#I think either he’s doing it to go along with the washed up joke | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

luveline · 1 year

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𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐩𝐡𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐚 | 𝐚𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐞𝐫

Hotch touches your face much more than a boss should. Or, 5 times you have a nosebleed +1 time Hotch does.

8k words, a slightly bloody coworkers to lovers, fem!reader, nosebleeds, reader works in the BAU but isn't a profiler, jack is a sweetheart, hotch has game fr, fluff + hurt/comfort

༺༻

You like your desk job. You handle paperwork primarily, and act as a sort of assistant unofficially. Anything to be useful — you get paid either way. It's why you don't mind trying to be helpful in the office and take on some of the office administrator's overflow.

Today, that's fixing the coffee machines. The office can function on one at a stretch but both being broken means an entire roster of grumpy agents and all of them are on your back. And when they have to see all the stuff they say? You figure fixing the coffee machines is the least you can do.

You're ignoring the weight of their waiting, elbow deep in one of the machines. The instruction manual had mentioned a little spout that can get clogged with detriment. Hopefully, you can clean it out and get at least one machine working by midday.

"Oh no," you murmur.

The piece you're trying to unscrew is tightly wound, too tight for your fingers to work behind. You're probably going to need a small tool, like an allen key.

"No luck?" Agent Prentiss asks, sounding defeated.

You look up from the machine and smile quickly. "I need smaller hands," you joke, letting the machine sit back on the counter and pulling out your aching fingers. "I'll have one working by the end of the day, Agent Prentiss. Scout's honour."

She shrugs and waves a hand at you. "It's alright. What's one day without caffeine?"

You laugh at her good-natured sarcasm and go back to your machine. When you're certain you can't jimmy it you turn your attention to the second machine and run through the steps. You're too determined to lose. Your coworkers depend on you.

You start by changing the filter and are unsurprised when that doesn't work. You check the button connectivity, the fuse, and then you turn again to that small piece that needs to be washed.

"Yes," you cheer under your breath, pulling the piece from its home to assess the problem.

It's a tiny pipe with a piece of mesh that acts as a sieve to trap dust. Maybe. Whatever it is, it's full of caramelised coffee grounds. You move to the sink basin and turn on the faucet to clean it, washing with anticipation as the burned coffee trickles down the drain.

You're pleased enough to feel a mild adrenaline rush, and your excitement leads to butter fingers: you drop the prized piece of pipe and it rolls out of sight.

This is not a good time for business casual.

You tug your too-tight pants from your thighs and bend down in search. When it doesn't reveal itself you get on your knees and run your hands along the seams of the kitchen cabinets, face lowered.

"Is everything okay?"

You wince at a very familiar, very unfortunately timed voice.

"Yes, sir, everything is perfect," you say, looking up to meet the eye of your boss' boss, unit chief SSA Aaron Hotchner. "I've misplaced a piece but I'll have the coffee machine working again in no time. I'm sorry."

He raises his eyebrows at you. It's a very nice expression on him, his eyes light with an emotion you don't often see on him. "Is fixing the coffee machine in your job description?" he asks.

You think it might be a polite reprimand. You won't insult him by insisting you're always on time with your actual delegated workload because he and your supervisor have to send you emails asking for missing paperwork all the time, so you try to disarm him.

You beam.

You're not a supermodel but everybody is pretty when they smile. "Sir, I thought I could sacrifice my lunch break for the good of the Bureau."

"Yes, well." He looks like he wants to smile back. You might be seeing what you want to see, though. "That won't be necessary. Take your time."

Your smile falters as you feel a telling heat at the back of your nose. "Thank you," you say quickly, covering your nostril with the pad of your index finger.

You're hoping your swift words will send him on his way, but he's literally the lead profiler of the BAU. He knows suspicious activity when he sees it.

"Is something wrong?"

Blood starts to trickle down your palm. You slide your hand up to cover your nose the best that you can. The alarm on his face when he spots the blood sliding down your bare forearm can't be understated.

"It's just a nosebleed," you placate, sounding stuffed up.

He's a quick thinker, tearing a wad of paper towel off of the dispenser above the microwave and offering it to you.

If you weren't so distracted by your current predicament you'd say thank you.

He turns back to the paper towels and tears off another wad. To your horror, Hotch bends down right there in the kitchenette and waits for you to open your palm, feeding the towels into your spare hand.

"Should you tilt your head back?"

"I think that's a myth," you say.

Your skin starts to scrawl with embarrassment, the itchy, awful feeling of being pinned by his eyes.

"How long do they usually last?"

"Not very long, sir. I'm sure you're busy."

He tilts his head slightly to one side as if conceding your point. "Let me help you up," he commands.

You can't make yourself reject his help. Honestly, it's nice to have somebody care even if the nosebleed is purely superficial. His fingers curl around the crook of your elbow and he helps you onto your feet just in time for Agent Prentiss to return.

"Hotch, what did you do?" she asks, bewildered.

You try not to laugh too much, worried you'll force another burst of blood.

—

Confidential information. You hear it, you ignore it. Harder to ignore the whiteboards in the conference room that are currently choc-a-block with prints of crime scene photos.

You don't mean to gawk at them. It's severely unprofessional and you shouldn't really be in here to begin with. The electronic screen is off, as are the monitors, so you know the room isn't in use.

That could change any second, and it does.

You hide your clammy palms behind your back at the sound of footsteps and try not to rush obviously toward the mug you'd come in here to collect.

The door creaks open as you're leaning over the table.

"I'm sorry," you say without looking.

"You don't have to clean up after anyone."

"Actually," you say quietly, abashed at having been caught, "this is my mug."

You turn to face him.

Agent Hotchner is tall and handsome. These are two undeniable facts and yet every time you see him it feels like a surprise. It might have something to do with how composed he is, how deliberate his movements are, or it might just be 'cause you have a crush on him.

It's anybody's guess.

"I can make Reid wash it," he says.

You're so whipped that your chest confuses his offer for something much worse. Like, he's on your side.

"That's okay, I don't wanna punish him for my own fussiness." You cover the mugs printed sides subtly, or as subtly as you're able.

"What's special?"

You smile at him, lips pressed together tight and eyes squinting slightly. You know what he's getting at but you ask anyways, stalling now he's caught you. "About what?"

"About the mug."

You peer behind him.

"You can't tell anyone," you murmur, rounding the table to stand by his side with your shoulders to the door. "I'm not sure anybody knows it's mine."

The mug is a corn-husk yellow and printed with a scene from a vintage Peanuts comic, dark-haired Lucy standing behind her lemonade stand that boasts 'Psychiatric Help 5¢'. Charlie Brown sits in front of it looking morose.

It's hard to describe why you like it so much.

"I see," Agent Hotchner says.

It's become something of an office joke, offering each other five cents on bad days, calling someone Charlie Brown when they look lost. You doubt very much that anyone is making fun of you, you're just hiding that it's your mug because that's part of the fun. The mystery of the Peanuts mug.

"I can't drink out of anything else," you confide, turning your face to his.

He's definitely smiling this time. "Why would you?"

You nod in genuine delight. "Exactly! Vintage Peanuts, and I searched so much for this because they used to use lead in glassware paint, and-"

The nosebleed comes on suddenly. There's a drop of blood running down your lips before you've even realised. Agent Hotchner's eyes follow it all the way down.

"Oh, no," you say, blood dripping to the hill of your chin.

You use the back of the hand that's holding the mug to catch what's rolling down your neck and the other to pinch your nose closed, bending forward on instinct to hide your face. You're seasoned in nosebleeds. You know how you look — scary. Ridiculous.

"Here," Agent Hotchner says.

His hand comes into your eyeline, offering a dark square of fabric. You cringe at the idea of marring his likely expensive handkerchief but you can't not accept, pressing it haphazard to your bloody nose.

"What were you saying about lead?"

You're so frazzled about the blood you don't realise he's made a joke until it's too late to laugh.

"Do you know what causes them?" he asks.

"I'm not really sure, sir. I used to get them all the time as a kid, um…" You pull the handkerchief away from your nose to check if it's still bleeding. When it doesn't continue, you say, "They're pretty harmless. It's done already."

"If you need time off for a check-up, I'm sure the office administrator can find a sick day for you."

You smile at him, and then remember the blood and grimace. I must look like Carrie right now, you think morosely.

"That won't be necessary, sir, thank you. It's apparently the dry air." You're starting to feel more and more warm under his serious gaze. There's a startling amount of concern there. "I'm gonna go clean up now. Excuse me," you say, face glowing with heat.

"Of course."

You cover your bloody face with the back of your hand, his handkerchief held in red-stained fingers. You pass Agent Prentiss on the stairs, hurrying past her with an I'm okay smile.

"Hotch, again?" you hear Agent Prentiss ask incredulously. "Where do you get off?"

—

You can't return Hotch's handkerchief, it's a biohazard, but the fabric had felt so soft and the monogram in the corner had cued you in on how expensive it must have been. Your guilt manifests itself into three new handkerchiefs with the embroidered A.H. They aren't half as nice as the one he'd let you ruin. You leave them on his desk — or rather, you get Dr. Reid to leave them on his desk, as walking into his office doesn't feel like something you're allowed to do — and try to forget about them.

For a week, you do. Agent Hotchner doesn't visit his office, Agent Jareau apprehends him on his way in that morning and the profiling team gather around their round table, and you don't see any of them for four days. The Friday they return, you're already on your way home.

That's why his actions the following Monday shock you.

It's unusual that he walks anywhere that isn't a straight shot to his desk. You're doing paperwork for once in your life, sitting awkwardly with your foot hooked under your thigh and a pair of wired earphones in. It's not technically allowed but he really doesn't venture over to you often. You've become complicit in your unsupervised nirvana of a desk job.

You snatch your earphone out and struggle into a normal position. "Agent Hotchner," you say, wondering if you should call him Special Supervisory, or maybe something cooler, like your Highness. Your grace. He's intimidating in his accomplishments at the FBI, and he's super handsome.

"Can I see you in my office? Ten minutes."

You nod brainlessly.

Your desk buddy doesn't wait long after he's left to investigate.

"What did you do?" they ask from across the short partition.

"I really don't know," you say, though you have your suspicions.

"Were you reading on your computer again? I told you, read under the desk like a normal person."

"No, I learned my lesson with that one when Agent Morgan started reciting Pride and Prejudice from over my shoulder."

You check your face in a compact before you report to Agent Hotchner's office. Your heart beats in your throat as you knock his open door.

"Come in," he says without looking up.

You take a cautious step.

He finishes off quickly and lifts his chin. His eyes are dark in the early morning light, his hair in mild disarray from the wind and drizzle.

"Come in," he says again.

You wish there was a word that could describe his voice accurately. He talks in the peaceable kind of cadence that comes with hushed tones without truly being hushed.

"Sir…" You bite the bullet. "If this is about the macadamia cookies, I promise I'll replace them. I didn't actually eat any of them. They kind of fell out of the cabinet and exploded, it was a freak accident."

He holds up his hand. "Thank you. For the handkerchiefs. They were unnecessary."

He says 'unnecessary' with a smile.

"Actually, sir, I think they were entirely necessary." You just disagreed with your boss. "Sir. I couldn't return the first, I ruined it and I- I didn't think you'd want it even if I got it dry cleaned."

He raises his eyebrows. "It was unnecessary," he repeats, the word drawn out carefully. "But, I appreciate the gesture. Thank you."

Two thank you's. You stop while you're ahead. "You're more than welcome, Agent Hotchner, sir."

You share an amicable glance and turn to leave.

"L/N?"

You stutter to a halt. "Sir?"

"Hotch is fine."

You try not to swallow your own tongue. "Hotch," you say, and then worry that's something people only do in movies.

A few days later, your humming along to your earphones and wading through the chaos of the bullpen feeling pretty happy. The office has been busy but not in the scary, suffocating way, and you're happy to be here. The BAU can be hard (and that's as someone who isn't on the front line). Times like this are cherished.

You pause a foot from your desk, eyes creasing into a suspicious squint.

There's a small box on your desk.

"What is that?" you ask your desk buddy.

"What?" they ask.

"That. There's a thing on my desk."

"Nothing to do with me."

"Think I should call the bomb squad?"

"I'm sure you'll be alright. Maybe read the note before you raise the alarm."

"There's a note?" you mumble, caution swiftly overrun by a burning curiosity.

You'd be sincerely worried about a bomb, only this is the FBI. If a bomb got this far into the building half the people in it would lose their jobs. You kick your bag under the desk and drop your ipod onto the desk, tinny music blaring from your earphones.

"What are you?" you ask under your breath.

The box is wrapped in crepe paper and a yellow sticky note has been attached to the top.

Rest assured, made without lead.

That only confuses you more. You're hesitance has your desk mate sitting up in their chair. "Wait," they say, peering over the glass partition, "should I raise the alarm?"

You slide a trim fingernail under a neat stripe of tape. "No, I think we're good," you mumble.

