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frannyzooey · 11 months

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Short Days, Long Nights: 15

Joel Miller x f!reader

Rating: Explicit, teeny tiny lactation kink, Joel being real cute with a baby is it's own warning

A/N: ❤ thank you one million times over to @the-scandalorian who always give the best feedback and advice, to @the-ginger-hedge-witch who is always the most supportive and a special shout out to @mrsquill whose advice and perspective was much needed, being the big beautiful brain she is.

Joel picks his way through the woods, brushing aside the sprawling branches that reach out to catch his shirt. A small bundle tucked against his chest in a makeshift carrier, he’s got one hand splayed across it, protectively shielding it. His boots crunch over fallen twigs, and from within the folds of fabric, June’s dark eyes look up.

Flitting between staring at him and the contrast of the treetops as she takes in the surroundings, dapples of sunlight shift and play across her small face, light catching the swirls of her dark brown curls. When she starts squirming, Joel looks down and smiles at her.

“You ready to get up, baby girl?”

Shifting her in the wrapped sling to face his chest instead of lying down, he makes sure she’s secure before he continues, giving her his thumb to hold onto. Her tiny, chubby hand wraps halfway around it and letting her squeeze it, he strokes the soft skin on the back of her hand.

Carefully placed steps to avoid tripping on anything, his boots follow his normal hunting path, only this time he’s not hunting: he’s taking her for their daily walk.

Starting as something he’d hoped would calm her down during her early days, he’s taken to walking all over the place with her while you nap in the afternoons. Never far enough that he couldn’t get back quickly if he needed to, they’ve explored every inch of the woods surrounding the cabin. Sometimes she’s fussy, sometimes she’s still, and sometimes - like today - she’s alert and awake, lifting her head off his chest to peek at the world around her.

“You hear that, baby girl? You hear that bird singin’ to you?”

He talks to her without even realizing it, a constant, soothing murmur.

His lips brush the downy crown of her hair, dragging back and forth just to feel the tickle of softness and he presses a kiss there, turning back towards home.

Home.

He’d begun calling it that while talking out loud to her and then kept saying it, because it was true. This was his home, and hers, and yours. One that, even though summer had begun and she was now here, had become impossible to leave.

He had agreed to stay until she was born, but with every day that passed, he couldn’t bring himself to move forward with the plan. Days had slid together, weeks blurring as he helped care for her while you healed and he knew you wouldn’t be able to make the trek then, so he said nothing. Another month passed after that, and he thought about it - he really did - but couldn’t quite reconcile the concept of a potential threat with the present sense of safety. The danger that had seemed so immediate and imminent and threatening had faded into the background, giving way to the quiet routine of life, and the three of you continued on.

The map was still in the cabin, as a reminder of what was waiting out there, but so were other things:

Her, in her cradle in the corner of the room along with the pillowcase that she’s taken to sleeping with, in lieu of a baby blanket.

You, on the living room floor, your smile blinding as you stretched out next to her wriggling body in the afternoons.

Her basket on the edge of your garden: you working, her small fists stretching and flexing towards the sky, visible just over the wicker rim.

For someone who had little to no experience with it, you’d taken to motherhood like you’d done it all before. The birth, nursing, adjusting to a new sleep schedule, learning what every one of her cries meant and just how to soothe it. A seemingly deep reserve of patience held within you, your constant resourcefulness when it came to everything you had both on hand and inside yourself, he finds he loves you even more than he did before.

Constantly impressed and humbled by this new version of you emerging right in front of him, he tries to let you both know how he feels in his own, wordless ways: referring to and respecting your knowledge and guidance when it comes to planting, delicate brushes of his hand on the small of your back while you talk with him in the kitchen, stopping you while you do chores to guide your mouth to his in a kiss of appreciation. Rocking June to sleep when she wakes, washing her clothes in the river, taking her for walks.

So accustomed to thinking of his own body as a weapon, spending years using it as a means of protecting those he loves, he’s found an entirely new use for it right alongside yours: familiar, tender motions he thought were lost coming to the surface.

Emerging from the woods, the familiar slope of your land comes into view and he makes his way down to the edge of the water. His boots sink into the soft give of the sand, a trail of impressions left behind him, and he drops down to a crouch before fully sitting down. Unwinding the fabric tied around his shoulder, he gently eases June out of the carrier.

Delicate yet steady in his hold on her, he props his forearms on his knees and lifts her so they are face to face.

“How much did you sleep last night?” he asks, a deep frown settling between his brows. Dark bags show under his eyes, and she wriggles in his grip, her legs kicking.

“Felt like you didn’t sleep at all. Keepin’ us up all night with your fussin’.”

She pays no mind to the stern look on his face, the gentle tone of his words in contrast with their scolding, and his lips brush against her cheek, her mouth opening to chase his with a babbling, wet sound.

“You’re cute, baby girl, but you ain’t that cute. You gotta let us sleep.”

She lets out a soft cry, and he chuckles.

“Okay, I take it back. You are that cute.”

They look at each other for a moment, her small, dark eyes studying his larger ones and a familiar glint of hazel captures his breath for a moment, his heart seizing.

Identical to Sarah’s color, the likeness flits through them almost faster than he can catch it, though it doesn’t stop him from staring intently at June in hopes of it coming back. She blinks and looks away, her body flexing in a stretch.

“I saw you,” he says quietly, to himself.

