when you're not talking non-stop, running your filthy mouth"

"It's not my fault I get bored in here...we should get out once in a while, I miss my friends" you whine poking the arm that he had draped over your chest.

His hand quickly moves to wrap around your throat, and you can't help but chuckle sadly.

"What, it's the truth" you protest, trying to wrestle out of his grip.

"I finally thought we could have a good time" he muses, gripping your jaw.

"We can have a good time and not have me trapped in here." you argue, wincing when his hold tightens.

"Drop it." he threatens, sharp teeth gritting together.

"Don't you ever think that you're over-exaggerating, I thought you said you wanted me happy" you pout, trying to pry his hands away.

"So you're not happy?" he asks, straightening up.

You just slump your shoulders in defeat.

Some days are better than others but the little sanity you have left tells you you're not. You can't possibly be happy like this.

He went out of his way to accommodate you, fulfilling every silly request you had but you're greedy, disrespectful and unappreciative. He can't let that slide, and he doesn't want to listen to your shit any longer.

"You must know it's...it's kinda sick...it's not gonna make me love you" you whisper, flinching when you're grabbed by your hair and quickly manhandled down to your knees in front of the couch.

"You say another word and I'll make sure you're never able to talk again" he threatens, fingers digging into your scalp.

"I'll take all of your things away, maybe then you'll appreciate what you have" he bites out, freeing his dick from his briefs.

"Open up, I'm gonna fuck your throat sore so that you can think before you choose to complain again"

You're stuck in place, body freezing in defeat. A harsh slap to your face makes your jaw drop, just enough for him to push you down on his cock.

You try to struggle, but any movement is met with a harsher slam of his hips, air getting knocked out of your lungs. How could you forget...of course it can't change, how silly of you to keep trying.

He didn't break you enough, it's his fault, and he's going to fix it now.

He grabs your head with both of his hands, pulling you down until your nose is flush against his navel, holding you in place until you're coughing and choking up, fingertips turning white as you grip onto the couch. He lavishes the sound, spit gushing from your lips as you try to swallow around him.

He pulls you off briefly, watching the drool hang from your tongue and lips, your eyes filled with tears. It's not just because of the abuse on your throat, you're crying and sniffling, opening your mouth to beg for him to stop.

You're rudely interrupted, his hand guiding his length back into your mouth.

"Talk now... come on...you had so much to say" he grunts, bucking his hips up.

"I said talk!" he challenges, only to fuck the back of your throat even harder, your words slurred beyond recognition.

"That's it...say whatever's in that silly brain of yours, nows your chance" he coos, leaning back on the couch. You can't even breathe let alone talk, and all you can think about is how cruel he is. You wish it wasn't like this...You only have yourself to blame in the end.

You were finally on his good side and you threw it all away. You're back at step one.

"Ahm...sohh-" you try, bracing yourself on his knees.

"Sogh-rry" trying again, you swallow around his cock.

"Mhmm..." he prompts, lifting you off.

He's towering over you in seconds, your back hitting the rough floor.

"If you promise to be good, I might let you call your precious friends? Does that sound fair?"

No he won't. But a bit of false hope always gets him a long way. It's enough to have you nice and calm for a bit.

"Darling I asked if that sounded good?" he pushes, wiping the tears under your eyes. You nod, not having the strength to mutter anything out.

Despite everything, he does want to make you happy...and seeing you cry isn't his goal at all. Even when he's angry at you, he can't handle seeing you upset for long. Sometimes it's just the only resort.

Hopefully you'll learn to love him soon...God knows you can't bring yourself to hate him. If only he wasn't so confusing, so unpredictable and changeable... if he was mean all the time it would be as hard to pick a side. You're too drunk to think it over currently, and your thoughts are breaking off and continuing at random spots, making you nauseous.

You focus your attention back on him, watching your clothes being peeled off your body, large hands tracing your skin.

His teeth prod at your flesh, nipping and nibbling until there's blood on his tongue, the metallic taste edging him on. He spreads your legs a bit, pressing the tip of his cock against your pussy, slicking himself up. He lifts your hips up a bit, pushing his knees under you. Taking a hold of your waist, he guides himself deeper, the plush of your belly adorned with new, fresh marks, the imprint of his palms embedding itself into your skin.

"So pretty when you're not blabbering, don't you think?" he muses, slowly dragging his dick in and out of your cunt.

"You think your friends can fill you up like this?"

"It's not like that!" you argue, relaxing your muscles.

"Shhh, of course not...not when I have any say in it" he makes quick work of building up the pace, your shoulders and back dragging against the uncomfortable wood. One of his hands slips to tap at your clit, slapping the fat of your pussy with his palm until it's swollen and red, tingling in delicious pain.

His nails would rip you apart any other way, just another act of his kindness of course. Your back arches in his hold, your elbows adjusting to keep you steady. With each thrust, he sinks deeper and deeper, and you already feel so full. The more you whine and moan on his dick the harder he gets, the taste of release at the tip of his tongue. You feel him angle up just right, an approving hum leaving your lips. Like nothing ever happened, you let yourself enjoy it.

"I should let you see your friends like this hmmm? What would they think? They don't want a slut like you as their friend you know...I'm the only one who can appreciate you whole. Other humans would be so judgmental,..." he trails off, feeding you empty lies as he rams himself into your accepting body.

He feels shivers spreading down his back, pulling on every muscle and joint. He's so close, but it's incomparably better if he starves himself a bit longer, edging the release he desperately wants.

Pulling you off his cock, he instructs you on all fours, pressing on your back until your face is mushed against the floor, hips high in the air.

"Such a perfect pet I have hmm?" he mumbles, more to himself than to you, spreading your ass apart, a fat drop of spit hitting your pussy. He bends down until he's leveled with it, hands resting on your thighs. His long tongue flicks over your folds, mouthing at your entrance. He's soon fucking you with his tongue, mouth slacked open.

"Aghh, ma-ghhh, fuck" you hear him curse, going breathless against you, pulling you flush to his face.

"Mmhm...Good lord, who wouldn't be as selfish if they had you"

Straightening up, he collects his composure, stroking his cock in front of your hole, dipping and pulling away briefly, rubbing himself between your folds, the head of his dick bumping against your clit as it gets squished between your legs.

You press your thighs harder together, earning a rewarding hum in return.

"God princess, you're so greedy, you crave it so bad don't you...Tell me you do, just admit it"

"...I do-" he grins, smiling sickeningly wide, proud of your little confession, even if you might not mean it. He has you wrapped around his finger, and he's gonna take advantage of every last bit. Slamming his length inside in one go, he has you silently screaming in pain, your mouth open loose with no sounds coming out.

"Gonna breed this cunt full of my kids...You'll be marked inside out don't you think..." he blabbers on and on, the slapping of skin against skin filling the room.

Your toes curl, your hand mindless sneaking between your legs to rub yourself. It's drenched and sticky, coats of spit and creamy white making the surface slippery as well. You have to chase your high desperately, sloppily, your balance fragile. Just one harsher thrust and you'd be tumbling over.

Lucky for you, Sukuna pulls you up against his torso, snaking his arm around your hips and across your chest, all the way up to your neck.

"There...that better?" you nod finding your clit again.

"See I'm so nice...wanna say thank you?" He slows down just a bit, anticipating your answer.

"Noo...don't slow down" you beg weakly, your rhythm interrupted, tears of dissatisfaction clouding your vision.

The dull pain against your cervix returns, and you're seeing white, thighs spasming as you ride out your release. Feeling you clench and loosen around him is his cue to let go, with a few final sharp ruts of his hips, he cums deep inside you, milking himself out until your body is spent and close to unconscious.

He sits down, letting you fall in his arms.