And lo and behold, a mug is homed inside. A Peanuts mug no less; the mug has been printed with a Peanuts comic panel. Charlie Brown lays on the floor in a straight plank, and standing overy him is his friend Linus, who says, "I have been asked to tell you that your cries of anguish are keeping the whole neighbourhood awake!"

You laugh loud and instinctively, shrill enough to attract the attention of half the office. Slapping a hand over your mouth, you slouch down as low as possible in your desk chair. Heat pools in your cheeks.

"What is it?" your desk mate asks.

"A present."

And hence your new favourite mug is brought into life. You write your name on the bottom with black sharpie and continue to deny all knowledge of the first, which you retire to the drawer of your desk.

For a while your nosebleeds go away. You know exactly who left the mug on your desk, and you remember the joke he'd made. Maybe Hotch had been on to something, and you'd inadvertently poisoned yourself.

You smile practically every time you see your new mug, and you're unsurprised when others appreciate its humour.

You're not sure how to explain it to an eight year old, though.

You're slumped over, nose to the desk and hand working diligently across your notes. Having a crush on your boss makes doing your work easier because you're constantly trying to impress him — an impossible task, but trying all the same. Your earphones bump a soft love song, something sweet to cut through the unhappy details of the case file you're working on.

"What are you listening to?" a small voice asks.

You drag your gaze up slowly and find Jack Hotchner standing beside your desk. You've seen him in person a few times, and once as Hotch's phone wallpaper, but he grows so much between visits you almost don't recognise him.

"I'm sorry," you say, pulling your earphone out, "what did you say?"

"What song are you listening to?" he asks, hands creeping up over the lip of your desk.

You sit up and smile at him. You can't say he looks like Hotch, though maybe you can see it in his tiny grin, that hint of cheekiness. "I'm listening to a song called At Last. It's a love song. Do you… want to listen?" you offer quietly.

He nods.

You push your chair away from your desk and turn down the ipod's volume so it doesn't damage his hearing. "Here," you say, offering one of your earbuds. "Don't push it in, okay? I don't want it to hurt your ears."

Jack takes the proffered earbud but doesn't seem super interested. "Do you have The Beatles?" he asks.

"The Beatles! Is that what you and your dad listen to?"

He nods, pleased, and you nod yourself, flicking through your songs in search of what he wants.

"I have Here Comes the Sun. Do you like that one?"

He beams. "Yes! Me and dad sing that one in the car."

That's a really nice image, Hotch and Jack belting happy lyrics together in the busy mornings. It's also odd. Hotch singing isn't an image you can say you've ever thought of before.

"I love this one," you tell him, letting your elbows dig into your thighs so the two of you are eye level with one another.

"Me too."

You share the earbuds, Jack combing your desk for something interesting no doubt. You cover a case detail that involves some gory images and almost knock over your mug in your haste.

"What does that say?" he asks, pointing.

Jack looks between you and the mug for answers.

You lick your lips. "Uh, do you want me to read it to you?"

He thinks about it. "Can I try?"

"Of course you can."

You clear a path for the mug and place it in front of him.

"I have been asked to tell you," he begins confidently, "that your cries of an-" He frowns. "Anguish are keeping the whole ne… I don't know that."

"I'm sure you do, it just looks weird. Neighbourhood."

"Neighbourhood," he repeats. "Keeping the whole neighbourhood awake." He huffs a boyish, gentle laugh that makes your heart spin.

"Good job, buddy."

He melts under your praise. He's a cute kid, and his hair shines golden under the office lighting. It flops to one side as he tilts his head. "What's 'anguish'?"

"Anguish. Uhm, it's like sadness."

"Oh." He takes this in. "Do you have Let It Be?"

You eventually give up your chair and let Jack sit with your ipod in his lap, playing through all The Beatles songs that you have. Nobody seems to be watching you and Hotch has yet to come out of his office and tell you off for supplying his son with technology, so you work around him, leaning over the back of the chair to fill in what's missing from your reports.

Jack leans back in his chair, his adorable singing coming to a stop. "Do you have movies on the computer?"

Yes, but should my boss' son know that? "It's for work," you say regretfully.

"Not even FernGully?"

"I'm sorry."

He shakes his head. "It's okay, it's not your fault."

"Do you like to draw? I don't have many colours, but we can play a game."

He smiles for a moment, then hesitation crawls over his features. "Dad says not to disturb anyone."

"I'm on my lunch break," you assure him. You hadn't been, but you don't mind taking it now. "Are you hungry? I have oranges."

You and Jack end up sitting under your desk. You really don't mean to end up like that; you sit on your knees because your back has started to ache and Jack wants to sit with you. You can't say no to him. (You could, you just don't want to.)

"What did she say after that?" you ask, fingers digging into two orange segments to pull them apart. You shave off all of the strands of white pith before you pass it to Jack, who says thank you every time.

"She said to ask Stacy who said to ask Morgan P who said to ask Joan. And Joan said she didn't wanna know, but then she changed her mind after I told her abd she said to ask Cooper."

"What did Cooper say?"

"Cooper says he doesn't think he knows where it is."

You nod, chewing your own orange slice slovenly. "Well, what did your dad say?"

"I haven't told dad."

You lift your head from the paper where Jack has drawn an impressive house with five windows. "You haven't told your dad?"

"He worries about everything."

"That's his job, Jack. He has to worry about you."

"He worries about everybody."

"Some people do." You clean another orange slice for him, and he says thank you again. "You're welcome… Jack, I really think you should tell you dad. It sounds like somebody might have taken your pencil case on purpose. And even if he can't find out who did, he can get you some new pencils for school."

"I told mom but she hasn't done anything yet."

Your stomach hurts.

"Well," you murmur, picking up the green pen, "I'm sure she's trying her best, baby. Can I help colour in these trees?"

You and Jack fall into a companionable silence, his head bobbing to You Make My Dreams (Come True) the cutest thing you've ever seen. You're not sure how long you sit there, but all good things must come to an end, and your half hour for lunch draws to a close.

"Hey, Jack?" you say, straightening where you kneel and preparing to stand. "I have some stuff I have to do but you're welcome to stay there."

Unfortunately, you don't manage to grab his attention. Double unfortunately, somebody else does.

"Morgan, where's Jack?"

You peek past your desk chair. A little ways away, Hotch stands looking sick to his stomach, and Agent Morgan looks lost.

"I didn't have him?"

"I asked him to sit with you," Hotch says miserably, throwing his gaze over the office. "Jack?"

Jack hears that loud and clear. Something in his dad's tone must spark some urgency, as he stands in a rush and trips on his own shoelace, smacking the top of his head into your nose.

You gasp.

"Ouch," Jack moans.

Blinking, you shake off your disorientation. "Oh no, are you okay? Here, sweetheart, stand up," you encourage gently, "I'm so sorry, have I hurt your head?"

Jack's gaze to the floor, he rubs the top of his head with a clumsy hand. "It's okay, Miss Agent, it wasn't you and-" He stares at you.

"What?" you ask.

"Dad!" he shouts, backing away from you. "Daddy!"

Jack runs out of your little alcove and straight into his father's legs, almost bowling him over. Hotch drops two relieved hands down to his small shoulders. "What?" he asks, startled, "What happened?"

Your nose stings, admittedly, but you've felt worse. It's a light throbbing that distracts you entirely from the blood racing down your lips until you taste it.

Shit, you think, crawling out from under the desk with one hand, the other clamped over your bleeding nose. Your movement draws Hotch's attention, which in turn gathers at least a quarter of the office's.

"I didn't mean to," Jack says shrilly.

"It's okay. It wasn't your fault," you say stuffily, clambering onto shaky legs.

You turn your head away from the collective gaze of the office and start toward the kitchen and hear at least three different people say, "Wait!"

You ignore them, using your elbow to help tear off a paper towel from the roll and pushing it without finesse against your face. You squirm under the weight of tens of eyes, more embarrassed than anything else, worse when a warm hand turns you by the shoulder.

"He really didn't mean to," you say, looking up into Hotch's concerned face.

"I know."

"Is he okay?”

"He's not the one with a nosebleed," Hotch says, neither kind nor unkind.

"I honestly didn't even feel it."

His fingers curl around your wrist, a slow tightening. "That doesn't surprise me, Y/N."

You bite your tongue to stop from laughing. “He bumped his head into me."

"Mm. Just a red mark. It won't even bruise."

You deflate in relief. "Oh, good."

Hotch's hands have found their way onto yours. He pulls one from your nose, gaze hardening at the strong river of blood that makes its way into the dip of your cupid's bow.

"I'm sorry, sir."

He shakes his head and gathers another wad of tissue paper, a light blue that quickly turns to a wine dark when he presses it to your face. Your heart hammers at his proximity, a thousand and one nerves aflame.

He's close but not too close, nothing anyone could mistake for something else, and still it feels like a strangely intimate moment. His careful touches. He directs your hand to hold a fresh paper towel to the stream of blood and discards the bloody tissue. You watch him push up his sleeves carefully and give his hands a quick rinse in the sink before he dampens another paper towel.

It's cool against your neck.

"I think your shirt is ruined," he says, dabbing at a line of dried blood.

You shiver at the feeling of cold water dripping under your starched collar.

"Does it hurt?" he asks, moving up to your jaw.

You don't know how to admit it to him. No, it doesn't hurt. Your hands are really warm, and you're touching me so gently I can barely feel it.

"A little."

"Well, Jack is very sorry."

"He doesn't have to be. He tripped, he…" You fade off as Hotch lays his hand across your cheek, thumb lifting your head slightly so he can clean your chin.

"How are you faring?" he asks.

You pull your tissue away and wait for the tell-tale heat of continued blood flow. You're ashamed to admit it but you're almost glad it hasn't stopped, Hotch's hand warm and large and impossibly comforting. Nosebleeds don't stress you out, exactly, but it's not fun to be covered in your own blood at work where everyone can see you. It's nice to have somebody wiping it away.

"I think I'll live," you say.

—

Jack sends you an apology card.

It's hand delivered. Hotch is coming up to the BAU main floor as you're heading out. Like a rock dividing a river, his teammates stream from the elevator around you and Hotch remains inside.

"I'll catch up," he promises.

Agent JJ raises her eyebrows. Agent Morgan chuckles.

You draw in on yourself self-consciously. You don't dress as nicely when he isn't here, and today you're rivalling Dr. Reid for most lovable dork in a pair of brown pants and a big sweater. Teetering the line between professional and unprofessional.

"Sir," you greet, stepping into the elevator.

He presses the ground floor button. "I have something for you."

Your eyebrows jump up high. Hotch unzips the main zipper of his duffle back and threads between clothes and papers for a smaller envelope.

"It's for you."

You accept, careful not to tear the thin sheet of folded paper as you pull it free. You're thrilled to see a drawing of Charlie Brown on the front, crudely drawn but clearly him with his head-wrapped in bandages. His puppy Snoopy sits beside him with something in his hands. You're not sure what.

The inside is even sweeter.

To Y/N

I am sorry if I made your nose angwished. Please feel better soon

Love, Jack Hotchner.

"Oh, I love it," you say, rubbing your thumb over a heart drawn in red crayon. "He's really something else, Hotch. He's brilliant, and so smart. I mean, anguished."

He laughs and it twists your chest in five different directions. "He is."

"It wasn't his fault though. If my nose weren't so sensitive it really wouldn't have bled at all, I didn't bruise. How is he? Did his head feel better?"

The doors open. You hesitate, waiting for his reply.

"Children are made of harder stuff than we are," he says.

You step backwards out of the elevator. "I felt so bad. I don't suppose he'll want to come and sit with me again."

"Actually," Hotch says, stepping out of the elevator just as the doors close again, "he thinks you're, uh, in his own words, the 'coolest friend' I've ever had."

"Friend," you repeat with a smile.

You've focused on the wrong word, and you worry an awkward silence will ensue, but Hotch steps up to the plate and says, "Yeah. He wouldn't stop telling me about all the cool songs you have on your ipod."

"Purely for non-working hours."

"Right." His smile says that he's seen straight through you.

You're thinking maybe he likes what he sees.

"This is really amazing," you reaffirm, pressing Jack's card to your chest.

"He felt guilty."

"He doesn't have to. Please, tell him I said thank you. And that he's amazing. And that my nose was being dramatic." You smile softly. "He can sit with me whenever he likes."

"Maybe at the desk, next time, rather than under it."

"Yes, sir."

You nod at him and he nods back, and you take it as a dismissal, turning on your heel. You've barely walked a metre when he's speaking up.

"Y/N?"

You look at him from over your shoulder. "Yeah?"

"Are you hungry?"

You bite your cheek in a hurry to answer, “Yeah. I’m starving.”

Your heart is basically a ticking time bomb in your chest as you and Hotch make your way into the heart of the city. He's a fast walker with long legs and you rush to keep up. That’s totally why you’re breathless. Not because he makes you nervous.