June’s eyes come back to him at the sound of his voice, and the corner of his mouth lifts.

“I think your big sister was just sayin’ hi, pretty girl.”

Impossible to ignore since the moment she came into the world and he caught her in his hands, he saw Sarah in June all the time. Every day: sometimes in her eyes, in her expressions, in her movements. He knew June was her own being, a mixture of himself and you that he loved. His eyes, the shape of your face. His dark hair, your smile. But when he caught glimpses of Sarah in her, he immediately chased the fleeting image before he could think about how much it would hurt to see it. Another chance to see her again, at any cost.

Introducing the memory of Sarah to June as her “big sister,” a burden was lifted from his chest the day he started speaking about her. With nothing but the solitude of the woods around them and her tiny ears to hear his words, once he started, he couldn’t stop.

Years of buried memories, of guilt, of confessions and apologies as his heart ached recounting the things he’d done. All of them laid bare to June, who absorbed them with quiet fascination at the low, rumbling voice of her father. The words meaningless to her and received without the judgment of someone who would actually understand what he was saying, everything came pouring out.

Everything he’d done, everything he regretted, everything he missed.

Once those were let out into the world, he focused on the good: Sarah’s love for soccer, for animals, her stubborn streak that matched his own. Her sense of humor, her girliness, vacations they took and their time spent together.

Emerging from the depths he’d buried it under long ago, Sarah’s memory grew stronger every day and he was surprised to find that it hurt… less than it used to. Something he used to avoid due to the sheer pain that would come alongside the memories, he now seeks them out, to relive them in a new light. Basking in this second chance with her, he looks forward to seeing her in any way she appears in this life.

“You think your momma’s up yet?” he asks. “Or should we give her a little bit more time?”

He waits for an answer he knows isn’t coming, but he studies June’s face like it is, eventually answering himself with a nod.

“More time, I think. You’re right.”

Turning her to face the water, he places her in his lap and with sunlight flooding the bank, they sit and look at the water together.

–

You feel as though you could sleep forever.

Your heavy eyes blinking open, you stay in place and listen. Silence, which means they must still be out and rolling onto your side, you sink deeper under the thin quilt. Exhaustion blankets you, pulling your eyes shut.

Tired. So tired, more tired than you’ve ever been in your life. He catches naps whenever he can, seemingly able to fall asleep for a moment whenever and wherever in the way older men do, but not you. Your mind is a constant whirring machine of what needs to be done next and it takes forever to turn off, but last night she was up for ages, and so when he told you to take a nap, you crashed as soon as your head hit the pillow.

Your face brushing the cool cotton of his pillowcase, you bury your nose into it, inhaling. A need flickers to life inside you, slowly unfurling under the heaviness of your limbs and you wish he was lying in bed with you right now.

In the morning sometimes when she’s in her cradle, you tuck your face into the crook of his neck and breathe deeply, letting your lips catch the edge of his whiskers. When you seek out his skin, he rolls to face you with still closed eyes but finds you just the same.

Still, they are kisses that only awaken, never slake. Early morning sleep soft kisses. Warm skin under wandering hands, until she cries. Never any time to linger in the morning, you can still taste the firm press of his mouth against yours if you try hard enough and the memory of yesterday slips into your sleep-hazed mind, the edges fuzzy and soft.

“What’s this for?”, you hummed, leaning back into him.

His mouth rested on your neck, his lips molding to the slope of it. One kiss, another and his tongue slipped out, tasting your skin.

“Jus’ missed you. Thinkin’ about you.”

“Oh yea? What were you thinking about?”

He kissed your neck again, letting his mouth rest just under your ear. “ ‘Bout the other night.”

The other night: when he held his hand over your mouth and worked you with his fingers over your soaked panties until you came with a broken cry, right before kneeling next to you on the bed to watch you jerk him to completion onto your stomach. Afterwards, he smeared it around and you licked the spend from his fingers.

“That was nice,” you smiled, turning to face him. Threading your fingers through his curls, you offered your mouth to him and he took it, his own need apparent in the way it moved against yours—telling and deep.

Just the two of you for so long before June came along, it felt good to be reminded that he still wanted you like that: as a woman, instead of just a mother. The new role unfamiliar and flooded with a constant rollercoaster of shifting emotions, it was hard to navigate this version of yourself, and even harder to articulate those emotions into words. Joy like you’ve never known blended with bone weary exhaustion and pain. A fierce need to prove to yourself that you could do this, while still wanting him to take the lead. A new found self-pride laced with frustration and sadness and an ache for the way your relationship used to be.

All of these emotions, fading away to be replaced by a happiness you never thought possible whenever you looked at June.

He’s helped you navigate it all, just like he’s always helped you navigate: the group when you had one, dangerous routes when you used to take them, this new life when you made the suggestion. Jackson, should he ever bring it up again. The possibility of leaving was something you hoped every day that he’d forgotten about, but you didn’t dare bring up the subject in case he hadn’t. You weren’t ready. Not yet.

With the idea of sleeping on the hard ground making the comforting cloud of your bed hard to leave, you eventually rise and peek out the window in search of them. The broad expanse of his back sits down by the water, and you see him lift her to face him, murmuring words you can’t hear.

A delicacy to his touch and another side to his competence that you’d never have seen without her, Joel Miller the dad was someone you felt lucky to witness, but the thought of Joel Miller the man was the one that had your eyes lingering on his shoulders and the flex of his biceps under the material of his shirt.