"You'll never leave Y/N, the sooner you accept that the better..." he mumbles, carrying you to the couch. Sadness pulls at your heart, but you're too exhausted to keep up with it, nodding along as you slowly fall asleep.

Maybe you held out long enough...surely no one would be disappointed if you gave up now? Maybe tomorrow you'll find a way to escape, if only you would remember…

commissions are currently open with two slots left!

you can see my masterlist here and my commission info here !

all in all i hope you enjoyed your stay🥴

#jjk #sukuna x reader #yandere sukuna #yandere sukuna x reader #jujutsu kaisen #sukuna x reader smut #jjk sukuna #ryomen sukuna #sukuna

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manias-wordcount · 1 year

Text

Worry (Osamu Dazai x Reader)

𝗔/𝗡: 𝗧𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗶𝘀 𝗳𝗿𝗼𝗺 𝗱𝗮𝘆 𝟱 𝗼𝗳 𝗺𝘆 𝟭𝟮 𝗱𝗮𝘆𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝗙𝗶𝗰𝘁𝗺𝗮𝘀 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟮 𝗖𝗵𝗮𝗹𝗹𝗲𝗻𝗴𝗲!

𝗣𝗿𝗼𝗺𝗽𝘁: 𝗬𝗼𝘂𝗿 (𝗿𝗲𝗹𝘂𝗰𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁) 𝗦/𝗼 𝗴𝗲𝘁𝘀 𝘀𝗶𝗰𝗸 𝗳𝗿𝗼𝗺 𝗯𝗲𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗼𝘂𝘁𝘀𝗶𝗱𝗲 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗰𝗼𝗹𝗱 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗵𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝘁𝗼 𝘁𝗮𝗸𝗲 𝗰𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗺!

𝗦𝗼𝗻𝗴 𝗜𝗻𝘀𝗽𝗶𝗿𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻: 𝗕𝗮𝗯𝘆, 𝗜𝘁'𝘀 𝗖𝗼𝗹𝗱 𝗢𝘂𝘁𝘀𝗶𝗱𝗲 𝗯𝘆 𝗘𝗺𝗶𝗹𝘆 𝗛𝗲𝗮𝗿𝗻

𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚? ⇒ 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

𝙟𝙤𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙧?

It’s truly a sight you thought you would never come to witness.

“Osamu, no! I told you to say in bed.”

Well, a sight you thought you would never come to witness regarding him.

Of course, you’ve seen him sick before. With every single method he tried to perform (and always failed to accomplish and get you to join him), there were a few times when you watched him do something a little more than stupid. And those were the times when you were stuck at home brewing him a thermos full of tea to solve a sore throat or whatever problem he caused for himself. Hell, you even helped him out with the occasional ear infection or two.

So yesterday when he told you he was going to stand outside in the freezing cold in hopes that hypothermia would get him- you didn’t stop him. Because sure enough, he realized that he didn’t want to slowly freeze to death. That there were much better things than that. Things like falling asleep at your side after taking a nice, hot bath and sipping on the bowl of soup you so generously left out for him so that he had something waiting for him when he was ready to come back inside.

But yesterday ended so normally for you two. It ended with no breakthroughs. With no fireworks With no parades. With nothing. That’s why you’re so surprised to see him like this.

He who was always caught skipping work. He who was always caught slacking off. He who was always caught taking the easy way out. He who was always caught pushing his responsibilities off to whoever the closest party was- simply because he didn’t want to. Yet here he was. Standing right and tall in front of you. All dressed up a day out. Despite the fact you had already called the office to tell them that he was too sick to attend work today

When you made the call almost an hour ago this morning, it was Kunikida who answered. And you weren’t surprised at all when he was quick to write off your concern for Dazai as him just being lazy. You couldn’t blame him either. The man did have a record. Both inside and outside of the office. But you found that Kunikida was quick to change his mind about forcing Dazai to come on in when the man in question plucked the phone out of your hand and insisted that he was fine and that he’d be coming in regardless of what you told everyone.

Naturally, Kunikida believed that a Dazai willing to come into work despite the fact that the Armed Detective Agency had no pressing matter at hand meant that man he was speaking to right now was so ill that bedrest, a grocery list of homemade remedies (which very helpful Kenji supplied you all with), a doctor’s visit should be required and executed at once. And when Dazai turned his head to see you nodding along with every suggestion, he promptly hung up and retreated to your shared bedroom.

You had hoped that meant he took at least part of Kunikida’s advice to heart. It was easy to say that you did based on the way you had booked a doctor to stop by the apartment in a few hours and were currently looking up the benefits of ginger and peppermint tea. But that all changed when you heard the door to your bedroom open up to reveal a standard-looking work-ready Osamu Dazai. With the lovely addition of pale skin, a red nose, bags underneath his eyes, and a miserable expression spread across his face.

“I told you, I’m fine-” He tries to tell you as he puts his hand out to prevent you from coming any closer but you’re not going to listen. It’s a couple of quick steps from the kitchen to reach where he is and you’re thankful that despite his overall difficult attitude in this moment, he doesn’t attempt to push you away when you get up close. “Its a just a little cold. It’s not worth fussing over.”

“Osamu.” You stress the syllables of his name quietly, watching as he deflates underneath your concerned gaze. His shoulders sag almost instantly and his head hangs low, a messy curtain of his bangs keeping his eyes away almost away from your view. You take your time and reach your hand out- going up and up and up until you’re able to rest your hand on the side of his face. You’re gentle as you bring his head back up to meet your gaze and you almost melt at the uncharacteristically guilty expression he gives you. You cup his cheek tenderly, your thumb coming up to rub small circles right below his eyelid. You make careful note of how much warmer his body seemed than when he first woke up and you took his temperature. If only he knew… “...I don’t understand. Why on earth would you try to go in today?”

If only he knew how much you worry for him.

He opens his mouth to say something. But then he hesitates. Instead, the sound that comes out is a defeated sigh. It’s a clear testament to what he’s feeling right now. Even if he’s so reluctant to tell you. The real Dazai- the real Osamu that you’ve known and that you’ve loved ever since you were a teenager? You know he would be dying for the chance to take advantage of a bad-sounding cough and turn it into a five-day vacation. But he’s not. He’s not being overly dramatic about a situation he could easily take advantage of. He’s not being humorous and making jokes about his less-than-ideal health at the moment. He’s just not. And because of that?

He’s scaring you.

When you woke up this morning to his quiet groans of pain and discomfort beside you, you weren’t sure what to think. But he try to persuade you that he was fine. When you took his temperature despite his protests and found that he was running a relatively high fever, you weren’t sure what to do. But he try to assure you that it was nothing. When he was slow and sluggish with all his movements. When he had difficulty responding to all your questions about symptoms. He insisted that despite his appearance, and the way he sounded, and the way he felt, and the way that his condition had absolutely every possibility of getting way worse if he went outside and tried to work in these conditions, he try to promise you that he was okay. That he would be smart. That he would be careful. That you wouldn’t have to worry about a thing. But that’s the thing. You can’t. You can’t not worry about him.

You just can’t.

“Osamu?” You call his name again when he doesn’t give you a proper response to the question you asked earlier. A thousand thoughts are swirling in your head right now. A thousand thoughts that all have to do with him. All about how you don’t understand him. All about how you want to understand him. All about how you don’t know how to reach him. All about how you want to reach him. All about how you don’t know how to help him. “Osamu, you don’t have to tell me what’s wrong. But…can we…”

All about how you want to help him.

“...can we just get you back to bed, Osamu? Please?”

All about how you worry for him.

“...okay…”

All about how you’ll always worry for him.