Hotch is a really surprising guy, though maybe he isn’t surprising at all, you’re simply unversed in how he is outside of work. He talks more and his voice grows louder the further into the city you go, more expressive.

You’re no profiler, but you’d bet money on Aaron Hotchner being nervous.

Good thing you’re nervous, too.

“It’s not far now. You like Thai?” he asks.

“Yeah, of course. Have you ever had Tom Yum?”

“With shrimp?”

“Exactly.”

“I think I’ve tried it. I lived off of pad Thai when I was a prosecutor,” he says, head tilting back very slightly. His Adam’s apple works under the skin.

He looks back down, a sheepishness to his voice as he continues, “A lot of late nights.”

“More than now?” you ask skeptically.

His laugh is low and warm. “No. The firm was much closer to the city than the bureau. It’s a long walk.”

“It is,” you say, taking a small step closer to his side to share a secret smile, “but it hasn’t felt that way tonight.”

You try to keep it light. You don’t want to scare him off.

“No,” he agrees. “It hasn’t.”

You duck into a fragrant Thai restaurant and order fast, the two of you knee to knee in the very corner. A potted plant threatens to blind him every time he moves, and so he endeavours to stay very still.

The food's a little on the spicy side, and while you're laughing you can't find it in you to feel embarrassed about your runny nose.

"You didn't like Seinfeld?" you ask, and how you got here's a mystery, but Hotch is extremely passionate about it in the best way.

"No, of course not. How could you? George was always worrying about something, he was the definition of a self-fulfilling prophecy and he never learned!" he debates, all in a rush, chopsticks moving in emphasis.

You snort and wipe your nose again. "It was like a relief, though, that it was happening to him and not to you, you know? You might be having a bad day but George Costanza's having a worse one."

"Oh, honey," he says.

It takes you a second to realise that he's talking to you.

"What?" you ask, perplexed.

Hotch stands up though there's no space for it, chopsticks ditched and hand pushed into the recesses of his pocket swiftly. He pulls out a small packet of tissues, and he lifts his chin, a jut. You lift your own, and he's quick to press the tissue to your nose.

"It's bleeding?" you ask, startled.

"Just a little."

"Sorry."

"No, no," he says, bent down, a comforting hand around your shoulder, "don't be. It gives me an excuse."

"To do what?"

"To be this close."

Your smile is a slow, molasses thick thing. You can't get a handle on it, and Hotch's answering one is worse. He looks so happy to be here with you, to be wiping your bloody nose.

It's only a small nose bleed. Hotch pulls the tissue away once or twice to check, wiping at it tenderly and giving you a comforting squeeze each time. The silence feels natural as breathing.

"There," he says eventually, pulling the bloodied tissue away with a smile. "All done."

"Thank you, Hotch."

"I'd think you'd better start calling me Aaron, considering."

"Considering what?"

His hand climbs from your shoulder to the column of your throat. He doesn't make you wait any longer, leaning down with a sure, brave deliberateness. He presses his lips to yours.

A sweet kiss but too short — barely two seconds and he's taking a half-step away, your lips tingling in want.

You go to stand and he pushes you down into your seat, not unkindly. "I'm gonna go see if I can get some hot water for you," he says, placating your gutted look with a kiss to your cheek.

He wipes it thoughtlessly with the pad of his thumb before he goes.

You're genuinely surprised your nose doesn't start bleeding again at the look he gives you as he turns the corner toward the restaurant's kitchen. Protective, knowing. Your heart races in your chest.

You probe at your face, elated. Your sensitive nose is good for something after all.

—

The first time you sleepover with Aaron is an accident. You don't "mess around," as you'd crooned over the phone, joking but with enough salaciousness to make him smile. The gas and hot water had stopped working in your apartment, and though the landlord had promised they'd fix it the very next morning, Aaron couldn't stand to think about you cold and alone when you could easily be warm and with him.

So here you are.

"Are you sure this is okay?" you whisper, peering over his shoulder at Jack.

His son stands in the living room in his pyjamas.

"It's okay," he says, "I asked him, and you know he's obsessed with you. His one condition is that you watch FernGully."

"FernGully," you say, enthused.

"You'll like it."

You actually really do. Showered and dressed in your own pyjamas, a little shy but not too much to stop from laying against his side on the sofa. He's got one arm around you and one around Jack but he might as well be invisible, the two of you talking in murmurs across his chest.

"And that's-"

"Pips," Jack supplies helpfully.

"Pips," you say, hand spread over Aaron's chest.

If he didn't know better he'd think this was a slice of heaven.

"So many people," you whisper in Aaron's ear.

"More in the second one."

"There's two?"

After the movies finished — "It was better than you said, Jack," — and dinner’s been eaten and cleared away, Aaron takes Jack to bed.

"Do you want a story?" Aaron asks, flitting around the room in a half-hearted attempt to square away the mess.

"No."

"You sure?"

Jack's eyes are heavy, and they have been since dinner. "Yes," he mumbles, face turned into his pillow, hands lax on top of his blanket.

Aaron smiles and makes his way to Jack's side. He kisses his son's cheek, and strokes the soft hair from his face. He smells like strawberry toothpaste and kids shampoo.

You're sitting on the end of the bed when he gets to you, face damp with skincare and shining in the light. Aaron kisses you without touching it, worried he'll mess it up.

“He’s wiped. All the excitement,” he says.

“Excitement- From me?” you ask.

“From you.” He puts his hands carefully either side of your neck.

You haven’t been dating very long, and still he knows how easy it is to fluster you. And while he loves to see it, see you giddy and shy, blinking at nothing like there’s a light shining in your eyes. He’d once pressed his thumb with the very faintest of pressure into your windpipe while kissing you, and you hadn’t been able to look him in the eye for three days.

He loves that, but he’d prefer if you slept facing him. He wants to see what you look like asleep, as odd as it sounds, he assumes you’ll be beautiful. He wouldn’t be surprised if you were more.

“Aaron,” you whisper.

“What?”

“Want me to massage your bad shoulder?”

He wonders, as he thinks is more than allowed, if that’s a seduction trick, but you genuinely just give him a massage, as you have a couple of times in his office after noticing how sore it gets now the weather’s cold.

You rub into the problem spot carefully, sighing with sympathy. “Oh, baby,” you say, more to yourself than him.

He fucking loves the way you say it. Aaron’s never been called baby like that — like it’s his name, and it’s sweet to say. Your tired yawns warm the back of his neck as you go. He doesn’t think he’s getting lucky tonight, and he doesn’t care one bit. He feels pretty lucky just having you near.

He gets you under the covers before you can fall asleep against his back and makes sure you know how grateful he is for the massage with two kisses. The first is a genuine thank you and the second is to make you laugh, nipping and playful under your jaw.

Aaron falls asleep thinking about it.

He wakes to something much less idyllic.

It’s that strange feeling. Being a dad has honed it, but he’s always had it. It’s one of the things that makes him so good at his job, a prickling at the back of his neck. At first he can’t pin it down.

Your waist rises under his hand with your breathing. He remembers that you’re there and smiles contentedly, hand sliding behind your back to pull you in. You’d fallen asleep on your back, and you’ve turned toward him in your sleep.

The metallic stick of blood is sudden and sharp in his nose. He knows what it is before he opens his eyes. The room is dark, lit only by the red light of his alarm clock on the nightstand. His eyes ache with fatigue, and he knows in his gut that it’s too early to get up.

Blood pools under your nose. Not a lot, nothing to panic over, but blood all the same. He sits up, quickly turns on his bedside lamp, and rouses you as gently as he can, a hand slid under your shoulders to drag you up.

You blink blearily. “What?” you ask, voice scratchy.

“Nosebleed,” he informs, pinching your nose before blood can slink down your neck and ruin your pyjama shirt.

You wince and he hates the way you flinch away from his touch, your clouded confusion. It’s only a second but it doesn’t sit right with him.

“Sorry, honey.”

You catch hold of his bicep and blink some more.

“You okay to pinch it yourself? I’ll go grab some tissue paper.”

You nod robotically and replace his light pinching with your own, much less kind. He rushes to grab a roll of toilet paper from the bathroom, and when he returns you've pulled yourself into an alert sitting position, awaiting his return.

He tears you off a wad of paper. “Here, honey.”

“I think it’s stopped.”

“Yeah? Let me grab you a towel.”

Back to the bathroom. When he returns for the second time you’re holding his given toilet paper against your face. He’s alarmed to find your eyes glassy with tears, shimmering in the bedroom light.

“What’s wrong?” he asks softly, sitting across from you.

He’d been right about sleepy you. You look lovely, a little funny with your rumpled pyjamas, and now quite sad because of your tears. “Honey,” he says again, pulling your hand from your face so he can assess the damage, “you’re okay. Is it hurting?”

You’ve told him before the nosebleeds are painless, but maybe they’re a symptom of something, maybe you’re sick—

“I ruined your pillow,” you mutter.

Ah. That’s much better than your being sick. He can work with that easily.

“You didn’t ruin anything.”

He takes your chin between his thumb and his forefinger to lift your head. The blood has stopped already; your nosebleeds are often a whirlwind, over by the time you’ve started panicking.

“I’m sorry.”

He drops your bloodied tissue into his lap and brings the dampened towel to your face. He’s cautious. Your nose gets irritated and any roughness could disrupt the blood clot or agitate the anterior blood vessels inside.

“You think I’m mad over a pillow?”

“No, of course not.”

You sound stuffy. It’s adorable. Adorable and sad. He rubs the hill of your chin in a show of affection.

“Then why?”

“Sorry, I think I’m just tired. I- I was trying to make tonight perfect because,” — a small tear bumps down your cheek — “it’s our first night together even if it was accidental.”

He dabs at your upper lip and the wet blood there with a smile growing. “It was perfect. It is perfect. You getting a nosebleed on a seven dollar pillow doesn’t change that.” His hand moves to your cheek, squashing your baby tear. “You know I love any opportunity to touch you… Now, do you want a glass of water?”

You close your eyes and lean your face heavily into his palm. “Can I have one of those kisses from earlier?”

“Can you keep your blood inside your body?” he asks with a smile, rubbing your cheek with his thumb.

“Depends how hard you bite me.”

He’s very, very gentle.

—

Aaron breaks his nose. You are not supposed to know that he breaks his nose, only he breaks it so bad that he has to go to the hospital to get it set, and he decides he’d like you there.

Technically, somebody else broke his nose. The details aren’t important. What matters is that Aaron makes a rookie mistake and he has to deal with the consequences, which is a biting, aching pain behind his eyes and a trip to the ER. He does not let them take him in an ambulance, and it really isn’t urgent. He sits in a waiting room chair with a stiff back and it doesn’t take long before you’re striding inside looking terrified.

“Hey, baby,” he says, testing it out. He doesn’t really like it.

“What did they give you?” you ask, bending at the waist to take his face into your kind hands.

“Vicodin when I got here.”

“Lucky you.” You turn his face in your hands.

“You look beautiful,” he says.

“I wish I could say the same, but somebody messed you up bad.”

He laughs and takes your face into his hands, the two of you smiling way too much for the situation that you’re in. “I was so worried,” you say with a little laugh.

He kisses you soundly. It hurts, but it’s worth it.

They call his name not long after and a nurse takes you both into a grey examination room. The doctor is a short, stern woman who has to use a stool to reach Aaron’s face, and she sets his nose with a swiftness that even he manages to recognise for the brutality that it is in his drug haze.

You hold his hand. He has to try very hard not to crush your fingers.

It starts bleeding immediately.

Aaron meets your gaze over the doctor's head, eyes wide and in similar fashion as your own, and he knows it’s an adverse reaction to shocking pain but he starts giggling. Aaron Hotchner doesn’t giggle, really. He laughs, and sometimes when he’s with Jack that laugh can get super loose and high, but this is a bona fide giggle.

You try to gasp in shock but you’re laughing too. “Aaron,” you reproach.

He holds his breath as the doctor presses gauze to his face.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” he says.

You snicker behind your hand. The doctor presses gauze to his face and rolls her eyes. She likely does not get paid enough.

“You’re still handsome,” you say giddily.

“Oh, well that's good.”

There’s a small silence rife with tension, and when it breaks it bursts like a dam. You laugh so hard you end up clinging to his arm, chest pressed to his bicep. He strokes the back of your head with a wobbly hand, wondering how miserable he’d be if you weren’t here with him right now.

“What happened to keeping all your blood inside your body, Hotchner?” you ask, delighted.

He beams at you dopily. “I’ve never been any good at that.”

You kiss his forehead. The doctor is furious.

༺༻

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spacebarbarianweird · 6 months

Text

Things We Deserve

Summary: Astarion re-lives one of the traumatic episodes of his life, and considers himself unworthy of love.

Pairing: Astarion x f!Tav

Tags: fluff, hurt/comfort, established relationship, f!tav, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, mentions of past abuse

TW: a mild description of forced prostitution

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

Thanks @satanicspinosaurus for your help! I live for your commentaries on ethical issues.

