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rowdydevs · 8 months ago

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Home Movie - Rafe Cameron One Shot

+18 Minor DNI

Rafe x Girlfriend!Reader

⭐️ republished ⭐️

+18 Minor DNI

🪄 Warning: SMUT & Swearing, Pet names, no use of Y/N, birthday sex, first-time anal fingering, unprotected p in v, oral (male receiving), recording a sex tape, hair pulling, Rafe talks you through it.

📖 You and Rafe spend some quality time together after your birthday celebration, where you catch all the fun on tape.

2.9k <- almost all smut oops

Reader’s POV:

Your fingers comb through the back of Rafe’s hair, making him groan. “You know how hard it is to get you alone, princess?” Rafe chuckles, breathily as you amble toward the grand staircase. His face melts into your neck; lips meeting your skin, making your head fall to the side. “I’m glad everyone could be here for you, baby.” He mumbles against your neck, working his way up to your ear, sending chills down your spine. “Fuck. I hate sharin’ you though.”

“And, I hate sharing you. Tonight was perfect, baby. Thank you. Seriously, this has been the best birthday ever.” Rafe pulls back slightly, meeting your gaze, his blue eyes sparkling. The corners of his rosy lips curl into a smile.

“That makes me so happy, sweetheart.”

Rafe sets you down, not losing contact, lowering himself to your lips. He kisses you deeply, consuming all of your senses. His rich cologne, the sweetness of his taste, and green apple Jolly Ranchers, he can help but snag from your purse. He moans into your kiss, music to your ears as the touch of his rough hands glides higher and higher up your bare legs. He backs you up against the wall, tongue tangling with yours.

“You still up for this?” He mumbles between kisses.

“Mmm… Mhmm.”

“You’re gonna look so good on camera, princess,” he rasps, the vibrations of his low tone tickle your ear, making you powerless. “Oh, I got you a gift. You wanna put it on for me? I’ll set up the camera.” You bite your lip and nod.

“After you, pretty.”

A smile rolls across your lips as you see the mess of gifts arranged on the counter, a spray of rose gold and blush-hued balloons lofted on the ceiling. “Rafe,” you sigh, happily as you take in the additional gifts added, a lovely bouquet of roses, your favorite pink wine, and a white apparel box with a red bow.

Rafe walks behind you, body pressing against your back, arms shrouded around your waist as you unfasten the satin, undoing the knot. You draw back the top, plucking out the tissue paper; letting out a sinful little laugh. There it sits, a VHS C resting on a nest of red lace lingerie.

Snagging the VHS you pass it to Rafe. He wastes no time, popping back the lid; pulling out the smaller cassette, jamming it into the camera. He turns back to you cupping your cheeks in his large hands, kissing your forehead, your nose, your lips. “Be a good girl and get dressed for me. Yeah?”

“Jesus Christ, princess,” he groans, lustfully as his bare chest presses flush with yours. “How are you so sexy?” Rafe whispers against your lips, deepening the exchange a moment later, claiming your lips in a passionate kiss. His fingers drift into your hair, pulling you even closer. You reach down, stroking your hand over his clothed cock. “Lemme see you.” He draws back to take a better look, moaning lowly as his eyes drink you in.

Rafe spins you under his finger, his darkened eyes trailing from the tips of your black heels to the top of your lace-trimmed thigh-high stockings. His finger traces the little straps, clipping your hosiery in place; following the line to the garter belt cinched around your waist.

“This is one selfish fuckin’ gift,” he chuckles, darkly.

“I love it, baby. I feel beautiful-”

“You are beautiful. Damn… You’re divine, angel,” he moans before you can say much more, lighting you ablaze.

“You ready?” Your hands rest lightly against his chest, feeling his heart racing underneath, matching your own.

“Haven’t thought about much else today, princess.”

“Neither have I,” you whisper as your lips brush against his, feeling the anticipation build.

His large palms circle the fullness of your ass. “Shit…” He groans, drawing out the word as his hand meets only skin. His arm reaches further around your hip, fingers skimming your ass, reaching as far as he can, the tips of his fingers swirling your arousal dipping into your entrance. “You don’t even have to take these off.”

“How ‘bout that?” You add, breathily, fanning the flame. He doesn’t respond, just a hungry stare as he picks you up, shifting the two of you to the mattress, looking like he could absolutely devour you. He reaches down, practically ripping the button of his slacks open, going on all fours toward you as you move back to the headboard.

He kisses your forehead, retreating on the bed. One snap open, then the next. Rafe unclasps your garter belt straps, peeling the stockings off your thigh and calf, kissing and kissing some more as he reveals more and more skin. His fingers never lose contact, landing on your panties again.

Rafe drops his hips thrusting and rolling his rock-hard bulge into you. You can feel the chill of the slick between your thighs making you release an eager whimper. “Need you,” you whine.

“You still wanna try, sweetheart?”

You nod rapidly at him before lowering your gaze, taking in his perfect form, tanned skin and thick muscles. His blonde fringe dusts his forehead, brushing against you as he continues to torture you with a few more hindered thrusts.

“I need you inside of me,” you breathe, tugging at his boxers, drawing them as low as you can before Rafe yanks them off completely. His hard dick stands straight, weeping at the tip. You wrap your hand around his thick shaft, swiping your thumb across his tip before taking it between your lips, purring at the taste.

“I’m obsessed with you,” he mumbles under his breath, his body tacking you to the mattress.

“Fuck. Me.”

“Anything for you. Hands 'n knees, sweetheart.”

You roll over underneath him as he rises on his knees, moving back slightly for you to assume the position. You rest your forearms on the bed, ass in the air.

“Like this?” You ask, looking over your shoulder, making his eyes roll back.

“Just like that,” he groans as he takes hold of your curves, spreading your cheeks slightly. You watch a devilish smirk stretch on his lips. His eyes drift to the camera, checking his angle, making sure to get the perfect shot.

He draws his hand back slapping your ass cheek, a satisfying clap cracks through the room. Rafe snares your hips, towing you closer. You relax your body a little more, the sway of your spine deepening.

Rafe’s rough fingers meet your clit, making you release a throaty moan. “Such a pretty pussy,” he groans as he works a little further back, toying with your entrance, running his fingers through your folds before slapping your cunt. “Always so wet for me.”

“I’m so wet for you,” you pant. “Please, Rafe. S-Shit-” You’re cut short by a new sensation, as Rafe rubs his thumb over your taut hole using your slick as lube. He runs a line of spit down, making you release a little gasp as he circles a little quicker before pressing it inside, making you clutch the sheets.

“Good?” A smile spreads on his perfect lips.

“So fucking good,” you moan. Rafe draws his finger out, pulling out a moan from your trembling lips. Rafe presses against you again, his pointer finger replacing his thumb.

“Want me to keep goin’?”

“Yes. Fuck, Rafe… Don’t stop,” you whimper.

You watch as Rafe wraps his fist around his dick as well. Your entire body starts to throb, heart banging in your chest as Rafe pumps his long cock at the same tempo as his finger, working in and out of you. A bead of precum drips from his swollen tip onto the comforter below.

Is he gonna fuck me too?

You feel heat spread across your already hot skin as he answers your question. His fat cockhead presses against your entrance, making your fingers twist in the sheets, gripping tight, eyes squeezed as he glides inside your pussy.

“O-Oh, Rafe. I- Mmm…” He sinks balls deep, the skin of his body pressed against yours, making you cry out. He lets you adjust to his size and the new sensation.

“Please…” You manage, wanting desperately for him to move.

“Gotta use your words, baby girl. There somethin’ you want?”

“Fuck me,” you whine.

“There’s my good girl,” he grunts, rocking into you at a familiar tempo, working his fingers in tandem with his thrusts.

“Oh my god,” you gasp, in ecstasy as he adds another, filling you fuller than before.

“Jesus Christ,” he huffs. Rafe curls his digits inside your ass, pumping both a little quicker, making you tighten around him more. “Feels so good, baby… G-Goddamn,” he pants between ruts.

“So good,” you cry.

Rafe’s palms the arch of your ass with his other hand, spanking your cheek before gliding it forward, forcing your body a little lower. He feeds off your whines and moans, searching for that perfect angle to send you over the edge.

“Right there,” you cry.

“Like this?” He asks in a taunting tone, using your words from before. “Right there, sweetheart?”

“Yes. Yes.”

A cocky smile spreads on his lips as he watches you carefully. The clapping of skin fills the room along with the lewd squelching of your cunt. “Faster,” you snivel.

“Mhmm?”

“Harder,” you plead through quivering lips, spit seeping out the sides of your mouth.

“Yeah?” He bullies. His hand takes a grip on your ass, rough thrusts with his fingers and cock making your body weak.

“Gonna cum.”

“Mmm… Squeezin’ me so tight. S-Shit,” he stammers.

You scream out his name, pussy fluttering around his length as you cum harder than you ever have before. Your toes curl tight, hands weaved in the sheets as you flood his cock with your release.

Your lashes beat to a close, muscles settling around him as his fingers pull out. “Mmm…” Rafe growls from behind you as his hand rounds your hips. He grinds his cock slowly, just rough enough to make the plush of your ass recoil.

“Felt so good, Rafe,” you mewl in exhaustion, feeling his hand sail up the bend of your spine, raking into your hair.

“You liked that, baby? You want more?”

“Yeah. Wanna make you cum, daddy.”

“Look at the camera for me, darlin’,” Rafe rasps, taking a tighter grip on your strands, guiding your fucked-out smile to the lens. You blink your eyes, doing your best to focus, ears ringing slightly.

“So fuckin’ beautiful… Holy shit,” he moans as he continues to fuck into you nice and slow. “I wanna go a little slower this time,” he whispers. “That alright with you, baby doll?”

“That’s perfect.”

“Come here, sweetheart,” he calls for you.

The pads of Rafe’s calloused fingertips skate up your thighs, finding your dripping cunt. He runs a few small circles on your clit as you scratch your nails up his thigh. He lets out a deep moan as you apply a little pressure, rolling his heavy balls in your small hand.

“Can you suck me clean, baby?”

“Fuck, daddy… Please,” you sigh, dreamily as you slot yourself between his strong thighs.

“Open,” he rasps, making you flatten your watering tongue. He inserts his thumb pressing down on it before inserting his cock nice and slow. “Close…” You wrap your lips around his length, feeling it strain on your tongue. “Suck, sweetheart.” You taste his essence, paired with a hint of your own.

“You’re lips look so pretty around my dick.” You take him to the back of your throat, sucking him off to the tip, eyes locked on his. “Co'mere, baby,” he croons, guiding you back in, kissing your lips, taking in the taste as well. His kiss is unhurried and deep, his tongue rolling slowly with yours, making you light-headed

Rafe pushes you back onto the bed, mounting you quickly, leaning his toned frame over your own. His kisses journey lower and lower on your body, kissing and re-kissing your skin, breathing in your perfume as his hands play as well.

His ringed fingers circle your breasts before pressing them together. He growls in satisfaction, kissing the mounds of your breasts. He flicks his pink tongue across your hardened nipple, sending chills across your body.

“Shit, baby. Look at you,” he sighs, marveling at your curves, pinching your nipples between his thumb and forefinger. He rolls your pebbled skin roughly making pleasure spur between your thighs, causing you to shudder out a breath. “Fuck. I love your body, honey,” he groans. Rafe crawls closer, a boyish smile on his lips as he lowers himself to your ear, the warmth of his breath making a flighty giggle flee your lips. “I’m fuckin’ your tits later.”

“Yeah,” you smile as you tuck yourself into his arms.

“Neither can I,” you breathe, spreading your thighs a little wider as he takes his shaft in his hand.

You watch as he slides his cock into you slowly, plunging in with the wetness of your first orgasm. “Fuckkk. That feels so damn good,” he groans. Rafe begins to roll his hips into you. You can see all of his muscles at work as he holds himself up with his forearms, his gold chain keeps cadence with his thrusts.

It’s the perfect pace, the perfect depth, allowing you to savor him, every vein, and ridge, the curve of his swollen head dragging against your sweet spot already.

You look down, watching as he stretches you out; cock glistening with your cum. “It’s like you were made for me, baby,” he pants, breathily, pulling you from your daze, back to his beautiful eyes.

“I am…” you whisper.

Rafe’s hand works up your arm, fingers intertwining with your own. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Rafe,” you whimper as he pins your hand above your head. His lips meet yours, kissing you passionately as he fucks you close.

Your nails scratch into his hair, making Rafe moan into your mouth. You dig your heels into the mattress, close not close enough as you meet his thrusts causing your skin to slap together.

He presses himself a little deeper making you wail. Rafe’s body trembles, hips hitching at the sound of your bliss fighting himself to maintain his slower pace.

“Feels so good, Rafe,” you cry.

“So, so good. Shit. I’m gonna be leaking out of you all night, sweetheart. That what you want?”

“Wanna feel you all night,” you sigh.

He chuckles darkly, his deep voice vibrates against your skin just below your ear. “My dirty fuckin’ girl.” Rafe grabs his pillow from beside your head, placing it underneath you, changing positions slightly.

He pumps into you, building up speed. Your body starts to tighten around him, your finish surely coming soon. He separates from you, gripping your hips, thrusting at a rapid pace.

“Fuck, Rafe,” you moan, fiercely.

“Are you close?”

“Yes,” you whine, making him smile.

“You’ll cum, princess, but not until I say you can,” he orders through jagged breaths.

“Oh, fuck!” You yell, loudly as he spits on your pussy, rubbing circles onto your sensitive bud. You grit your teeth, muscles strained as you hold back your pleasure. “I can’t take it-” You huff.

“You will,” he grunts. Your eyes slam shut as he brushes his fingers from side to side.

“Rafe, please!” You plead. He smiles, his hand moving quicker causing you to grip the sheets.

“Cum for me, princess,” he orders, and you let it all go.

“F-Fuck, Rafe,” you sob, feeling your release, thigh shaking, back arching. Your wetness leaks from your pussy as he continues to pound into you.

Rafe throws his hips, pulsing deep inside as he fills you completely, his cum bursting out the seams, wetting his bed below. He thrusts slowly, brows threaded tight, milking out his last bits of pleasure.

Rafe leans down kissing you softly. “That was amazing,” he whispers through his rapid breaths as you cup his sweat-sheened cheeks in your hands.

“Fuck. That was so good,” you gust, doing your best to catch your breath.

“Let me shut it off. Okay?”

You nod, nose brushing against his, kissing him gently as he draws out. “Forgot that was on,” you giggle as you enfold your naked body in sheets, watching as he saunters toward the camera.

“Me too, sweetheart. It’s perfect. This is fuckin’ perfect,” he hails, holding the little cassette between his fingers, carefully setting it back in the VHS. He walks away, running his fingers through his hair, his bubble-butt bouncing slightly with each step.

“Where are you going?” You giggle.

“Cake,” he answers, merrily, turning around with it in hand, sucking some pink frosting off his finger. “Tastes like your pussy.” You roll your eyes and smile as you nestle into his pillow. “I’m serious. Better even.”

“Better!” You gasp, playfully, pulling yourself up as Rafe climbs on. He situates you between his legs, dragging you back, leading you to relax on his chest, yanking the covers over you once more.

“Comfy?” He kisses your temple as he holds you close.

“So comfy,” you sigh, blissfully. Rafe grabs the cake, resting it on your lap digging into the dessert, giving you the first bite, then him.

“Happy birthday, sweetheart.”

#rafe #rafe smut #rafe cameron x reader #boyfriend!rafe ִ ࣪𖤐.ᐟ #my library ᝰ.ᐟ #rafe one shot 𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

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sk3tch404 · 9 months ago

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Yandere Donnie Darko Hcs

A/n: I finally came around to watching Donnie Darko while I was styling my hair this morning. It was so good and omgg HIS CHARACTER!!! Love it 💜 What he voices in where he rebels against authority resonates with me in the most honest and straight up sense, it's crazy.

CW: Characterizing of psychosis without research (I am in no way claiming this is how individuals who suffer some psychosis or with schizophrenic symptoms act or feel like. This is simply a work of fiction and how I see Donnie's mental state affect the scenario), Donnie is actually very tame here except for his obvious criminal record and acts of violence, and YALL HES A MENTALLY ILL TEENAGE BOY so he's a lowkey soft okay. Y'all see him with Gretchen? So caring and passionate ugh, love him sm. <33 I try to write as close to canon as possible, but sometimes that leads to really soft yans and I kind of doubt my writing. Despite that. I like to think that not all yanderes need to be possessive killing machines in order to fit into the troupe. Everyone's got their own way of dealing with obsession, and so I think I did decently with this one lol.

Proof read a few times, so sorry for wordy/run on sentences and possible wonky grammar.

I feel like Donnie is very observant and patient with his darling. He's quite analytical for a teenage boy which leads him to take time to consider the variables that weigh within your possible relationship.

Donnie is still an awkward kid, so dont be surprised when you accidentally find him staring at you for a considerable period of time in class. In school, he doesn't approach you, seeing as the setting is already suffocating enough. He'd try to catch you after school or when you two have a little bit of privacy.

He's kinda shy and clumsy at first glance--- too talkative in his speech and self-aware of his minor fuck ups. Over time, he'll be more open to what he wants with you. Donnie might not really understand how to handle love and all of its complexities, but hell try really hard to make it work.

Yeah, y'all saw how fast he dived in for that kiss in the film?... Embarrassing, but it's true that he's quite excited to show his affection for you. He'll be "so chill with it," and he is to an extent--- not too clingy at all--- but when he's around he gives you guard dog privileges. Stays at your side and defends you from any brain rotting comments made from the guys around the neighborhood. Donnie isn't much of a fighter, but he's damn well capable of planning and executing a crime if it calls for it. One count of arson, another unaccounted for, severe property damage, and murder? Don't doubt it for one second that he won't consider further acts in the future to come.

His psychosis affects him directly when it comes to you--- as it also does with most things. He already feels so shitty with how things are going in his life, Frank voicing the many thoughts he has about you day to day stresses him further. Sometimes Donnie is scared Frank will convince him to hurt you as the countdown progresses. Despite that fear, he can't keep away from you.

This distress causes Donnie to rebel more often. As he spirals down the rabbit hole Frank keeps digging for him, the anxiety that follows with what will happen to you once the world ends lingers late at night in his bed.

Donnie's main love language is quality time. He walks with you from school and chills with you pretty much wherever. He's pretty book-smart, so he'll pitch in with your projects and homework assignments. His parents don't really seem like they care what he does most of the time, so if he's given the chance, he'll crash at your place for a few before they think he's off sleepwalking or some shit.

Donnie already knows he's slipping off the rails, placebo medication or not, Frank stays to stir the pot. He's almost scared, scared to death that you'll think he's an insane lunatic and he'll scare you off. But at the same time, why be scared if it's the truth? He has evidence, the book, and his own visions. That anxiety doesn't go away when he rambles on about the six-foot-tall bunny rabbit and how that thing has led him to the method of time travel.

You're just left there dumb founded as he stares on at you with that deadpanned look. Too late to back out now. World's ending and you don't got a boyfriend. Well, you got Donnie... and Frank's there too sometimes, but either way, you're all each other's got. You don't want to be alone do you? Donnie knows he doesn't.