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oohbuggypie · 1 month

Text

"and as he wept, he wept and said, 'Oh, my.. Oh, my.. Would to God I had died for He'"

this is fully inspired by @goferwashere 's PO!! Monster Hunter AU 🩷 depicted is Don Flamenco in his monster form being held in his last moments by Joe. the writing that describes their fight, Don's death, and Joe's regret are all below the cut as its very long. but WOW i just could not get this idea out of my head . thank u soo much Gofer for the amazing AU and thank u to the whole community for being my courage to be brave and release something a little less cutesie than usual ! 🥹 additional details i rlly want to be known::

-the tattoo on Don' torso is an altered version of that in the regular PO!! universe; the one depicted reads "COLOSSIANS 3:2" :: the verse's meaning is "Set your minds on things above, not on earthly things". this is meant to reflect his disdain for humans, and how he views them as lesser

-the stab wound placement is below Don's right pectoral; this is in reflection of Jesus Christ's 5th wound he suffered whilst being crucified. additionally, it is said that what seeped from the wound wasn't only blood, but water as well; i found this very fitting for his character for obvious reasons lol

-the lyrics above the drawing are a condensed / altered version from the choral piece "David's Lamentation", one of my favorite songs ever !

phewph okay writing time ! unfortunately i have never written angst, let alone fighting OR death .. this is also being released about half an hour shy of midnight on bad sleep so proofreading is out of the question.. this is prob a hard read but I STAY CONFIDENT ! here we gooo 🩷::

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

Don hissed and swung his fist in an aimless direction, hearing the collision's result come in the form of an agonized grunt from the man near him. Blind rage mingled with fear consumed Don's body in a way God himself forbade, yet he continued to batter any flesh that came into contact with his.

Joe's entire being ached, his eye now burning from the knuckles that dug into it just moments ago. He clenched it shut and let the obscurity of his vision drive his instincts to wherever they were necessary. He aimed to return the punch with his own fist plunging to meet Don's stomach, momentarily knocking the air from his lungs. As Don's arms instinctively lowered to gaurd where his sore flesh was struck, Joe snarled and drew his left arm back to slam a fist into Don's cheek. The siren felt a coursing agony not only externally, but through his heart. He knew what would come, yet he continued to bare his teeth. He ripped apart anything which bothered him and felt no haunting ring in his mind. Though this time, he feared that the bells would toll.

Joe took full advantage of the temporary stun he inflicted upon Don and wrapped his hands around the man's throat. Joe kicked Don's ankle in so that he buckled beneath his own weight, dropping them both to meet the floor. Joe felt a shake within his bones, like the structures in his own body didn't want him to do this. He didn't want to. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. Yet his body moved now without his mind, pressing his entire weight into the neck of the helpless man below him. Don couldn't stand the desperation that racked his body, and above that distaste, he couldn't bare to look up at the deathly eyes staring into his own. The man who he called a friend held less semblance to a human and now closer to a wraith, some wretched figure distorted by horror. His skin appeared a sickly gray in the darkness of the gym's room, and had his hands always been this coarse and cold? Nonetheless, for the present time Don disregarded the friend he once had and viewed him now as a step above a pet; competition.

Don snarled and thrashed beneath the body of Joe and locked his hands around the arms above. His brain felt like a searing gas within his head, but that lack of consciousness was immediately replaced by instinct. Don slid his hands down to grip Joe's wrists and ripped them outwards with a fell swipe. Joe wasn't spared a second to process the motion before his nose was slammed by Don's forehead. A pained cry was all his voice could manage before his vision flickered black.

-----

When he awoke, only seconds has passed since he blacked out. With a horrified start, Joe began to thrash his arms through the water engulfing him. His legs kicked in the same motion, his left heel slamming into an excruciating pressure seeming to bind his right ankle. The force released as soon as it felt his bruising strike against it. Joe desperately made strokes with his arms upwards, looking for any form of light to signify what differentiated the surface from the bottom. Joe felt a darkness reigning upon him as another figure trailed close behind, its presence growing heavier with each struggling wave of his arms throughout the pool.

Joe's face broke the surface. Without a second to catch his breath, he began scanning the area with bewildered eyes for the nearest edge. His loafers felt like bricks tied to his ankles, and the turtleneck he donned was quickly becoming suffocating. A short distance behind him, a splash breaking the water's tension drove Joe into fight or flight. His arms clawed in front of him with strokes large enough to leave his arms aching the next day, yet that same pain was his drive to reach the edge quicker. He gripped the ledge of the hard floor and hoisted himself above the edge, rushing into a position where his knees and one arm balanced his body upright. With his unoccupied hand, he reached where the bells tolled and the colors sank. Joe frantically patted his pocket for where the knife's sheath bulged.

Don arose from the water he resided in just seconds after his former partner. Joe ripped the leather from his pocket and reached into it, gripping the handle as if he was warding death itself away. His knuckles were white with pressure, and his wide eyes locked on the man inches from himself. Don's eyes were sickly and no longer passing as human; the bags beneath them were a bruised purple, and where the whites of his eyes should be were replaced by a glassy blue. His brows dug wrinkles into his forehead like malicious scars upon skin. And the worst of it all was the death-like frown that crumpled his entire facial structure; it drew his eyes in a downward spiral, and his lips curled against his flesh like desperate hands digging into anything for hold.

With his chest exposed and either arms beside him as means to lift himself, Joe raised his blade and drudged it into Don's flesh.

Don's eyes fell like the world's light upon an empty room, and the sharp inhale in his throat thrummed akin to the death rattle. Despite the metal lodged deep within his chest, he managed the strength to drag himself from his home's grasp and to lay on the freezing tile below him. Joe's hands left his mouth as he let out some visceral shout that made cherubs above weep. He scurried across the soaked floor to examine the man before him. Joe slammed himself down upon the floor and struggled to lift him, eventually draping Don's being across his own. Don's arms rested against Joe's bent knees, and his head tilted into his chest with slowing breaths beating against his sweater. The remaining warmth of his breath settling on his own shoulder resembled the comfort of a blanket upon a child's cold body. Joe felt static piercing through his brain and throughout his ears.

He slid his trembling hand to grab the hilt of his blade, yanking it from between Don's ribs with a crumbling expression upon his face. Where the stab wound remained open, Joe rested his hand on its opening and let the blood seep onto his skin. He lowered them to graze the rest of Don's torso, creating an up and down rhythm almost as if to comfort him. He felt a dread in his stomach nothing in his life had ever compared to; he had killed numerous times before this, and for pettier reasons. But the understanding of what he had just done settled upon him like the smothering embrace of a rotting being. Joe lost any remaining thoughts in his mind as small, breaking moans passed the pursing lips of Don.

Don's body felt washed by shades of baby blue. His eyed fixated on an empty and quickly fading horizon. The right side of his body held a sensation that reminded him of familiarity; dripping water and warm waves caressing his flesh. Though this time, the sea seemed to be accompanied by rainfall. Don couldn't muster the strength to look up, let alone turn his head, but he felt warm droplets fall upon his hair. The fog that began swallowing his mind didn't allow him to understand where the water's source was coming from. They dropped rapidly now, dripping enough so that they slid across his own cheeks; they made up for the lack of his own tears. The air that was becoming increasingly hard to keep in his grasp now filled with a tune, a rhythm similar to those he practiced when dancing.

"Je suis désolé, je suis vraiment désolé, oh..."

Don couldn't understand the words, couldn't sing along to the beautiful tune that seemed to hail from Heaven itself. It broke his heart a bit, seeing that one of his greatest attributes was his ethereal singing voice. But the words soothed his soul, and held this wonderous ability to make his eyes feel comfortable closing.

"Oh, mon Dieu... Oh, mon Dieu, pardonne-moi... Pardonne-lui aussi..." Joe heaved, his hands clutching the bloodied skin of Don's torso. His body shook with a might that caused Don's own body to tremor along with his.