It is on the same corner of the street in the Lower City. Again.

A young elf is looking for a “client”. It's not difficult — he has soft white curls, a gentle smile, the body sculptured by some elven god. A glance, two, some nice words — and there is a night of passion ahead.

A half-orc, almost twice as big as the elf, grabs his chin and studies his face as if Astarion is an inanimate object. Then orders to lift up his shirt. The client looks at him with the same expression as if he were buying a horse.

His hand gropes the elf’s crotch, causing him to moan.

"Works for me", the half-orc grabs a handful of silver curls with his stiff fingers. "Never fucked an elf".

Astarion obeys. This is what he is. A mere street whore.

No, go away, you don't need to do that anymore. You are free, don't let him touch you!

Astarion knows what will come next. Two half-orcs, who despise and hate elves to their guts will really enjoy having one for themselves for the whole night.

They’ll give him pain. Disgust. Burning touches.

"Entertain us, elf", the half-orc groans pressing the Astarion’s face into the pillow.

Here’s a joke: the elf wants to die. Sadly, he is already dead. And that's his life now. Forever.

Beatings. Non-consensual sex. Or consensual? Is this what he wants? He never says “no”, after all.

I want you all to burn down, Astarion thinks spreading his legs. I want you to suffer as much as I do!

The half-orcs never give him a chance to drag them to the Cazador’s mansion. They won't die. They won't suffer. They use Astarion and then leave. A small sack of silver breaks when it is thrown on the floor.

And Astarion will have to deal with his sore body and numb mind. Forcing himself to get someone else inside the brothel, knowing too well that he is already doomed for torture because he hasn’t returned on time. Even if he delivers the most innocent and beautiful virgin to Cazador, he will be punished anyway.

Flayed with a razor. What? He is a vampire. He will regenerate.

Astarion opens his eyes and finds himself on the floor.

Where is he?

It's not a brothel. More like an Inn?

Reality slips back into his mind, replacing the awful visions of the past.

It wasn't real. Of course, it wasn't.

He doesn't have to sell his body anymore. He doesn’t have to sleep with people he doesn't like and want. He won't be beaten for saying “no”. He even has the luxury to say “no” to Tav, the only person whose body he enjoys.

But two hundred years of memories are too vivid. Tortures. Humiliation. Misery. Forced prostitution. He had to do the most disgusting things on his master's whims, and Astarion is afraid nothing will ever wash it away.

The flood of darkness flushes his brain again. Astarion rises up on his knees as if in a desperate prayer.

Why him?

Why did it happen to him?

His life was stolen. His personality, his future, his past. All was brutally taken away along with his beating heart.

Leaving only pain and disgust.

Tears burn his skin. The scars hurt as if they are still fresh and bleeding.

He was stripped away of everything. Of freedom. Of dignity. Of his own self-respect.

The person he could have become. The future he could have embraced.

Why?

Why?!

He digs his nail deep into his skin as if trying to peel it off. He is a vampire. It will regenerate.

Touches. The smell of unwashed bodies. Movements inside him. The fake pleasure. Pain. Always — pain. Either physical or mental, but often both.

He clenches his fists and groans like a wounded animal.

"Astarion"

A gentle voice resonates with his broken thoughts.

“Astarion, are you with me?”

He looks up and sees Tav. She sits in front of him. Concerned face. Worried eyes. She doesn’t move, doesn’t try to touch him. Like he's a person.

Like he's worth something.

Like he's broken and she needs to be careful.

"Oh, hello, darling", the mask is on again. "I am sorry. I've been carried away a bit. Tell me how was your day in the sunlight."

Tav sighs. “Astarion, I returned an hour ago. And you’ve been like that all this time.”

"Darling, you could just call me over”, Astarion smiles.

"I have done it five times."

“Oh. Then … “

“Astarion, I know when your smile is sincere and when it’s not. Don’t force yourself.”

He stops and sits back.

“May I touch you?”, she asks.

He nods. The caress sends a shiver down his spine and Astarion flinches avoiding looking at Tav.

He remembers. Again, and again. Never-ending tortures disguised as pleasures. Things he would have never done voluntarily. The dirt on his skin. The poison on his tongue.

Astarion wants to hide. He wants to disappear. He wants to run away.

Tav crawls closer to him to hold him in her hands.

He shivers.

“Hush, I am here. Tell me what is plaguing you.”

He almost orders himself to relax. Tav is here. Tav loves him. Tav doesn’t judge. Whatever he tells her, she won’t get angry. She won’t hurt him. She won’t punish him. Tav won’t use him for sex and pleasure. It will never happen no matter what he does.

He can run away. He can say “no”. He can fight back.

"Just a memory of a certain night in the lower town. A night of... what I usually was supposed to do. I...” the words stuck in his throat. “I am tainting you, Tav. I am ruining you.”

"Stop", Tav puts her chin on his shoulder nuzzling his collarbone.

"I am a terrible person, Tav. I truly am. It all happened to me and I sometimes think what a terrible person I used to be if I inflicted it all upon myself.”

Instead of answering, Tav holds him tighter as if not to not allow him to drown in dark waters.

"Do you remember anything from your past life?"

"No"

"Then why do you think you were a bad person?”

“Because — … “

He doesn’t know the answer. A corrupt magistrate who would easily ruin people’s lives. An arrogant racist who hated everyone who didn’t belong to the pure fairy kin.

But was it true?

“Listen, Astarion. I won’t pretend I know what you were like back then. I won’t lie by saying I know why it happened to you. But everything you “know” about your past life comes from Cazador. What if it was just another of his tortures? He wanted you to believe you were a bad person. He wanted you to think you were guilty. I know that type. It’s a special pleasure for them to torture good people. He — “

“Made me a street whore.”

He spits the last word. Yes, that is what he was all these years. He can mask it all with fancy words. Conquests, lovers, seduction. When it was just abuse.

Words spill out of him.

"Sometimes I wasn’t even supposed to drag anyone to the mansion. It was more like retrieving information by doing the only thing I knew how to do well. Sometimes it was an order to pleasure someone - as a reward for them. Sometimes it was just pointless. Just one more thing to break me even more.”

"You say like you did it of your own free will", she says.

"I-"

"You did it because you were like a puppet. Because it was impossible to say “no”. The moment you set yourself free, you stopped doing that."

"And the first thing I did was seduce you!”

She cups his face and kisses his forehead. It causes another flow of tears.

“I have my own free will, too,” she says. “Do you think I would sleep with you if I didn’t want to? I am not the person who hooks up with men in brothels and I am not the person who would enjoy a sentient trophy to fuck. It’s not normal to find people on streets and treat them like objects.”

Tav cradles him in her arms. Astarion’s muscles are still tense. He can’t do anything about that. Maybe, if Tav leaves him for a moment, he will find a way to relax but the mere thought of staying alone scares him.

She kisses him. Saying all the sweet words she knows to soothe his worries.

"I have an idea," she finally says. “Could you lie on your stomach?"

“What for?”

Tav kisses his neck.

"Please?"

He is trying to lie on the floor but Tav stops him.

“On the bed.”

He hesitates but agrees. Astarion puts his hands under his cheek. His bare back is exposed and it causes him to clench his fists again.

“I will stop if you feel uncomfortable, love. Just tell me and I will stop”

He nods. Tav saddles him with her hips and presses hands on his ribs.

“Can I touch your scars?”

“Yes.”

Tav presses arms into his skin causing a pleasant pressure. The fingers massage his back but there is nothing sexual about it. It's not a premise, not a prelude. It will lead to nothing. He won’t have to pay back.

The hands massage his back, strongly and gently.

"You have beautiful hands”, Tav murmurs. “They can do so many things —”

Yes, he thinks darkly, bringing pleasure mostly.

“They can sew, embroider. Pick up lockers. Steal pretty things. I like watching you doing tricks with coins. Can’t take my eyes off. Speaking of which… ”

Tav touches his curls.

“You have incredible eyes. Crimson red – “

The color of blood.

“The color of wine”, Tav proceeds. “You are always vigilant, like a cat on a hunt. You notice small details and see things I don’t.”

Tav moves a bit to be able to press a kiss on the crown of his head.

“You are so smart. You know so many things.” She gently touches his right ear. “I love your ears and how they peek out of your hair. They are so adorable especially when they twitch a bit, reacting to sounds or to your jaw movements.”

She keeps talking to him, massaging his back. The words of reassurance, of love, sound like a prayer. The touches and kisses cover his skin like a healing ointment.

Astarion feels protected. Loved.

And then it’s just too much.

He bursts into tears. Desperate, painful. Tears rip his chest apart causing pain in the throat.

Tav stops and gets off him allowing him to lay on his back.

“Astarion… Did I hurt you?”

He wants to say something but he can’t. He cries like a child abandoned in the streets. Cries like he did many years ago when the first tortures were inflicted upon him. When he realized no one would save him. That the Gods were silent and merciless.

“Astarion…”

All the darkness he has in his heart is spilling through the tears. They wash away the pain and disgust like rain washes dirt in the Lower City.

With effort he pulls Tav to him pressing her to his chest. She wraps her hands around him.

“Thank you”, he mutters through tears.

They sit like that for an eternity. Astarion listens to Tav’s heartbeat and breathing. He remembers her first reaction to his stories – anger. Pure, livid anger. Anger to people who did this to him. Not only Cazador but everyone who treated him like an object. And sorrow – she mourned his past along with him.

She is his happiness. The happiness he has never considered worthy of. He has found it with her. And he will be forever grateful for her patience and care.

“Tav?”, he whispers but she doesn’t reply. He pulls away a bit and sees she is asleep.

Astarion chuckles and helps Tav to lie on the bed beside him. He tucks her into the blanket and makes sure she lies on the dry side of the pillow (not the section damp with his tears).

And then, he begins whispering words like a prayer.

Thank you. Thank you for existing.

Tag List

@tragedybunny @caitlincat-95 @tallymonster @astarionsbeloved @lumienyx @fayeriess @elora-the-slutty-songstress @veillsar @astarion-imagine-archive @micropoe10 @starlight-ipomoea @herstxrgirl @theearthsfinalconfession @ashrio20 @not-so-lost-after-all @vixstarria @wintersire @marcynomercy

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moonstruckme · 9 months

Text

Lavender

I liked this better as an idea than I do now that it's written, but here it is anyway

summary: after Sirius has a hard day, you try to help him relax

Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 940 words

When you hear the front door to your shared apartment open and shut, your physical reaction is both immediate and habitual. You get a rush of dopamine and straighten in your seat, not quite looking up from your book but not able to tamp down the smile that tempts your lips upwards either.

Sirius Black is a fairly spontaneous creature, but every day after he gets off work, it’s the same: he comes straight to your room, sighing in exaggerated exhaustion and relief, says something along the lines of “there you are, gorgeous” or “I missed you today, sweet thing” or “can’t I stick you in my pocket and keep you with me all day, angel?” and rains kisses upon every part of you he can get at.

But now, ten seconds go by, and you’re still waiting for his usual melodramatic entrance. Twenty seconds. At thirty, you leave the bedroom to investigate.

The house is eerily quiet, and for a moment you wonder if you’d imagined the sound of the door, or if it might have come from one of your neighbors. Then you spot Sirius, lying on the couch with his shoes still on and his arm slung across his eyes. Your heart plummets.

“Siri?” you say quietly, afraid to disturb him in case he doesn’t want company. “Are you okay?”

Sirius lets out a long breath, and this exhaustion isn’t for show. “Sorry,” he says, voice ragged. “I’m alright. Just had a really, really long day.”

You crouch beside his face, feeling like you could cry but knowing that wouldn’t be very helpful. “Baby, I’m so sorry. Do you want to talk about it?”

He moves his arm so you can see the apology in his eyes. The gray irises are unusually dull. “Not really,” Sirius says, imbuing his tone with as much gentleness as he can. His kindness, when he’s so obviously miserable, makes your chest ache. “Honestly, I just want to go shower and wash this day off me.”

That gives you an idea, and you smooth his hair away from his cheek, pressing a kiss there. “I’ll do you one better,” you promise, cheered at the opportunity to help restore your boyfriend to his usual jovial temperament. “Just give me a minute.”

You go into the bathroom and turn on the tub, getting the water to a comfortable temperature before adding your lavender bath oils, hoping the scent will provide the same calm for Sirius as it does for you. And some bubbles, just because you know he’ll think they’re fun. After some more thought, you light a few candles, too. You want everything to be as conducive to relaxation as possible after the day he’s had.

“Okay,” you call to Sirius. “You can come in.”

You hear the padding of too-heavy footsteps, and then, “If you’re trying to seduce me, gorgeous, you really didn’t have to go to all this trouble.”

You turn, feeling your face warm. Sirius grins at you, seeming to have recovered some of his good humor. “Right.” You roll your eyes, flustered, and Sirius switches gears.

“This is for me?” he asks softly. “Thanks, angel.”