He trusts you more than anyone else. Yeah he's on meds, and sure he's loony, but everyone knows that already; not that they seemed to care too much anyway. He feels like he can just exist with you around. All that pent up frustration with the looming guilt of his actions festering inside can be washed out like waves on a cold shore. Of course, it's not a cure-all, but it's damn nice compared to the bone headed friends he got and the tense dinner table back at home.

He has scratch paper in his drawers that are just filled with messy sketches of you. Not sure if he'd be the type to use sketchbooks, but he is pretty organized in his own room. Donnie just finds you so easy and beautiful to draw. Art block has nothing on this boy. He hates it when his sisters barge into his room and see any unfinished piece of you lying around. They tease him so bad about it, he wishes they'd just leave him alone.

"Ooo, is this the girl you're always wasting your time with?"

"No, gimme it. It's none of your business, and get out of my room."

"Geez, fine. Not like that's the freakiest thing you got in here anyway."

Donnie wouldn't be the extreme stalking type, but if he caught a glance of you, he wouldn't be able to look away. He'd also take into account what your daily patterns are as well as your likes and dislikes. He notices your little habits like if you constantly apply too much pressure to your mechanical pencil, making your lead break. He's always have had a passive opinion on the school uniform, but you made it look good, great even. Donnie likes it even more seeing you in street wear. He takes note on your style and even thinks of taking some inspiration from it to feel closer to you.

He's sensitive in places a teenager would be in most. He's irritable and closed off much of the time, even to you if it gets bad enough. Of course, it's not your fault usually. It only makes sense to be defensive in the case of anything he may perceive as a threat, even if that means any possibility of you breaking his heart.

Donnie may be a bit shy in his advances, but what he isn't is hesitant. He's quite bold in his thoughts and feelings. While he is afraid of your judgement in particular, he doesn't mind doing many things in front of you. Your collar is crooked, so let him just fix it up real quick. Talk about something that's got him thinking? He's letting his thoughts pour out like it's happy hour. He sees no issue in doing what he wants to, so if you're feeling unsure or nervous about something, he'll be the one to do it for you. Not many questions asked unless it's got his serious attention.

Kisses are passionate and deep. (Tbh when I first watched the movie I was like, "DAMN dont eat her face- shit.") I dont know if Donnie has had previous experience or not, but he's definitely got the enthusiasm. He tries to match your rhythm if you seem to have trouble following. Not too much tongue, but best believe he's devouring your lips like it's the last 6 hours in the universe. His hands are roaming around your body, feeling the dips and curves so cautiously because Jesus, you're just rocking his fucking world. If you tell him to slow down, he will. Donnie never wants to force you to do anything you wouldn't want to.

Words of affirmation aren't really a thing for him. If he says something to you, it was probably on his mind anyway. If you say "I love you" to him, he'd be almost stunned but wouldn't have a problem reciprocating that energy. He just felt like that connection between you two was already clear enough. No need to say it so directly. Although, it's nice. He really loves and cares for you. Would take a bullet for you--- cross his heart till he dies, all that sappy shit.

If you reject him, let's just say Frank and Donnie will be speaking more often. It pushes him off the edge. Frank isn't in Donnie's head just to do evil shit, but it's not like his presence doesn't perpetuate Donnie's behavior further. He wouldn't go on a killing spree or anything excessively violent like that. He'd be hyper-focused on the time travel aspect of his situation and become more forceful in his methods. He'd demand answers to make sense of all of it. To cope with the fact you didn't want him like how he needed you. Why didn't you like him enough? What didn't he do? Actually, what did he do? His mind feels like its on the brink of breaking as he tries to rationalize all the negativity in his life. He's already done too much, his world feels like it's collapsing in on itself before the actual day could even come. You were a majority of that world, and now it's just broken.

Donnie is so distraught and confused about his adolescent experiences, he almost doesn't know what to do. The only thing to do from then on is to focus on the countdown. Time travel, and how to fix it all. Otherwise, not only would he be left alone, but you would be too. Donnie wouldn't want that for you, not ever. Even with all the pain and frustration stowed away inside his still beating heart, he would never wish to hurt you; one of the only people on Earth who didn't suck so much as everyone else did.

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winters-light · 3 months ago

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Sip and Paint

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Words: 1k

A/N: bucky at the stark expo in tfa letting the girl drag him around??? this is 1000% realistic and I have had this idea for weeks but was too lazy and then when I finally sat down and wrote half I forgot to save it and had to rewrite it so rip :')

please comment and lmk what you think because i’m still new and so in my head about my writing!

“Oh my god, Bucky,” she gasped suddenly as she stopped in the middle of the aisle.

Currently, the pair were in the supermarket on a Friday evening - the first Friday evening they'd both had free in weeks - doing their weekly food shop. It had been a long week and honestly, she was so exhausted the last thing she wanted to do was to go out drinking with the rest of the team. Instead, she and her fiancé had decided to cook dinner together and have a quiet night in.

“What?” he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice as he glanced over to where she was pointing.

“Look it’s us,” she excitedly gestured towards some paint your own avenger figurines.

They had somehow found themselves cutting through the toy aisle and the Avenger section had caught her eye. She had been part of the team for nearly two years now, yet somehow it was still so surreal whenever she saw toys and other merchandise modelled after herself.

A small smirk appeared on his lips as he took the two figures in. He picked one the boxes up, allowing his eyes to study the miniature version of himself, finding himself impressed with the attention to detail on his uniform.

“Damn… This actually looks pretty good,” he chuckled, running his metal hand through his hair before carefully placing it back on the shelf.

Noticing the way his mouth subtly curved up in amusement, an idea crept into her mind. "Pretty please can we get them?" she asked sweetly, widening her eyes ever so slightly as she blinked up at him.

"Fine,” he sighed softly, rolling his eyes and shaking his head though the small smirk remained in place. He was hopeless against her pouting and they both knew it. She had the Winter Soldier wrapped around her pretty little finger; he could never deny her anything.

Her lips quickly flicked up into an excited smile as she added two boxes to the trolley before pushing it along so they could continue with their shopping.

***

Once they had finished cleaning up from dinner, she excitedly set up the figurines and paints on the dining table, snapping a quick picture for her socials - as cheesy as it was.

The scene looked like something straight from Pinterest, she had lit candles and got out their fanciest wine glasses determined to make a romantic evening of it. This week in particular had been extremely stressful, and she figured they both deserved to relax and spend some quality time together.

“Baby,” she called out for Bucky to join her. She greeted him with a gentle kiss on the cheek and instructed him to sit down. She giggled softly shaking her head as he sat down in front of his own clay figure. “Nope, we’re painting each other, it’ll be more fun that way.”

“Fine,” Bucky groaned and reluctantly agreed, unable to deny her. This whole ‘paint and sip’ thing she had insisted on as soon as she saw the figures in the supermarket sounded ridiculous to him, but she looked so excited by the prospect he couldn’t bear to refuse her. Besides, he found the whole 'sip' part of the night extremely agreeable. And maybe he did secretly adore all the effort she had put into their date night; it had been so long since anyone had cared for him like this.

Bucky shook his head in slight amusement as he picked up his wine glass and took a long sip before picking up the clay figure of you. He ran his hand over the smooth clay with a soft hum, impressed at its likeness to her.

"Just don't laugh at me, if mine looks completely awful," he grumbled though a hint of a smile played at the corners of his lips as he grabbed the brush and dipped it carefully into the paint.

“I won’t,” she chuckled softly and shook her head, watching him as he began to work. She was surprised to see how seriously he was taking this, the way his metal hand held the figure so gently and his whole face had scrunched up in concentration. She smiled at the sight taking a sip of her drink before picking up her own brush.

***

The hours passed by quietly, the couple surprisingly more invested in their art projects than either of them expected to be.

“This is a lot harder than I thought it would be,” she muttered swearing under her breath as she accidentally smudged some of the paint on her figure. The paint that came with the kit was awful and patchy and had preferred to stick to their hands and anywhere but the model. She had been struggling to paint in the details on his face for the last hour and was just about ready to give up.

"You're telling me," Bucky replied with a soft chuckle, equally as frustrated as he smeared away and attempted to start on the painting again. His brows were furrowed in a deep look of concentration, his tongue sticking out between his teeth as he focused intensely on the figure in front of him. "This is impossible."

“Ready to call it a night?” she suggested as she poured the last of the wine into her glass and practically drank it in one sip.

"Yeah, that's probably a good idea,” he murmured in agreement, letting out an exasperated sigh as he set the figure down. He looked a bit disappointed in his work, but at the same time, he couldn't help but to chuckle at how ridiculous they looked sitting there, frustrated over a painting meant for children.

She nodded, chuckling softly as she looked over their figures. Despite their best efforts, the paint messily smudged over the figures barely even resembled humans anymore. She stood letting out a soft yawn deciding that tidying could wait until morning. She grabbed the remaining bottle of wine on the table and took it into their bedroom with Bucky in an attempt to salvage the rest of their night.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #sebastian stan #bucky barnes imagine #wintersoldier #bucky x reader #bucky fic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes oneshot #buckybarnes #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #bucky x female reader

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sehnsuchts-trunken · 2 years ago

Text

Great Balls Of Fire

Bradley Bradshaw x fem!reader 9k words (ik. i did it again. im sorry)

summary: It’s been four months since you last saw Bradley Bradshaw. Today's the day he finally comes back from his mission and you have more than one ace up your sleeve to surprise him with.

a/n: smut ahead. 18+ im serious theres smut theres a lot of smut. okay. as usual i will now list everything you may have to look out for

fancy ass lingerie, oral sex fem!receiving, unprotected sex (dont be like them, just know theyre in a committed relationship theyve had the talk and all), a lot of begging, hair pulling, good girl's because yes, in general again bradley is a talker, otherwise that's it

top gun masterlist

It had been so long. It had been too long.

With the sun beating down hard on the pavement of the parking lot, the sunglasses on your nose doing their hardest to protect your eyes from the worst of the light, the sound of your heels clicking against solid ground as you took a few steps into the shade of the tree next to Bradley's Bronco. You had been waiting for ten minutes now, checking your phone what seemed like every five seconds, too nervous to actually pay attention to it but too nervous to keep calm either.

You had been so scared you would crash into a grandma on the way over here that you had honestly considered taking your own car instead of the Bronco - but Bradley had trusted you with it, had trusted you to keep his lady running, you, even though he never let anyone else as much as touch the steering wheel, and you would be damned if you didn't pick him up in it.

You hadn't seen him in four months. Four months.

You had been by yourself, had been on your own, had been lonely for four fucking months.

But today was the day you would see him again. Today was the day his oh-so-secret mission would finally, truly come to an end, the day that you would finally, truly see him again. Not over some low-quality video call in the middle of the night, with only your kitchen lights on in the background and your mind hazy and tired because he was nine hours ahead of you and seemed to be at the other end of the world - no, today you would finally, finally, finally see him in the flesh.

You'd been anticipating this moment for the past four months.

So this had to be perfect.

This would be perfect.

You had done everything possible to make this the most perfect day of his goddamn life. You had spent the last four months moving things from the old apartment to the new house - those things that you and him hadn't already moved anyway - and the past week, you'd been cleaning, decorating, anticipating.

He had told you so often how much he missed you. How much he wished he had been there for you, to help you pack the things, to help you take them apart and put them back together, to do more than just the paperwork and set up the bed and the couch.

But he couldn't. And now you were bubbling with nervous excitement, with the joy of sharing all of it with him, to show him the desk you'd put up in the bedroom, the pillows you'd bought for the couch, the paintings you'd hung up on the walls, the kitchen table you'd replaced, the kitchen tiles you'd painted. To show him how much better this new home was than the old apartment had been (even though you'd been very happy there for the past four years as well).

And Bradley would love it. You were sure of that.

You just wanted him to see it so desperately.

You looked up as another car approached - it wasn't Bradley, you knew that, Bradley would come out of that door opposite you, not out of a car, but... There was still some tiny little sliver of hope, the same way there had been every single goddamn time someone had rung your doorbell. It had only ever been the postman or your food.

The car stopped next to you. You watched the engine being turned off and the driver get out because, well, what else was there to do except nervously shift your weight from one leg onto the other and go insane?

So you watched the stranger hop out of their car, nodded politely at them and then refocused your attention on the tips of your sandals. At least you weren't the only one waiting here anymore.

You got out your phone again, checked the time (it'd been a minute and a half since you'd last looked at it) and let out a sigh.

It wasn't that Bradley was late. There wasn't really a "late" anyway, he'd only been able to give you a vague time he'd arrive on, but still. You'd been buzzing with nervous energy for over a week.

You took a deep breath to steady yourself, wiped your sweaty palms off on the sundress you'd put on - the tiny yellow sundress that Bradley had picked out for you on your birthday last year. The tiny yellow sundress that hid the sinful white lingerie under it just perfectly. The sinful white lingerie that you had bought for this very moment.

Bradley would go feral for it, you knew that. He loved white. You thought it was because it looked innocent, chaste. Like something untainted, something waiting to be ruined. Not that you minded. One day, he had promised himself, he would admit to you that it was because it looked like something you would wear on your wedding night.

But either way, you had gone shopping for the perfect set of lingerie and you were more than happy with your final choice.

Bradley could unwrap you like a present. You were desperately hoping he would unwrap you like a present.

You had spent the last four months not doing anything other than hoping. Imagining. Remembering.

So you weren't surprised that you felt like you'd soaked through those pretty (and expensive) panties already.

Your breath hitched. You shifted your weight again.

Bradley would carry you in his big, strong arms over the doorstep, would push you against the wall, would take everything he wanted from you and give everything you needed - he'd pull your dress right off and, at the sight of your lingerie, would fuck you raw.

You had to bite down on your lip to keep you grounded. Four months away had been a long, long time. Four months in which you'd only had yourself, your fingers, your vibrator to keep you company - four months in which you'd only heard Bradley's moans spill over the phone, had only heard him call you honey and good girl through a low-quality mic, had only seen him on pictures he'd left you, on a tiny screen at best.

You were depraved. And pretty sure you'd fall apart at the first touch.

You were so immersed in your thoughts, in that lovely imagery you had created in your head, that you almost missed the door opening. Finally. Finally. You straightened up at once.

It wasn't Bradley who stepped out first - it was one of his colleagues, you guessed, with blonde hair and much shorter - but it was Bradley who stepped out second. You'd know him from miles away.

He strode out of the door and into the sunlight, all familiar brown curls and broad shoulders and Ray-Bans on his nose and an Hawaiian shirt on and his bag lazily slung over his shoulder and that moustache - by god you'd have killed him if he'd shaved that off!

He turned his head and looked at you and a grin broke out on your lips, so wide, so incredibly wide that it felt like it'd split your face in half and before you could think, before you could form any coherent thought you were already moving, your legs with a mind of their own. You were sprinting towards him. Sprinting all through the parking lot, your heels click-clicking on the pavement, and Bradley grinned, grinned and let his bag fall to the ground carelessly, opened his arms instead. Wide, so wide. He was so tall. So broad. So inviting as you ran at him, as you jumped at him, as you wrapped your arms and your legs around him at the same time, as he caught you effortlessly, as your lips landed on his.

As you crashed into him, completely, and he didn't even stagger an inch back.

You had missed four months of this.

And now his lips were on yours. Your legs around his waist. Your arms crossed behind his neck. His breath against your mouth. His lips parted. His tongue against yours.

You were desperate. And you could feel just how desperate he was, too.

You could feel all the passion, all the fiery, red passion, all the force and firmness put into this kiss as his tongue ran along yours, as your breaths met and mingled, as his hands dug into your thighs to keep you upright, to keep you snug to him.

You pulled back incredibly reluctantly. You didn't want to let go of him. You never wanted to let go of him ever again. You wanted to have him, all of him, right here, right now, and then for eternity. But you couldn't, you couldn't because this was the middle of the parking lot, and also because you at least wanted to say hello first.

So you blinked open your eyes and took him in and allowed yourself to grin as broad and as wide as you needed to right now.

"You're back", you whispered, just because that realisation still had to sink in. "You're really back."

Bradley nuzzled your nose with his and let out a hum - god, how you'd missed him. The feel of him, the sound of him.

"Yeah, I'm here, honey", he muttered, that smile of his dripping down onto his voice. "I'm here and I won't leave any time soon."

You couldn't help but lean in again, couldn't help but capture his lips again because how else, how on earth would you let him feel all the joy you were experiencing right now? You didn't even know if you could actually feel all of it. You definitely wouldn't be able to put it into words. So you dug your teeth into his bottom lip and sighed into him and pulled him closer, closer and closer, even further into you.

"I missed you", you breathed against his mouth. "I love you and I missed you, Bradley."

He chuckled, kissed you again, drew back just enough to still touch you somehow, to still have his lips on your skin somehow and be able to talk at the same time.

"I love you so much, honey", he muttered. "And I missed you so much."

And then his lips were on yours again, his fingers digging even harder into your thighs, his breath and his tongue and his moustache scratching against your skin and you moaned, because there was no more anything you could possibly have done, because you couldn't help yourself, because you couldn't stop yourself, because you didn't want to either. You wanted to let him know just how goddamn fucking much you'd missed him.

Bradley had to bite back a laugh, pulled back and looked at you through his sunglasses.

"Sounds like we should get home, honey", he said, his eyebrows raised and his smile deepening with every word. "Been waiting for that for four months."

You let out another soft moan, pushed yourself even closer to him, dug one hand into the back of his hair and scratched the other down his shoulders, down his shirt. You wanted to feel him. All of him. God, the ride home would take ten minutes. Ten minutes. How were you supposed to survive that?

"Please", you whispered onto his lips, and you didn't think you had ever meant it as much as you did now.

Bradley groaned and kissed you again, quickly, heatedly, his tongue running along your bottom lip and then pulling back again. This wasn't enough. This wasn't enough.

He set you down on the pavement again softly, your legs a bit wobbly, unsteady, and trailed one hand from your thigh to your back - anything to keep touching you as he bent down to pick up his bag again. You smiled up at him, smoothed down the front of your dress and beamed as his eyes traveled down your body.

When they snapped back up to catch your gaze, the grin on his face had turned into a much more intense expression.

"You look gorgeous, honey", he muttered, tugging you further into his side, letting his eyes drop down to your chest again. You had to bite down on your lip to keep from jumping at him right this second. He should not have been allowed to just look at you if you couldn't have him touch you too. "Did you pick out new nail polish just for this dress?"

Your grin broadened. Of course he'd notice. Bradley Bradshaw was the only man in the whole universe who would notice. And he was yours.

"Yes, I did", you smiled, looking up at him as he walked with you back to the car. He hummed softly.

"It works great together", he said. Your breath hitched. He was gorgeous and he was here and he had noticed your nail polish. He was perfect. And you wanted him to fuck your brains out. "Reminds me of your burgundy silk dress."

You had to bite down on your lip again - god, you hadn't done that nearly as often when he'd been away! - to keep yourself grounded and to keep your grin in check before it could truly split your face in half.

Your burgundy silk dress was the one you'd worn to Penny and Mav's wedding two years ago that you had spent three weeks hunting down matching lipstick and matching nail polish for. Bradley had worn that lipstick on the base of his cock for most of the night.

"You're incredible, do you know that?", you asked, your voice a bit breathy. Bradley stopped in front of the Bronco, turned to you and pulled you close again. You brought your hands up to his chest.