Don wished he knew what those words meant. Don wished he could hear the voice sing in his ears forever, let the melody echo throughout the chambers of his fading mind every second of every waking moment. Don's face fell cold, and his body felt as if it was losing its occupation; but fear never crossed his mind when his vision finally began to fade. He loved the hands running up and down his body, loved the warmth cascading against his side, loved the song, he loved this moment. He let his breath soften and slip from his mind's priorities, and now focused on shutting his eyes to rest.

The last thing Don truly felt was the slipping of beads across his collar bones.

-----

Joe removed the rosary from around Don's neck and let its wooden roses slide into a pile inside his unused pocket. He vowed that the blade would make no contact with the necklace.

Joe couldn't and didn't think as he laid the body of his sweet friend down to rest away from his own. He looked once more into the drained yet softened features of Don's face; his lips looked soft against his chin, and his brows no longer furrowed in such a dreadful way. Joe stood for moments, spending minutes staring down at the body now devoid of life on the floor. The worst sight of the entire night was the wound beneath the right side of Don's chest. And even upon staring at it, running his eyes over it again and again, Joe just couldn't think deeper about it.

He turned his back from the death that loomed behind him and exited through the double doors of the room. Joe stalked off into the night, letting the world's air solidify the agonizing tears that stained his cheeks, down to his neck.

END !! thanks 4 reading if u did and thank u 2 anybody who sees this !! now im gonna go ahead and pass out it's 11:45 PM and im sick 🩷

#punch out!! wii #punch out wii #punch out #punch out!!#don flamenco #glass joe #punch out monster hunter au #dewdlebug #my writingz #wow this took like multiple years off my life but ill b damned if i didnt say that i am so genuinely proud and in love with the art for thi #i dont want 2 b conceited dont get it wrong but omg .. i captured exactly what i wanted to down to the lighting that i had to fight with ir #but u know how it be !!#anyhow wow i really hope anybody who likes Don likes this but also u all have permission to throw rocks at me cuz this HURT to conceive bro

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fluffypandabun · 1 year

Text

Braiding Giggles

AN: Ahhhh my first fic!! Ofc it had to be ROTTMNT, Ive have rottmnt brainrot for so long, especially about my boy Casey. I hope you guys enjoy!

Words: 2893

Summary: After spending most of his life in the apocalypse with little access to baths, Casey's hair needs a lot of work. Luckily the hamato clan is more than eager to help their newest addition, along the way they discover something new about the future teen.

Casey let out a pained noise as the brush caught on a tangle in his hair, followed by a few more as he struggled to yank the brush out none to gently from his long tangled locks of jet black hair.

Growing up in the apocalypse did not leave a lot of room for things such proper hair care, or even really bathing in general. And the last few days he had spent in his own timeline had been some of the most hectic days of his life, not to mention that he was tasked with saving this timeline's world as soon as he had arrived smack dab in the middle of it. So showering hasn't really been something that had crossed his mind at the time.

But after the dust had settled, and the hamato clan had been given time to rest and properly treat their wounds, physically and maybe just a little emotionally, April had taken one good look at his greasy slicked back hair and had demanded he’d shower.

And who was he to deny Commander O'neil when she gave him a direct order.

So now he found himself standing in front of a slightly cracked mirror, wearing a shirt and shorts that were both way too big on his skinny, and probably malnourished body. His hair, that he was used to being slicked back with either grease, sweat or sometimes blood, was now poofed out and looking soft and fluffy, falling just above his shoulders in wavy layers.

And there was also now a hairbrush stuck in it.

He let out a groan from the back of his throat, giving the brush one last good tug, which had him wincing and feeling sympathy for his already sore scalp, he let his arms drop to his side in defeat.

He turned, leaving the lairs' makeshift washroom to return to the living room where the turtles and April sat, Splinter off somewhere in his room,napping. He stood in the doorway, not quite sure how to let himself be known when Raph suddenly turned to face his direction.

He smiled and started to say something when he suddenly noticed the brush firmly tangled in the boys locks and he stopped, his expression shifted from confused, to amused, before stopping on fond.

“Aw buddy.” He chuckled, “Having trouble with your hair?”

His acknowledgement of the teen gained the attention of everyone, save for maybe Donnie who was hunched over his phone doing who knows what, he received the same fondly amused looks from April and Mikey, though Leo let out a loud snort, causing April to elbow him in the side and send him a glare.

Casey felt his cheeks tint slightly pink and he shuffled on his feet, rubbing his hand up and down his arm. “I uh….” he stuttered, before clearing his throat.

“I…can one of you maybe…help me with my hair…please..?”

Raph smiled. “Of course we can buddy.” He said, at the same time Leo's face lit up and he immediately began to make grabby hands towards the human.

“Oh oh!! Let me do your hair!” The mutant said excitedly, eyes alight in a way they hadn't been in awhile since the attack on new york.

Casey blinked a few times in surprise. “I….”

Ralph Rolled his eyes. “Ignore him Cass, Leos always had this weird obsession with hair.”

“Yeah probably because he's bald.” Mikey added on giggling, which earned him a playful push from said turtle.

“Excuse you, it's not an obsession it's an appreciation, plus April never lets me mess with her hair so i neeever get to show off my amazing hair skills!” The red eared slider huffed, crossing his arms across his chest as if this was the biggest offense he’d ever experienced in his life. But quickly his expression morphed back into a bright eyed grin as he reached out towards case again.

“Come onnnn Cass my man, i’ll fix your hair up real nice, trust me!”

“Trusting you sounds like a horrible idea, Nardo.” Donnie said, finally choosing to join in on the conversation. Leo sent his twin a glare.

“Don't listen to him Casey, I'm like, one of the most trustworthy people ever.”

“I won't even waste my breath on giving all the reasons on why you are wrong on that one.”

Casey stood there in the doorway, watching the two turtles bicker back and forth, lips twitching. Growing up back….in his own timeline, he had the distant memory of his Sensei running his fingers through his hair, twisting it into little braids, or helping Casey pull it back into a ponytail to keep it out of his face during training.

Master Leonardo had always enjoyed doing Casey's hair, so he guessed it shouldnt surprised him that this Leo would want to do it as well.

Thinking about his sensei made his eyes burn, so he was quick to blink the wetness out of them. Clearing his throat as he spoke up.

“Um…” He muttered, stopping the two turtles bickering. “I wouldn't mind if you did my hair.”

Leo turned to him and blinked, before he did his signature grin. “Awesome!”

The turtle teen plopped himself down crossed legged on the couch, patting the spot in front of him eagerly. Casey smiled as he made his way over, sitting down in front of the turtle, albeit a bit awkwardly. He allowed himself to press his back against the couch and he only jumped a little when two three fingered hands came into his vision.

“Alright.” Leo said, cracking his knuckles.” First we need to deal with this rat's nest and then we can really doll you up huh?”

Casey gave a slight nod, tensing up when he felt Leo grab onto the brush still firmly stuck in his hair.

“Be gentle Leo.” Came Raphs warning tone from Casey's right where he couldn't see him from his position on the floor. From above him Leo scoffed.

“Relax big brother.” He hummed, though his tone had taken a more gentle tone. “I'll be careful.”

And to his credit he was, or as gentle as he could be when brushing hair that was as tangled as Caseys. After a lot of yanking, cursing, and threats to simply cut it out, the brush had finally been removed from Casey's hair. Leo brandished it like it was a powerful weapon as he attacked Casey's raven locks. It still hurt, but it went a lot better then it would have if Casey had done it alone.

Everytime the teen hissed in pain or let out a flinch, Leo would pause and apologize, before continuing even more carefully then before. After a bit his hair started to untangle, becoming softer and more fluffy the more Leo brushed. Pretty soon Casey was sure there weren't any tangles left in his hair, and that Leo was brushing it just for the sake of brushing it.