Recalling his kiss from earlier that morning, you walk out of the room to go greet them.

–

“How old are you going to be when she’s ten?”

He groans, closing his eyes. “Christ, don’ ask me that.”

You giggle, and he peeks an eye open at you.

“Your daddy is gonna be wearin’ diapers soon,” you coo down at June, and he’s quick with his reply.

“Who says I don’t already?”

Your playful giggle turns into a full laugh.

“Smart-ass,” he grumbles, a good natured grin at the edge of his lips.

He leans back into the worn couch, letting his head tilt to the side as he watches the two of you on the floor in front of him. The days getting longer with the time of year, evening sunlight streams in through the windows you washed earlier that day and its rays fill the room with enough light to see. The windows open, a breeze flows through.

Rolling from your side onto your stomach, his gaze drifts from the curve of your cheek to the small round of your shoulder, to the wide open expression of pure contentment and love on your face as you coo a soothing murmur of nonsense down at June. She eats it up, her limbs kicking in jerky, excited movements in her splay on her back and she is transfixed by your face, alert and focused.

Filled with gratitude, he’s silent for a moment as he just…watches.

Your finger dangles over June’s grasping hand until she takes it and wiggling it with a smile and a tease, you take it from her and dance your fingers down her belly, tickling. Her tiny body kicks in response, never ceasing in its movement.

An overlay of his shitty QZ apartment blankets the room, and he immediately rejects the image, knowing you don’t belong there. The concrete he's slept on and the endless things he’s done to survive flood his mind and a simultaneous reaction wars within him: guilt, at the idea he doesn’t deserve this life after everything he’s done, and the answering fierce urge to defend it, making sure no one ever takes it away from him.

“You thinking about it?”

Your question drags him to the present, and he frowns.

“Leaving,” you clarify. You look down, your expression turning solemn. “You were quiet for a while,” you say quietly. “I thought maybe you finally remembered.”

Reading the tone in which you deliver your hesitant statement as dreading something inevitable, he’s honest in his reply in hopes to soothe you.

“No,” he says. “I actually haven’t thought about it in awhile. Not seriously, anyway.”

Your eyes lift to meet his and the hope you’re trying to conceal in your expression almost breaks him.

“You were right,” he continues. “We got the garden up and runnin’, got everything all setup like we like. Got a safe place for her.” His chin tilts towards June, her fists flailing in exploration until you catch one in your hold.

“And if someone comes?” you broach hesitantly.

His jaw shifts, his eyes drifting down to June. “If someone comes, I’ll deal with ‘em.”

He will.

There is a finality in his tone, even if he isn’t sure it’s a promise he can make, but it feels right saying out loud. You belong here, she belongs here and he can’t let anyone take that away, not even himself.

You say nothing, searching for the truth on his face and when you find it, the edge of your mouth lifts in disbelief.

“Joel Miller, the optimist,” you tease.

Because of you, he immediately thinks. Instead, he teases right back.

“What, you think I can’t?”

You huff a laugh, rolling your eyes. Your playful expression faltering after a moment, your attention shifts to June and a telltale trembling of your lip catches his eye as you avoid his gaze. Knowing you’re purposefully not looking at him because you’re self conscious about how easy it is to make you cry after June’s birth, he leans forward and drops down to join you on the floor.

“Hey,” he says softly, crawling over and reaching out over her body to grasp your chin. “Hey now.”

You let him guide your face to his, and he sees he's right. A tear rolls smoothly down your cheek and his frown softens with his voice.

“I would never let anything happen to you, honey. Either of you.”

“I know you wouldn’t,” you start, your breath shuddering. You swallow and then surprise him with a watery laugh. “I’m not – I’m not scared of that. I’m just –” you sniffle again, blinking free another tear. “I’m just so happy.”

A sob breaks free on the last word and the contrast of your statement with your reaction makes him laugh, which in turn makes you laugh through another sob. Then, a new sound blends into it from beneath the two of you, one that makes you both stop.

“Did she just –” your breathing hitches, and you look from her to him. “Did she just laugh?”

The first time it’s ever happened, she does it again when you laugh in astonished, watery joy and it only makes you sob harder, tucking your face into the crook of your elbow.

“She’s laughin’ at you,” he chuckles, splaying his hand wide over her belly, grinning down at her with deep dimples.

Taking a deep breath and wiping your eyes on your sleeve, you smile down at June.

“Your daddy is gonna let us stay,” you say to her, your voice thick with tears and joy as you sniff again.

“Only ‘cause your momma has made us such a good home.”

Teasing words covering true, deep emotions, he looks at you and with tears still clinging to your wet lashes, he thinks you might be one of the most beautiful things he’s ever seen. So much love shines through your gaze that the intensity of it is almost overwhelming, but he doesn’t look away. He meets it, unwavering.

“Joel,” you start, slipping your hand over his where it still rests on her belly, covering it with a squeeze. “If you ever want to go, I’ll go. I’d follow you wherever. Here, Jackson, somewhere else. Anywhere else. I trust you.”

Not trusting himself to speak without his voice breaking, he just lifts the corner of his mouth and nods before bending his head to press a kiss to the back of your hand.

A silent devotional action, to the one who has given him everything.