You beam, because this is how you love him most; when he meets you all the way, unchecked in his softheartedness.

Sirius isn’t one to be embarrassed and you’re well used to each other by now, so neither of you make a fuss as he strips down and eases into the warm water. You watch him relax slowly as his body adjusts to the temperature, admittedly feeling rather pleased with yourself. Rather than letting him lay his head back on the hard edge of the tub, you cradle it in your hands, ignoring the way his eyes raise to yours in question.

You take your lavender-scented shampoo, beginning to lather it in Sirius’ thick, dark hair.

He murmurs, “Are you washing my hair for me?” like it’s a joke, but you only hum in confirmation, and he goes silent after that.

You take your time, letting your fingers work over every inch of Sirius’ scalp before moving to the nape of his neck. His muscles are taut there, but you knead at them tenderly until the tightness eases away and Sirius is pliant in your hands, finally letting the entire weight of his head rest on you. By now, most of the tension has melted from his features.

He opens his eyes when you begin rinsing the shampoo from his hair with a cup of water, running your fingers through it to work out the few tangles. Neither of you seems to want to disturb the quiet, the tranquil atmosphere that’s settled in the humidity of your bathroom, and so Sirius’ voice is uncharacteristically hushed when he says, “You’re too good to me. How do you always know what I need?”

“Sixth sense,” you whisper back. “And you deserve every bit of good.” You say the words lightly, an admonishment against his self-deprecation, but you mean them. Deeply. Sirius has already experienced enough of the bad things in this world; if you could cast a spell to ensure that only happiness and comfort would find him for the rest of his life, you would. But until that becomes an option, you’ll do whatever you can to help him cope with his rougher days.

Sirius smiles at your response, eyes pitch-black and sparkling in the candlelight. “Yeah? Think you could give me one of these massages every time I get off work?”

You smile at him, knowing your eyes are probably embarrassingly heart-shaped and not caring at all. “Every night, handsome.” You mean that, too.

#sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius black x fem!reader #marauders #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black fic #sirius black drabble #sirius black oneshot #sirius black scenario #sirius black imagine #sirius black hurt/comfort #sirius black fluff

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thoughtsforsoob · 2 months

Text

bf!huening kai (i have been in love with this man since debut. My bestie and I say he’s my little white boy😉)

omg he is such a sweetheart :( he is always gonna make sure that you're doing okay.

He texts you multiple times a day just to check up on you

Especially if he knows you’re going to have a tough day

This sweet boy goes all out on those days where he knows you’re either going through it or doing to go through it

If even slightly mention that you have a big test at uni or you have an important meeting at work, he is going to pull out all the stops

He’ll start the day by cooking you breakfast of your choice

He then goes onto making your lunch and packing you plenty of snacks

He even writes a little sweet note and put it in a cute little lunch bag he kept for these types of situations

You’ve got this baby! Your Huening believes in you!! Lots of kisses when you get him will be guaranteed if you promise to try your best. - sincerely, the cutest and best boyfriend in the whole world

He calls you down into the kitchen and eats breakfast with you, feeding you a few bites at first since you were still pretty sleepy

He cleans up the table and washes the dishes while you're getting ready for the day. He just doesn't want you to have to worry about cleaning when you’re stressed out

Once you’re ready to go, he makes sure you have everything in your bag and gives you your lunch box and water bottle. He even packs in a sweet drink for you to enjoy with your lunch

He gives you a kiss and a hug on your way out, “have a good day! I'll come home after you tonight but you can tell me all about it as soon as I get home.”

Speaking of hugs…hyuka is the king of hugs

He's big, tall boy and he just looks so cozy to me

He hugs you so close and your face is always squished into his chest but you never mid because you get to inhale his scent that you love so much

When he finds out that you love the way he smells, he always slips his hoodies in your backpack/work bag during the cold seasons and if you mention your work/classroom is cold.

He loves seeing you in his clothes because they’re usually just long on you since he’s pretty tall

He’s such a nerd omg

When he finds something he really enjoys, he will share it with you

He’ll talk your ear off about some new video game he and beomgyu started playing together and you just sit there, looking at his adorable little face as he talks excitedly.

He always asks if you wanna try to game too and if you say yes, you better believe he is so happy. Happiest boy in the whole world

He swear he falls deeper in love with you when you share interests with him and when you listen to him ramble about said interests

All he's ever wanted in a partner was someone to listen to him and here you are!

Your arms of plush animals…

He's got so many of them that at some point, he started to move some of them into your apartment

When he is eventually given clearance to move in with you, the both of you go apartment hunting with a very specific requirement

One extra room for your plushie family and other collectable items

You two are just little dorks in love at the end of the day

I think i've mentioned this in another work of mine but family is really important to Huening

He gets together often with his siblings and talks to his parents on the phone almost every single day. If he can't chat on the phone with them, he texts them when he can

He really wants you to get along with his family bt totally understands if you seem nervous

He would never push you to do anything you weren’t ready for so he’ll give you plenty of time to prepare

When you meet his sisters for the first time, it was at a cafe. It turns out that you had pretty much no reason to be nervous because there was an instant connection between the 3 of you

His sisters were made aware by kai that you were nervous so they just went in for it and introduced themselves right away

After that, you 3 were joking around and having fun, not wanting to leave each other so you all went shopping together right after

Kai was so happy to find out you get along with his sister but also nervous…you 3 were going to terrorize him for the rest of his life

He was okay with it because he loves you 3 so much

When it comes to meeting his parents…he waits until you're ready and when you finally are, he has them come to the both of you

Again, there was an instant click, especially with his mom

She brought a baby album full of his pictures and she shows you all of them, giving the back stories

He gets all red and shy when she shows you one of him in the tub, playing with his rubber duck bath toys

“Mom! Not that one!!” he whines and pulls you closer to him, shielding your eyes

You and his mom trade numbers and she sends you a picture of the picture so you’re good on that front

Moving away from meeting his family…this boy is just so attentive

God forbid you get sick or even worse…get your period!

He is on you, throwing all the blankets you own on top of you, stuffing you full of homemade soup, and asking you if you;re okay every ten minutes

Poor thing is just really worried about you

He knows that he'll never understand how it feels to be on your period but he tries his best to be supportive

The cutest thing he does is his famous tummy rubs to help soothe your cramps and warm you up

He is the best boyfriend ever, me thinks

#txt imagines #txt fluff #txt headcanons #txt x reader #txt reactions #txt texts #txt smau #huening kai fluff #huening kai imagines #hueningkai #huening kai x reader #tomorrow x together

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oomisluvr · 2 years

Text

domestic sakusa (are we suprised)

“WILL you check the oven for me?” you call over your shoulder, your hands occupied with washing dishes from your lunchtime snack, “I think I left something in there.”

Panic flashes behind Kiyoomi’s eyes, brows raised in alarm, “It’s not on is it? You need to be more careful when dealing with heat–”

You bite the inside of your cheek to suppress a smile, watching him stare into the oven with confusion.

“There’s bread in here?” He asks, reaching inside to hold the small roll in his palm, “The oven wasn’t on either.” He trails off, trekking across the kitchen to stand at your side.

Plates now washed, you dry your hands with a dishtowel, leaning against the sink with an excited smile.

Kiyoomi studies your expression, breaking off a puffy chunk of bread and stuffing it into his mouth before munching thoughtfully, “This is really good.”

“Kiyoomi–”

“Here,” He pushes a piece of bread to your lips, looking at you expectantly, “Try.”

“Oh my god,” you laugh, losing your cool, “You aren’t a little curious as to how that got there? The one, singular roll?”

“You put it there.” He confirms while still chewing, the small roll half-way devoured.

“But why would I put it there?”

He eyes you like you're crazy, “Because you wanted to keep it warm? I don’t know.”

“Okay, let’s start again–” he offers you the last piece of the dinner roll and you take it, chewing before continuing, “What’s in the oven?”

“Nothing, now.” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “We just ate it all.”

You sigh. How could he be so dense? “Alright, what was in the oven?”

“Some bread.” he supplies confidently.

“No!” you laugh, “What’s another word for bread?”

“Starch?”

“No, give me another one.”

“Carbs? Rolls? Buns?”

“Buns!” You emphasize, “And where was the bun?”

“In the oven.”

You thrust your hands up to solidify your point. The air goes still, and you can practically see the gears turning in that empty, athletic head of his. Realization hits him like a bullet train, knocking the breath from his lungs. His heart starts then stops then starts again, beating faster than it ever has. His face contorts in a series of expressions, first shock, then disbelief, then his lips pull up into a wobbly grin. He shakes his head rapidly, blinking equally as fast.

“Stop.” he says, voice cracking, “Don’t mess with me like this. This isn’t funny.”

“I’m not joking, Ki.” you whisper, finding his hands and placing them against your stomach, “We’re going to be parents.”

“How far along are you?” He immediately fires off, sounding pained, “Have you been feeling well? How many appointments have you gone to already? We need to start planning immediately–”

“Easy, Ki, I’ve been feeling just fine.” you laugh, reaching a comforting hand to his jaw and stroking lightly, “I’m just 12 weeks, so she’s the size of a lime right about now.”

“She?” Something like a choked sob escapes Kiyoomi as he falls to his knees, speaking to your stomach with tears in his eyes, “Hi, princess! Hi, pumpkin! You’re getting so big! I’m your dad! I’m sorry I didn't introduce myself sooner, I didn’t know you were in there!”

“She’s been doing really well.” You say, “No complications so far. She’s been going strong.”

“That’s amazing!” He babbles to your navel, “You’re so strong, just like your mother. You’re going to grow up and be whoever you want to be and you’re going to be the best at it!” He wipes a stray tear with the back of his hand, “I promise I’ll be the best dad to you. We’re going to be best friends!”

You laugh at that, and Kiyoomi looks up at you with wide eyes, as if suddenly realizing you were there.

“Thank you,” he whispers, “For giving me a chance.”

BONUS:

"You totally ate our baby, by the way." You laugh against Kiyoomi's side, leaning your head on the arm stretched behind you, "Just devoured the bun in three bites."

"You couldn't tell me like a normal person?" He jokes, "With an actual pregnancy test?"

"This way was cuter!" You whine, "I can't wait to post it."

"Post it?" He parrots, "You were recording me?"

"Just the first bit," you smile, "When you couldn't put the pieces together. Hilarious."

"You're evil," he jests, "Our baby better not absorb any of your evilness."

"Absorb my evilness! Really?"

"Yes," he confirms, "Through the placenta cord or whatever it's called."

You shake your head with a smile, sitting up to turn off the lamp on the nightstand, "Goodnight, I'm not doing this with you." You shuffle under the covers.

"Goodnight, I love you." He presses a kiss against your temple, reaching a hand around your torso to palm your stomach. In a smaller voice, he whispers. "I love you, too."

#sakusa #kiyoomi #sakusa kiyoomi #kiyoomi sakusa #sakusa x reader #sakusa fluff #msby #msby sakusa #msby sakusa kiyoomi #haikyuu #haikyu #haiku fluff #domestic sakusa

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restinslices · 4 months

Note

I love your stuff so much, could you write something with the reader getting jealous about Smoke? Someone getting a bit too close to him and the reader feels bad about it. And Tomas finds out and comforts her, finding it endearing.

And I love you💕 Idk why this was kicking my ass so bad. I did two drafts and idk if I like this but this is all I got😔

Word count: 1476

Tomas was not entirely stupid.

Sure he had moments where he'd made something that should've been simple, incredibly complicated but he wasn't stupid. He didn't think so at least.

Anyone who's been around him for the past week might disagree though.

Tomas had just returned from a mission along with his brothers, and naturally he was telling you all about it. If you were being honest with yourself, you weren't really listening. Tomas tended to ramble and his missions were usually the same as the last, so it was best to let him go on and on but still add commentary here and there. “Wow”, “Really?”, “No you didn't”, and other side comments would hold him.

Your ears perked up and you started to listen more when he started mentioning women.

It's not that he couldn't speak to other women or he couldn't have female friends, you weren't that crazy. It was just the way he was describing them. Great fighters, moving with the wind, long flowy hair that danced in the sun. It was compliment after compliment, and as much as you hated to admit it, it made your heart squeeze.

“Wanna tell me how they all looked in detail?” You said sarcastically. You expected Tomas to hear your sarcasm, realize what was wrong, apologize and keep telling his story. Instead he just chuckled and said

“Then we'd be here all day”.

Unfortunately for you, the day got worse.

Another woman whose name you hadn't memorized was all over him. Giggling at jokes that weren't nearly as funny as she pretended they are and finding any reason to touch him.

You should've said something. You should've communicated your feelings. That's how relationships are supposed to work.

But you didn't.

On one hand, you thought you had every reason to be jealous and if Tomas actually cared for your feelings, then he would've picked up on this and apologized. On the other hand you thought you were being unreasonable. Tomas couldn't help if some ditzy bitch liked him. Plus, you never told him how you felt, so you couldn't be mad at him for not understanding. In the same breath though, why didn't he tell her to get off of him and why did he feel it was necessary to describe how great these other women he met were?