"I've been told", he muttered, tilted his head down to look at you and then leaned down even further to brush a kiss to your nose. "Open up the Bronco so I can put my bag in the trunk?"

You let your eyes flutter close for just a tiny little moment (he was close, so close and you would literally die if he didn't start touching you any time soon) and breathed in as Bradley chuckled. You'd put the key in your pocket and were scrambling to get it out now, taking one, two seconds too long before you heard the familiar click of the car unlocking.

"Thanks, pretty girl", Bradley mumbled, letting go of you to pull open the trunk and you had to push down a sigh of disappointment, even as anticipation rose up in your stomach. You hadn't heard him call you pretty girl in months.

When he turned back around to you, you were still frozen in spot, still smiling dumbly at him, still waiting for him to touch you, to kiss you, to fuck you. He smiled back and you knew that he knew just what you were thinking. But you couldn't even begin to care. You wanted to get him home as quickly as possible.

"You need to stop looking at me like that, honey", he said, his voice an octave deeper and you just so managed not to let another dumb, pathetic moan slip. He closed the trunk and took a step back to you. "You know I can't help myself when you look at me like that."

At that, you did let the moan tumble from your lips after all.

He'd been away for four months. And he was looking at you with his eyes all dark and his jaw clenched and his chest rising and falling heavily. How on earth were you supposed to be normal about this? You were falling apart already and he hadn't even got you home. Four months had been a long, long time.

His hands were on your waist then, forcing you against the side of the bronco, the door handle digging into your back, the metal warmed up by the sun and your arms crossing behind his neck as his body crowded yours, one leg between yours and no more space to touch, to feel, to see anything that wasn't him - he turned his head to check if the other car had driven away and then his lips were on yours, his knee pressing against your centre.

"Bradley", you moaned into his mouth, before his tongue brushed yours and rendered you speechless. You rocked against his knee, bare skin against your thighs and you wanted to sob, you really actually wanted to sob, because this was the most contact you'd gotten in four fucking months.

Bradley pulled back an inch.

"You're soaked", he groaned against your lips, his breath on your skin, his hands on your waist and you thrust your head back against the car, against the window, squeezed your eyes shut, kept on rocking against his knee.

"I know", you whined. "Been soaked for months."

Bradley let out another groan and pulled back, pulled away from you and you whimpered, blinking your eyes open again because you'd been so close to finally getting what you wanted and now he was taking that right away from you again. You looked up at him and the only reason you didn't straight up voice your disappointment was that he looked just as debauched as you felt - running his hands through his hair, running them over his face, his curls all messed up and a considerable bulge already visible in his jeans.

"Get in the car", he rasped, taking another step back from you as though he had to physically put distance between the two of you so he wouldn't give in and take you right in this parking lot. Not that you would've minded. That other car was long gone. But that he had to restrain himself so much, that he looked so positively exhausted, that his voice was so hard and so rough and so raw, that he had already, so easily begun giving you orders drove you crazy. Orders that you knew you had to follow because this was him, this was Bradley, and if he wanted something from you.... he'd get it. You'd give it to him no matter what. You'd give him everything.

So you pushed yourself off the car with a hard breath and trailed around to the passenger side, keeping your eyes on the ground even as you heard Bradley shuffle and open the driver's door because you knew that if you looked at him, no matter how much you wanted to follow his commands, there was a high chance you wouldn't be able to help yourself.

It wouldn't be the first time.

The seat felt hot and your skin sticked to it immediately and you would have cared in any other situation, but not in this one. Not when Bradley put his hand to your thigh, to your bare skin, to just below the hem of your dress. You could have cried.

He was here, finally, and he was touching you, finally, but he wasn't touching you enough, not nearly enough. This would be a long ten minutes. You pushed your sunglasses up into your hair, turned your head and rested it against the head rest, smiling at the image before you - Bradley in the driver's seat of his Bronco, the steering wheel in one hand, the sun on his face, his curls longer than when you'd last seen them. Had he got more tan? Was that possible?

God, how you'd missed this man.

And he was here now, here, next to you, with one hand on your thigh and a grin playing on his lips and you couldn't help but smile. Big and broad and all-consuming because he was here again, this man that you called yours, he was right here next to you after four months. You loved him. You'd missed him so incredibly much.

His hand moved a little higher up on your thigh, his thumbs brushing, stroking over exposed skin, raising up your dress the slightest bit. Your breath hitched.

"Bradley-", you sighed, jaw clenching as you melted, melted at every little touch because you didn't have to only remember it anymore. You could just push up into him, watch him, breathe in his familiar scent, run your fingers along his arm. This was no more imagining, no more picturing, this was real, this was happening.

"God, I missed you saying my name like that", he groaned, tightening his grip on your thigh and you bit down on your lip, wrapped your fingers around his biceps, his wrist, forced yourself to keep your eyes open so you could keep watching him. You wouldn't miss out on a single second of watching him.

"Bradley", you repeated softly. "I'll say your name as often as you want me to."

His fingers dug even harder into your thigh as he let out some strangled sounding moan.

"You're gonna be the death of me", he muttered - how often you'd thought the same about him! "I'm lucky if I can hold out these ten minutes."

You watched him quietly for a second. You could sense the heat radiating off of him, could see his clenched jaw, could feel his deathgrip on your thigh, could hardly ignore the blazing arousal in your own veins. But if he'd wanted to fuck you in the back of his Bronco, he would've. (As picky as he was about who drove his car, he'd never had a single problem railing you into oblivion in the backseat.) There was a reason he was holding out. You could only guess that he wanted to do this properly - with time and room and no risk of getting caught by the authorities. Should you have minded? Should you have begged him to take you as quickly as possible? You were sure he would have, if you'd pleaded prettily enough. But you were quite alright with time and room and no risk of getting caught. At least for right now. The both of you would manage a ten minute ride, right? You had managed four months. Ten minutes were nothing in comparison.

"Okay", you said, trailed your fingers down to his and intertwined your hands. "I'll help. I'll tell you something. Distract you."

"You can try, honey", he chuckled, sneaked a quick sideways glance at you. "Tell me about the house."

You lit up at that. You had been dying to tell him about the house. So you pushed your arousal deep, deep down (which was easier said than done) and smiled up at him.

"I don't even know where to start", you said honestly, giving yourself a second to think about it. You had ten minutes, after all. And you had to fill them all if you wanted both of you to survive this drive.

So you told him about everything.

The short version, of course.

He'd heard some of it over the phone already, but he hadn't been able to call often and you'd spent most of your time crying and telling him how much you loved and missed him when he had answered, so...

The ten minutes went by more easily this way. You went on and on and on and on about the house, his fingers between yours, your eyes locked on his, with the occasional comment about how sorry he was that he hadn't been there to help. It had been unfortunate, of course, but at the same time it had given you something to put all your time and effort into, which had greatly helped you through his deployment. Plus, there had always been help when you had needed it - Penny and Amelia and Mav, Phoenix and Bob and Jake. The rest of the squad had been scattered, called off to their own missions, but those six you had been able to count on whenever.

Bradley's hand on your thigh was still highly distracting. He moved it up and down a few times, and each time your breath hitched, each time you stumbled over your own words, each time he grinned again.

At one point, his fingertips brushed so close to your underwear that you pushed his hand forcefully back down to your knee. He had been the one so worried he wouldn't manage a ten minute ride and now he was the one teasing you.

Not that you really minded.

But you truly felt like going insane.

Then, finally! you caught sight of your driveway. Bradley was out of the car the second he'd parked it, pulling his hand from your thigh and the key out of the ignition and you had barely unbuckled yourself when he was already opening your door, taking your hand and tugging you out, sending you stumbling into him, into his arms.

He pressed his lips to yours as he pushed the door close, pushed you up against it again, pushed the hem of your dress up to grasp at your bare thigh. You wrapped your arms around his neck, forced him even closer.

"Bradley", you gasped softly. You hadn't moaned his name like that in four months, you'd do it so often today he would get tired of it. Even though you knew that he wouldn't, of course - he would never get tired of you whispering his name into his mouth, into the nothingness of an empty room, into his ear, into the pillows.

He didn't pull back from you, even as he took a slow, careful step away - making sure you'd catch on, making sure you'd follow, making sure to keep you safely, steadily against him. Not that you'd have done anything else. You trusted him with your life, you would trust him to keep you upright. So you did just what he wanted, followed, stumbled with him, eyes closed, lips on his, fingers brushing along his shoulders.

He did pull back then - just an inch or two, to turn you around, to look over your shoulder once, to tear his hand from your thigh and wrap his arms around you instead. And then his lips were back on yours again and his tongue running along yours. He pushed and you followed his wordless command, your legs working quicker than your mind, stumbling, tripping backwards, backwards, backwards and you barely cared, barely even acknowledged the ground beneath your feet because you were wrapped up in his arms, because you were tugging at his curls, because he was here, kissing you, finally.

You weren't needy.

You were desperate. You were depraved, frantic, starved. He was the air you needed to breathe and you hadn't taken a single breath in the past four months.

So you weren't pretending in the way you pulled him close, closer, closer, or in the frenzied way you kissed him, or in the desperate way you sighed, groaned, moaned against him, into him. You needed him. You needed more of him. All of him. You needed to get inside so you could have him.

You bumped into the door then, just short of digging the doorknob into your spine - Bradley pushed you right up against it and you gasped into his mouth, into the kiss. He crowded you against the door much like he'd crowded you against the Bronco, pulling his arms from around you to grasp your waist instead, to press your hips up to the door as well, and used one hand to fumble for the keyhole. He did so blindly, with his eyes still closed, his lips still on yours, with one of your legs coming up to wrap around his hips, your heels digging into his shorts.

Needless to say, he needed quite some time to turn the key.

You didn't mind. Not in the slightest.

You were making out with Bradley Bradshaw right on the doorstep of the house you shared with him, in the bright afternoon sunlight and truly, you couldn't have minded less. You didn't give two fucks about any of your neighbours or any passerbys spotting you - should they, by god! Bradley had come home from deployment after four months, you would make out with him on your doorstep for as long as you wanted to. You wouldn't ever stop making out with him ever again.

Not when he was here again, in your arms, with your fingers tugging at his hair, brushing along his neck, stroking along the collar of his shirt, sweeping along his shoulders. Not with your leg around his hips. Not with your lips on his. Not with anticipation, with arousal in every fibre of your body, of your soul. You were going mad with it. You were getting drunk on it.

You were euphoric when Bradley finally opened the gods damned front door.

He kept you safe and steady even as the support at your back broke away, as you almost crashed onto the floor of your own hallway. He walked you back into the pleasant cold and for once, for the first and probably the only time, you were the one to break away. You gave yourself a second to catch your breath. Then you pushed off of him completely. You took a step away, pulled the key from the door, pushed it close and when you turned back around, Bradley had set his sunglasses down on the little table you had put next to the coat rack a few weeks ago.

And you looked him in the eyes for the first time in four months.

He motioned at the table.

"Looks great, honey", he said, his voice a little too rough to sound quite normal. "Nice touch."

You shook your head softly.

"I couldn't care less about the table right now", you muttered, and with that, you were on him again. Actually, truly, fully on him again. You pushed yourself right up onto him, into him, pried his shirt off his shoulders, off his arms, let it drop down to the ground and then reached for his jaw to drag him further down, to deepen the kiss even if you knew that was impossible. So you bit down on his lip and allowed him to finally push your dress up over your hips, over your chest, over your head - you had to let go of him for a moment then, had to pull away from him so he could drop your dress on the floor and before you could even come close to reaching out for him again, he was taking a step back.

You could feel his eyes raking down your body. You could feel him taking in the white lingerie on your skin - the strings of the thong high up on your hips, intricate lace around your waist, the small bow right in the centre of it, the bra cups almost transparent, the floral white pattern covering up your nipples, the other few, small bows sown onto the straps.

You sucked in a breath at the look on his face. You hadn't seen that look in far too long.

"God, honey", Bradley groaned, reached for your waist, brushed his thumbs along the lace, ran his fingertips along the lingerie. You bit down on your lip as he pulled you, slowly, carefully, into him - gave you enough time to rest your hands on his chest, your palms against his tank top. "You look sinful. Did you buy that just for me?"

You nodded, swallowed.

"Just for you", you admitted. "Wanted to surprise you."

Bradley tugged you another inch closer, so close that your chest bumped into his, your breasts pressing against him. He let out a hum, his eyes dropping down to your cleavage.

"You did that, pretty girl", he muttered, his fingers digging into your sides. "You're incredible."

Then his lips were on yours again and you were melting, becoming putty in his hands, turning to goo in his arms. Your breaths met, lips parted. You couldn't quite believe you were finally touching him again.

He walked you back to the bedroom, narrowly avoiding the doorway, his hands on your hips, his fingers digging into your bum. You reached for the hem of his shirt, forced him to stop right on the threshold so you could get rid of it - get rid of that one layer of fabric still in the way. You drew back for a second to pull it over his head, to drop it to the floor, to let your eyes travel all over his bare torso.

God, how you'd missed this man and his broad shoulders and his washboard abs. How you'd missed his touch and the sound of his voice.

"Bradley", you gasped softly, your fingertips trailing over his naked skin, down to his shorts. "I need you."

He let out a groan.

"I've waited four months for you to say that again", he muttered. You could hardly take another breath before he was on you again - lips on yours and hands on your hips and your back hit the bed a moment later, the cushy mattress, the fluffy pillows softening your fall.

You raised yourself up onto your elbows so you could watch him as he stood in front of your bed, the sunlight dripping down him like drops of water hitting the floorboards, his torso bare, his curls messed up, looking down at you with a heaving chest, his fingers on his belt, unhooking it, opening the button on his jeans, pulling down his zipper - you swallowed hard as you watched him drop his shorts on the floor, step out of his shoes.

A whine rolled off your tongue.

"Bradley, hurry up", you whimpered, your fingers cramping in the sheets, your legs pressing together all of their own accord, trying to get some kind of friction as he undressed himself in slow motion while you just lay there, your panties long soaked through and your fingers itching to trail down your own body.

Bradley chuckled.

"Don't worry, honey", he muttered, kneeling down on the ground to drop kisses to your calves before pulling off your sandals. "I'll make sure you forget about the past four months, alright?"

Your breath hitched as your heels hit the ground.

"Please", you begged softly. "I've missed you so much."

He wrapped his hands around your hips, pulled you to the edge of the bed - his breath ghosting over your underwear, over that tiny white piece of lingerie you had bought for him, for him to take you apart in. His fingers dug into your skin, spread out wide, to touch as much of you as he possibly could. He pressed a kiss right to that wet spot on your thong.

You let out a moan. God, how had you survived four months without him? You were barely surviving fifteen minutes of not having him fuck you.

Bradley grinned, raised his head to meet your eyes and seriously, you were close. Too close. He hadn't touched you yet, not really. You'd die today, you were sure, die and go to heaven.

"You look almost too good to undress, honey", he muttered, brushing his thumbs below that lace around your waist, not making a move to pull it down your legs.

"Bradley, please", you whined, your hands brushing over your own chest, running over your bra cups, tracing the flowers, desperately holding back from just ripping everything off yourself, pushing him onto his knees and riding him into oblivion. "Don't tease. I need you."

He groaned into the skin of your thigh.

"Anything you want, honey", he muttered - and then your thong was gone and he was burying his tongue inside you, dipping, tracing, licking, circling your clit, breathing you in, devouring you. Taking and giving everything. It had been four months since he'd had you like this and he wanted everything, every inch of you he could get. He wanted to taste you, every last drop of you, wanted to eat you out until you couldn't think anymore, until you had truly, fully forgotten all the time he had been away, all the time you had been forced to be on your own, alone.

You thrashed, moaned above him - your fingers clenching around your bra, brushing over your nipples. You were close. Close after the entirety of three seconds, close to tears, close to coming.

"Bradley", you choked out, tearing your hands off yourself, burying them in his hair instead - tugging him off, tugging him away from you. You took a deep breath as he let go of you, as he loosened his grip on you, looked up at you with desperation in his eyes.

"I need you to fuck me", you whimpered, already too sensitive, too tense. "I need you inside me."

You hadn't had him in four months.

Four months had been enough goddamn foreplay. As much as you loved when he ate you out, you needed him, you needed his cock, you needed to feel him inside you, you needed him to take you apart and make up for all the time lost.

Bradley nodded, nodded because he knew, he understood - he saw the frantic look in your eyes, had felt the desperate drag of your hands at his clothes, his arms, his shoulders, his hair. He'd give anything to you. Everything. He would do whatever you wanted of him.

Maybe in another situation he'd have made you beg more, would have teased you more, would have edged you a few times. Maybe in another situation. But not in this one. Not after four months of being away from you, not when you were so beautifully, so desperately spread out beneath him, looking up at him with wide eyes and rosy cheeks, your lip pulled between your teeth, your gorgeous white lingerie still concealing too much of your skin.

As he'd said, you were almost too gorgeous to undress. But just almost.

So he rose up from the ground, pulled you up with him, pulled you in, his fingers brushing along your sides, your spine, your bra clasp. He let it fall open. You worked fast, worked your bra down your arms and off your hands and drew back from him to fling it against the wall and lay down on the bed, lay down all pretty and waiting.

You needed him to fuck you. Now.

He let out a groan, closed his eyes. The look on his face had you pressing your legs together again. Wetness was coating the inside of your thighs now. It glistened on his moustache. And you were sure you could have tasted it on his tongue too.

He was making you go insane.

"How do you want me, pretty girl?", he asked, pressing his knees into the side of the mattress. "Tell me how and I'll do whatever you want."

Your breath hitched in your throat. Your nerves were bubbling up. Four months. You'd waited four months for this one question.

"Behind", you whined. "Need you from behind."

Bradley had known, of course, because that was what you always said when he stood at the front of your bed and asked you this question. His hands were on your waist, grasping, grabbing, turning you over before you had fully finished speaking, your cheek pressed against the pillows, your breath coming short and shorter, adrenaline pumping through every single one of your veins. You felt hot and sticky and needy and nervous.

Nervous because Bradley stilled.

Nervous because he sucked in a sharp breath.

Nervous, even though you had been here a million times before, in his bed and in yours, bent over desks and bars and couches, with the heat of him behind you, arousal flowing through your body like oxygen, anticipation clouding your mind.

"Shit, honey", Bradley breathed.

You closed your eyes and clenched your jaw.

How you'd have loved to see his expression. But you had known you wouldn't. You had prepared yourself to be satisfied with the sound of his voice, with the feel of him so close to you.

"Shit", Bradley repeated. He took another deep breath in. "You got a tattoo?"

A tattoo.

Your tattoo.

You nodded into the pillow, scraped your cheek against the fabric, so eager, so quick to agree. Four months you had waited for this. Four months since you had begun planning this - the very day after he'd left, in a conversation with none other than Phoenix. Four long, lonely months.

Bradley ran his thumb along the soft expanse of your skin. Along that strip of skin right above your hips, just where they met your back - right above your ass, right where he could see so very perfectly.

He was gentle. Almost not touching you at all. As though he was afraid he could somehow, even after all this time, hurt you, as though he was afraid he could wipe it away.

"It's healed", you whined, breathlessly, trying your hardest not to squirm, not to push back further into him even though you felt like you were going insane. You'd known he'd take his sweet time staring at that inked expanse of skin. But you hadn't known you would be so goddamn desperate for him to fuck you into delirium while he did so. "It's fully healed."