Pressing a kiss to the top of his head, you go back to trying to make June laugh and he watches the two of you from his place on the floor, stretched out alongside you.

How could he leave?

—

Attempting to summon the courage while tugging at the silken fabric to make sure it covers all the parts of yourself that you are unsure of, you stare at your reflection in the mirror; his low singing voice coming from June’s room.

All day, you’ve secretly ached for him.

A fire ignited every time you saw him with her: holding her, cradling her, one hand across her chest as she slept next to him on the couch while he read. And without: the short, dark strands of hair at the nape of his tanned neck, the little slice of skin above the waistband of his jeans that peeked out when he crouched. His thick forearms, his firm thighs.

An ache that had been present since you woke up this morning, you’ve missed the man he is: his body, his skillful touch, his masculine, solid form moving against yours. A while since she’s gone down this early, you want to take advantage of the gift of time and show him how much you’ve missed him…but there is still a slight insecurity about this changed body of yours.

Smoothing your hands over the lace that rests over your cleavage as you look some more, the soft scuff of his boots across the floor as he enters the bedroom has you immediately second guessing, quickly turning for your robe.

“She went down okay,“ he says tiredly, scrubbing his hand down his face. He tugs his shirt off with a one handed hold behind his back, kicking off his boots while unbuckling his jeans. Shucking them off to drape them over the chair in the corner, he looks up at your silence.

Frozen in front of him, your hands clutch the robe together.

“You okay?” he asks, his tired expression knit with concern.

“That was quicker than I thought.”

He huffs, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “I’m not complain’.”

“Neither am I, I just –” your hands fiddle with the thick material, your teeth tugging on your bottom lip. “I just wasn’t ready for you.”

Studying your face, he tilts his head up, lifting an eyebrow. “Ready for me?” His eyes drop down your body, his posture straightening with interest. “You got somethin’ under there?”

You hesitate for a moment. “Turn out the light first?”

His eyes darken at your answer and he slowly leans to the side, reaching to turn the lantern down. The room descends into a shadowed version of itself, everything bathed in dim warmth and he settles back into position, waiting.

Taking a deep breath and feeling braver in the darkness of the room, you open the robe and let it fall to the floor.

“What’s all this?” he asks, his husky drawl low and slow.

Stepping between his thighs, you take his larger hand in your smaller one and place it over your side, encouraging him to touch. He splays his fingers, searching for the heat of your skin through the thin material and gliding his hold up until his thumb drags lightly across your nipple, his eyes watch as it pebbles under the silk. Arching slightly into his touch, he takes your lead and tenderly palms the weight of your breast.

Hooded, his eyes stay fixed on his hand. “Where did you get this?”

“I found it months ago,” you reply, your tone breathy and warm from the delicate brush of his fingertips over the fabric.

He hums, letting his hand drag down your sternum with weighted exploration, curling firmly around your hip to pull you closer.

“Do you like it?”

“Do I like it?” he asks in disbelief, immediately looking up at you. He bunches the silk in his fists, pulling it tight against your body. His throat bobs, his tongue dragging across his bottom lip as his eyes make a circuit down the length of you and back up.

“My pretty girl, all dressed up for me. How could I not?”

Bending down for a kiss, you place your hands on his shoulders and the hunger in the way he presses his mouth against yours betrays every thought running through his mind. Suddenly more awake than he seemed, he can’t stop shifting his hold on you: his mouth taking and taking, while his hands touch everything he can reach.

When they get to the hem of the nighty and pull it up over your ass, he groans into your mouth when he finds nothing but bare skin underneath.

“Nothin’ underneath? You’re such a good fuckin’ girl,” he breathes against your mouth, right before capturing it again in a devouring kiss. Leaving you breathless, he follows the column of your throat with a whiskery scrape of his beard against your skin, and works his way down, his humid breath ghosting over the tops of your breasts as he gives every inch of skin he finds an open mouthed kiss.

Slipping the shoulder strap down, the fabric falls away and he takes your nipple into his mouth immediately. Letting out a low moan with a pinched frown of pleasure, his eyes close and he draws from you: his hand coming up to cradle the underside of your breast, pushing more into his mouth as he swirls his tongue over the sensitive peak. His other hand digs into the curve of your hip, keeping you in place. Holding on, like you’re the anchor.

Your fingers bury themselves in his soft curls, and he groans. Pulling back, a glimmer of something white is smeared on his lower lip, and his tongue darts out to taste the drop of liquid.

“Takin’ care of my baby, with this perfect fuckin’ body.”

Soaked in worship, his words have you climbing onto his lap as he guides you in place and gathering you into his arms, he tugs your knee up to force you into a straddle over his thighs. Deepening his kiss with an inviting, slick slide of his tongue against yours, a low hum pours out of your throat and you grind against him, seeking the warm heft between his thighs until he shifts and rolls you onto your back, laying you out underneath him.

His humid breath consumes you, the scent of his skin filling your senses. The firm rounds of his shoulders bunch under your touch, his biceps flexing in their strain as he moves above you and his solid torso presses against yours, forcing you into the mattress. His mouth never ceases and neither does yours, every part of your bodies seeking the other out to move in a mimic of the act itself and winding your legs around his waist, he grinds himself against you until you’re whiny and restless underneath him, your cunt slick and soaked against his cotton briefs. When you start to shove them down his hips, he helps.