You were arguing with yourself for a solid week, and each day that devil on your shoulder got louder. After all, if Tomas did care about how you felt, he'd stop entertaining that girl. Everytime she was near, you left. Didn't you absence bother him?

But once again, that damn angel got in the way telling you to just be honest with him. He'd understand. How can you be mad at something you hadn't communicated upsets you?

But communication came with shame. How would you look telling Tomas that you got a little butt hurt about him talking about other girls and a girl that kept flirting with him? He'd either understand, or he'd be upset. That's how relationships fell apart, right?

No. It was the lack of communication.

Maybe?

“I'm gonna throw myself down the stairs” you mumbled.

“Why?” he asked.

You somehow forgot he was there. You and him were in charge of washing dishes for the week, but neither of you had been talking.

“I just hate washing dishes” you said, not completely lying.

It went silent again, the only thing filling the air being the sounds of you washing and him rinsing.

Then that silence was broken.

“Are you ignoring me?” he asked. You didn't know how to answer. You didn't mean to ignore him. You were just in your head a lot.

You didn't answer and he sighed. “Did I do something?”

“No” you answered without thinking. It was a reflex at this point. Tomas over thought things a lot and you'd have to remind him not everything was on him. Telling him he wasn't at fault was natural, but you weren't sure who was at fault now.

“I mean… I don't know. It doesn't matter”

“It does to me”

“Does it?”.

You closed your eyes and breathed slowly. You were being way too harsh and you knew it. Tomas was asking you to share what was going on in your head, and you were saying no?

You opened your eyes again. Your mouth opened a few times, trying to figure out how to put what you were feeling but it never felt right.

“I don't know how to get this out. It doesn't even make sense in my head. It won't make sense out loud”

“Just say it anyway and I'll ask you questions if I'm confused”. You wondered how Tomas was so good and patient and wondered if he learned that from one of his parents. Or maybe his sister. Either way, you mentally thanked whoever he learned from.

“Ok so, I just feel- no. No, I should explain first in chronological order. You came back and then… actually that sounds really accusatory”. You groaned and looked over at him “can you just tell me to shut the fuck up”.

He smiled a little and shook his head. “I wanna hear it. We have all day”.

“It's late at night. That is not true”. He didn't respond and he wouldn't until you confessed whatever you were thinking.

“Chronological order then…”, after some more stumbling and backtracking you managed to get it all out. Why you were jealous, when it started, how conflicted you felt and how ashamed you felt for being jealous in the first place. The whole time he just listened, nodded, and furrowed his brows at some parts. You couldn't tell if it was confusion or anger.

“I didn't mean it that way” he said when you were done. “When I said 'then we’d be here all day’. I just meant there was a lot of them, which I realize now still sounds bad but I didn't mean it in some 'they were just too beautiful’ way. I didn't hear your sarcasm”

“And I just kept conversation with her to be nice. I don't know. I didn't wanna seem rude”

“Being rude can go a long way”

“I guess. And I noticed your absence, I just didn't know why. I figured you needed space for whatever reason, so I didn't bother you”

“I think it's impossible for you to bother me”.

Once again, he smiled and let out a small laugh. You looked back down at the soapy water and that's when you felt like a complete idiot. You were worrying him when you could've been had this conversation.

“I'm an idiot”

“I don’t think so” and you could tell by his voice that he was smirking. “I think you're just really in love with me”

“Ok buddy”. You rolled your eyes, even if he was right.

“It's cute”

“It's embarrassing”

“Loving me or-”

“Being jealous. I haven't been that jealous before with anyone else”

“I'm not like anyone else”

“You're white. You're quite literally like everyone else-” Tomas flicked water your way, some of it getting in your eye.

“I'm gonna kill you”

“You wouldn't. You'd get jealous over the Grim Reaper”. You frowned but he kept smiling that stupid smile that was both loving and antagonistic. Then he laughed. A nice heartfelt laugh that ended up making you crack a smile.

“Are you smiling because I'm laughing?”

“Absolutely not”, you lied.

“You really got a thing for me”

“I've never met you a day in my life”

“That's even more embarrassing then if you're that in love with me”. You went to make another smart comment, but he bumped his shoulder against yours “hey”, he said softly. So soft it threw you off guard. “I think it's cute. You're like a little guard dog”.

“Were you dropped on your head as a baby and now your social cues are scrambled? A guard dog? I'd prefer if you stabbed me. Here-”, you went to grab a knife but he caught your hand. Any other time you would've hated this. Both your hands were soaking and something about the feel of that made you skin crawl, but you guessed you could deal with that.

“I think it's cute that you love me so much. I just wish you'd be more honest about what you feel. I was worried”.

You cringed. You supposed that was your fault. You and your dumb brain making shit complicated, which is something you swore was more of a Tomas thing.

“I'll be better. I promise. I'll start now”

“Now?”

“Now. The texture of you wet hand makes me wanna die. Please unhand me”. He couldn't help but laugh as he let you go, and you couldn't help but laugh as well.

You didn't know what you were laughing at.

You were just happy to be laughing together.

Finally getting back to requests. The crowd goes wild. Tumblr has this big space between lines so I cannot tell if the format is weird and I should add more space or if I’m tweaking. Oh well.

#mk1 #mk1 2023 #mortal kombat 1 #tomas vrbada smoke #tomas vrbada #tomas vrbada x reader #tomas vrbada fluff #smoke x reader #smoke x you #mk1 smoke

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whiskersz · 3 months

Text

Huskerdust - First time Headcanons

Hi guys!! I'm gifting you a little something, this is dedicated to everyone who likes Huskerdust; I hope you enjoy, and warning for NSFW obviously!

If you're a minor please don't interact with this! Thank you!

Angel is a sex worker, and a famous one at that, so of course he takes it for granted that his and Husk’s first time is going to go flawlessly; at the beginning of their relationship he’s actually always jokingly pushing his lover to do something together, until the latter states that he prefers taking things slowly and that just because they’re together now it doesn’t mean that everything needs to be about sex.

He’s slightly taken aback by the other’s authority, dismissing it with a dirty joke about how Husk would be dominant at first but keeping the conversation in mind later. Deep inside he doesn’t believe that Husk would want him only for his personality, and that he truly has no ulterior motives, but the cat demon already proves him wrong by carrying out acts of kindness towards him many times without asking for anything in return.

Still, when the time comes for them to be intimate, Angel is surprised to feel a little nervous; what if after this Husk’s whole attitude changes, and he wants more, and more and more, until what Angel can give him isn’t enough anymore? What if he turns out to be like Valentino – no, he shouldn’t be thinking about him now, Husk reminds him when he notices Angel zoning out before having even started; it’s only them, he holds his hand and asks him if he’s truly ready, even though Angel has hinted that he is many times in the past. Though Husk knows that that wasn’t 100% his true self, so it’s important to him to ask still.

Angel apologises and promises that he’s willing to do this, he’s been waiting for a long time now and so has Husk, the latter just needed a bit more time to get comfortable.

Of course the spider demon is knowledgeable about any sexual act, foreplay included, but he finds himself breathless at how good Husk is at this, at how softly he holds his hand as he leaves a trail of kisses along his body, starting from the side of his lips and ending right above his most private zones, all while his tail wrapped around one of his legs. He’s teasing him but at the same time loving him, gazing at him from time to time and smirking at the soft blush present on his cheeks; Angel, usually brash and loud, finds himself quietly moaning as Husk finally kisses him with a passion he thought everyone had long forgotten in Hell, all the while massaging his thigh.

Their love is slow, intense; Husk has sent him almost over the edge so many times that at this point Angel is practically begging for release, panting softly as his lover, whilst still inside of him, nibbles on his neck; he knows not to leave any actual mark though, as Valentino would be unhappy with it, but with those sharp teeth of his he makes every little bite still meaningful.

As Angel lies in his bed after the act, surrounded by their previously forgotten clothes and fuzzy blankets, he tiredly watches as Husk gets up before him and tidies up everything; he then walks to Angel’s private bathroom and the spider demon curiously listen for any noise that could indicate what he’s doing in there. Once he hears the sound of the faucet of his bathtub it suddenly hits him; Husk wants to take further care of him. He’s not leaving immediately, and he’s not prioritizing himself either, he’s choosing and wanting to show Angel kindness again by performing aftercare.

It’s a bit awkward, sitting in the bathtub together, as Angel’s taller than Husk and yet the bartender insists on letting his boyfriend sit in his lap as he gently washes his body, massages his shoulders, scratches his head with just the tip of his claws while washing his fluffy hair.

They chose this particular day to do this on purpose, as the following day is a free one for both of them; this way, they can take all the time in the world to cuddle once they’re both clean, limbs intertwined and Angel’s giggles filling the room as he listens to Husk softly purr in his chest.

#huskerdust #husk x angel dust #angel dust x husk #husk #husk hazbin hotel #angel dust #angel dust hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel headcanon #huskerdust headcanons

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eyesofshinigami · 4 months

Text

It's The Little Things

Rating: G

CW: None

Tags: Established relationship, fluff, projection (lol), Short and sweet

Prompt: From @shofarshogood "Love is doing the dishes even when it's the worst chore ever"

WC: 900

Written for @steddielovemonth Day 5

If there is one chore Eddie could spend the rest of his life never doing again, it would be doing dishes. He hates it with flaming, raging passion. He’d almost rather be eaten by demobats again, but he would never say as much in front of Steve. It makes him all mopey when he says shit like that, even though Eddie’s pretty sure it was his near death, so he gets to joke about it.

At any rate, Eddie absolutely loathes washing dishes. He hates the feeling of wet food on his hands, the way it gets up under his fingernails. He hates the sound of the sponge squeaking against glass. He especially hates how he can never seem to stay dry while he washes them, either. It never fails, he always ends up a sopping wet mess (along with the floor, the counter, the pile of mail he still hasn’t opened yet…)

He would happily go the rest of his life without ever washing a single dish again.

Thankfully, Steve seems to find doing dishes therapeutic, or some shit. He always tells Eddie that it gives him the chance to zone out, to let his brain turn off and go on autopilot. Which, Eddie can kind of relate to, considering it’s the same sort of zen he finds when he’s folding their clothes. Especially towels. Eddie really likes folding towels.

Anyway, it works out. Eddie washes clothes and Steve does the dishes. It’s a pretty good balance and it means their dishes are always clean and they never run out of laundry.

Except lately, Steve has been swamped. Between working twelve-hour EMT shifts and trying to study for his finals, there just hasn’t been time. The dishes have just… been piling up in the sink. To the point where it’s kind of starting to overflow.

Shamefully, it takes Eddie a little bit longer to notice, considering that it’s not on his usual chore list. It isn’t until he’s having to precariously rest a cereal bowl on the pile so it doesn’t collapse that it actually occurs to him that maybe, just maybe, it’s time to fucking wash the dishes.

He lets out a sigh. God, he hates doing dishes, but… but he knows that Steve is too tired, has too much going on. It wouldn’t kill him to do it just this once, to make sure it’s one more thing his boyfriend doesn’t have to worry about. If he can make Steve’s life just a little bit easier, he can brave some stuck-on food and grimy soapy water.

So, Eddie pulls up his metaphorical big boy panties and grabs the dish soap and starts the tap running. Thankfully, he manages to locate the bright yellow gloves that Steve uses to clean under the sink, which should make this more tolerable. He pops one of his metal mixes into the cassette player and gets to work, bobbing his head and trying not to think about what might lurking under the soapy water.

He lets himself get lost in the repetition of it, scrubbing then rinsing then putting in the drainer that Steve insisted they buy when they moved in together. So lost, in fact, that he doesn’t hear the front door opening or the sound of approaching footsteps, until Steve is suddenly appearing in the doorway.

“Christ!” Eddie yells, almost dropping the slotted spoon he was washing.

“Sorry, baby. But uh… Eds… what are you doing?” Steve asks, motioning to the sink.

Eddie almost says something flip, it’s on the tip of his tongue, but he can see the dark circles under Steve’s eyes, the way his back is hunched. “Oh, uh, doing the dishes. They were piling up and I figured I was off today, I could just do them.”

Steve blinks at him. “But you hate doing the dishes.”

Eddie blinks back. “Yeah, but I knew you’d be home late. Like I said, I figured I could do them and… you know, help you out?”

Steve blinks again, before the sweetest smile breaks out onto his face. Like sunshine after the rain. “I appreciate that, thank you.” Steve steps into his space, wrapping his arms around Eddie and pulling him into a hug. He doesn’t even seem to care that Eddie’s shirt and sweatpants seem to soaked. “You’re the best.”

“I just washed a couple of dishes, Steve,” Eddie tries to joke, but he nuzzles against Steve, the best he can do right now while he’s still wearing these ridiculous rubber gloves. “You’ve been working hard, baby. I just wanted to make things easier for you.”