Bradley was quiet, silent behind you. His thumb stilled, stayed still. You sunk your teeth into your lip.

You would truly go mad here. For more than one reason now.

Bradley was always loud. Always moving, always doing something. He was forward and honest and loud and it was a miracle, really, when he wasn't. When he was calm and quiet and still. It didn't always mean something good.

It surely didn't always mean something bad, either.

But it didn't always mean something good.

And you hadn't been nervous. You hadn't been nervous about showing him, because you knew he loved you and he'd love this - this show of him, this show for him. Just for him. But you had still been fidgety. You had still been excited, flustered.... nervous, after all. In a good way. Now, good was turning to less good because he was quiet, for once, quiet and you didn't know what to do, what to say. You had expected him to go feral, had expected him to fuck you raw, to go absolutely ballistic. You had imagined, pictured, visualised it, four months long. Every night that you hadn't been remembering him, you had been imagining this - this moment right here, where he read the words inked forever into your skin, and every time, again and again, your fingers hadn't been enough, your vibrator hadn't been enough, nothing had been enough. Not in comparison to him, to his fingers and his tongue and his cock.

And every time, again and again, when nothing had been enough to replace him, you thought to yourself just how right it had been to have lain on that leather table bed in that tattoo parlour four months ago. Just how right it was to have him marked on your skin like that. Forever.

Great Balls Of Fire.

"Bradley, please", you whimpered, your fingers closing around whatever piece of fabric you could manage to grab at - the covers, the sheets, the pillows. "Say something. Please"

Bradley let out a long breath.

"Great Balls Of Fire?", he asked quietly, his fingers brushing over your skin again. Some kind of reassurance, at least.

"Thought you'd like it", you mumbled into the pillow, stumbling, tripping over your words a bit, still breathless around the edges. You couldn't be expected to talk now. Not when he was so close to giving you what you needed.

"Like it?" His hands wrapped around your waist, his left thumb still stroking over those unfamiliar familiar letters on your skin - Great Balls Of Fire, in his handwriting, taken from one of his sheets of music, from his piano. His song. His father's song.

Your song.

"Honey", Bradley rasped, pulling you an inch back to him and you let a whine fall from your lips. You were soaked, you were dripping, you were desperate and still so very unsatisfied. "Do I like it? I love it. I love you. God, you got a tattoo. You're incredible. You're-"

He stumbled over his own words, trailed off, left his sentence hanging unfinished in mid air. Instead, he leaned down and pressed a kiss right on top of your tattoo. Right on top of those letters, on top of that song, on top of your song. On top of the very reason you had met, six years ago in a stuffed navy bar.

"You're the best thing that's ever happened to me", he muttered, dropping another kiss onto your skin.

You whimpered again.

"You've been so good to me, honey, haven't you?", he went on, as though he wasn't hearing those little whines, those little moans rolling off your tongue. He was. You knew that. "You waited so prettily for me to come back, didn't you? You were so eager for me to be home again, so eager for me to be with you again that you even got a tattoo?"

You nodded along, nodded and nodded and kept on nodding because yes, yes and yes - yes to everything, yes to him.

"You got a tattoo just for me, honey. You can't even see it. Probably had to twist and turn in the mirror every day to take care of it, didn't you? And all just for me."

You nodded again - never really stopped nodding, not with his fingers brushing along your back, over your skin, with his voice so deep and rough and real.

"Just for you", you whined.

Bradley chuckled.

"Just for me", he repeated, his voice deeper than before - if that was even possible - his fingers stroking along your sides, roaming over your back, your spine. "Such a good girl."

A shiver went through your entire body at that - through your legs, your arms, your shoulders, through every single one of your fingers and toes. He knew just what he did to you when he said that.

He knew.

"Bradley", you moaned, unashamed now, the nerves in your veins long subsided, replaced once more by that all-consuming heat that you could never get enough of.

"Yeah, honey?", he asked. You could hear the grin on his lips. "What do you want?"

You let out a sort of sob that sounded pathetic even to your own ears. It wasn't that you minded begging. Because you didn't. You really didn't. But you had already done so, had already begged him miserably, had told him so prettily how you wanted him to fuck you. And he was starting all over again.

"Just once more, honey", Bradley whispered, dropping kisses to your spine, climbing higher and higher. "Tell me once more and you'll get whatever you want."

"Fuck me", you cried out, burying your face in the pillow, not letting even half a second pass by. Bradley always made good on his promises. And you needed him more than anything right now. "Please fuck me."

He was on you within a heartbeat.

One hand around your waist, pulling you into him, as the other one guided himself into you. He pushed into you in one smooth movement, pushed his hips right to yours, stretched you out like he hadn't in four goddamn months.

You were clenching around him, moaning his name, tears brimming in your eyes at the feeling of him again, finally. He was grunting, groaning behind you, his hands clasping around your waist as he settled deep inside you and let out a breath.

You hadn't felt so stretched out in so long. You hadn't felt him in so long. You needed more. You needed to feel more of him.

"Bradley", you whimpered. "Move."

His fingers dug even firmer into your sides. You bit down on your lip. He felt so good, so heavenly with his hands on your skin and his cock deep inside you, but you needed him to move, you needed him to move now, you needed him to fuck you and make you fall apart for him.

"Need a second, honey", he grunted, running his thumbs along your skin - along your new tattoo, just for this, just for him. "God, pretty girl, you're so tight. Missed you so much."

You whimpered underneath him, whimpered as you forced yourself to keep still for him, even as your thighs burned with the need to move, the need for more, the need to finally come undone around him. You knew you were close already. You could feel it, had been feeling it, dancing around the edges of your perception, melting in your blood, scorching in your stomach.

"Missed you too, Bradley", you moaned into the pillow, breathless and desperate for him. "Want to be good for you. So good."

"God, honey, you are", he groaned. "So good. Perfect."

And then he was moving, finally, and you let out a sobbed kind of prayer, your eyes falling shut, your fingers digging into the sheets as he thrust in and out of you in a slow, steady rhythm - enjoying the feeling of you around him, letting you enjoy the feeling of him inside you.

Just that you couldn't enjoy this.

You couldn't enjoy this because you were wound so tightly, wound so goddamn tightly that tears were pricking in your eyes, threatening to run down your cheeks and drop onto the covers. You needed him to make you fall apart, to make you come, you needed more. Just a little more.

You were teetering on the edge and he had you spiralling with how slowly he was fucking you. You needed him to send you over that edge, not build it higher and higher and higher up.

"Bradley", you whined, stumbling clumsily over his name as he ran a hand up your back. "More."

"Dunno if I can-" He broke off, his breath hitching, his fingers resting on your neck, brushing through your hair. "Fuck, honey, dunno if I can do more without coming."

You bit down on your lip at that, let out a moan so absolutely filthy that you were sure you would have been embarrassed of it if you'd had any more capacity to think - to think of anything other than him, anything other than how this god, who could fuck you for hours on end without tiring once, with so much stamina he could have you sobbing, coming for him four, five times on his cock alone, how this god was so desperate for you after four months that he was worried he'd come if he went any faster.

You were almost pushed over the edge just by that alone.

"I don't care", you cried, because you really didn't. "I don't need long, I need you. I'm so close."

Bradley grunted, his fingers brushing even higher up on your scalp.

"You're gonna be the death of me, honey", he muttered, just before he grabbed a fistful of your hair and pulled you up onto your knees - into him, into his arms, your back flush to his chest. You dropped your head against his shoulder with a moan, let your eyes fall shut again.

He thrust up into you with vigor then, with more urgency, with less fear of coming undone, less fear of cutting this short. His hands smoothed over your sides, over your chest, holding you up against him, brushing along your breasts, along your stomach.

And all you could think was yes, this, this was it. This was what you had been imagining, what you had been picturing in a cold, lonesome bed every night, what you had been so desperate for.

His fingers trailed down your thigh, trailed up again, caught on your clit, drew a circle against that little bundle of nerves and you fell forward, doubled over, only held up by him, by his arms around you as you came undone, as you clenched around him.

Four months.

Four months and a tattoo.

And he hadn't even had you there for two minutes, had barely touched you, and now you were falling apart for him, lips parted, eyes squeezed shut, legs burning, fingers cramping. You'd waited four months for this.

You could feel him spilling inside you, noticed it somewhere dancing around the edges of your perception as you gasped for breath, tears stinging your cheeks and your nails digging into your own thighs.

This.

Him.

Bradley's finger had stilled on your clit. You blinked your eyes open, refocused on your green wallpaper, on the pictures, the old vintage polaroids of you and him right above the bed until you could see them all clearly again, until you could see them and realise what they were, until you could manage to tilt your head back and rest it, once more, against Bradley's shoulder. Until you had come back to reality again.

"I missed you so much, honey", he muttered into your ear, pressing a soft, open-mouthed kiss onto your exposed neck. "Missed this so much."

"Missed you so much too", you mumbled, reached for his hands. He pulled his finger from your clit, let you intertwine your hands with his, rested them carefully on your stomach. "Love you, Bradley."

He pressed another kiss to your neck, his lips warm, oh so warm on your skin, soft and warm and you needed him to kiss you now, to press his lips to yours.

"I love you too, honey", he whispered, halfway to brushing another kiss onto your skin when you turned your head, met his lips with your own, cut him off by surprise.

This was a weird angle, you had to strain your neck to even slot your lips together somewhat well and you were sloppy with it, too, your chest still heaving and your mind returning to clarity just now, but you didn't care, couldn't care, not when he'd just made you come, when he was holding you in his arms, when he was finally here, right behind you again, as though the last four months hadn't happened at all.

When you pulled back, you were feeling more normal again - as normal as you possibly could feel, with him behind you, with him inside you still.

"You got a tattoo", Bradley breathed, a grin dancing around the corners of his lips. You chuckled.

"Just for you", you nodded, brushing your fingertips up his arms, up to his elbows.

Bradley kissed you again, all parted lips and breathing into each other. You felt almost melancholic when he drew back. But he was smiling - and when he smiled, you had to smile too.

"I'm never letting you go again", he said, loosened his grip on you to trail his hands slowly, softly down your body, giving you enough time to steady yourself without him holding you up anymore. "And I'm not letting you leave this bed until the sun comes up, alright, pretty girl?"

You had to bite down on your lip to keep from grinning, anticipation already bubbling in your veins again. You knew he could make good on that promise. And that he probably would.

"Yes, please, Bradley", you muttered, already bending down again, splaying out your hands to catch yourself on the mattress as you showed him your tattoo again, just for him to see, just for him to touch. Just for him. "Whatever you want. As long as you want. I love you."

#bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw #top gun #top gun x reader #bradley bradshaw smut #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw x reader #x reader

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reds-writings · 1 year ago

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rust cohle headcanons

(pairing: rust cohle x fem!reader)

a/n: here's some more rust brain rot on my behalf <3 feedback is always appreciated!

warnings: implications of sex, light cursing, etc. let me know if i missed anything! (minors shoo!)

word count: roughly 1k

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adding to the headcanon floating around of him being an acts of service type man through and through. yes, he can go on neverending tangents but sometimes words about his more sentimental/mushy feelings are better demonstrated by him being at your near beck and call whenever you’re in need

you don’t even have to directly ask him to do anything. it’s more like if you were to mention offhand that something in your car didn’t sound right or your fence needed some redoing they’d find themselves fixed within the coming days without so much as another word

that man is crafty and i cannot be convinced otherwise! the little beer can people he made are just a small example of what he can do with his hands. one day in town you saw a beautiful chestnut dining table but it was just a tad out of your price range so you figured you’d save up a little more for it and get it the next time you stopped by

rust had some downtime (more like made downtime during his bouts of extreme insomnia) and got to building. it was a while after and by that time you had long forgotten about the table you saw until one day you got home from work only to find an ornately designed table in your dining room. it was a bit different than the one you’d spotted at the shop but no less beautiful. in fact it was even more gorgeous with its polished shine and intricate details

you had searched for a note or maybe even a sign left anywhere of the maker that it came from to then spot a neatly carved ‘RC’ underneath one of the tabletop’s lefthand corners

your fingers grazed over the simple set of initials as your brain damn near short-circuited at the fact that this man built you a damn table. with his bare hands. rust cohle saw that you liked a table and decided to just make it himself

you’d made your way to the receiver on your wall after snapping out of your disbelief and rang him up

“You built me a table.” You said it more as a statement than a question instead of a normal greeting.

“I did.” His tone held no sense of pride or smugness at your shock. As if this were no big deal at all.

“You built me a table. When did you have time to build me a whole table? In fact, when’d you start bein’ able make tables in the first place-”

“D’ya like it?” He interjected in that lackadaisical way of his and you paused.

“...I love it.”

“Good.”

“Well, I guess then it’d only be fair for me to invite you over for dinner so that we may put this lovely new table to good use. As thanks of course.”

You heard him huff in fond amusement on the other line, “Yes, ma’am.”

y’all put that table to good use alright

he’s more of a grappler than a cuddler when it comes to sharing a bed

he holds you as if in need of tethering himself. it was as if he were to let go somehow this wouldn’t be real and your presence would flit away should he loosen his grip at any given moment

if you get too hot in the night any point of minimal contact was still initiated like tangling your foot with his or linking pinkies just so he knew you were nearby (this happens longer down the line in your relationship when he feels a bit more comfortable having someone in his space a bit more constantly)

quality time together isn’t necessarily always spent doing something totally stimulating or exciting

it could be as simple as cooking dinner together or curling up on your sofa while he reads and you watch something soapy on television

he’s a very private man so going out to do something super couple-y isn’t really up his alley. he won’t really ever deny you if you wanted to really switch it up and go to places like bars, the movies, fancy restaurants, etc. he’d just find himself more reserved in more public spaces but no less completely and utterly focused on you

he’s not much of a dancer but don’t get it twisted. his ass can dance. the man is from Texas so you best believe he has more than a few line-dancing routines ingrained in the depths of his mind

on the very few occasions you’ve gotten him to agree to dance with you when you’re out you nearly laugh every time with how seriously he takes it

you find yourself cooking food for him often. not that he ever expects it of you but living off of cigarettes and beer can only do so much for a guy. he genuinely forgets that his body needs a meal when he gets all caught up in his work (you don’t bother nagging at him much because he’s grown and more stubborn than anything at times)

if you aren’t available to check in on him you’re not above making Marty grab something for him when they’re stuck at work

any kiss he gives you is not one made in passing. anything rust does has some level of deep intent behind it but he never kisses you or says ‘i love you’ out of routine or empty habit

he’s a deeply feeling guy and a lot more handsier the longer you’re together (usually still only in the privacy of your own home). it goes back to just having to feel tethered or connected to you! it comforts the more broken/scared bits of him knowing that you’re just there and present and real

his synesthesia can make things overwhelmingly intense so sometimes when you’re out or after certain activities he finds himself in need of longer moments to himself (which you never take personally)

in less serious moments you find yourself asking him the dumbest questions you can about smelling colors or tasting places

“So does that mean Marty’s got a taste to him? You've tasted your coworker?” You snickered as you lay beneath the weeping willow in your front yard with him.

“It don’t work like that.” He said around the unlit cigarette in this mouth, tone sounding as if he were entertaining a silly child.

“Nuh-uh! You said somethin’ awhile back about my presence tastin’ like jasmine and clementines or somethin’-”

“Drop it.”

You poked your tongue in your cheek trying not to giggle.

“I bet you Marty tastes like stale coffee and I dunno…regret-” You snapped out a surprised laugh as you felt a quick pinch on your side.

#rust cohle x reader #rust cohle imagine #true detective season 1 #matthew mcconaughey #true detective imagine #rust cohle headcanons #rust cohle #reds-writings

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lanawinterscigarettes · 29 days ago

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Jennifer Check and her love languages (headcanons)

Warnings/contains: gn! reader, swearing, brief mentions of Jennifer's demon possession and such, this is mostly just domestic fluff tbh <3

Beginning notes: my love for my favorite demon possessed girlie is re-emerging so that's why I decided to write this hehe

Jennifer's biggest two love languages to display in my opinion would be physical touch and quality time giving her personality

She doesn't do well with complimenting people in a way that sounds genuine (so words of affirmation are definitely out lmao), and she's a bit too self-absorbed to randomly give you gifts or complete an act of service unless it's like your birthday or something

That's not to say she doesn't love you, because she very much does, she just shows it in her own way

Jennifer loves being around you even more than she loves eating boys, which certainly says a lot about how high she values your relationship (especially if you're a boy yourself. The fact that she kept you as a partner rather than a potential meal is astounding and you should consider yourself very lucky)

Quality time is a big way for her to show just how much she cares because she loves you! She wants to spend time with you!

You're her partner, which means she likes you wayyy more than most people, who she merely tolerates. Of course she's going to want to be around you most of the time rather than anyone else

Physical touch adds on to that because if she's going to be around you so often, obviously she's going to want to be physically affectionate, duh. In her opinion, you're the perfect mix of an adorable sweetheart and a yummy snack, so why wouldn't she display that by hanging off you every moment she gets the chance to?

Seriously, you're always attached at the hip when you're with her, and that's especially if you go out in public. Not only does she want everyone around to know that you're taken for, she's also very serious about making sure nothing bad happens to you

It's basically mandatory at this point for you to be touching her in some way if the two of you go shopping together or something like that. It doesn't matter if you're holding hands, if you have an arm slung around her waist/shoulder, or (if you're a little bit cheeky) your hand is in the back pocket of her jeans

If you're not touching her, she's going to ask why in a very passive aggressive way until you get the hint and hold her fucking hand like you're supposed to damn it

When it comes to receiving love languages, she really doesn't care what you do because your focus is going to be on her no matter what

Oh, you also want to spend all your time with her? That's fine, she'll stay over at your house for days at a time until you finally tell her to leave. You want to show your affection by kissing her and clinging on tight like a little barnacle? Perfect, because then she can keep a better eye on you to make sure she can keep you safe

Maybe you like dishing out compliments instead, or completing acts of services for her, or giving her gifts. Who is she to deny your need to display your love for her by telling her how amazing she is or making her breakfast (or ordering breakfast if you're an awful cook) in the mornings or surprising her with a new makeup set from her favorite brand? It would be rude for her to reject your love and appreciation, after all

Even if you only do small things like telling her you think her hair looks pretty or giving her a light kiss on the cheek when you see her or giving her a new tube of lipgloss, she still loves it either way because you're doing all those things with her in mind

As much as Jennifer loves being worshipped and praised simply for existing, she adores that you're able to see past her for just her good looks and that you cherish the person she is on the inside, even if that person is now partially possessed by a demon due to a human sacrifice gone wrong. You love her for her, and that's what really matters, regardless of how you display it

End notes: Jennifer oh how I love you 😔💔 if anyone wants to send in some requests for her btw I'd be more than happy to get them!