Tugging them down and kicking them off, his cock drags along the inside of your thigh when he lowers himself back over you.

“I need you inside me,” you moan, reaching for him. “I want it.”

“Yea? You want my cock?”

“I’ve wanted it all day. All day while I’ve watched you.”

His hand joins yours to guide him to your aching entrance, and when the thick, rounded tip of his cock starts to make room for itself, you let out simultaneous groans of relief when he slides in. A singular smooth, filling and fluid stroke, all the way to the base.

“God yes, just like that,’ you plead, and he’s quick to soothe.

“Shhhh, it’s okay, my girl. I got you. I got you.”

Your mind already lost in a haze of need, the whole-body relief you feel is intoxicating, and yet his fullness inside you is only half of what you want. You want to feel desired, like he wants you just as bad as you’ve wanted him and to feel it, you know you need his roughness. The harder edges of his lust, the ones he’s been holding back from you since you gave birth.

You want to taste desperation in his kisses, to feel it in his hold, to have him force it into the slick fist of your cunt because he just can’t help it - and you get what you want the second he starts moving.

“I can’t believe you wore this for me,” he breathes above you, his hand catching the edge of the silk to pull it down and expose both your breasts. He watches them bounce for a moment, moving with every thrust of his hips and then he bends to latch his mouth onto one, the hard suction of it making you moan. Cradling the back of his head, you push yourself into the sensation.

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful, and all mine. All for me. Ain’t that right?”

His hips rock against yours, the tip of his cock sliding against that deep spot that’s been aching for him all day and you push your head back into the pillow, forcing your hips up to meet every one of his downward strokes.

“God yes,” you pant. “All yours. Only yours.”

“S’fuckin right. My girl. Lookin’ this pretty just for me.”

He brings his mouth down next to your ear as his hips keep moving. “Pussy this wet, just for me.”

You nod, and fitting his face into your neck, he rewards you an open mouthed kiss laced with a groan. He sucks at your skin, his teeth dragging over your pulse and then his mouth finds yours, forcing it open just like he’s forcing you open to take everything he’s giving. Every weighted stroke, every full push inside.

You like his words, but you like this just as much: when he’s so focused on how you feel around him and underneath him that he can’t speak, and you get to swallow his harsh pants and low grunts instead.

Your thighs hitch higher around his torso, your ankles resting on his back and you can feel his muscles shift and flex under your heels, working, working, working. The intensity of your release builds, a fire that’s been banked all day finally being stoked brighter and hotter and he picks up his pace, his arm pushing underneath your back to hook his hand around your shoulder, keeping you in place beneath him. Buried under the weight of his body, you relish being used.

Still just as sensitive as when you were pregnant, fast - so fast - you feel the first ripple of your oncoming release wash over your skin.

“You’re gonna make me come,” you plead, trying to keep quiet.

“Come on, honey,” he encourages it, pressing a thick kiss just under your ear. “Lemme feel it.”

Everything tightening between your hips, a syrupy warmth fills the bowl of your pelvis until it’s too intense and overwhelming and filling — and then it bursts bright and wet, your thighs squeezing his torso as he grunts through every rough stroke that sees you through it.

“That’s my fuckin’ girl,” he groans before kissing you. He pushes in harder, faster, pounding into the slick fist of your sated cunt.

“You want another one?” he asks, breathless and panting, the curl of a smug smile at the edge of his mouth. “Think you can do it again?”

You can’t speak, your mouth parted in a fixed shape as you focus on how he feels inside you right now and when he slips a hand underneath your tailbone to angle you just right, he focuses his strokes downward, causing you to cry out.

“Shhhh, honey. S’okay. You can take it. Gimme another one.”

His voice is lost in the fuzzy edges of your mind, the only thing coming through the soothing tone as he makes you take what he’s giving and when you start to lock up underneath him again, the smile on his face this time is more apparent than the first one. When you start to come, he looks almost proud.

Your nails dig into the meat of his ass, forcing him deeper and he bends and bites the underside of your breast as he picks up his pace. His hands bunching in the sheets, he fucks you harder, faster, and when his hips begin to stutter in their rhythm, you know he’s close.

“Goddamnit,” he groans when you come around him, never stilling in his movement above you.

Frantically needing him to feel as good as he just made you feel, you dig your hold into the meat along his ribs and hold him in place above you, your hips pushing up to work against his. Matching his every stroke down with your own, his eyes shut tight against the sensation he tries not to give into.

“I’m gonna come inside you if you don’t stop,” he warns, the words a tortured groan.

Knowing you can’t do that, you move quickly underneath him, pushing your hands against his chest until he lifts just enough for you to frantically slide down the bed. His slick, stiff cock drags up your belly and along the plane of your chest, brushing against your chin right before you take it into your mouth and when you wrap your lips around it with a firm suck, the groan he lets out is loud and involuntary, his hips bucking forward.

His hand buries itself into your hair, his fist pulling painfully at the roots when he pushes himself in down to the base and you feel his belly jerk with a tremble right before he pours hot and sticky along the back of your tongue. His release is endless, filling your mouth as he stretches out rigid next to you and you swallow every single drop, your throat working as you hold him close.

Working the dregs of it out with a slow roll of his hips into your face, you finally pull off when he relaxes into the mattress with a soft groan. Peppering kisses along the tops of his thighs, you slowly ascend the body you’ve been aching for all day and his hands run lazily over your skin, making room for you to crawl into bed beside him.