Steve lets out a shaky sigh. “You do, Eds. Every day. Thank you.” He leans in for a kiss, soft and sweet and thrilling Eddie down to his toes. When Steve pulls back, he pecks Eddie on the lips one more time before he says, “How about we order Chinese tonight? From the takeout place with the cartons, so we don’t have to dirty any more dishes, hmm?”

“Music to my ears, Stevie. Go order and I’ll finish up here, yeah?”

Steve nods and Eddie watches him walk away, seeing the way Steve is still smiling like Eddie just handed him a million bucks or something.

He might still hate it, but Eddie would wash all the dishes in the world to see Steve smile like that every day of the week.

#les writes thing #steddie #steddielovemonth #rating: g #fluff

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ohmykiyo · 11 months

Text

🪦 title ; "don't be jealous." genre ; fluff, ( hint of angst? idk tbh. ) warnings ; not proofread, lower case intended characters ; sakusa, suna, atsumu, osamu, kuroo, kenma 🗝️ jeilly's notes ; i wanna see a jealous kiyoomi and suna stop it rn. reqs are open!

SAKUSA 's frown deepens as he witnesses you getting along a little too well with his cousin.

the way your eyes glimmer and shine so brightly when talking to him. why did you two look so much better as a couple..? and why did it sting to know that it's true?

you bid komori goodbye with a loose hug, waving happily. you skip away to your boyfriend, who's feeling quite sour about the encounter he had to see with his own two eyes.

"hi, 'yoomi." you hum, tip-toeing to press a small kiss to his cheek which he dodges. sending you a sneer, your heart drops a little.

he tsks, walking ahead and not allowing you to catch up with his quick pace.

your heart started beating, and it started beating fast. i know what this is, you think. you're right, you know. and you know because that is your kiyoomi.

and your kiyoomi has trouble expressing how he feels, so whether he crushes your heart or he throws it away, you'll find it. you'll piece it back together for him to hold all over again.

so you catch up to him.

he thinks you don't notice the slight tremble in his hands, or the hint of sparkle in his glossy eyes.

but you do. of course you do, and you stop him.

you grab his hand, relief washing over you like a wave when he squeezes your hand back. "don't be jealous, i'm yours."

that was all he needed before he was back in your arms indulging in the love and affection you shower him with.

SUNA stares daggers into the back of your head, but you seem to avoid the slight burning sensation of his eyes on you a little too well.

he hates the burning feeling in the back of his throat. and he hates how he's feeling it because he has to watch you enjoy the company of his good friend, osamu.

osamu's teaching you some tips and tricks for your culinary classes you were required to take and suna can't do anything but watch in disbelief.

he doesn't know what's setting him off.. is it the way osamu instructs you gently with his hands hovering over yours, or the way you laugh a little too loudly at his stupid jokes as it rings endlessly in suna's ears.

he scowls, stomping out of the rather empty classroom.

you notice his absence, looking around curiously. you give osamu an apologetic smile, promising him that you owe him one. he lets out a laugh, shooing you away.

you chase after your little boyfriend, catching up in to him in the hallway.

"what's wrong, rin?" you ask, hands grazing over his knuckles gently. he doesn't want to pull away.. but it was a stupid reflex of some sort.

he can't explain the way his heart sinks at your reaction. his groans internally, stopping his quick footsteps before turning to face you.

he sighs, "just go finish up whatever the fuck you're doing in that culinary class."

he waves you away dismissively, stuffing his hands in his pockets before trying to make a depressing getaway.

you let out a small breath. "don't be jealous, rin."

he gets taken aback by your sudden remark.

he also lets out a little huff before turning around once more to reach your figure.

"was not jealous, excuse you." he grumbles, leaning his head into your shoulder.

your hand comes up to scratch gently at his scalp, "lie all you want," you pause, hand moving to cup his cheek. "i'm all yours either way."

ATSUMU shouldn't let his pettiness get the best of him. but he can't help but grumble every five fucking seconds because you're busy tending to kita and helping him with his stupid "captain duties".

the way you scuttle around the court, kita noticeably beside you, carrying heavy bottles for you and holding your clipboard.

he lets out an exasperated sigh, which osamu and suna finally acknowledge.

"could ya shut the fuck up?" osamu groans, slapping his brother's empty fucking skull.

suna snorts, recording the incident. "why so sappy, atsumu?"

the blonde only grumbles, talking his shit like usual and telling the annoying duo to "fuck off" and to "leave him the fuck alone".

they snort uncontrollably, opting to skip away from the ticking time bomb beside them.

atsumu was not getting any better. when he witnesses kita lay a hand on your shoulder, he sees red.

"kita!" he shouts from across the court, almost speeding to your side.

you look confused, moving your figure to face him. "'tsum? you oka-"

he grabs kita by the collar of his jersey, getting all up in his face. you huff exasperatedly, slapping your clipboard onto the dumb blonde's head which causes him to release kita who is standing there with a blank gaze.

"kita, you alright?" you ask, examining him, he nods at you before you before turning to atsumu with a darkened glare.

you drag your boyfriend away, lecturing him the whole time.

pinching the bridge of your nose, you look at him disappointedly. "did you have to harass your fucking captain like that?"

he shrugs. "he touched ma girl. didn't like that."

your eyes widen, not with disbelief but more with rage. "are fuck fucking stupid? there was a god damn spiderweb on my shoulder."

now his eyes widened, turning red in embarrassment. he mumbles a low apology, turning away from your burning glare.

"'tsum, for a smart setter, you're stupid." you groan, massaging your temple. "don't be jealous, alright? i'm all yours even when you're just plain annoying."

he lets out a little snort, it's laced with a bit of guilt, but you don't have to know that. he grabs your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm while mumbling more apologies for his stupid behavior.

OSAMU watches intently as you chat away with his airhead of a brother.

he notices the things you do not. he sees the sneaky touches that atsumu does, like rubbing off a couple crumbs at the corner of your lip. or the way he leans into you slightly when you say something funny.

he notices it all, and it's rubbing him in the wrong direction.

he's in the kitchen, watching it all go down in the living room as his patience thins more and more.

he's gripping his glass of water so hard he doesn't notice the way his knuckles turn white. yet, he notices the way atsumu moves a stray hair out of your face as your eyes never leave the tv.

he loses it.

"atsumu, get yer fuckin' hands off of y/n if ya still wanna see the sun tomorrow." he growls.

atsumu's eyes widen, immediately getting up to hide behind you. "y/n, yer man's tryna kill me! save ma ass!"

"okay, princess, that's enough." you shove him off.

getting up to cool your grandpa of a boyfriend down. you grab his arm as he's still visibly fuming over the encounter.

"what's with you, 'samu?" you ask, opening the door to his room before shutting it quietly.

the gray-head grumbles a bit, refusing to give you an answer.

you sit him down on his bed as you kneel to his level to make sure his eyes are on you. his eyes stay trained on his knees, refusing to acknowledge your efforts to comfort his sorry ass.

your hands caress his thigh, looking up at him gently. "talk to me, babe."

he finally caves, "didn't like the way 'tsum was touchin' ya."

you smile. you move up to sit beside him on his bed, hands going straight to his hair. you thread through the soft locks, allowing him to ease up. "you jealous, baby?"

he senses your teasing tone and rolls his eyes. "maybe. no. never been jealous, who d'ya think yer talkin' to?" he scoffs.

"don't be jealous, 'samu. you're my favorite twin." you grin.

he hides the red tinting his cheeks and the small grin on his lips by diving into the crook of your neck.

KUROO eavesdrops attentively as you converse with your old friends in karasuno.

he wasn't the type to eavesdrop. you have your own business and he doesn't need to know every bit and piece, but he couldn't help but watch the dark-headed setter as he blushes at your every word, inching closer to your figure.

he sees everything. and he hates it. he can't possibly fathom the idea of you leaving him for that first year.

he struts up to your group confidently, looming over your figure and the setter from karasuno.

you immediately notice his presence, an even bigger smile making its way to your lips.

"oh, kags, this is kuroo, he's the captain of nekoma." she beams.

kageyama, the setter, only gives him a stiff nod and kuroo expects more from you, like why would you leave out the part where you call him your boyfriend?

kuroo clears his throat, "i'm also y/n's boyfriend, nice to meet you."

he seriously had to emphasize "boyfriend" before extending out an arm which kageyama hesitantly shakes before pulling away quickly.

"yeah. nice to meet you too." he mumbles, trailing off.

the raven-head finally bids you goodbye, walking in a fast pace back to his team.

you turn to kuroo to give him an unimpressed look. "really? did you seriously get jealous over a first year?"

he smiles guiltily, "maybe?"

you roll your eyes, walking away from his tall figure. he only follows you around like a lost puppy, whining every few minutes.

you probably walk around for a good ten minutes, trying to get rid of this over-sized cat following you around stupidly.

"okay, jesus christ. what?" you snap after he whines loudly for the 7th time.

he pouts, causing his cheeks to puff out slightly. you hold in the urge to pinch his cheek. "i'm sorryyy, y/n."

his frown deepens as you sigh. "don't be jealous, tetsu." you glance at him, finally caving as you pinch his cheek. "i prefer guys with bedhead hair." you tease.

he groans out a little "hey!" and a small "not funny, babe." before walking you to class, an arm wrapped snug around your waist.

KENMA taps away on his phone, eager to beat the level he's been struggling on for days. his eyes don't make their way to you, so he doesn't realize the event happening before him.

kuroo leans over your seated figure, helping you with chemistry homework. his fingers trace over the words in the textbook, explaining the formula and going over your mistakes.

kenma finally looks up, eyes narrowing at the sight.

"what are you doing, kuroo?" he asks, his voice quiet and soft.

kuroo looks behind him for a short moment, before shifting his attention back onto you. "just helping y/n with chemistry."

kenma's eyesbrows raise hesitantly, rolling his eyes before playing his game.

he's quickly distracted by the series of laughs and giggles, he wasn't exactly annoyed at the laughter alone.. he was annoyed that you and his best friend are enjoying each other's company a little too much.

he grumbles lowly, "keep it down.."

you manage to make out a little "sorry, kozu" in the midst of the laughter.

kenma's expression sours as he sees kuroo lean a little too close to you.

he gets frustrated, putting his phone away and getting up to grab you by the wrist and pull you away from the rooster-head beside you.

"quit cozying up to kuroo." he grunts, finally letting go of your wrist.

you snort, "i wasn't..?"

he only rolls his eyes, nestling beside you and being a little more clingy than usual.

"you so were."

"i so wasn't."

"you were."

"you jealous?"

he pauses. sneering at you with a huff. "'m not."

you laugh lightly. "don't be jealous. you're the only one who'd help me beat the enderman in minecraft."

he rolls his eyes with a smile, "anything for you."

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jamietwat · 6 months

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Time loop fic set during season 2 when Jamie’s back around but Roy isn’t coaching yet where it takes Jamie and Roy an embarrassing amount of do-overs before they finally realize they’re both caught in it because for days Jamie goes over to Keeley’s place and antagonizes Roy in basically the exact same way because he thinks making the same stupid old man jokes all the time is funny anyway and any slight changes in conversation he just assumes is because he showed up at a different time or worded his own end of the conversation a little differently but Roy’s still basically saying the same grumpy old man shit anyway

And Roy makes basically the same retorts every time because he stands by it and he assumes Jamie shows up at slightly different times looking for Keeley as a butterfly effect of his morning with Keeley being different but that there’s no escaping him showing up to be a little bitch at some point

And like they both sometimes tell people but not the same people on the same version of the day so Keeley individually thinks that both of them are losing it on different versions of the day before eventually they both mention it

And then on like day 5 of the same day over and over Jamie doesn’t show up and Roy is irrationally angry about it but thinks it must be somehow connected to the fact that he was acting absolutely insane with Keeley trying to explain what’s happening while she thought he was fucking with her and somehow that made her brush off Jamie and him not show up or something?