Likes < reblogs | comments are greatly appreciated | requests are currently open | divider by @/kodaswrld

Main masterlist | Jennifer's Body masterlist | wanna be added to my taglist? | my Kofi

🏷 taglist: @missmewts @ghot-girl @taecube @korniispunk @gilmore-angel @pvnk-whvre @alexxavicry @noisy-dumb-piece-of-shit @lovelyy-moonlight @red1culous @theonetruepotato87 @jadasmp4 @caplanreblogsfics @certifiedwomenlover @chxshirehearts

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clueless-fan-critic · 4 months ago

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Why Helluva Boss Surpasses Hazbin Hotel In the Best Way Possible

The Helluva Boss Christmas episode dropped and I caught up with Season 2. I love this show so much for so many reasons. But that doesn't diminish Hazbin Hotel in any way at all. In fact, because of the show, it gives us a much deeper appreciation for what Helluva Boss is doing. I mean Hazbin Hotel was cool on Prime, but I want to talk about why Helluva Boss is the "Shrek 2" of the R-Rated animated musical series by a YouTube Animator. And that's a weird mouthful.

Getting Better with No Reward

Helluva Boss makes pretty clear that the "evil" demons of Hell are basically regular people with problems. Whether a majority of demons are born in Hell or damned souls, it's clear that they grow up from children to teens to adults. They have jobs, families, homes, and all the mundane things in our lives. And do in fact die. Possibly? That part is vague in whether they just get erased from existence or reincarnate Chainsaw Man style. But with those in mind, what would exactly be the point of being a "good" or "bad" person?

Throughout the series, many of the demons have some moral code, ethics, empathy, or rationale that sets them apart from the more chaotic and stereotypical demons. What I saw with a lot of characters is they willingly try and change for the better, all without Charlie Morningstar or the promise of Heaven, but redemption. This is especially in the case of Blitzø with a silent O.

Blitzø is one of the more unhinged characters you would see as a demon: immoral, selfish, hedonistic, all those demony things. But we, the audience, get to see his life, his failures, and his pain and how it shaped him. While it doesn't excuse his actions, it does make us understand. Once realizing these feelings, Blitzø tries to confront the consequences of his actions, with some trial and failure. Reconciling with his twin sister Barby: failed. Apologizing to his exes: failed. Talking with Fizzoralli: okay but still some scars, literal and figurative.

In fact, both Blitzø and Charlie share one major quality: attempting to change the status quo of Hell. But Blitzø wants to be seen more than a lackey to other higher demons while Charlie wants to prove people can change for the better. While Charlie's reason is more rooted in selflessness and hope, Blitzø's feels more human and genuine. From what I could see from the show so far, Hell is getting a whole lot bigger in what it can offer.

What's The Big Difference?

Helluva Boss is a more grounded and relatable show than the epic musical of Hazbin Hotel. The show allows for a lot of worldbuilding moments with the different rings of Hell along with their functions and associated demons. We're introduced to imps at the bottom of the demon hierarchy, demon royalty through Stolas and the Goetia royals, and six of the Seven Deadly Sins.

It seems the Seven Deadly Sins hold the most authority compared to the Overlords. It might be that the Overlords are more rich people like CEOs, industrialists, and entertainers while the Sins are like government officials, both holding power and influence but in different areas of life.

Whenever Hell is used in a show, it's represented in a myriad of ways ranging from classic burning pits to existential or nihilistic despair. It does make it clear that Hell is more a dark reflection of life on Earth, but more dirty, vibrant, and chaotic nonetheless. Even the Earth depicted in the show isn't really different aside from the whole demonic powers and magic stuff.

What Makes it More Interesting than its Predecessor?

Helluva Boss uses episodes as vehicles for their characters. Basically, getting to know who we're watching, why they're important, how they are as people, and so on. It doesn't have an overarching story that builds to a final battle. They're just chilling with exploring characters and their impact to others and the present stories in different episodes. Although there are interconnecting plots and stories, the show is mostly episodic.

Its strongest element include the characters, its main cast, supporting, and even one-off jokes, they all leave impressions on anyone who sees them. Millie is given more exploration in later episodes with why she always put up with Blitzø and believes in their business despite his total incompetence and hangups. You think Millie is just this bubbly tank, but shows a much more vulnerable side who wants to be seen more than her "intended role."

Stolas is another character is breaks the mold of his role. With disastrous results for everyone he cares for. Stolas is the love interest of Blitzø who aids IMP with his magic. He slowly breaks out from being a prince into someone else he hasn't found yet. We see his royal comfort implode in the Sinsmas finale, he loses his status, power, and even his daughter because of a perceived fantasy or escape that would free him. But, like a lot of caged birds, he doesn't fare so well in the real world. Now left with truly nothing but the very person he made his "sacrifice" for. Even uncertain of that as well.

But, the songs from both shows are incredible!!!!

My favorites include Loser, Baby performed by veteran Keith David and newcomer Blake Roman and U 2 Me performed in "Apology Tour" by Bryce Pinkham. Both those songs really connect with me while conveying character moments. The songs in Helluva Boss develop and explore character like a musical would use them for those big "Declaration of Something" anthem. Defying Gravity, We Don't Talk About Bruno, even Cell Block Tango, all are songs that explore one's mindset, opinions, and personal struggles.

Why Should I Watch...?

The Characters, the plots, the songs, the animation, so much F^$King things to admire and love that I can't... I just... 😣 😩 ... I don't know.

Just Watch It and See for Yourself!!!

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silentmoths · 11 months ago

Text

A lick and a promise

Its been *squints* Seven months since i cooked.

god damn its been seven whole ass months CRIES

Boothill got me so fkn good i cant even BEGIN to explain why he's such a comfort character for me ok he just IS.

Boothill x Reader (fem but it's really only mentioned in regards to anatomy.)

NSFW

Enemies to Lovers (kinda?), Smut, Hurt/comfort (kinda?), Oral sex, fingering, boothill is a gd kendoll (sorry boothill genatalia nation i just...wanted to write this like he was a ken doll LEAVE ME-)

7k words, NOT PROOFREAD

The first time you run into the Galaxy Ranger known as Boothill, you’re not sure what to make of him.

You were just an unsuspecting casualty, the pilot, nothing more. Flying ships for the IPC had to beat minimum wage, right? This was your first real gig with them, something a little more secure.

If you managed to make it off pier point without having a gun aimed at you that is.

A…cowboy. You’d heard about them, of course, but seeing one in this day and age was almost unheard of unless you travelled to planets far out in the west, ones untouched by the IPC and their ‘modernizations’.

Yet this cowboy also seemed to be touched by said modernizations, considering almost all of him was made of metal. Hell, all of him might be synthetic, nanotechnology was a terrifying thing, it could eat away the organic and replace it with the inorganic, mimicking skin and its blemishes, hair and all its different shades, like the curtain of black and white you see before you.

“Han’s where I can fudgin’ see em.” He warns quietly, pistol pointed directly between your eyes. You do as he asks, why wouldn’t you? You weren’t being paid enough to put your life on the line for…whatever the hell you were carrying, you didn’t know, the IPC didn’t enforce ledger-checks- You tell the cowboy as much when he asks.

“Yeah that tracks.” he mutters with a roll of his visible eye. “Lookit’ you, still wet behind the darned ears.”

“D-do I get a pardon i-if I told you it was my first day on the job?” you manage to squeak out, a terrible habit really, opening your mouth in times you should really stay silent…but the cowboy cracks a grin, a very sharp-toothed grin.

“Ah heck, really?” He chuckles, shaking his head as he spins his pistol in his hand and tucks it away into its holster. “Look I aint’ got no beef with ya. ya ‘ aint even wearin’ an IPC uniform-” “C-contract work.” You cut in with your explanation, only scolding yourself after the fact for, once again, interrupting the one with the gun. “The IPC really gettin that desperate, huh?” He snorts, his robotic fingers flexing as he himself goes to check the ledger, it was obvious he’d done this a few times…perhaps thats why the IPC had started hiring a third party, someone new for him to kill.

And yet he doesn’t kill you.

He ties you up, sure, but he’s not an entire ass about it, he even apologises when he pulls the rope a little too tight and you squint.

“S’a formality.” He mumbles as he ties the knot tight “y’understand.”

“I guess…Just…thanks for not killing me I guess, Mr.Cowboy.” You shrug, perhaps you were still in a little bit of shock, perhaps you were coping with humour and ‘funny’ comments…perhaps, inside, you wanted to cry because of course of all the times to be held at gunpoint it was your first day working for the IPC.

“Name’s Boothill.” He corrects. Boothill, huh? You’d read about that…some eons old name for gunslinging cowboys who should have been dead.

After you had been discovered, set free, and promptly fired, you decide to look up this ‘Boothill’ character; you find little other than his bounty…whoever he was, he kept himself pretty closed off…made sense for a galaxy ranger.

The second time you encounter Boothill, you’re working on a satellite array. It’s a shit job, it was freezing cold out here, and the welding masks given to you and your coworkers by your bosses were cheap, low quality, offering little protection from the welding torch and its bright, concentrated glare.

After your firing from pier point, no other freighting company was willing to take you on, and in a desperate attempt to get some damned food into your belly, you’d taken this job on some far out meteorite, repairing this shitty, run down satellite so the IPC could extend their reach further.

If the bosses had bothered to do a background check, they would have seen the unfortunate mark next to your name.

’Banned from all positions within IPC jurisdiction’

But considering the shit pay, shit hours, and shit accommodation? The old hand’s out here didn’t really care much for the ‘official’ rules; so long as you weren’t being actively hunted.

There was no sun out here, so every few hours there was a mandatory UV break, in which you all got to return to the little sleeping pods that were nothing but glorified transport containers with a wall sectioning off one third to make a bathroom; just to sit beneath a UV bulb.

Whoever had lived in this one before you had stuck up a picture of a beach on the wall you had to stare at beneath the lamp, and faintly, you wonder if they ever made it there- or had they just keeled over dead from overwork? That seemed more likely, considering nothing had been cleaned out of your pod when you’d arrived.

As you bask in your shitty, simulated sun, an explosion wracks the entire facility, sending you toppling to the floor as the world spins, cracks apart, opens like the gnashing teeth of some horrific space creature.

Was it a space creature? Had the meteorite collided with something it shouldn’t have? You didn’t want to find out, but you sure as fuck weren’t about to stay here and probably die once the oxygen field around the place sputtered out. The emergency guide tape’s you’d been forced to watch are nothing to help against the real thing, a real emergency. There are sirens blaring, the stark white light’s had all died, replaced by that infuriatingly anxiety inducing red as you struggle to put your space suit on.

Just make it to a shuttle, they weren’t far, thats all you had to do.

It’s a mantra you tell yourself as the ceiling above you begins to crack and crumble, your time here was up.

As you wrench open the door to your pod, you collide with someone. Considering you yourself looked like a glorified marshmallow in the emergency suit, you certainly weren't expecting the person you collided with to be as…hard as they were, solid like steel to the point you’re sent toppling back and unceremoniously onto your back, like a turtle.

A familiar pistol is pointed at your helmet.

No fucking way.

Boothill stands there, grin on his face and a gun in yours as he looks you up and down before howling with laughter. “Now what in the hay is that?” he wheezes as you struggle, only to stop when you push the visor of your helmet up, revealing a face he recalls. “No fudgin’ way-”

“You again!” You screech, flailing your limbs as you attempt to stand in this…ungainly suit. “What the fuck are you doing here now!?”

“I could ask you the same mother forkin’ question!” He barks back, yet despite it all, he withdraws the pistol and even shows some mercy, reaching down to pull you back onto your feet “the fork you doin here?”

“Well, someone got me fired from my last job!” you snark at him “and now it looks like I'm out of another, what did you do!?” “Blew up tha’ satellite!” He chuckles as if he’d just won at an arcade game and not caused millions of credits in damages. You open your mouth to…you don’t even know- Shout? Scold a wanted criminal? Beg for mercy? When the world tilts again, the sound of rock cracking and metal creaking fills your senses; resulting in you simply screaming out of fear.

This was it, this was where you died. On a rock, in the middle of space, blown to smithereens by a cowboy. Except, the cowboy reaches down, and for a moment you think he’s going to kill you, just to stop the screaming. Instead, he grabs your arm and yanks you upright without a word, tugging you along behind him like you weighed nothing in this stupid marshmallow safety suit. (perhaps, to a cyborg, you didn’t weigh anything.)

Boothill cares little for the smoke and the flames, and you are just a leaf in his wind, guided through it all with scary precision until there is suddenly nothing and you realise what he’d just done.

This fucking cowboy galaxy ranger had just leaped off of the edge of the meteorite, dragging you along with him.

Correction; this is how you die, once you left the gravitational field, you’d just be stuck…floating in the void of space forever…no one would ever find your body-

Before your thought can finish, you crash into something hard, a ship, you realise, you had fallen into the open loading hatch of a ship, unlike boothill who landed on his feet, you’re simply a pile on the floor.

You hear the cowboy laugh as he turns to look at you, and you thank the fact that you’re face down from keeping your likely red, teary face from his scrutiny.

“Y’alright down there?” He asks.

“Peachy.” you mutter back, your muscles ached, but the adrenaline was already beginning to wane, suddenly the suit felt…heavy, impossibly heavy as you listen to the sound of the ship’s hatch closing. “Why’d you save me?”

Boothill thinks on it for a moment. Why had he saved you? It wasn’t really his M.O, saving people, especially when they worked for the IPC…he supposes a part of him felt a little bad… you hadn’t been working for them directly last time…and because of his stunt, you’d lost that job and had resorted to working for them in this backwater shithole of an array.

“Eh, Y’aint worth killin.” he responds after a moment “S’not like you’re the mother fudger I’m looking for anyways.”

Something about the way he says it…stings. Not worth killing?

Slowly you sit up, a terribly ungraceful affair in this stupid space suit as you pull the helmet off entirely and toss it to the floor, there was no point hiding the tears anymore.

“Wh- hey now! What’s got in yer’ boot?” Boothill balks at your teary face “what’s tha’ matter?”

You hate how stupid you must look, crying, red in the face…embarrassing really. But after the scare you’d just had, you don’t have the forwithall to keep your composure anymore.

“Whats the matter?” you mutter, staring at the cold, metal floor of the ship “what’s the matter is that you have single handedly managed to lose me not one, but TWO JOBS!”

You don’t mean to shout, really, you should be thanking him for saving your life.

“I’m BANNED from working for the IPC!” you cry “I wasn’t even meant to be working here! But where else am I meant to go!? EVERY job is somehow overseen by some division of the IPC, I can’t work anywhere else! Now you say I’m not even worth killing!?”

Boothill stares, the gears turning as he simply takes the emotional vitriol thrown his way. It had been…a long time since he’d found himself faced with this kind of problem.

“Aw shirt…” he mutters, realising his words had only worsened the situation. He takes a knee, pulling his hat off as he watches, he sees the way you’re shaking, your fingers flexing; he might be ‘old fashioned’, but he could recognize a panic attack. “C’mere, let's get this great forkin marshmallow suit off ya.”

You don’t even have the faculties to push him away as cold, robotic fingers begin tugging away at the velcro, the zippers and the straps. Breathing was getting harder, everything ached. Only once the galaxy ranger had pulled you free of the confines of that damned suit could you expand your chest properly. Too small, you realised, the suit you’d been given was way too small.

“Easy, easy, easy.” Boothill mutters as he sits you down “jus’ breathe.”

Easy for him to say, did a cybernetic cowboy even need to breathe?

He could see the struggle, but what the hell was he meant to do about it? It wasn’t wrong..the IPC had their fingers in so many pies… finding a job untouched by them? That’s like finding a needle in a haystack.

It wasn’t often Boothill felt…guilty. But somehow…you’d managed it.

“Aw c’mon, don’t gimme the waterworks.” he sighs “Look…ah’ll admit I forked up your job prospects, I’ll fudgin’ take that responsibility… will ya at least lemme see if I can help?”

“What can you do!?” You cry at him “If the IPC catches wind that I’ve somehow been caught up with you again-”

“Lemme take ya to a planet the IPC don’t care ‘bout.” He cuts in suddenly, an idea forming in his mind. “Been there plenty, they’re good folk, they’ll help ya.. Ya just…gotta trust me.” A planet untouched by the IPC? That seemed like a pipe dream…

“Impossible.” you mutter “any planet the IPC finds, it conquers.”

Boothill grins, that same toothy grin you remember from your first encounter with him. “I know, right? But this one? This one’s special.”

Eyama II was a small planet with little in the way of resources the IPC wanted or needed, a dwarf planet no less, nothing but a speck of dust floating through their air filters. It was a self-sufficient, homely type place…if he was being honest with himself, it’s where he would want to retire if he ever saw his goal through…living the simple life he used to know before the IPC had ripped it from him.

He knows it’s not the most…elegant solution, but he knew some fine folk there, some fine folk who might just be willing to help the poor outcast he’d created. -

It’s a long trip. It had to be if it was out of the IPC’s gaze…but that did mean a long trip with Boothill.

In a tiny two person at most ship.

You didn’t really know what to expect, if he’d just tie you up and put you in the corner…but as it turns out…he’s somewhat hospitable… ok more than somewhat.

After you’d calmed enough to be reasoned with, he’d handed you a bottle of nondescript nature. Without much thinking, you’d taken a swig, eyes widening at the distinctly alcoholic taste. It wasn't anything strong like whiskey, but it was enough of a shock.

“Malt juice.” He clarifies as he takes a seat at the helm, setting the warp drive “figured it’d help calm ya nerves.” You blink down at the bottle before slowly taking another, more temperate sip.

It…wasn’t bad…actually it was pretty good. It burned your throat just enough to keep you in the present.

You both talk…small things, you ask him how he knew of this planet, and tells you about all the planets he’d visited that weren’t under the IPC’s thumb, how all of them were nice, simple places.

He tells you that he thinks you’d like Eymaya II, he thinks everyone would like Eymaya II. It had rolling hills and green valley’s. The people were mostly farmers, ranchers, common folk just going through the motions to get by, but not in the same nihilistic sort of way most did. Good, honest living, as he says.

Part of you wonders if there ever was a time this ranger worked a good honest life, if this whole…cowboy thing was a facade, or if it was real, remnants of a past he couldn’t return to. You’re not sure if it’s his conversation, the malt juice, or both, but you eventually begin to open up, about your home life, about your terrible habit of cutting into conversations when you were nervous, all of it.

And when you begin to fall asleep? Your head nodding slowly where you sat, you feel a cold, metal hand rest on your shoulder.

“C’mon, you need ta’ rest.” He tells you, guiding you to the cot that looked seldom, if at all used.

For a wanted criminal who had put you out of two jobs and nearly killed you both times…he was surprisingly kind.

He wasn’t wrong about this planet. It was beautiful, the air was fresher than you could ever recall, living in the city.

Apparently, the look on your face says as much. Boothill chuckles, tilting his head softly as he watches you take it all in. “Told ya ye’d like it.” He hums, something in his mechanical chest whirring with..pride perhaps? Satisfaction? He wasn’t entirely sure, but seeing a face that, so far, all he’d seen from was fear and upset finally show…wonder…it felt good. He wanted to see it more, perhaps even a smile one day.

He takes you to the inn, sets you up with Jodie, an elderly woman who had been around the block quite a few times, she didn’t put up with Boothill’s antics, more like…a curmudgeonly aunt at first as she barks at him for not calling in sooner, only for it all to melt away into an almost familial warmth as the cowboy explains himself, explains you.

“now child I know you did not lose this poor thing not one but TWO jobs!” She scolds, hands on her hips.

There is a lick of satisfaction as you watch boothill shrink beneath the innkeeper’s rage.