“That was…somethin’,” he sighs, a slow spreading smile gracing his face when he turns his head to look at you and you prop yourself up on your elbow, running your fingers through the hair just under his navel.

Catching your hand, he brings it to his mouth with a kiss.

Laying in silence together, the sounds of the night filter in through the open window on the soft breeze that tickles your sweat damp skin. You nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck, inhaling the scent you’d been dreaming about all day straight from the source and your bodies slowly relax together, entwined.

When you feel his breathing even out into a slow rise and fall, you peek up at his face. Taking a moment to admire the profile of his nose, his long dark lashes, the gray gathered at his temples, you run the pad of your thumb across his bottom lip in a feather light touch. In his sleep, his lips purse as they chase the sensation and you smile, the movement so like June when you do the same thing to her.

Leaning forward to give him one last kiss, you reach over him and turn out the light.

#joel miller #joel miller/you #joel miller/reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader

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sugurouge · 2 months

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— playground : umemiya hajime x f!reader x endo yamato

summary: idk, i wanted them together, here we are. nothing more but a depraved lil drabble

wc: 1k

content warnings! nsfw, teasing, degradation, both are rather condescending here, hair pulling, threesome, blowjob, manhandling, petnames, rough sex, dumbification, asphyxiation, somewhat dacryphilia

“Don’t be selfish now,” Endo chides with a hint of irritation, gently grasping your chin to direct your attention back to him. “You wanted to share, yet you’re all over Ume.” His jealousy prompts you to shift slightly in Hajime's lap, to face the dark haired man instead and cradle his pretty face, pulling him in for a deep kiss.

Yet Yamato can be greedy, too greedy whenever something tastes absolutely divine. His mouth now latches onto your neck, firm hands on your hips pull you onto his own lap, to grind your throbbing pussy against his cock, as his lips destroy your skin. Umemiya's chuckle fans over slightly damp neck as he busies himself with an exploration of your figure, his fingers run over the sheer fabric of your blouse, popping one button after another and exposing your bra to their hungry gazes.

The stark contrast between his cool touch and your heated skin sends shivers down your spine. However, Ume's teasing pales in comparison to Endo's urgent advances, guiding your hands to unfasten his belt as he deftly caresses the damp fabric of your panties before riding you of the useless scrap of fabric.

Of course, he fucks you first, guiding your ass to take a seat on his thighs as he helps you settle down on his overly excited cock. You’re pressed against his chest with big palms resting on your tummy and squeezing your tits.

The sight in front has Hajime question his sanity, never would he have expected to enjoy watching you get absolutely ruined by someone else. The blush on his cheeks nearly radiates as he has to keep his own excitement in check, fisting along his erection for some desperate measure of relief.

Teeth graze the nape of your neck while you part your lips and loll your tongue out to get a taste of Hajime's pre-cum. He drags the dripping head over your glossy lips, the mess he creates makes you even prettier.

But the devil behind your shoulder bounces your frame on his lap with ease, forcing you to welcome Ume in the back of your throat with no warning. You clench around Endo, nails scratching over Hajime's pecks and thighs for leverage as tears brim your eyes. You should have known that Endo is an impatient bastard. “Not so greedy, pretty girl” Ume groans, yet a big grin forces its way on his face, the satisfaction you present him with too good to feel bad for you.

Muffled cries of objection send tingles over Ume's skin, a mixture of your saliva and his arousal leaking from your mouth while he loses himself in bliss. “Fuck, you’re such a filthy little vixen, ain’t you?” Endo murmurs, sounding almost upset—yet intrigued, you definitely need to suck him off as well.

Moans escape you, vibrating around Hajime's cock, before it all gets a little too much. The stretch in the back of your throat causes a panic to stir in your mind. Yet the attempts of pulling back only push you further into Endo. He grins. “No, no, kitten, give him all you’ve got before you suck me like your favourite lolly,” Yamato murmurs in your ear, his hand tangling in your hair and pushing you further onto Ume's cock until your lips meet his pelvis. Your eyes roll back as desperate whimpers are lost in their fervent groans.

It's a game of push and pull, two pairs of hands all over your body to hold you in positions perfect for their own selfish desires.

“Up you go, pretty thing,” Endo drawls, large hands grasp your hips to hoist you off his lap and shove you further into Umemiya until you're on all fours. The latter ensures your lips remain around his cock, his blunt nails digging into your scalp as he revels in your choking sounds. The position is uncomfortable for you, effectively constricting your airway, causing your throat and cunt to clench around their cocks as their pace quickens. A calloused hand massages your cheek, before lacing around your throat, to make breathing just a tad bit more difficult. Your mind is spinning, ears ringing, yet both guys are too caught up in their needs to worry for you.

But you enjoy this. Sick girl. As your climax approaches, your fingers paw against Ume's thighs, overwhelmed by Endo's cock deep within your fluttering walls, you finally free yourself. “‘M cumming, please,” you mewl. Yet instead of having mercy, Yamato tugs on your hair, forcing you to meet steel blue eyes, Hajime's gaze is almost drowning in your fucked-out expression until Endo's movements slow to shallow thrusts.

“So you ruin my pleasure because you’re only thinking with your pussy?” Umemiya grumbles, his words and irritation catch you off guard. Your eyes wide in shock, since you've never heard him talk like that before. But the electrifying spank to your clit wales you from your shock. Endo's fingers rub lazy circles around your nub, pinching you offer no answer to Umemiya's complaint.