Not that Casey was complaining, it felt….nice….really nice. And after going so long without any sort of close physical touch like this, no offense to his family from his timeline, they did their best while raising him in the apocalypse, it's safe to say he pretty much melted.

He barely registered the others talking above him, or the sound of a movie being put on. He simply allowed himself to tilt his head back and relax, at some point he was pretty sure that Leo had switched out the hairbrush for the sake of running his own fingers through the boy's locks.

He could feel himself almost falling asleep when suddenly one of Leo's fingers brushed gently against the shell of his ear. The sudden tingle of electricity was so unsuspected and unfamiliar that Casey found himself jumping and flinching forward away from whatever had caused that feeling. Looking back he found all the turtles and april, even Donnie, looking at him in bemused concern.

Especially Leo, who had frozen with his hands mid air.

Raph spoke up first. “Casey? You alright?”

“I didn't hurt you did I?” Leo asked, and though his voice was calm there was a hint of anxiousness behind it. Quickly Casey shook his head.

“No! No no your fine, I'm fine, I just…” He bit his lip, hoping the others didn't notice the pink begging to form on his cheeks.

“It was….one of those like, feeling like your falling things, you know, like when you're about to fall asleep. Yeah..”

Everyone seemed to relax a little bit, Mikey adding in a “I hate those” as they all turned back to watch the movie still playing on screen, Leo gave him a look.

“Are you sure…?”

Casey gave him a smile. “Yeah Leo its all good.” He turned back around and pressed his head into the turtle's hands. “You…you can keep going.”

The teen looked at him and then smirked, though there was a fondness to it, he said nothing as he continued with his mission of giving Casey head scratches.

After a moment Casey found himself relaxing again, his eyes starting to droop as he felt himself begin to drift off….

Leo's fingers brushed against both of his ears this time.

This time, Casey let out a very loud and more importantly, very embarrassing squeak. Once again silence filled the room and all eyes were on him.

“Okay.” April spoke up after a moment of silence. “Something is going on, what is up with you future boy?”

“N-Nothing!” Casey spluttered, holding up his hands. “It's nothing really I promise-”

“Casey.”

He froze, feeling a chill up his spine, because he did not like the sound of Leo's voice. Carefully he turned around and oh he did not like the look of Leo's face either.

The shit eating grin on the turtle's face said it all, that and the mischievous glint in his eyes.

Casey swallowed, already able to feel his face getting warm “W..What..?”

The slider's grin grew even wider. “Caseyyyyyy!”

“Whahat?” Casey grinned nervously, already frantically looking around for an exit of some sort.

Confused, Raph glanced between the two of them. “I'm sorry, but am I missing something?”

“Yeah.” Mikey spoke up, now fully facing him. “Why is Leo giving you the look?”

Casey swallowed, showing off the gap in his teeth as he grinned nervously. “The uh..the look?”

Mikey nodded. “Yeah the look he gives someone usually before he…” the younger turtle trailed off as a look of realization passed over his face, immediately following it was an almost equally mischievous look making its way on the turtle's freckled face.

“Ohhhh I see.” He giggled, making Casey flush even more.

Even more confused Raph groaned. “Okay can someone please tell me what i'm missing?”

Leo grinned at him. “How bout I just show you instead~?”

Caseys eyes went wide. “Wait-!” he squeaked, trying to scramble forward and out of the turtle's reach. But the ninja was too fast for him, grabbing him by the shoulders and pulling him back against the couch. Whatever protests or pleas he might have had died on his lips and were instantly replaced by a stream of squeaky giggles as Leo gently hooked his fingers under the teens chin keeping him in place as he traces the outer shell of his ear.

“Casey here's just ticklish, see?” Leo hummed, speaking over the humans giggling. He seemed to have no problem keeping him in place even as he kicked and squirmed frantically trying to grasp at the turtle's wrist.

Raph blinked a few times before it clicked. “Ohhhhhh.” he grinned.

“Yeah that makes sense.”

Somewhere to his far right April cooed softly. “Awwww look at the future boy all giggly, he's so sweet.”

“Humans can have ticklish ears!?” Mikey gasped, eyes alight, he quickly made to reach for April. “Are yours ticklish too April?”

The human was quick to gently smack his hand away. “Nuh-uh, not happening.”

Sitting on the ground Casey was in stitches, frantically jerking his body back as forth to try and dislodge Leos fingers, seeing as that wasn't working in the slightest he settled on scrunching up his shoulders to his ears in a desperate attempt to shield himself from leos attack.

“Awww Cass look what you did, Now my fingers are stuck.” The turtle shrugged, a grin still plastered on his face. “Guess ill just have to keep tickling you here.”

Casey, much to his horror, squealed, which earned him fond looks from both Raph and April, even Donnie sent him a look that could be called fond, at least by his standards.

Mikey giggled alongside him. “Awww Cass! You're so giggly!”

Leo chuckled. “Yeah, how come you aren't like this all the time? Instead of being all sullen and sad lookin, you're worse than Donnie.”

“I'm choosing to ignore that comment.”

Casey squeezed his eyes shut and frantically shook his head, laughing harder when Leo moved to gently tracing along his jawline. Tracing a small scar that seemed to be a lot more sensitive than the rest of the surrounding area.

It had been….a very long time since Casey had laughed like this, since Casey had..felt like this. Felt safe enough to let himself go and relax, to show such vulnerability to a group of people. The last people he’d let see him like this….

Casey chose to pretend the tears welling up in his eyes were just from how hard he was laughing. He simply tilted his head back and grasped onto Leo's wrists, body shaking with laughter as he cracked an eye open to look up at Leo.

The slider was looking down at him with such fondness it nearly took Casey's breath away, he looked at him the same way he looked at Mikey whenever the younger turtle would manage to draw a straight line without his damaged hands shaking and messing him up.

Casey felt his already pink cheeks turning an even darker shade as red as he was quick to look away from the turtle's gaze, ignoring the own warmth he felt in his chest.

Raph, his savior, finally spoke up. Sounding just as fond as Leo had looked.

“Arlight Leo, don't overwhelm him, you know he probably isn't used to this sort of thing.”

Leo scoffed. “Overwhelm him? Pshh the kid loves it, don't you?” The turtle dug his fingers gently into the underside of Casey's chin causing him to snort.

“Leo.” Raph said, using his ‘big brother voice’, Leo sighed.dramtically.

“Alright alright, fine I’ll give the kid a break.” Finally, after a few more pokes, the turtle's fingers slowed to a stop as he released his hold on the teen. Though he kept both his hands resting gently on the boy's shoulder.

Casey gasped softly for air, leaning his head back against Leo's legs as he hiccuped. Rubbing his face with his hands, he groaned.

Amused, Mikey patted him on the head, “Aww, don't be embarrassed Cass, everyones a little ticklish. Plus you have a really cute laugh!”

Casey let out another much more exaggerated groan, Raph chuckled.

“I don't think you're helping him much here Mikey.” The larger turtle said, patting the box turtle on the head, before he turned to look at Casey.

“He's right though, no need to be embarrassed.”

“Yeah.” April snorted. “You might as well get used to it, especially now that you're a part of this family.”

“Unfortunately..” Donnie deadpanned under his breath, earning him a playful prod in the side from April.

“Awww come on D, you know you love it. “

“A hisssss!!”

Casey allowed himself to peek out from his fingers, face still pink, he allowed a slight smile to make its way onto his face.

“I suppose so…” He muttered, Leo sent him a grin, clasping his hands together.

“Right! So that adorable discovery aside-”

“Its not adorable-”

“Hush. Anyways, Now we can work on actually styling your hair for real, all that squirming you did messed up all my work, but since I'm so kind and caring I'm willing to start back from scratch. “

Casey saw the turtle reach from him out of the corner of the eye and he gave a little flinch, Leo froze for a second before he grinned.