“Donchu’ worry hon, we’ll getcha set up here, somewhere this block for brains can’t accidentally getchu fired. Only thing that’ll do that around here is laziness…you aint lazy, are you?” she asks, turning to you and squinting her beady, aged eyes at you, making you stiffen up as well.

“N-no ma'am!” you bark instantly “I-I promise to work hard and earn my keep!”

This atleast, seems to settle her some, and before you know it, you have a hot meal and an ice cold drink in front of you, and you want to cry again.

You actually feel…somewhat sad when boothill has to leave…anxiety twisting in your gut… would you really be okay here? Would you survive?

But he pats you on the shoulder and grins, and something about it is…comforting.

Something about it made you want to try.

It’s five years until you see Boothill again.

Jodie had grown too old to continue running the inn, and somehow, against all odds, it was you who had taken over. The entire place was yours, and you were happy.

Not a day goes by where you don’t wonder how you ended up here, but then you recall, the enigmatic cyborg cowboy who had hijacked your ship, and then blown up a satellite array.

Somehow, your outlook on him had turned from disdain to…a strange sort of affection. The frigid anger had melted away, and what replaced it was a sense of…thankfullnes for what he’d done for you. Working here, away from the almost all-encompassing reach of the IPC had opened your eyes to just how…corporate everything felt, and how it so desperately wasn't you.

It’s a late evening, you’re closing up for the night, the bar had emptied of all it’s usual late-staying regulars, and those who had rooms rented for the evening had already retired.

You’re polishing a few glasses when the door swings open.

“Well now, there’s a face I ain’t seen in a forkin long time.”

The voice is familiar, and has you turning, a small smile tugging at your lip. A mixture of feelings racing through your chest.

“Well well, come to let me collect your bounty, Sir?” you snicker, placing the glass you’d just polished beneath the malt juice tap to pour him a glass.

Boothill laughs, sauntering in with the swagger you remember as he drops into the stool closest to you. “How’ve you been, Boothill?” you ask him, setting the glass in front of him and waving away his credits. You owed him one drink, atleast, “what’ve you been up to?”

The galaxy ranger snorts, throwing some of his long hair over his shoulder “How long ya’ got there, sweetheart? S’gonna be a long story.”

“I own the place now, and we’re closed, so all the time in the world.” you hum, deciding to pour yourself a glass as well after locking the door. “Shoot, really? What happened to ol’ jodie?” He asks, voice tinged with legitimate concern as you drop into the barstool beside him.

“She’s fine, she’s fine..just old is all.” You assure him, finding a little comfort in the relief that washes over his features.

“Ah, fork don't scare a guy like that.” He sighs, running a hand through his hair “thought Jodie had up n’ left us.”

“Nah, she’s got a while on her yet.” you snort, taking a sip of your drink.

The conversations run long into the night, catching up, listening to the thing’s he’d done, places he’d seen…IPC operations he’d torn apart at the seams. He listens to you too, as you tell him about how things have been here, catching him up on anyone he asked about. It was like talking to an old friend. You weren't sure…what boothill was to you…a friend? An acquaintance? It was…complicated.

More malt juice enters your systems, you ask if it actually has an affect on him.

“You know…being a cyborg and all..” you mumble, feeling a distinct warm dusting to your cheeks as the malt settles.

Instead of responding with words, the galaxy ranger reaches out and takes your hand into his. He feels…

Warm.

“You tell me, darlin.” He chuckles after a moment, watching you though half-lidded eyes. You barely even notice, more curious about how the alcohol affected him. Without even thinking, you run your fingers along his exposed arm; you weren’t going crazy, he was warm, almost humanly so.

Your fingers continue to wander without much thought until they brush along his jawline; the sudden transition from steel to skin is what finally snaps you out of your own thoughts, pulling back with a squeak.

“O-Oh aeons I’m sorry!” you fluster at his face, his eyes are wide and his mouth slightly ajar. “I-I got carried away I’m-”

His hand reaches out again, clasping yours and pulling it back towards his face as he rests his cheek into your palm.

“Don't.” He murmurs, softly, softer than you’d heard him before. “Keep goin…please.”

A realisation settles across your mind.

“You…you can’t feel most touch…can you?”

He doesn't look you in the eye, but he does sigh, only burying closer to your warm palm, worn after years of working hard…but still human.

“S’not that I can’t feel…I can…but..s’mtimes it’s so forkin dull I might as well not…but..my face is…”

“One of the few places you can feel.” You finish the sentence for him, feeling a pang of sympathy. You didn’t know how long Boothill had been like this, but you could wager long enough that he was more desperate for a kind touch than he probably even realised.

“Yeh…” he mutters, his lips turning down into a frown “sorry…ah know it’s probably-”

“Shut up.” you mutter, turning to face him fully, your other hand coming to rest on the other cheek as you watch this man, this gunslinging galaxy ranger, falter. His eyes widen before he shuts them entirely, leaning into it, starved of this type of affection.

“F’ya don’t stop this bullshirt m’gonna think you might have some feelin’s for me, darlin’..”

You didn’t know if thats what it was…but you didn’t want to stop either, a part of you wanting to sate you own selfish curiosity…another part wanting to do this for him.

“It must be a lonely existence, living like you do.” the murmur leaves your lips before you even notice you’d spoken out loud, thumbs stroking over his cheek bones. Boothill stares at you in silence for a long moment, his gaze calculating, probing.

“I thought ya’ hated my forkin guts…” He mutters.

“Perhaps once, for a little bit, I did.” You admit “But then you brought me here, and I’ve never been happier..”

A beat passes, then another, and another. Boothill stares at you, the feel of your hands on his face something he wasn’t ready to give up just yet.

And then he leans forward, lips crash together and the taste of Malt juice and perhaps a little bit of oil is on your tongue.

You don’t pull back, if anything, you lean into it shamelessly.

Robotic hands grip your waist as your own finally shift from his face to wrap around his shoulders. At some point his hat goes flying off elsewhere, but neither of you care; too strung tight, too wound up to care.

His teeth are as sharp as they look, but he’s careful with them as he nips at your bottom lip, swiping his tongue over the little beat of blood he manages to draw.

“Shirt-” He mutters against your lips, his eyes shut tight, you can hear his inner mechanics whirring, like a mechanical heart about to rabbit from his chest “fudge, if you don’t stop me now darlin I’m gonna keep taking-”

“Then take.” you mutter back at him, tangling your hands into his surprisingly silky hair and yanking. “Take what you want.”

“Oh trust me, I would but..” Boothill’s growl trails off, and for a moment he looks…embarrassed. You can’t for the life of you figure out why until he steps closer, your knee brushing between his legs- oh.

“Flat as a forkin’ brass tack.” he mumbles.

You’re not sure why, it might just be the curse of your horrible humour, but your attempt at not giggling only sets you off into laughter that you attempt to muffle into his shoulder.

“Ey, watchu laughin at?” you expect boothill to be…mad at your outburst, but you can hear the amusement in his voice, feel the tremble of his own laughter “t’aint funny.”

“It kinda is.” you snicker out, pulling back to look him in the face. He looks a little sheepish, but thankfully, mostly just amused. “It’s okay…we’ll figure something out..”

His toothy grin settles back into a dangerous little smirk as the moment passes again, the kind of smirk that makes your belly twist a little. “Oh yeah, I got some other tricks up my sleeves.”

Without much more to say, you find yourself being lifted, thrown over the cowboy’s shoulder- as you open your mouth to say something, you’re interrupted with a harsh slap to your ass, resulting in nothing but a squeak.

“Where’s yer room?” He snickers as you glare at him.

You consider not telling him, being a brat, but the charming smile he returns to you is… yeah it does something stupid that goes right to your crotch.

“Upstairs…first door on the left.” you mutter, flustering at the way his grin widens.

If you didn’t know better you’d almost describe Boothill as practically skipping up the stairs, the angle for you however was a little trepidatious, and you find yourself clinging to him for a little more stability, right up until he carefully tosses you down onto the plush of your bed, landing with a soft thud.

He’s back on you, and your hands are back on him without him needing to ask; you can see the relief it brings, the way his eyelids flutter and his brow pinches as your fingers glide across his cheek, down his chest and along his arms, still warm, you note…

His lips return too, his own hands untucking your shirt just to get under it, metal fingers gliding over the smooth of your belly, up the your sides as he groans into your mouth. You wonder how much he can actually feel, if it was still dull, or if the alcohol had heightened his mechanical touch sensors somehow. You didn’t care, he looked happy, legitimately happy, like a dog being scratched behind the ears as you indulge him.

His lips move from yours and he begins to nip and taste elsewhere, his nose brushing against your own as he leans in, nuzzling at your cheek, nipping at your jaw, revelling in the little sounds of pleasure he pulls out of you, especially when his wandering hands wrap behind your back and find the clasp of your bra, it comes undone with a surprisingly expert tug and you moan softly at it.

(Who could blame you? You’d been wearing the damn thing all day.)

You wished there was something you could do for him, something to pleasure him like he was doing for you, but you forced yourself to be content with touching him, running your hands through his hair, scratching at his scalp and tugging at the soft strands; running your thumbs over his cheeks, tracing the shells of his ears.

Boothill however, seemed just as hellbent on touching you, but he had far more room to move, to explore, to play.

Metal thumbs find your nipples, embarrassingly hard and sensitive after being trapped in the confines of your bra all day, and you moan as he rolls them both, back and forth in a slow, methodical rhythm that leaves your breath light, and your stomach twisting in knots.

Pointed teeth find your throat, nibbling and worshipping every inch of skin they could catch. You’d have to wear a scarf tomorrow if he kept that up, lest the regulars at the bar notice the strange bruising… but you don’t stop him; you were all in on…whatever this was now.

A metal hand pulls away long enough to pop the buttons on your shirt, leaving the plane of your torso open and exposed to his gaze, nothing short of hungry as he stares down at you.

“Fudge…” he mutters, his voice husky “That’s a nice view…”

“Tease.” you huff.

“Tease? Oh ah’ll show you tease.” He snickers, his mouth returning to your skin, working lower, biting at the junction of neck and shoulder, nibbling along your collarbone before the cowboy shifts further, his tongue darting out to lap at one nipple whilst a hand works the other.

You gasp and moan, a hand quickly coming to muffle your cries, cheeks alight with embarrassment at the sudden outburst. Boothill only chuckles, his eyes trained to your face as he lays, settling between your legs as he rests atop you to continue his work, but at least he doesnt pull your hand away, too engrossed on what he could feel opposed to what he could see and hear.

He switches breasts while his free hand trails down, over the soft plane of your belly and to your belt, unbuckling it with ease and sending the strap of leather flying across the room before those fingers return, popping the button of your work jeans and dragging the fly down. You groan softly in appreciation at the relief it brings, only to feel those metal fingers working the waistband down.

Just what was he planning? you wonder internally as he gives your nipple one last, harsh suck before releasing it, making you keen beneath your hand.

“Feelin good, darlin?” he whispers. He sure sounded like he was feeling good as he nuzzles against your skin, nipping at your stomach and trailing lower, hands gripping at your jeans, pulling them and your underwear away in one swoop, leaving you open, exposed, and embarrassingly wet. “Y’sure look it..” he adds with a low whistle “aint that a sight.”

“B-boothill-” You mumble, an attempt at closing your legs out of embarrassment only sandwiching his head betwixt your thighs. He grins at you; it’s such an endearingly handsome thing, it makes you feel like this wasn’t a first time thing between you both, like he knew you, like he was comfortable with you, which only added to the heat in your belly.

“Aw don’t go gettin all fudgin’ coy on me now.” he snickers “After all those drinks’ ya’ gave me downstairs, I’m still kinda thirsty.”

His metal hands part your measly human thighs with shameful ease as he leans in close; you squeal when you feel his hot tongue lave down your inner thigh, warm breath so achingly close to your cunt it was maddening.

But it seemed Boothill was just as desperate as you were, his mouth attaching to your cunt after only a moment, taking in your squeal as his teeth gently roll your clit, the added danger only serving to make you wetter.

“F-fuck! Boothill-!” you moan out, forsaking keeping yourself silent as your own hands scramble across the sheets, searching for something, anything to ground yourself as his tongue laps at your folds with fever; they eventually find and settle in his hair before giving it a tug.

Boothill groans, the sting is only arbitrary, but he loves it, he loves being able to feel something. The warm plush of your thighs around his ears, the heat of your cunt as he sucks on your clit, only made sweeter by your cries. He’d missed this, he’d missed this a lot..

“Y’aint seen nothin’ yet, darlin.” He growls low and loving against your thigh in the brief moment of reprieve he gives you. You stare down at him with hooded eyes,your knees already trembling from his vicious onslaught; he nips the soft, sensitive flesh of your thigh with a cheeky smirk, holding up a pair of fingers, watching your face as he slowly drags them through your wet folds, collecting your slick; you gulp. “Like a’ said, I got a few fun lil’ tricks up my sleeves.” His mouth returns, lapping and pulling you right back into the overwhelming, wonderful pleasure as a slick metal finger circles your entrance, slow, methodical, torturous. You nearly sob with relief when he finally presses the digit inside, the metal actually making it easier. He hums his approval at how easily his finger is sucked in, pumping it slowly in and out, in and out; taking things at his pace- perfect.

After a little while, you feel that finger beginning to probe, to prod and search for your G-spot, and before long he finds it, signalled by a loud gasp and a sharp tug at his hair, only pulling his mouth closer, his tongue working away at your clit like he wasn’t driving you absolutely mad with pleasure.

Once he’d found the spot, he retreats, slowly adding the second finger and beginning the cycle again, stretching you, filling you stupidly well; it was an absolute tragedy that he didn’t have a dick…at this point you were so stupidly horny, you would have climbed on top of him just for a chance to ride him.

(somewhere in the back of your mind, the saying ‘save a horse, ride a cowboy’ reverberates)

As you’re right at the height, right at the edge, he suddenly stops, his fingers cease their movements and he pulls his head away, resting his chin on your naval as he stares up at you with such a stupidly loving look that it makes your heart twist; his chin was absolutely drenched in your slick, but he looked so very content.

But you weren’t.

“B-boothillllll-” you whimper, tugging at his hair again, why had he stopped!? Now of all times? You could feel his metal fingers pressed against your G-spot, but unmoving, they did little to pleasure you. You clench around them, but that too, yields little results.

“Sorry sweetheart, just wanted to see your face when I did it.” He chuckles, his smile twitching up in the corner.

“D-do whAT-” your question cuts off abruptly when the fingers inside you suddenly burst to life with vibrations, the strength of which you’d never experienced before. Your body coils and you nearly scream as he rams those fingers into your G-spot, stars exploding behind your eyes whilst pleasure cuts through your belly like glass.

“That.” He hums, satisfied as he returns that sinful mouth of his to your clit, adding another layer of pleasure. His fingers were harsh and rough, crooking into your G-spot one second, and then splaying out the next, dragging rough and harsh against your walls; his tongue however was soft, gentle, slowly and carefully rolling circles around your poor little nub. You were going to go crazy, he was going to drive you insane and you were absolutely letting him. Your body reacts on its own, thighs squeezing hard around his head, spine arched upward; your hips prevented from bucking thanks to one of his arms, wrapped solidly around your thigh and holding you down to the sheets, forcing you to lay there and take it.

You knew the walls here were decently soundproof, but even you began to question if they could muffle out your cries, made worse when Boothill suddenly sits up, pulling you up along with him, practically folding you in half as he continues to feast on your pussy like he hadn’t eaten in centuries, his vibrating fingers plunging somehow deeper.

At first you struggle for air with the new position, your knees almost at your chest, but then he switches the angle of his fingers and aeons-, you didn’t think it could get worse than this. But the pleasure this new angle brings, it’s new, its terrifying and you don’t quite know how to articulate that to the galaxy ranger causing it all. Your hands scramble clawing and tugging at any part of him you could get ahold of, his name falling from your lips along with incoherent babble, desperation and worry all balling into one feeling you couldn’t describe as he continues to piston those fingers into you, hitting your G-spot with such accuracy, the flame in your gut turning from a high heat to a near-volcanic overload as you jerk and struggle.

The final straw is when you crack open an eye, catching sight of him, staring back at you with such…love, such unbridled affection.

You scream his name as you cum, harder than you’ve ever cum in your life. Your faintly feel yourself make an absolute mess of his face, arms, your back and the sheets below you as your world turns white.

–

A soft, damp cloth carefully rubbing over your skin slowly pulls you back into reality, rousing you from the soft and gauzy subspace of post-orgasmic bliss. You try to shift, to sit up…to…something- but a hand carefully manoeuvres you to lay back down on a thankfully, dry patch of sheets.

“Easy, darlin’” Boothill’s familiar southern drawl hushes you down “Nearly done.”

You crack an eye to find him carefully cleaning you off with said damp towel. Methodical but careful. You’re trembling from the exertion, but boothill looks absolutely fine, the bastard.

In fact, he looks better than fine. A smile plastered on his stupid face as he works away, wiping sweat and other…fluids, off of you.

When he was done with that, he wraps you in a clean sheet and lifts you, sitting you down on the trunk at the end of your bed, just so he could change the set you’d obliterated with your unexpectedly rough orgasm. You sit there, watching him, half asleep and pleasantly dozy before he pulls you back into bed, pulling you into his side. A glass of water is pressed against your lips as he encourages a few sips into you.

You spend the night sleeping with him curled around you; the quiet whirr of his mechanical body providing a pleasing, soft white noise while hands stroke through your hair.

–

“Do you have to go so soon?” You ask as he reaches for his hat.

He’d been here a week, and it had been…for lack of a better word; wonderful.

But all good things had to come to an end you supposed. The look on his face was enough to tell you what you didn’t want to hear.

“I gotta. I ain’t done yet.” He tells you quietly, despite this, he holds out a hand, a silent request for you to walk with him…the inn and the bar would be fine for a little while.

“I’d ask ya t’come with me, but that’d be the biggest forkin mistake I could ever make.” the cowboy admits. He wanted you to, he’d never felt so content as he had in this week, but bringing you meant putting you in danger…aeons know he’d done that enough already.

“Will you…at least come and visit me?”

Boothill snorts as they meander their way towards his ship “O’course I will.”

“How often?”

“S’often as I forkin can.”

You both stop beside the ship, it had a few more dings and dents than you remember, but it was still in surprisingly good condition.

“Well…” you mumble “at least you know you’ll always have a room at the inn while I still run it.”

“Y’mean yer’ room?” He snickers. “I forkin hope you intend on running the place as long as possible, I pulled in a good favor from jodie to get ya yer’ start ‘ere.”

You smile at him. Boothill thanks every aeon in existence that his cybernetic eyes had a camera function, so he could save that face and look back on it when he was drifting through the universe.

Slowly, he pulls his hat from his head, holding it to his chest as he leans down to press his lips to yours, one last time for the road.

“I’ll be back as soon and as often as I forkin can…y’hear?” He murmurs, you nod; fighting away the sting behind your eyes as you step back.

“I hear…and…Boothill?” you ask as he turns around to step onto his ship, looking at you over his shoulder.

“Thank you.”