“I-I’m sorry, Haji, really sorry!” Your tear-streaked cheeks and sobbing voice draw a sigh from Umemiya. “Silly girl, time to turn around.” Their synchronised actions are intimidating; barely able to face Endo as he already pulls you towards his glistening cock while Umemiya's nails drag over the plush of your ass and back. “Take it all,” the dark haired man urges.

As you bend over to take Yamato's cock—your jaw deliberately slack—Ume positions himself between your legs. His hands push down on the small of your back, presenting your ass perfectly as your core drips down your inner thighs. With a swift, commanding thrust, he enters you deeply, his hips snapping fervently against you. Each powerful push drives him closer to his climax, his desperation fuelled by the sight of Endo finishing on your tongue.

You're too pretty to not have your face covered in cum, he thinks to himself.

dividers by @/cafekitsune

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stvharrngton · 1 year

Text

kinktober: day nine

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

kink: hate/angry sex

warnings: smut, 18+ minors dni, friends with benefits, unprotected p in v, dirty talk, dom!steve, use of the word slut

word count: 0.7k

taglist: @inkluvs @dukesmebby @sweetbabygirlsworld @kennedy-brooke @gvf23 @wheel-of-hyperfixation @mooonyweasley @steveshairspray

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST

Steve Harrington got on your nerves. Pushed all your buttons, had you wound tight and all irritated but that didn’t stop you from letting him drag you into the bathroom at the party you were both at. His hands on your waist, his lips on your neck.

It never stopped you from answering his phone calls at 2AM, never put you off enough to stop sneaking around behind your friends backs. There was just something addictive about him, no matter how much you disliked each other.

“Why were you dancing with that guy?” He asked between kisses, his teeth nipping at your neck, sucking and licking, surely leaving a mark.

“We’re not together, Steve. Remember?” You simply stated, one hand clutching at his shoulder, the other firmly planted in his hair, “I can dance with who I want.”

He scoffed at your admission, rolling his eyes, “But you don’t let just anyone touch you like this, right?” he stated, shoving his hand below your skirt and underneath your panties, letting his fingers slide through your folds, “No one fucks you the way I do, you got it?”

You chewed on your lip before you answered, your cheeks heating up, your eyes unable to meet Steve’s gaze, “You’re such an asshole, Steve.”

That was all you could say.

Next thing you knew, Steve had you bent over the bathroom counter. Your skirt fisted in his hand for leverage, your panties pulled down your ankles, Steve’s cock firmly inside your pussy. His hips were snapping against yours hard and fast, thankfully the loud boom of the music drowned out your wails and whimpers.

He pounded into you from behind, his hips slapping against your ass, the feeling all too intense as you cried out. Steve let his palm come down against the fat of your ass with a slap before he spoke,

“Fuck,” he groaned, it was long and drawn out, “no one gets to touch you like this, do they? Y’gonna tell me? Tell me who this pretty little pussy belongs to? Come on, sweetheart, tell me.”

You stammered out a string of incoherent words and whimpers before you could finally put together a response. Steve’s fingers gripping your hip too hard, his cock thrusting in and out of you too deliciously.

“I— shit, Steve!” you cried, eyes squeezed shut as you tried to regain any sort of composure you had before, “It’s yours, Steve, oh God, please, I’m yours.”

Steve could only smirk, knowing you would never dream of uttering those words, that you’re his, if you weren’t in the situation you currently found yourselves in. In someone’s bathroom at a party, with only each other on your minds, desperately chasing that ineffable high together.

“Good fucking girl,” he groaned in reply, his hips never relenting, his thrusts never losing any rhythm, “love seeing you like this, Jesus Christ, you like getting fucked like a slut, hm? Like my little slut?”

Steve oozed confidence and charisma, especially when he was around you, and that only doubled when you got between the sheets. His motor-mouth running on high whenever he got to sink his cock into you.

But you couldn’t resist giving into him, no matter how much he aggravated you. His hands and touch are addictive, always having you yearning for more.

“Drives me crazy,” Steve growled, his hands snaking round to your front, one holding you at your stomach, the other ghosting over your throat as he pulled your back into his chest, “seeing you running ‘round acting like you hate my guts when I know how you really feel, when I know you go home and dream about me.”

“Steve,” you cried, your mouth hanging open now as he squeezed your neck softly, his hips still snapping against your ass, the sound of skin slapping against skin ringing off the tiles, “I don’t— fuck, I don’t do that.”

“No?” he questioned, his lips coming to rest against your ear, “I know you go home and think about my cock and dream about me fucking this cute little pussy of yours. Don’t lie to me, baby.”

Steve was right. You knew it. He knew it. But you’d never admit that, not ever, knowing that it got under his skin. It made him fuck you deeper, fuck you harder. Made his fingers dig into your skin further, it made the boy go insane.

And who were you to deny yourself of that?

#steve harrington #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fanfic #kinktober2023 #k.fic

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shogunish · 1 year

Text

𝗽𝗼𝗲𝘀𝗶𝗲.

pairing. true form! sukuna x f! reader

genre. some sort of romance (?)

contents. set in the heian period, true form sukuna, reader is a concubine, after sex + casual nudity, creampie, violence, blood, mediocre poetry that i wrote myself

summary. sukuna who neither loves nor hates anyone, finds himself attracted to the poetry you write so elegantly.

words. 2.4k

note. based on this random sukuna thought i had.

comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated! <3

you had no other choice but to bang your fist against wooden gates in the pouring rain, mud staining your once white robes and strands of hair sticking to your face like a second skin.