“Don't worry Cass, I promise I won't tickle you again….for now..”

Casey narrowed his eyes at the slider, especially for that last part, before he sighed. He let himself relax, leaning against Leo's legs once again.

True to his word, Leo stuck to his promise. He ran his fingers through the teens fluffy hair and began the process of separating it to turn it into a braid. The motions brought a sort of bittersweet nostalgia to Casey's mind as he smiled softly, once again relaxing into the gentle touch.

He listened, half asleep, as the others spoke above him. Leo and Donnie bickering while Mikey hushed them because he was trying to watch the movie, with April threatening to put them all in the get along shirt, whatever that was.

Casey felt himself begin to slip off to sleep for real this time, a small smile on his lips. April's earlier words echoing in his head as he finally drifted off.

“Now that you're a part of this family.”

Yeah, he could get used to this.

#rottmnt tickle #rottmnt tickle fic #tickle fic #pandabuns fic #ticklish! Casey #Ler! Leo #this was sm fun 2 write u have no idea #wow im a bit rusty #i still hope u guys enjoy!!

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fallingintolife · 1 year

Text

Secrets and Sickness

Request: I've been sick for 5 days now and besides the fact that I feel like crud it's really getting me down. So it got me thinking I bet Sam would take care of his girl, you know just doting on her until she's better. So if you have the time or want can you tell us about Sam taking care of his girl after getting a real bad cold?

Summary: The boys are on a hunt when you start to feel sick…but of course instead of telling your boyfriend Sam, you try to handle it yourself…Spoiler-That doesn't go so well…

Pairing: Sam Winchester x reader

Warnings: A little bit of angst because Sam is worried, and talk of a cold

Word Count: 1,704

A/N: Anon, I'm sorry I'm just getting this to you but I hope you are feeling much better by now 💕 I'm sending you all the love and hugs along with some nice caring Sammy 💕

It started with just having the sniffles at first; running and stuffy nose, normal allergy/ weird weather changes like symptoms. So when Sam and Dean went off on a hunt for a few days, leaving you at the Bunker, you were just excited to have some time to yourself. Until day two of being home alone when you woke up with your throat feeling so sore and raw, like a dragon had blown fire down it, causing even just swallowing to be highly painful. Throughout day two was when your cough started. It was like a tickle at first but than escalated into feeling like something was stuck in your throat that you just couldn’t get out. So now, here you were, on day three, five in the morning coughing your lungs out, while trying to get up out of bed to get water, but feeling too weak because of being dehydrated. That and probably because of the fever you most definitely were running. Sam had told you last night that him and Dean would be home by lunch time today so you only had about six hours to go.

You knew that if you had told Sam you were sick he would have driven through the night to get home to you but you knew it wasn’t that serious. I mean it was a cold! Everyone got colds! You were a hunter and you’d be damned if you were going to complain about it, especially to Sam and Dean. So you allowed yourself two more minutes on the floor before getting your shit together. You were fine.

Sam knew the minute he had called you last night and you didn’t pick up, but instead texted him that something wasn’t right. Whenever you two were ever apart you always wanted to talk to him on the phone so he immediately knew something was up. He had told Dean about how you were acting and had asked if they could just drive through the night so he could make sure you were okay. Dean didn’t hesitate, and continued to drive.

Dean liked you and Dean didn’t truly like nor trust many people, but he did like and trust you.You made Sam happy, so automatically that made Dean happy. Not that he would ever admit it to you but he liked having you around just in general. You made the best pie, could even hold your liquor as well as the boys, and also you just cared. Not just about Sam, but Dean too and that meant a lot.

You and Sam had been dating for the last two and a half years but known each other for an additional four. You and Sam just clicked. You both knew each other’s deepest darkest secrets but still loved each other which definitely meant something. You loved each other, truly.

As soon as Dean parked Baby, Sam was already up the stairs and in the Bunker.

“Y/N! Hey honey, we’re home.” He froze mid step down the hallway to the bedroom you both shared when he heard a loud cough, and then realized you were in the middle of the hallway leaning against the wall.

Sam didn’t remember how he managed to get to you but next thing he knew you were in his arms. You were sweaty which had to be because your body was burning up. You were running a fever, a high fever at that. “What the hell Y/N? Jeez you're burning up…” Kissing your forehead, while picking you up he headed toward you and Sam’s bedroom.

You tried to argue, to say something but you didn’t have the energy, and to be honest you weren’t really even sure if Sam really was here or if you were hallucinating from your fever. Once he got you into the bedroom, Sam quickly stripped you out of your sweat soaked clothes as he waited for Dean to grab the thermometer that he had yelled for as soon as he had heard Dean enter the Bunker. Just when he had gotten you into one of his t-shirts was when Dean entered.

“Shit, kiddo.” Dean grumbled in disapproval, as he handed Sam the thermometer. Luckily, he had grabbed the quick reading forehead one.

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

102.8

Sam ran his hand through his hair. How long had you been running a fever and how long had it been his high? And who knows… What if it was even higher? This wasn’t good. He could tell by the sound of your cough and the small rattle sound that came from your chest when you breathed that if you didn’t already have pneumonia it was headed that way. Another loud wet cough racked through your body.

“Make sure she drinks this and get her to cough all that shit up. I’m gonna make a run into town to get her some medicine. I shouldn’t be long.” Placing a cold wet washcloth on your head, while placing tissues, a trash can, and a bottle of Gatorade next to you, Dean quickly made his way to the Impala, keys already in hand.

With a sigh, Sam gently maneuvered you so that you were laying in-between his legs and against his chest so he could support you. Placing the cold washcloth back on your forehead, you whined in protest and began coughing.

"I know, I know, baby. It's alright. Here, sit up. I need you to cough all that up." Sam helped support you as you coughed up all the stuff that had been sitting in your lungs into the trash can. Rubbing your back gently, he continued to praise you until you lean back against him. He sat the trash can back down and opened the Gatorade for you. "That's my girl. Here, I need you to drink some of this okay? There we go. Thank you baby." He pushed your sweat hair out of your face as you drank down the lemonade. After you drank about half, he sat it back down.

"Sammy?"

You croaked as you looked up at him with groggy, sad eyes. He knew you didn't feel well and as much as he wanted to lecture you about not saying anything now wasn't the time. Right now you needed rest and you needed Sam to help you feel better.

"Yeah, love?"

"I don't feel good." Sam frowned as he kissed the top of your head.

"I know, baby. It's alright, I'm here now. I've got you. Get some rest okay? I'm not going anywhere, I'll be right here when you wake up." You snuggled into his chest too exhausted to say anything else.

Dean had come back after twenty months with a slew of medicines for you. Sam had gotten you to take them and then he and Dean took turns (after Dean insisted…) to make sure you were getting a new dose every few hours. You didn't even wake up until noon the next day.

You woke up with your chest and throat killing you. You guessed it was from the coughing. As you rubbed your face wondering when Sam and Dean would get home was when you realized that your head was most definitely not laying on a pillow. You let out a groan as you covered your face with your hand. So you weren't dreaming. They really were home. You tried to cover your cough when you felt Sam chuckled.

"Hey, there's my girl. How are you feeling?" He was smiling down at you as he pushed your hair back, partially to comfort you and partially to make sure your fever was still gone. You avoid eye contact as you mumbled, "I'm good. I'm sorry I worried you…" Sam frowned. He gently sat up, you still in his lap, as he looked at you. You tried to put your face into his chest, but he carefully moved your chin upwards for you to look at him.

"Hey, it's okay Y/N. I mean, yeah I was kind of concerned when I saw you laying on the floor when I got home…" He let out a nervous chuckle, as he ran his other hand through his hair. You tried to move your face away from him but he gently held your face still. "Why didn't you tell me you were sick, honey?" You just shrugged, still looking down as your eyes filled with tears, a cough building in your chest and began to cough. Sam frowned in concern and hugged you gently to him. He didn't understand why you wouldn't tell him that you were that sick…

After a few minutes of silence you looked up at him.