Taglist: @stygianoir @meimeimeirin @ainescribe @dustofthedailylife @rjssierjrie @crystalflygeo @angel-of-requiem @asoulsreverie @zomzomb1e @moraxsthrone @mysnowmanandmebaby @inlustris-is-slowly-dying @pvbbyb0y Want to be added to the list? shoot me an ask~

#Silentmoth writes #finally #HSR x reader #Hsr Smut #Boothill x reader #boothill x reader smut

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stephreviews · 1 month ago

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Steph's Weekly Watchlist (Mar. 17)

So many shows are starting this week! Whoooo! I'm so ready!

QL Dramas - Currently Airing

Lost in the Woods (Wed, Airing: 1/7)

This one looks like "Tale of Thousand Stars" style, except Fifa did not want to go to the town. Honestly same bruh. It doesn't look high quality, but I'll give anything a shot. Also, this got delayed by 1 week. So hopefully it's airing for realsies.

My Golden Blood (Wed, Airing: 2/12)

This show had a lot of hype but fell flat for a lot of people. This episode pretty much met my expectations LOL. I knew GMMTV's first real foray into CGI was not going to be pretty, but what I wanted was gay Twilight and God damn it that's what I'm getting.

Secret Relationships (Wed-Thur, FINALE)

It's interesting how differently all 3 men are treating Daon. Honestly? I'm not sure how I want it to end anymore. Soohyun forcing himself onto Daon was Not It. Jaemin is The Worst. But also like....it would be kinda messy and fun for Daon to pick one of the red flags, you know?

Top Form (Thur, Airing: 1-2/11)

This show looks really interesting! It's another meta (a few of these have come out of Japan recently, but I think this is the first out of Thailand), where it's two costars dating. See the extended trailer here.

Sweet Tooth, Good Dentist (Fri, Airing: 1/12)

I'm so excited for this show! Much like My Golden Blood, they released a behind the scenes episode. Mark is an amazing actor, but has been stuck as a side character for literal years. I neeeeeed to see him as a main. Watch the trailer here!

Flirt Milk (Sat, Airing: 9/10)

I binge-watched the 8 episodes of this show that are out this week one day when I was bored, and damn this show is so stupid. Nothing makes sense. I honestly feel bad for the actors. The actors are doing their best with a script that feels like it was either AI generated, or written by somebody who wrote like a single short-form fanfiction and then thought "I can write a 10-episode drama".

Every conflict resolves in 10 seconds or less so for some reason there's a billion things going on and way too many characters for 10 episodes. That wig and fake beard? Absolutely hilarious. Frankly I have no idea what the lesbians are doing there and how they're related to the guys. Took me forever to learn Phra Rong's name. Phra Rong was harassing Pai at the cafe and for some reason I can't figure out decided to flirt with him? I'm very confused. I feel like I'm on multiple drugs.

Perfect 10 Liners (Sun, Airing: 22/24)

Okay I just KNEW that bullshit with the mom was going to come back during this arc. I mean, we all knew Faifa's issues stemmed from the way his mom picked him up and threw him away as she pleased, but the way Yotha and Newton treat him? No one thought to call or text him when she couldn't come to visit? Also, this entire time that Faifa has been courting Wine, Yotha has been threatening him and telling him to not hurt Wine. What about Faifa's feelings?? Like my dude. Gun cares wayyy more about Faifa than Yotha does. I need an episode where Yotha gets a reckoning.

Ossan's Love TH (Mon, FINALE)

This episode took me on a wild ride. Honestly this whole show has been a wild ride, but I think it's the first love triangle I haven't hated, and I'm the number one love triangle hater. Kongdech is kinda pushy, but he doesn't let it affect how he treats Heng as his boss. They also address how Heng doesn't set boundaries and never says no. Mo also has flaws and never speaks his mind. It's three messed up adults colliding in a way that's funny, but relatable. This episode, we finally see everyone address their issues head-on....and then Heng gets amnesia!

QL Dramas - Catching Up

I see it as a win that this list keeps getting smaller 🥹

Fragrance of the First Flower SS2 (Tues, Airing: 9-10/12, Me: 1/12)

Reverse With Me (Wed, Airing: 7/8, Me: 1/8)

Exclusive Love (Fri, Airing: 7/12, Me: 1/12)

Us the Series (Sat, Airing: 10/12, Me: 1/12)

Other Dramas

The Witch 마녀 (COMPLETE)

This was an amazing show. It kept me guessing until the end, and I was surprised by how romantic it felt despite the leads barely interacting. My only critique: they introduced a second couple in the last two episodes. Either don't introduce them, or have a few more episodes to tell their story. I hate when a couple gets thrown together for no reason. The main couple, however, was amazing and perfectly developed. See my full review here.

The First Frost (COMPLETE, Me: 2/12)

I only had a chance to watch episode 1 this week, and I already got sucked in. The cast is high-powered, the chemistry is chemistry-ing, I love my girl besties, the cinematography, everything! I just need a day where I can binge cause I know myself and I will not be able to hold back.

Boys Journey 2 (Fri, Airing: 8/10)

They finally (!!) divided the boys up by their branded pairs and sent them on a scavenger hunt. We got lots of cute moments, like feeding each other and cuddles and hungry baby Pooh (that boy is a black hole). This show continues to be a hilarious addition to my Fridays, including the hashtag (#BJOuting)

(side note - I thought it was hilarious how Joss was shirtless for basically the entire episode of My Golden Blood. Will this be a theme? If so - I'm so on board.)

#lost in the woods the series #my golden blood the series #secret relationships #피밀사이 #top form the series #flirt milk the series #sweet tooth good dentist #perfect 10 liners #ossan's love th #the witch #마녀 #the first frost #boys journey outing #boys journey 2 #stephs weekly watchlist

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mylovelies-docx · 2 years ago

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Sorry, I Love You - Part 1

Here we go! I have it planned that I will be updating this story on Fridays, so yay! I have 10 parts set out as of now, but we'll see where this story takes me.

Plot: You and Bucky have a good thing going - best of friends that also have more than a little chemistry between the sheets. Everything is fine until you develop feelings for the man who doesn't want a relationship. What will happen when Bucky finds out?

C/W: Friends with Benefits, ANGST, unrequited feelings, lots more to come!

Word Count: 1,200

Prologue

You were right to doubt Natasha's words.

Waking up next to Bucky just gets harder and harder as time goes on. Listening to his soft murmurs and heavy sighs, the feel of his bare skin against yours. Every time you find yourself between his sheets, you resent him a little. But it’s not his fault, it’s yours. Every time.

Because you know that if you ever take that one crucial step towards him, you’ll lose him. Lose this closeness, this connection.

So you don’t take that step. You haven’t opened up and told him how you feel for months now. And it drives a knife into your heart with every second that passes where you don’t confess.

Every time you sneak away from parties to some hidden room for a quick fuck, or when he’s pounding into you under a street light on some deserted road with your leg hiked over his motorcycle at 3 am, you can’t help but imagine that all this passion has to mean something to him. Like it means something to you.

So you test it.

You invite him on adventures between missions, visiting museums and parks and 24/7 diners that you know are perfect date spots. He always readily agrees to hang out and stays with you the whole time, his arm slung over your shoulders while he laughs in your ear.

Spending time with Bucky like this leaves you effervescent. You always leave his arms smiling like a fool – because that’s what you are.

Because these movie tickets are just an excuse, really.

Bucky’s been so busy these last couple of weeks that you’ve hardly seen him, let alone spent any "quality" time with him. You’re currently on your longest dry spell you’ve ever had with him, and the lack of contact leaves you delusional.

Delusional enough to do something stupid.

Delusional enough to tell Bucky how you feel.

The air is cold as you and Bucky stroll from the movie theater, your heart buzzing in your chest as you contemplate how best to approach the topic. Bucky gives you the perfect opportunity with his next sentence.

“Damn, dollface, forgot how much fun it was to hang out with you. Feels like it’s been ages.”

“We could always hang out more,” you respond coyly, taking his hand and curling yourself against his side. You don’t think you can look him in the eyes while you confess to him.

“Yeah, we should,” Bucky says, and you can’t hold back your next words.

“We could go on a real date sometime.”

You feel a nearly imperceptible jolt in Bucky’s muscles, and his voice is slightly bemused when he replies. “What?”

There’s confusion behind the words, but you hope against hope that it’s because he’s thinking your suggestion through.

“Well, I mean, we’ve already kind of been going on dates and doing other things that couples do? It wouldn’t be so hard to just make it more concrete, you know?” Your words squeeze around the lump in your throat, your insides shivering in desperation.

Bucky stops in his tracks and pulls you off to the side of the street out of other people’s way. He turns you to face him, his palms resting on your shoulders, his blue eyes searching your face for any sign of the joke you must surely be playing. Because you’ve talked about this. He was very clear. And you had agreed all those months ago – agreed that it was just sex. Agreed that neither of you had any romantic feelings for the other.

“Uh, doll? What are you…?”

Your cheeks burn and your fingers tingle. Your heart can’t handle being scrutinized so intensely at this moment. You avert your eyes to where you’re scuffing your shoe back and forth, back and forth, across the pavement.

“I’m saying… I–I like you, Bucky.” Heart in youth throat, you finally look back into his eyes when you say his name.

But his expression as he looks back at you isn’t the one you were wanting to see. Bucky looks panicked. Like you’ve just told him that you’re holding a bomb that’s set to detonate in seconds.

“Jesus,” Bucky says your name in exasperation as he removes his hands from your arms and runs them through his long hair, “why would you–”

Fuck.

You quickly back-pedal, trying to keep the panic out of your voice while scrambling to pick your bleeding heart off the dirty sidewalk.

“No, no, no. Wait, Bucky. Listen. I know we’ve talked about this before and you said you weren’t looking for anything serious.” Your hands are flying all over the place as you try and explain away your feelings. “But we’ve been hanging out a lot and maybe I just got the wrong idea–”

“Yeah. You did,” Bucky interjects, sending a dagger into the mess of an organ clutched desperately between your hands. “It’s flattering and all, but… you know I’m not interested in you like that.”

You’re successfully holding back tears against the burning in your eyes, but the need to release all the pain you’re feeling is overwhelming. You wrap one arm protectively around yourself and grab on to your other bicep, squeezing hard to feel the physical hurt instead of the emotional.

“No, yeah, you’re right. I’m – I just thought I should be honest? But, seriously, don’t even worry about it.” You hold your hands up in a placating gesture and give as convincing a smile as possible. “This won’t change anything, I promise. And besides, I’ll get over it soon enough!”

Bucky gives you a skeptical look, but nods his head slowly. “So… we’re taking sex off the table, obviously.”

You give a breathy laugh and try to roll your eyes playfully. “Probably not the best idea at the moment,” you respond.

“Yeah,” Bucky sighs, “probably not.”

You both stand in awkward silence, not really looking at each other. You can only stand it for so long until you casually throw a thumb over your shoulder and suggest heading back home.

It’s a long, long ride back on his motorcycle. But at least the wind lashing your face gives you an excuse for the tears that fall.

***

You make it to your floor without seeing another person, but your luck runs out when you find Nat and Wanda watching a movie together in your bed. The sight of your two best friends smiling warmly at your entrance shatters the last of your strength.

You can’t stop the hiccuping sob that leaves your throat – it refuses to be held back any longer. Both women’s eyes widen and they immediately start to sit up, but you’ve collapsed on top of the covers between them before they could move. You can feel Wanda’s fingers in your hair and Nat’s hand rubbing soothing circles between your shoulders.

Your sobs eventually turn into sniffles, and that’s when Wanda speaks.

“What happened?” she asks softly.

You take a shuddering breath in before saying, “I was stupid.”

“What–” Wanda begins, but Natasha immediately knows what you mean.

“Fuck.” She sighs heavily and leans down to place a kiss on the crown of your head.

Part 2

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky fanfic #captain america #Sorry

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lianaloverr · 6 months ago

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I hate you, right?*: ･ﾟ

(ﾉ´ヮ´)ﾉ*: ･ﾟ

Yes she’s back! With a part 2! After a year…

Summary: You go over Alex’s house to do the project, but other things end up happening..

Warnings: no fluff surprisingly😲, dirty talk, mentions of intercourse, pet names (baby, sweetheart, amor, princess), Alex is dominant😝😜 , y’all i did not proofread this (update:i did, shouldn’t be any bugs!)

Word count: 1k+

“”You know your really something yea? How we get here so damn fast.”

*THE WEEKEND*

New text from: Alex🙄

hey, we still working on the project?

you: no but i’m coming over anyway

aw come on baby, your gonna have to get used to it

you: don’t call me that

call you what, baby?

you: oh my god i can see your smirk through the screen

can you now?😏

you: send me the address you dummy

since you asked so nicely princess..

(ﾉ´ヮ´)ﾉ*: ･ﾟ

“Thanks for dropping me off mom! i’ll be done at around 10!” I say when I pull up at Alex’s house. “Of course honey! see you later!” I waved as she pulled out of the driveway to make her way back home. An audible groan escapes from my mouth has you look at the house. Well, I have no choice, is what I think as I start walking up to the door.

One knock on the door was all it took until it opened. “Well, isn’t it my favorite girl?” the boy said in front of me. dammit he needs to stop calling me that, it makes me feel some type of way. I can’t explain it. “Oh, i’m your favorite? i’m flattered!” I say sarcastically, “okay cut the crap. Where are we setting up?” I asked curiously. “We can go to my room, just follow me.” he says as he walk around the corridor and toward the stairs. As I close the door and follow him, you look around the places I’m passing. The living room, kitchen and I see pictures all across the walls. Pictures of Alex, and his family. huh, he doesn’t look like a complete a-hole in these pictures. He actually looks sweet and a good boy in them. ew, good boy? What is wrong with me.

“Here is mi casa.” Alex says to me while turning to face mine. “Wow, it’s a wreck. Have you ever heard of cleaning?” I say joking, knowing that will work up his nerves. “You sure know what to say huh? One day i’ll shut up that pretty mouth of yours.” he mumbles that last part. “I’m sorry what did you say?” I asked, but I already knew. “You heard me, baby. I’ll shut up that pretty mouth of yours by pushing my cock inside your mouth.” I didn’t say anything, I just stood there, motionless. “Don’t know what to say princess? Did I work you up?” he says stepping closer, when I step back it makes me hit my back against the door, causing me to stop walking. “What are you doing?” “What do you mean sweetheart, I’m not doing anything.” he says, oh what is he doing? Even though I hated him with a passion, i’ve always had a foreign feeling about him too. It was sort of euphoric state of mind, like I hated him but I also had fantasies about him too. “What do you want baby? tell me and I might give it to you.” he whispers in your ear, breathing on your neck while doing so. “What are you talking about?” I try to sound confident but fail as a whimper falls on my lips when i feel his touch on my waist. “Just say the words baby.” “Please..” I said. “Please what, sweetheart?” he says. “please, I need you.” I mew, eagerly. “aww, is that what my baby wants? the be screwed over while screaming and begging for more?” he says coldy. “Yes, that’s what i want. Please!” I basically shout, I can’t do this anymore. “Well that’s to bad isn’t it? Come on we have a project to work on.” he’s says while pushing off of you and going to sit in his chair and getting on his computer.

(ﾉ´ヮ´)ﾉ*: ･ﾟ

What.The.Hell. I stood there in shock. Did he really just make me beg and when to sit down? This is so frustrating yet intriguing at the same time. I like to be teased, now that I think about it, Alex has all the qualities I want in a boyfriend. If it wasn’t just the way he was it would be fine. “Are you just gonna stand there or are we gonna work on this project?” he asked, looking up at you. “Don’t rush me. What was that?” you said, asking a question back. “What was what Sweetheart?” he says, looking at you smirking. He knew what he’s doing and he knew it was getting to me. But I weren’t gonna have it. “Nevermind.”

It’s 10 now. Me and alex have been working for the past 2 hours. “You know, you not as dumb as I thought you were.” Alex says to me. “Why are you lying? I won the science fair in 6th grade and you were runner up.” I smirked in his face knowing he didn’t forget that. “Okay that voting was rigged!” he shouts, half-joking. “Okay dude, that was 6 years ago get over it.” I say laughing and he just laughs with me. This is actually much nicer than all the bickering. “I should go home, it’s getting late.” I tell him. “Aw, do you really have to go home? Why can’t you just stay the night?” stay the night? He gotta be going crazy.

“Stay the night? Since when did you like me enough to let me stay the night?” I ask. “I’ve always liked you princess.” oh wow. “Oh my god stop calling me that!” You half yell in frustration. “Why princess?” “Because you know what you’re doing!” I say, looking directly at him. “And what exactly is that?” he said smirking while looking at my body up and down. “You know what? Forget it, i’m calling my mom.” “What? amor, I was just kidding! Don’t call your mom, stay here it’s too late anyway.” he walks in front of me. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea. What would your mom say, what would mine say?” “My mom’s out of town for the week, it’s just me. You can just tell your mom you’re staying over a friend’s house.” “mm I don’t know Alex..” I say hesitantly. “Please amor?” he begged, looking at me with desperation in his eyes. “Fine. But this is the only time!”

(ﾉ´ヮ´)ﾉ*: ･ﾟฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅ(ﾉ´ヮ´)ﾉ*: ･ﾟ

Y’all. I know, it’s been a year since I wrote part oen. But y’all deserve it, it’s been a year😭 I fear I cooked(i’m actually cooked 🤓☝🏽). Part 1 is def getting a revamp. I read over it and was like “what possessed me to write this” so that’s getting reworked, also y’all are getting a part 3 and maybe even a part 4 and 5???😳

Sorry @kalihq003 for making you wait for part 2😭 here it is

(literally had to make my own sparkly thingy bc i couldn’t find any😭)

#qsmp quackity #dsmp quackity #quackity x reader smut #alex quackity #quackity smut #quackity imagine #quackity x reader #quackity x y/n #qsmp #quackity #x reader #fluff #cute #Spotify

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ask-the-royal-absol · 14 days ago

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The trio set off from Champ's, walking through the straight, cobbled streets. Destino gazed at the city surrounding them. So much in one place. The vast array of shops. The rows and rows of stone houses that each had unique stone-working decorating them. The ground upon which they all stood. It was all incredibly well built up. The houses had solid foundations. Markets were filled to the brim with a wide variety of goods, each of remarkable quality. Children ran through the streets with joy and vigor. How the surface Pokémon lived was so damn frustrating. Destino's kingdom was in an alliance with this one. If their ancestors had demanded more from their trade deal, their kingdom could have been in a more prosperous state. It was not fair. None of this situation was fair.

No matter. When they were monarch, they would see to gaining more resources. They wouldn't hesitate to use force if the situation required it. If the surface Pokémon needed to suffer to make their kingdom thrive-

Destino shook their head. Gods, what were they thinking? They weren't some tyrant who took whatever they desired. Clearly the sunlight must be messing with their head. Yes. That's what they were going with. Destino's anger for this situation must have been noticeable because they felt a small tap from Felix - who was currently possessing a magmar - and saw a look of concern on his face. Destino could imagine what he'd look like in his actual body. They gave a smug yet reassuring grin back, hoping their friend would take it to mean that they were ok, and carried on walking. It always felt nice when Felix checked in on them. The deflection seemed to have worked as he didn't check up on them for the rest of the journey.