And it takes Jamie showing up at 100 and just tearing Roy apart and going on about what a dick he is (which isn’t unusual but isn’t how this routine goes) and weirdly fixating on how he was excited to meet Roy but then he ended up just being an old washed up prick that never even gave him a chance because Jamie figures he can just show up, yell at Roy for all the reasons he’s so fixated on being a little asshole with a grudge against Roy in particular to get it out of his system, and then never have to deal with any consequences of Roy finding out about the whole embarrassing having been a big fan and expecting it to be so cool to play on a team with him just to immediately get offended that Roy didn’t give a shit about him and his bullshit and so Jamie ended up hating him thing

But instead Roy just scowls at him and is like “that’s not what you’re supposed to say” and Jamie’s like “…what.” And Roy’s like I’ve done this day like ten times already and either I make Keeley think I’m certifiable first thing in the morning and you don’t show up or else you show up looking for her and then make the same completely uncreative old man jokes at me and Jamie’s like what the fuck I’ve been doing this same day over and over and you’ve been making the same shitty jokes that weren’t funny the first time over and over again

And Keeley’s just sitting there watching this like “Are you two fucking with me? I can’t believe you two got along long enough to plan whatever the fuck this is.” And honestly, the fact that she couldn’t imagine them ever getting along to plan this stupid joke and agree on it is the main reason she actually starts to believe them that time in an okay either I’ve completely lost it or you two are stuck in a time loop kind of way and when she starts going on about how every time loop movie there’s like a moral the person has to learn and maybe they’re both caught in it because they’re supposed to learn how to get along and be friends and Roy’s supposed to take Ted’s offer and that’s how Jamie finds out about the Ted trying to convince Roy to coach thing

But they’re both like fuck no absolutely not, that’s not it and I’d rather be stuck in this stupid fucking loop forever than voluntarily spend time with him let alone get along (as if Jamie hasn’t shown up to annoy him practically every version of the day and Roy hasn’t just been sitting there waiting for him every time) and then they actively avoid each other for like a week’s worth of versions of the same day before they start considering that Keeley might have been on to something but it still takes three more days of pointedly not seeking the other out and waiting for the other to give in first before they run into each other at Ted’s place anyway and finally start actually swapping information they’ve picked up from their loops and what they’ve tried changing to try to get out and discussing ways to try to get out of it while Ted’s just sitting there cracking jokes and making annoyingly similar to what Keeley said comments about how in time loop and body switch things it’s always that you have to learn to see things from another perspective and be nicer to someone you don’t usually see eye to eye with before you can get out (Ted doesn’t actually believe they’re stuck in a time loop though, he’s just going well weird hypothetical but I’ll play along if this almost certainly made up scenario is what it takes for them to have an actual conversation with each other)

#Roy’s going to be PISSED when he shows up agreeing to coach and start right then one of the versions of the day insisting he’s only doing #it to get out of the day or rule it out as the answer and instead he LOVES IT and then wakes up on the same fucking day anyway #So he not only has to admit that he actually wants to coach and other people were right but he’s also right fucking back again anyway #But he’s also still in his coach everyone but Jamie era at that point and he’s gonna have to not be before they get out #I have more thoughts but I am tired #Jamie not showing up actually had nothing to do with anything Roy or Keeley did he was just trying doing other shit #Might eventually write this as like a pair of fics in a series one from Roy’s pov and one from Jamie’s pov where their versions of the same #days get posted in the same chapters of each #This is another thing for the pile of things I might turn into something eventually #Ted Lasso #Jamie Tartt #Roy Kent #RoyJamie #Keeley Jones #Roy x Keeley x Jamie #Mine

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noowayybroo · 1 year

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Uh... You give Leon sloppy?

Not very creative w/ my titles, or anything really...

Characters: Leon Kennedy, Reader

Warnings: Smut ofc, don't look if you don't like sexy time or if you're too young to do sexy time, you feel? Man gets head, subby Leon, bit of begging, reader isn't exactly dom tho, Leon is just kinda needy. mmmm nom nom nom tasty, GN reader cuz we love being included!!! No mention of age or relationship either, he could be your roommate, your stepbro, your teacher LMAO unleash your wildest fantasies ig?? Gets REAL sloppy so if you have a spit kink, enjoy! If you don't... you poor thing.

Dear young people: Go play Minecraft.

Leon always thought that whenever you claimed to be 'great at head', you were just kidding. You had to be covering up some insecurity orrr... just teasing him, he reckoned.

...Of course he'd been curious, he would have been whether you'd been the closest of lovers or the slightest of strangers, but he quickly came to learn something:

"N-no joke!", Leon breathes in shy bliss, sat there on the couch before you, doing his best to keep those desperate, watery puppy-dog eyes trained on you. Whilst one strong arm digs into the sofa beside him, desperate for some semblance of stability, the other holds up his increasingly much-too-warm shirt - the line of it restrained just above his heaving chest, glistening with fine perspiration, all thanks to you.

You? Well, you're on your knees just between his legs, and let me assure you, it's a pretty view.

At first, you'd begun by slowly tracing a cupped hand up and down the perfect length of his member, before incorporating saliva and kisses into the slippery mess you were making. Leon's tip, in response, was flushed as red as his cheeks, a copious flow of precum seeping down into your frothing, slobbery equation.

Small 'aaah' s and 'mmmm's escape Leon's lips at this stage, his breath catching whenever you pull away, voiding his feel of you where it was oh so delicious. You made his heart skip a beat in other ways, too: when your eyes met his flustered gaze, when you slowly trailed the tip of your tongue from his pulsing base to tip, or when he could hear your own appreciative giggles and breaths. You were having fun, and he adored each little piece of proof of that fact.

"Come on, big boy", you pout, eyelashes fluttering as you gaze up at his drooping lids and slack jaw, "I haven't even started sucking yet-" Leon's response is a guttural yet suppressed low groan as his legs tremble a little at the thought.

Yet. He muses to himself, unable to peel his blown pupils away from the hypnotic movement of your hand.

Your wrist and arm move with such ease, he thinks, the mere act appears to be a simple, beautiful and natural act in itself. He could cum just like this, trying his best not to thrust into your hand as you milk him in just the right way. He wanted so badly to feel your mouth around him, to be enveloped deep within your warmth, and so, he simply would not admit that he didn't need your throat to finish.

Finally, you're ready to give it to him. He knows that his patience is soon to pay off. Stomach tensing and eyes squinting, Leon watches apprehensively as you lower your head, surrounding him.

Your warmth.

your wetness.

The pressure of your closed lips

The feel of your tongue.

They all have him sighing in satisfaction. And when you move, oh, when you move, he can't help but offer you more moans whines, begging you to continue.

"Please... please fff...", "Fucckk~~", "Uahhh fuckk... So... so good."

His words are slurred as his head lolls back once you start to move. He's facing the ceiling but he isn't looking at it. Mind and vision so clouded by pleasure, all Leon can really do is zone out as the sensation of you washes him away. You bob up and down along him, licking and sucking passionately from a good way down, back up to the tip, over and over. Sometimes, you switch things up, focusing your tongue on his tip or pushing further, devouring his cock with your throat, and each time, Leon lets out a raspy, thick moan.

A blind hand finds the back of your head, entangling with your hair as he holds you. He's not forcing you, or trying to move or control you. In fact, Leon is so infatuated, so desperate to be further wound up in you. His arm is limp, simply following your strong movements as he holds you endearingly. You're unsure, ironically, which of you he's trying to reassure. This earns him a little giggle from you, which of course sends him beaming.

Looking to surprise him, you reposition yourself before suddenly taking his cock as deep as you can, nose pressed against his chiselled abdomen. Your eyes water. Trying to suppress your gagging, you do your best to breathe through your nose, but your throat prickles with the pain of being used. No need to hide it, though. Leon is in a world of his own, his head rolls further back, his back arched and his hand leaving your head to curl reflexively around nothing as he trembles, euphoric. Even your sounds are drowned out as wails of pleasure fill the room, accompanied by the couch creaking as Leon's hips buck against your face, shoving himself impossibly deep inside you.

Leon doesn't have much brainpower left. All of his blood's in his cock, and his power in his hips. So, while he does care about your ability to breathe, he can't contain himself as he continues to squirm, legs desperately trying to lift himself, pressing deeper and deeper into you where he feels he belongs. His own shameful sounds, combined with the wet, slobbering and faint choking you emit, bring Leon closer and closer to the edge as he practically sobs, doing his best to resist the primal urge to grab your head and force it to stay there around him. He's trying so hard to be good for you.

Leon finally glances down, eyes discovering your reddening face as the inevitable he'd prepared for occurs: you pull away. With a loud gasp, you lift your head from his twitching phallus, a line of thick, bubbly saliva bridging the gap between your once-connected parts. You waste no time recovering breath though, he's close, and it'd be cruel to tease him any further.

"Where do you wanna cum?" You ask softly, raspy voice choked by saliva as you return to pleasing him, sweet eyes meeting his, expectant of an answer.

Leon is more than surprised to have had the choice, which he expresses with something of a chuckled moan... He ponders for a while, once more getting lost in the feel of you on him so lovingly, but knows he has to decide soon, or it'll be in your mouth no matter what...

OK GUYS BARE WITH ME I WANTED TO TRY SOMETHING SO PLEASE BARE WITH ME I HAD AN IDEA!!! So, my idea is... based on where you want him to cum just find the prompt title below and read!! The stuff will be separated with "----"s! There's 2 options in this fic, either on yer fayce or in yer throat! :> Happy reading!

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

"F---fuckk... On... on your face... please", Leon hisses. He really wanted to be buried in your throat once more, but a small part of him hoped he'd have a chance to another time after this. Well, that accompanied by the thought that this would be his last chance, his final attempt to claim you as his swayed his mind. He needed to make good on the image that had just plastered the walls of his mind: Your sweet, sweet, hot face, painted with his seed.

Humming and nodding obediently, picking up the pace, you work Leon closer and closer to his release as he does his very best to watch you, worshipping you: a master at work. He bites his bottom lip as he stares back down at you, barely able to blink for fear he'll awake from this blissful dream. Suddenly, though, it becomes time.

"Oh... Ohh shit I'm gonna... I'm gonna c-cum I- I'm..." Leon Groans, squirming back to help you release him in time. As his cock springs free from your sopping wet lips with a soft 'pop', it lands with an audible 'plap' on the taught skin of your face. You thought you'd have to continue working him, replacing the stimulation your mouth no-longer provided, but the view of your perfect face, topped with his lucky, lucky member had Leon hurtling over the edge like a dramatic car-crash in a 90's film.

It throbbed...

It spurted...

Hot, thick ropes flew from Leon's cock, generously garnishing every inch of your beaming, reddened face. His hand replaces yours on it before you get a chance, further milking himself onto you, standing as you kneel before him. He moans, throws his head back, the image of you below him, claimed as his own, far too pleasurable in the moment.

"Ahhhh.... G-God..." He lets out another expression of enjoyment amidst his heavy breathing as his cock rests above your face once more, twitching and throbbing, still pulsing and full of energy, as if threatening to be ready to go again all too soon. A strong, large hand rests as your face, replacing his cock which is held by his other. Before you know it, his thumb is slowly wiping some of his cum from your face, and feeding it into your open, awaiting maw. He hums in satisfaction as you close your mouth around the digit, sucking obediently. His sudden dirtiness makes you feel... hot... inside...

Your heaving breaths pull his attention back to you, and he promptly crouches down to pull you back onto the couch beside him, leaning into you lovingly as he does.

"So..." He sighs, not yet trusting himself to be able to form a coherent sentence, "How long were you planning on letting me miss out on that?" He sounds amused and is still jokey, which is a great sign. You wonder what this means for the future of your relationship now.

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

"I-in..." Leon groans, choked up over his own words. "Inside... please", he moans, fighting to keep his eyes open to watch for your response as they threaten to shut in pleasure. You nod hastily, excited by his request, fueled by his pleasure. You pick up the pace, stroking his length rapidly with one hand as you consume him with your mouth. He moans, he groans and he whimpers, hips bucking wildly and hands returning to perch on your head.

As soon as you give him that silent, affirmative dip of the head, his hands become forceful. Raw, horny energy prompting him to push down on your head like some sea-dwelling monster trying to drown their victim. His tip forces its way back between the tight muscles of your throat, causing you to sputter and choke, further coating his slip-n-slide of a cock as he bottoms out inside of you, groaning, almost yelling as he meets his release.

"Ffffuck fuck fuck fuck... Shitttt..."

Leon's cock throbs and twitches as he hastily pulls it out from your throat, which was too tight and strained to even feel the hot ropes which were spilled into it seconds ago. He cradles your face in his hands as his cock pops free from your mouth, slapping down to rest on your face as it jerks and throbs in gratification. It's hot and warm, even against your sizzling skin. You pull away to cough slightly and catch some much needed air. Leon's also breathing heavily, doing his best to come down from his high.

Lovingly, he stares at you until his lidded gaze meets your proud, yet slightly nervous one (he was just so... big), before he whispers, voice scratchy yet more than amused, "Where'd you learn to do all that?" He helps you up to sit beside him as his mind wonders, picturing the thousand ways he'd like to feel that again and again. His eyes read nothing but awe.

------------------------------------- I think the choice thing is cool because it helps make the fic more inclusive... Some people might really not like the idea of gettin' baby batter injected into their windpipes (I can tell you, it's not pleasant), and others might not like the idea of it clinging to their face... on the contrary, some might love either. I know this disrupts the flow of the fic a bit, for which I hastily apologise, but I wanted to see if anyone liked this idea. I was even thinking about using Links to make a choice game... which could be fun, but I'm not sure.

Hope you enjoyed n if you want something please ask I love you all!

#leon kennedy #re leon #leon kennedy fanfic #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy imagine #resident evil x reader #resident evil #smut #multi choice #re4 leon

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