"It's just a cold. I mean I'm a hunter Sam. A stupid little cold shouldn't be able to affect me like this. You and Dean have gone through so much worse…" You looked at as another coughing fit began. Sam looked at you uneasily, as he grabbed some water for you. As you drank, Sam spoke.

"Y/N, everyone gets sick. Even me and Dean, and this isn't just a cold baby. You definitely have bronchitis. Luckily Dean and I got home when we did so you didn't end up with pneumonia. It doesn't matter what Dean or I have gone through, sickness can kill too…" You watched Sam as he spoke and could see how scared he truly was. You put your water bottle down, and gently put your hand on his face.

"I hear you. I'm sorry. Next time I'll tell you." Sam gave you a small smile and kissed you nose, which made you giggle and then cough. Before you laid back down, Sam gave you your next dose of medicine before you snuggled into him. You noticed he had already pulled up a new TV show you both had been wanting to watch. You smiled at him and he just pulled you closer into him.

Twenty minutes in and you were already out. Sam didn't care though. He loved you and he was going to take care of you. He was going to show you that, I mean he had already told you he wasn't going anywhere, and he meant it.

#supernatural #spn #dean winchester #sam winchester #anon request #spn fic request #spn fic requests open #spn fanfic request #supernatural fanfic #spn fic #spn fanfic #supernatural fic #supernatural fanfic request #supernatural fic requests open #sam winchester x reader #loved writing this one 😊#i loved writing a loving caring Sammy #fluff

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itsahotminuteinbetween · 9 months

Text

Heey, back again with Chapter 6 :) Nothing too major goin on here, really. Nothing actually important happens until later. @itsberrydreemurstuff, @bibooby, and @laegume, I saved you all seats. (Also, @andyssilly, thought I might tag you in case you don't see this.)

Uh, before I start our little performance, I have a few lil things I'd like to say reaaal quick. The first is thaaaat... *brp bada brp brp brp boooo (that was a trumpet noise if you couldn't tell)* I have a tag for the fic now! I tagged all the chapters under the title "Where the Stars Don't Shine", so if you type it into my lil thing, it should come up! I'll probably pin a post with a the chapters linked eventually, I just keep forgetting to do it. And the second thing is slightly less important, but thought I might put it here anyways. Guys, I post polls sometimes that help me make decisions on things regarding the chapters. Nothing major, of course, just small tidbits and whatnot, but I'd really appreciate it if more people could vote on those. It's cool though, I don't mind.

Anyways, that's all for now, I guess! Soooo...

On with the show!

Word Count: 1,514

The day thankfully passes by without much issue, though truthfully you were in a daze for most of it. All you remember is the lights being unusually bright (you thought nothing of it) and a puppet show. Sun hadn’t spoken to you since your wake-up, which was a bit of a relief.

Cleaning had been a bit slower on your end. You think Sun had mentioned it at some point, though you could be mistaken. You know for a fact that he told you not to bring your pills to work on account of the kids getting access to them after you took one to ease the sharp throbbing in your head that had not let up after your nap. Strangely, you felt worse afterwards. You were sorely tempted to put in your earbuds, if only to block out that awful buzzing. You refrained, however; you really didn’t need Sun chastising you for the third time today.

You said good night, getting no response, and left. You don’t remember getting home, but you do remember trying to find something to eat in your nearly bare pantry. You found some eggs and semi-decent bread, made french toast, and passed out.

The pounding is not evaded today, either. Your head feels like it’s stuffed with cotton, and it takes effort to keep your eyes open. You splash some water on your face as a temporary fix, drink a bit of cough medicine to fight back your sore throat, and head to work.

You head straight for the desk, not bothering to say good morning to the animatronic in charge this time. Your bag hits the floor with a hard thunk, and you open it. You hope you thought to pack a lunch earlier, though you seriously doubt it with your frazzled state.

Evidently, the source of the noise is actually a brick. You’re not even sure how you managed it, but it does explain why it felt so heavy to lug around. You assume it’s Moon’s work and think little else of it, placing it off to the side before Sun spots it and accuses you of vandalism or burglary or something.

From the things you actually packed, most are your typical. Laptop, two books instead of one, earbuds, keys, your phone, and a second set of clothes. No lunch, though you weren’t expecting that one. You do find a granola bar instead, and tuck it in your pocket for safekeeping. Maybe you could eat it on the break you never used.

You interest yourself in the books you brought. You’d already read (book) from cover to cover a dozen times over, but one more couldn’t hurt. The other was one of your additions for the children, and something you were hoping Moon would approve of as well. You hadn’t seen a copy of Brambly Hedge anywhere, but you’d love’d it when you were growing up. They’d liked the Peter Rabbit copy you’d put in, so with any luck, this one would garner a similar reaction.

You remind yourself to bring something for your coworker some other time. Moon may be a prick, but he seemed to get pretty bored when the children fell asleep. Perhaps something to keep him occupied would help, and maybe even get him off your back when the lights cut. What kind of books would he like, though? He’d stolen one of your Sherlock Holmes novels in your first month of work, and you’d caught him peeking over your shoulder on several different occasions when you’d brought your gothic horrors and dystopians, which also tended to mysteriously disappear. You couldn’t just walk up to him and ask, though. Asking either of them for something hardly ever went well.

You brush off the thought and remind yourself to actually request some funding for an idea you’d gotten some time back. The Daycare, action packed and entertaining as it was, didn’t really have much reading material outside of little kiddie books featuring corporate’s mascots, and while you weren’t opposed to donating your old children’s books, some newer ones would probably be more appealing. You’d noticed that Moon also seemed to enjoy the greater variety. He tended to gravitate towards classics and fables for naptime, though you made sure to only plant a few at a time do as not to arouse suspicion. You were pretty sure they thought it was the higher-ups’ doing, and you weren’t going to be the one to correct them.

You whip around, scanning the Daycare for any sign of the animatronic before taking off with the book in hand, shelving it among the other books you’d brought. You walk back to the desk, feeling almost proud of yourself, until a voice pipes up behind you. “Friieeend, what are you dooing?”

For the record, despite what the security cameras captured, you did not screech and trip over nothing.

You flip over and jump back up onto your feet, hastily responding to fend off any conclusion he’d make about this. “Who’s doing something? Me? No, I’m not doing anything, nothing at all.”

Yeah, that didn’t sound suspicious at aaaall, nice going.

Sun’s faceplate turns, static grin growing wider with each click. “Reeeally now? Because it seems to me like you were trying to sneak something from the shelf.”

Great. Now he thinks you’re a thief.

You shake your head frantically, crossing your arms to further prove a point. “No, no I’m not, promise.” Yeah, that’ll help, Y/N, way to seem like a criminal.

His face reverts to its normal position, and you think you’re in the clear (until) he speaks up again. “Glad to be wrong then! Still, I think I’d rather be safe than sorry. You wouldn’t mind if I checked, would you?”

This smug little- You shoot him a strained smile and a thumbs-up that does not display your panic in any way. “Nnnnnnope, go right ahead!”

His own smile stretches. He stoops down to your height and surveys the shelf, default smile forming an unreadable expression that you’re not sure you want to uncover the meaning of. He speaks after a few moments. “This wasn’t here earlier.” He taps the spine of the newly added Brambly Hedge on the shelf for emphasis.

You swallow, arms locked at your sides. You question whether you’d prefer him accusing you of thievery or stupidity.

He pulls it out and flips through the pages, gaze snapping back to you quizzically.

“How did it get here?” He muses out loud, putting you on the spot with a look that makes you freeze.