The three of them carried on towards the outskirts of the city, heading towards an area fenced off by large, pointed rocks. The concrete and rock ground transitioned into a dirt one, which made Destino try to shake little crumbs of filth from their paws. If this type of ground was common, this was going to be a rather annoying journey. Walking through a large gap in the rock brought the group towards a stone building. It was rather impressive in size and had a few concrete columns to hold up several ledge-like slabs. There were two statues: one, of a large dumbbell, loomed above the entrance and the other depicted a primeape striking a victory pose. Behind the group was a large dirt area with a range of differently-sized rocks dotted about. Some rocks were jagged and battered, some smooth. Others had a flatter top to them. Destino looked up and down the building. A smirk grew on the leafeon's face.

Destino: Hopal, you make me laugh. What I see here is a building that aims to be impressive but utterly fails in every regard.

Hope: This is my training ground and this is where we're heading so you better get used to it.

Destino: Really? Very well, let's head inside and see this "training ground" of yours. I guarantee it won't be anything compared to the one I use.

Hope: The one you use? I could have sworn from your stats that you've never set foot in a gym before.

Destino: Clearly your analysis skills could use some work.

Hope glared at Destino. She couldn't wait to wipe that smug grin off their face and beat the ever-loving shit out of them. It would have to wait though, as her dad had given her a whole day's worth of royal duties to do. She began to walk towards the doors and could hear the other two following behind her, with Destino of course finding fault with everything. She was almost thankful that her duties would allow her to get away from Destino's incessant complaining for the entire day.

When the doors opened, it led to a tunnel-like corridor with blue walls. Grey, porcelain tiles covered the floors. Destino had to take a moment to get used to their wavy texture before confidently striding forward. Even Felix hesitated with this unfamiliar texture on his feet. Destino didn't want to admit it to Hope but they were amazed by how clean it all was. Completely beyond what the Underdark was capable of. When they were ruler, they would need to have a little chat with Hope about getting some of these tiles for their own. Maybe they could decorate their throne room with them. That would be nice.

The corridor led them to a reception room. Before Hope could react, a red blur tackled her to the ground. Destino raised a single eyebrow as the shape revealed itself to be a Pokémon they weren't familiar with. It had a rather round, red body with thick, fiery eyebrows. Destino noticed the tan face had - dare they say it - gorgeous, golden eyeshadow on with immaculate eyeliner framing the eyes. The lashes had clearly been done with some kind of mascara and Destino suddenly felt rather envious that they didn't bring some of their own makeup to the surface. Considering the lack of sleep Destino had been getting lately, they would need something to cover up the bags that were surely forming under their eyes. One of the unfamiliar pokémon's thick arms wrapped around Hope's shoulder.

Hope: Oh gods, you were there, Desire?

Desire: Girl, don't even worry about it. Basically no one turned up. Like, there was me and Guy there and one other Pokémon but that was it.

Hope: Really? But dad said there were tons of families there...

Desire: Eww, he said that? Gross. Nah girl, you good. Everyone knows those meet and greets are pointless.

Hope: ...

Desire: That's why I always turn up to yours, boo. Gotta be my favorite bitch's cheerleader. I'll turn up in the whole get up next time, pompoms and all.

Hope: Thanks.

This chatter was a complete waste of time to Destino and so they decided this would be a good opportunity to politely join in.

Destino: Hopal, I don't really give a shit about what's going on here and if I have to wait any longer, I feel I may turn into a statue.

Hope and Desire looked up at the leafeon, frowning at the comment. Hope could feel her feathers rising but stopped when her darmanitan friend walked over to Destino. She gave her usual judgemental look towards them and turned back towards Hope.

Desire: Girl, who the fuck is this? Like, I know Mag but I've never seen you with an ugly as sin leafeon before.

Destino: Says the girl who doesn't know which eyeshadow colour works for her. Was that an attempt to cover up that mess of a face of yours?

Desire was not going to have that. She didn't care who this leafeon was to Hope; she was not going to let them get away with being an asshole. Her hand lunged at the leafeon's throat and gripped it with terrifying strength. The wide eyes and gasping breaths made it clear this grass type hadn't had nearly enough punishment for their unwarranted comments in the past. They tried to fight Desire off but she could barely feel their pathetic flailing.

Hope: Leave them to me. I'm gonna face them in combat and win. We just need to find Farris. Have you seen him?

Desire: I think he was in his office. Girl, if you're having a match, I wanna see it. You know that shit is my jam.

Desire tossed the leafeon to the ground after. The darmanitan was one of Hope's biggest cheerleaders and she was there for almost every single one of her matches. Didn't matter whether her friend won or lost, she cheered her on all the same. The leafeon began to complain but Desire chose to ignore them. What she did find fascinating was Mag coming to their side to check if they were ok. That was weird, knowing how he usually behaved. Looks like she'd need to have a little chat with Hope to see what the deal was.

Hope: Thanks. And, we'll see if Farris allows it. I've gotta drop them off first before heading off to do what I need to do.

Desire: I'm gonna join you afterwards. I wanna know the situation with this leafeon. Meet me down here and we can go off and do what you need to do, alright queen?

Hope: Sure. See you later.

Desire blew a little kiss towards Hope and walked off towards the main floor of the gym. The blaziken didn't know how much she was going to explain to her friend. Could she really tell her that dark types and ghost types were real? It was a slippery slope that could lead to the knowledge spreading like wildfire. That would ruin everything. But, Desire was her best friend. She always trusted her with even her deepest secrets before. Hope would have to consider this some more.

After ignoring Destino's complaints, Hope and the Underdark duo continued on their way to Farris' office. They passed through the gym, with Destino and Felix stopping to take it all in. Hope could see the both of them were impressed by the large scale of it all. Wide eyes from Felix and a small, "whoa," from Destino made Hope smirk. The gang ascended the tiled stairs along the side of the gym and walked through a labyrinth of corridors, each one harbouring a set of wooden doors. It all seemed rather plain compared to the excitement of the gym downstairs. The walls and floor were decorated in a similar style to the reception.

Finally, right at the very end of one of the corridors, Hope turned to face a door that had the name Farris on a shining golden plaque. Hope asked Felix to wait outside to make sure nobody could come in. Felix wondered if he'd be able to stop anyone and the blaziken assured him that, with Magmar being a senior royal advisor, he would have that influence to prevent any unwanted guests. Felix gave a nod and Hope and Destino entered the room.

The room was a fairly modest size. Four blue walls enclosed the room and a carpet lay on the ground. The first thing that stood out to Destino was the vibrant red furniture, which really brought some colour to the space. Lanterns brought a little more light into the office and an orange rug led to the desk. Behind the desk sat a very small Pokémon, yellow in colour, who was looking through a stack of papers. He seemed to be deep in thought and didn't appear to notice the pair enter. It was only when Hope called out the name Farris that he lifted his head up to see who had arrived.

Farris: Ah, Hope! It is good to see you! You missed yesterday's training. I wondered if you had fallen ill.

Hope: Something important came up yesterday that prevented me from fulfilling my usual duties, Master Farris. Sorry for not letting you know.

Farris: It's quite alright. I figured you had been caught up in some royal duties.

Destino stared in disbelief. This couldn't be Hope's mentor. He was so short. This was the guy that trained her? No way. Nah. A mighty laugh erupted from the leafeon-illusioned absol and they strutted up to the desk, resting an arm upon it.

Destino: You can't be serious! Hahahahaha!

Farris: Hope, who is this?

Hope: This is actually who I came here to talk to you about. Forgive how awful they are; I've barely gotten used to their poor attitude myself.

Destino: Hey, you didn't warn me your mentor would be such a half-pint. How is he supposed to provide me with adequate training if he's the size of a berry?

Hope: Don't be rude. If you want this guy to train you, you need to actually show him some respect, dick weed.

Destino: Right, whatever.

Hope: Master Farris, I'm sure you're aware of the prophecy. The six Pokémon destined to save the world from a threat falling from the sky?

Farris: I think everyone is aware of it at this point.

Hope: Well, turns out that prophecy is coming into effect sooner rather than later.

Farris: Really? Are you sure?

Hope: The guardian told me.

The guardian? Farris knew full well what that implied. He had seen first hand how beneficial her knowledge of upcoming disasters and other events had been to Terrestria and the other kingdoms. He also knew how close the guardian was to Hope, this was not something to take lightly.

Farris: It must be true then. Oh my. How many Pokémon are aware of this?

Hope: Only my family and you so far. We don't want to cause any unrest.

Farris: I see. And where does this leafeon come into play? They don't seem to match any of the descriptions of the chosen.

Hope: Well, you may wanna lock the door for this one.

Farris: Why? What's going on?

Hope: Before I reveal anything, I need you to swear on your life that you're not going to tell anyone about this. The consequences could be dire if the wrong pokémon finds out. Do you understand?

Farris: Very well. I understand. I wouldn't want to cause any upset.

Hope: I trust you won't. This Pokémon is a major part of the prophecy. They're not actually a leafeon.

Destino: Wow, just going to out me like that, huh? What's the point of a disguise if you're going to tell everyone about my identity?

Hope: If you're going to get strong enough to stop whatever this threat is, you'll need to train without the illusion anyway.

Destino: I'm already strong enough.

Hope: You're really not. Stop lying to yourself. The fate of the entire world depends on the six chosen ones and if one of them isn't as powerful as they should be, it will be disastrous. I'm not fucking around here. If I want my kingdom to survive, I need you to get your act together. Understand?

Destino: Alright alright. Calm down. Are you at least going to tell him who I am? Like, I'd rather not reveal everything until I get a proper introduction.

Hope: If it'll get you training then sure. This leafeon is actually an absol.

Farris: A what?

Hope: Their name is Destino-

Destino: Prime Destino. I said proper introduction, not some half-assed attempt.

Hope: Their name is Prime Destino and they are the future ruler of the Underdark, the kingdom which houses all of the dark, poison and ghost types. They've come up here as they've been chosen to save the world.

Hope nodded at the leafeon, giving them the signal to do what they needed to do. Destino dropped their disguise with some added sparkly effects, revealing their true self to the makuhita. Farris sat there, shock and horror present on his face.

Hope: Yes. It's a little complicated to explain how they got here but I need you to analyse their core. They are weak as shit and they need training.

The makuhita sat with his mouth agape. That was a dark type. Right in front of him. He didn't believe they were real but here they were. In his office. He could feel his hands begin to shake and his breath shortening. The absol, from what Hope said their species was, rolled its eyes and Hope looked pleadingly at him. Farris' words came shakily from his mouth.

Farris: I...erm...can I just take a moment please?

Destino: I thought your mentor would be more together than this. Come on.

Hope: Master Farris, I know this is a lot. But this really is one of the six chosen and they are not ready at all. Please. The guardian has said they need to be ready.

Farris: Hope, that's a dark type. I thought they were a myth. They shouldn't exist. This being shouldn't exist at all.

Destino was rather taken aback by Hope's mentor's words. They were a myth? They shouldn't exist? Was that how all Pokémon on the surface viewed them? It wouldn't surprise them. It was probably the influence of those damn fairies. Make their existence hidden and then the problem goes away. It left a rather sour feeling in their stomach. How dare this lowlife peasant say that in front of them? First the sheer luxury the pokémon of this kingdom lived in and now this? Destino's expression grew bitter.

Hope: Master, please. I know this is a mind-blowing revelation but the fate of the world-

Destino stormed out of the room, transforming back into their leafeon disguise. Hope tailed behind. She felt rather dejected by that. She hoped he would be a bit more on board but she wasn't even sure he would get around to training them. Felix frowned when he saw how upset Destino was.

Hope: Yeah, the situation is messed up. But I can't control what is spread around up here.

Destino: Oh ho, I think you can, considering our kingdoms are in an alliance with each other! You are the next in line and you're happy with your citizens thinking we're fantasy creatures. What a real swell alliance! Keep us all hush hush amongst your kingdom in exchange for some stupid stones. Seems like your kingdom is getting more benefits than ours!

Felix: Maybe we should keep it down?

Hope: I'm sorry that this is what the state of the world is like! I can't do much to help this situation with Whimsain breathing down our backs!

Destino: Ah yes, of course. It's those fucking fairies again! You know what? Fuck all of this! Fuck this prophecy! This world can burn for all I care!

Destino stormed off away from Hope. They couldn't stand the shit they were hearing. Hope was the heir to the Terrestria throne. She should have been enacting change. Stupid fairies. This was all their fault. Going after this damn fairy prince was feeling more and more justified with each piece of new information Destino obtained.

Destino slumped themselves down by a nearby wall, their head resting against it. They took a deep sigh before crossing their arms. The stress of being up here paired with the responsibility of having to save the world was getting to them. It was all too real now. So very real. Hope said they had to go through training. What possible effect would training actually have? There was a threat that was threatening to destroy the world. How the fuck would some stupid training help them to stop this thing? It was too much to bear. Destino just wanted to pass it onto someone else. If there was a god, this was clearly some cruel punishment forced onto them to repent for being an utter shit head to everyone.

That's when Felix sat down next to them. Still with that Magmar's face on, he gave them a smile. It was the same smile he always gave. Of course Felix came to help them out. He always did. Thinking about it, Felix was probably in a worse situation than Destino. He had to possess the body of some stranger to get around. He didn't even need to be up here. Felix was here because he wanted to make sure they were ok on the surface. What did they do to deserve him? Destino turned away.

Felix: I'm just lookin' out for you. I know this whole savin' the world thing is tough on ya. I know seeing everything the surface has is frustratin'.

Destino: I think it's a bit more than frustrating when you can see your kingdom struggling and everyone up here thriving and living easy lives.

Felix: You're right, It is difficult ta see all that.

Destino: I was told that my existence was a myth. Something that Pokémon up here believe isn't real. Our struggles have gone on for so long that our entire history is now believed to be something made up. The surface Pokémon don't care for us because we aren't real in their eyes. It's fucked, Felix. Beyond fucked.

Felix: It is.

Destino: How am I meant to actually care about any of this if the world either doesn't believe I exist or wants me dead?

That was a tough one for Felix because he knew exactly what they meant. To come to a world which either wants you gone or doesn't think you are real in the first place. Felix saw hints of this as he was passing some of the market stalls along the way here. Children's books with awful caricatures depicting their types as the villains. Decorative charms for the surface Pokémon to hang up to ward off ghost types. And now to learn that most pokémon didn't even believe they existed, even with the Terrestrians having this supposed trade deal with them? How could they be expected to do the right thing in a world so unjust?

Felix had to say something to help Destino out. That's why he was here after all. He needed to come at this from the right angle though. He gave his friend a pat on the shoulder.

Felix: That's why you gotta save the world. Because if you don't, the world ends up still in this mindset of hatin' us or forgettin' us. And if ya do save the world, then they may see dark types as less of a bad thing if one ends up savin' the world. It could be what this world needs. You could be the spark ta change the world.

Destino: That's a lot on my damn plate. I didn't sign up for this shit. My throne is waiting down there for me to sit on it and instead I'm stuck up here having to disguise myself in order to move around a world that hates me. What's the point?

Felix: Because it's the right thing to do. Ya know that it's not just the Pokémon up here that would die but your kingdom too.

Destino: But that's so much effort on my part.

Felix: Remember, you're not gonna be alone. From what Hope said, there are another 5 doin' this too. Ya don't have ta do this alone.

Destino: Ah yes, me and 5 strangers destined to save the world that wants me dead because of my type. Yeah. Great. Real great. Deep joy. I wouldn't be surprised if those Pokémon are all fairy types at this point.

Felix: I think ya gotta remember that you would perish too and I know you are too stubborn ta let yourself die to some mysterious threat. That's why you're still here and not back down there.

Destino: Hahaha hah... I hate how good you are at talking to me about these things. It's like you're a licenced therapist or something.

Felix: That's why I'm up here riskin' it all for ya. I don't think I could be down there knowin' you're up here without anyone you know.

Destino: I can't believe I'm going to say this but I appreciate you being up here with me.

Felix: That must have taken a lot for you ta admit pal, haha. Shall we head back?

Destino: Fine. But I'm not talking to Hope. She's a part of the problem. I doubt that Farris guy will even train me anyway, considering I shouldn't exist. Not that his training will do anything.

Felix: I'm sure he will. Ya gotta think, ya being there probably shattered his reality. I mean, seein' Hope for the first time blew my mind. I just didn't make a huge thing of it.

Destino: Instead you decided to confess some of my deepest secrets to her. Is that how you cope with reality-shattering moments?

Felix: And ya know I'm sorry about that.

Destino: We'll see how sorry you are.

The pair slowly got up and made their way back 'round to Hope, who was still waiting outside of her master's office. Destino chose not to respond to Hope's comment about them coming back and waited against the opposite wall to her, leaning back against it.

Hope pursed her beak but could see she wasn't going to get much out of the leafeon-illusioned absol. She leaned back against the wall next to the office door, not wanting to deal with their emotional state. She supposed their comments from before were right. It must be so hard knowing there was a whole world who didn't know you existed or even hated you for existing. Perhaps she should have a little more empathy for their situation? Did they really deserve it though? Destino was rude and downright annoying. She hated that she had to save the world with them. Hope hadn't told them that part yet but there hadn't been a good opportunity to do so. She would find the time soon. Maybe.

It was a rather awkward wait. The trio stood in silence awaiting the verdict of Hope's mentor. Brief glances were had by each, but not enough to cause a reaction from either of them. It started to make Felix sweat. The tension broke from the sound of a door knob being twisted and a wooden door being swung open. The trio turned towards the noise and the little makuhita stood in the doorway, resting his round hands upon the door frame.

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

The gym was cleared out of all patrons until all who remained were Destino and Farris. Hope went off to do her duties with her friend and the prime told Felix to go and find out more information about Terrestria. The ghost type asked his pal if they were certain but a firm wave of their paw indicated it to be so.

As soon as Farris knew that nobody was in the gym, he led the dark type over to the battle grounds. The floors had a dirt terrain and light blue walls surrounding it. Some seats circled around the arena to allow for spectators to witness the battling prowess of those who fought in it. Some parts of the wall had scorch marks and other areas of wear and tear. It was clear to anyone who entered that this was a well-used facility.

Destino gave a rather loud yawn, spotted a couple of sand bags propped up against one of the walls and decided it'd be a fantastic spot to begin what they classed as "training". With an arm resting behind their head, they began to inspect the claws on their other paw. This man couldn't force them to train. So, what better use of their time than to sit and relax whilst they waited for Hope to come back from their duties? This would be a piece of cake. Destino knew they would break Hope's mentor quickly.

Farris, with an eyebrow cocked, looked to where the absol had rested themself. This felt odd. A Pokémon said to be a nightmare - and apparently one of the chosen - was laying on a sandbag without a care in the world. Surely someone who was destined to save the world should be taking this with the gravity that it deserved. This situation was a little terrifying to him. He didn't know how this creature would react. If he was to tell them to focus, would they kill him? It was how the books said an encounter like this would go. No. He had to steel himself. He didn't know if this dark type could smell fear but he couldn't let the fear of the unknown get to him.

It wasn't the lack of effort that was starting to get to Farris. It was the insults towards his height that were pissing him off. This dark type was going to be one of his greatest challenges yet.

Seems Destino is deciding to dick around rather than do what they need to do. Will you force them to take responsibility?

#story tag #pokemon ask blog #pokemon #pokemon askblog #pokemon oc #ask blog #ask the royal absol #destino the absol #pokeask #ask #pokeask community #absol oc #felix the magmar?#hope the blaziken #master farris the makuhita

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