Your brain races to find an acceptable response other than the actual truth, and lying will only get you in more trouble.

You pause. Moon can’t know.

“Is Moon listening?” you probe.

He pauses, rays doing a half-spin before he responds, “Not at the moment.”

You seriously doubt that, but it’ll have to do.

You’re so screwed.

You fiddle with the hem of your shirt, rushing what you want to say at speeds that leave your lungs gasping as you stumble over your words. “I noticed the older kidsandsometimesMoon get bored so I thought I could bring some booksforthemfromhome but I haven’t asked management forper-permissionyetIwasgonnadothatintoday’sreportsorryandthekidsreallylikedperterrabbitsoithoughtmaybethey’dlikethisonetoopleasedon’ttellmoonormanagementIcan’tlosethisjob.”

Your eyes are tightly screwed shut by the end of your tirade, hands clenched into fists. You peek an eye open to find Sun not in front of you, but on the other side of the room.

Yep, you are so dead when naptime rolls around.

—---------------------------------

Sun was at a sort of standstill with this new information. You were the one responsible for those books mysteriously piling up on their shelves, out of your own pocket, and you hadn’t thought to ask management?

He hadn’t been lying when he told you Moon was absent: his brother was never active when Sun was out, preferring to stay offline unless called upon.

He should tell Moon. This was probably something he’d want to know, something that could possibly get you fired.

He paused. Would it get you fired? On one hand, you were required to report everything, including any changes you requested. On the other, you were the one paying for said changes, which meant the company didn’t have to do it themselves. If anything, they’d probably just issue you off with a warning and make you pay for everything.

Besides, while the Daycare was practically perfect in his humble opinion, he did have to admit he appreciated the new additions, and he wasn’t going to refuse the benefits, even if they were from you.

Sun had a feeling his brother wouldn’t agree.

Another lightbulb flickered on in his head. You’d bought the books. He wondered what else you’d brought under the guise of management.

He sighed, conflicted. You were right, the kids did like Peter Rabbit, along with every other book you’d brought in.

He supposed he could keep this little revelation to himself. Not for you, he reasoned, but for the kids. And speaking of the kids, a handful of them were already entering through the doors now, signaling the start of the day.

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

Aaaaand that's a wrap! Hope that was up to standard :) Y/N seems to be getting a little worse, hehehe...and I suuure hope Moon doesn't find out about all this, that would make for an interesting confrontation...But yeah, the Assistant's basically been funding most of the stuff for the Daycare at this point. They buy groceries when Management forgets to, restocks for emergency supplies and cleaning stuff, and buys new things for the kids sometimes.

#sorry to bother #don't mind me #fnaf sun x reader #fnaf moon x reader #Moondrop x reader #Sundrop x reader #fnaf moon x y/n #fnaf sun x y/n #Where the Stars Don't Shine

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pillow-anime-talk · 2 years

Text

sick and poor s/o...

request: hey! i love your work and was wondering if you could do a scenarios with sk8 where their s/o is sick and they take care of them (with cherry, joe, shadow, reki and langa) because currently i’m dying if a bad cold, headache, sore throat, stomach and side pain and a bad cough.

# tags: scenarios; current relationships; soft romance; fluff; bit of comedy; worried!boys & sick!reader; sfw

includes: gender neutral reader ft. hiromi higa, reki kyan, kojirou nanjou, langa hasegawa & kaoru sakurayashiki {sk8}

author’s note: you are probably healthy already, but take care of yourself anyway!

— HIROMI

“A-A-Achoooo!” You sneezed loudly, even painfully, and your precious boyfriend immediately jumped in place and quickly ran to your huge bed.

“Y/N!” His terrified, yet delicate face looked really comical at the moment, but as soon as you laughed gently, you felt a sharp pain in your chest and throbbing around both temples. “Is everything right?”

You shook your head and hid under the white-blue covers to the very tip of your nose, and Hiromi sighed sadly. During your illness, you were always so sleepy, sore and often very sorrowful.

“I think it’s time to take your medication, honey. Wait for me here, okay?”

You smiled anyway – your man was really trying and you appreciated it very much.

— REKI

For the first time in his life, Reki tried so hard to make all his notes legible and colorful. He don’t want you to have any arrears in connection with your illness, so red head wrote down even the smallest details so that you can be prepared for all (even unannounced) exams in the future. He also wrote important dates and information about trips and contests that you loved to participate in.

He visited you every day because your home was on the way to his own house, often without even informing you of his arrival to give you a little surprise. In addition, he always brought you your favorite apple buns from the school shop, and on weekends he would ask his mother to pack some warm soup in thermos. You adored Mrs. Kyan’s udon so much.

“... I don’t know if I told you, but Yuki and Ino did some very strange actions! And it all started with a lunch break during which Ino...”

Even when you were sick, you definitely didn't miss a thing in school thanks to Reki.

— KOJIROU

With the tall man, even despite your mood, you felt well, and your recovery was faster than other people. However, this is not surprising; his warming soup, healthy and fruity snacks, and a balanced cocktail-assisted diet have always helped you get back on your feet in just five days. Your fever passed very quickly and your overall fatigue was destroyed thanks to warming desserts with chocolate or caramel.

And of course, if necessary, your boyfriend would either feed you and give you a soft kiss on the forehead every few moments, or walk around the apartment in just an apron to make you warm up even more and forget about the pain in the legs, back and head.

“... Honey... Is this... my favorite ramen?” You asked with a big smile, and the green-haired one just nodded.

“Nutty ramen with tofu, cabbage and sweet corn for my beloved, big baby.” A proud smile appeared on his lips and you clapped as you watched the beautifully smelling dish.

With Kojirou, the disease was... really cool!

— LANGA

After a short phone call with your mom, Langa went to the store for some snacks for you (both sweet, salty, and those filled with vitamins or protein). He bought you two apples, yoghurt, your favorite chocolate, as well as chips and cinnamon buns.

He had a really great relationship with your whole family, so as soon as he knocked on the wooden door of your apartment, your mother hugged him and thanked him for taking care of you. She offered him some tea and cookies, to which Langa obviously agreed and thanked heartily. After a while, however, he apologized to a middle-aged woman and went to your bedroom to say ‘Hi’ and give you the food (and some kisses).

It wasn’t a surprise for the young boy that you just fell asleep tired of your illness and catching up at school. You looked really cute, despite the huge blushes on your face, the tangled hair and the saliva escaping your mouth. Your boyfriend put all the things on your desk and then lay down next to you. You were terribly hot and a bit sweaty, but the teenager was fine with it. You still smelled like yourself – like fruity shampoo.

It didn’t bother him to the point that he ended up falling asleep next to you, and when your mother put the tea next to the shopping bag, she took a quick photo of you two. Then she quietly left the room and you didn’t even notice her, still cuddled up to each other.

— KAORU

Kaoru is... in between everyone.

When you are sick, he cares about you a lot (seriously), buys you healthy snacks, tries to cook with internet recipes (or with Kojirou's help, but he won't admit it). He always tries to be next to you whenever you call him, and he never gets nervous and waits patiently until he can wipe your tired body after a bath or dress you in clean clothes.

“... Y/N, time for your meds.”

“How long will I be taking these dumb pills?” You asked sadly and then sourly swallowed the bitter pills and drank too sweet cough syrup.

“You have five days until the end of the treatment.” He said in a warm tone of voice. “But if you want to heal faster, cover yourself with a blanket and I’ll make you hot tea with fresh lemon and honey.” He added with a slight smile, and you immediately grabbed his warm, big hand. “Hm?”

“Could you ... Could you give me a hug right now and then bring me some tea?”

Your boyfriend of course agreed, and after a short while you just fell asleep; you were so sweet, so your boyfriend did not leave you until you woke up by yourself.

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