"please, let me in!"

what else were you supposed to do when a swarm of curses suddenly terrorized your village, eating your parents' flesh alive and feasting on their corpses once they had died of shock? you had barely made it out of your home, throwing stones at the winged cursed spirits in hopes of gaining some sort of distance, an advantage.

"i'll do anything! i swear!"

you banged your fist harder until splinters pierced your skin and jumped off the wood. but the pain of it wasn't greater than the anguish of losing your loved ones, your home – a place you could no longer return to, a graveyard for the living.

tears of despair ran down your cheeks and you sobbed. wings flapped in the distance. you didn't need to turn around to know that those cursed spirits had caught up to you in the matter of a few minutes. horror crawled up your spine, slinging itself around your neck like the burn of a noose.

"please! i'm begging!"

your heart had already given up when you sunk to your knees, your mind made peace with the fact that this was it. but before you even knew what happened, someone grabbed the collar of your robes, dragged you inside and tossed your body into a puddle of mud like..like you were nothing.

"huh..?" sitting on your knees, your head shot up and your eyes widened once they caught sight of your savior and downfall.

he looked like a beast. four arms and two faces with pink hair slicked back amd an aura that nearly suffocated you. a pair of his arms was crossed over his chest, red eyes glared at you, stared right through the essence of your soul.

ryomen sukuna.

your grandparents always told you stories about him, but you never believed that anyone, or rather anything, like that could exist. nothing but a scary fairytale meant to teach children not to misuse jujutsu or else he'd eat them in their sleep. but he was real. silently, you wished you had listened to grandma and grandpa.

sukuna didn't ask for it, but your trembling body was on autopilot when you lowered your forehead to the wet ground and squeezed your eyes shut.

"do you have any idea how loud you are?" his voice was deep, obviously annoyed by your obnoxious begs and pleads to let you in, to grant you shelter from a horde of lousy cursed spirits.

you dug your fingernails into the ground. "m-my apologies.." your voice died in your throat, hoarse from screaming and begging and trembling out of pure fear. "my village..it got slaughtered and i..i just.."

"did I ask for any of your excuses?" sukuna couldn't care less about your sob story you tried serving him in an attempt to keep your life.

you were about to apologize again when clawed hands grabbed your cheeks, jerked your head upwards and forced you to look at sukuna who appeared to be bored out of his mind. wide-eyed, you stared at him with mud, tears and blood on your face. truly disgusting did you look.

"you said you'd do anything?" sukuna questioned as he regarded your fear-stricken face that looked like it was about to cry again when you dumbly nodded your head.

despite that, he had to admit that your skin seemed well taken care of and the fabric of your robes was neither too shabby nor too expensive. you were neither a farmer nor a noble, but something..in-between.

you reminded him of a poem he once read.

"the ugly little duck that many would have slaughtered

grew into a beautiful swan with grace unknown and beauty unmatched."

a silly swing of mood was all it took for sukuna to change his mind. originally, he wanted to spill the blood of the person who disturbed his rest, but he decided to give you chance to grow into something beautiful, something even someone like him could admire like the poetry he liked to read.

"you'd make a fine concubine." a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

was this..it?

you'd get to keep your life in exchange for pleasuring a mass murderer? you cringed at the thought and had half the mind to say that you'd rather be fed to the wolves than existing for a man's pleasure, but then..the images of your killed loved ones flashed before your eyes.

saying those words out loud would result in a painful, slow death. those cursed spirits would tear the flesh off your bones until you'd die of shock or blood loss.

you yielded. you did say you'd do anything.

"yes..i shall be your concubine as a sign of my gratitude."

those words sealed your fate.

sukuna called for someone named uraume, an androgynous-looking person clothed in monk robes and they took you inside where you were not only granted a bath but also a fresh pair of robes. they said they'd show you around the coming morning, that you would be to sleep in a room with the other concubines and that you had nothing to do but satisfy sukuna's sexual desires.

if you were to disobey, you would die.

just what had you gotten yourself into?

sukuna liked to believe that he didn't care about anyone. people, humans, were nothing but the dirt underneath his feet. maybe even the ants he'd squish if they were lucky enough. but even a curse such as himself found himself drawn to one of the arts humans gave birth to.

it was poetry.

those words would likely never reach sukuna's soul, but he liked the art of putting words together, to think about their meaning. after all, writing was the same as laying your soul bare – similar to showing your nude body to strangers like one of his many concubines.

in full bloom were the cherry blossoms, plum and vibrant. a spring breeze blew by and the engawa creaked underneath sukuna's bare feet. the pond's surface was disturbed by the occasional koi fish getting a little too close to the sun, the water rippled silently before coming to flawless stillness once more.

one more step and a glance towards the ground – what was this? sukuna bent down, picked up a piece of paper and upon turning it around, he was met with fine, onyx brush strokes and a neat handwriting. it was poetry.

sukuna shouldn't be as interested as he was, but maybe it was the good mood he had which allowed him to indulge himself in such silly thing.

"dreams are like bubbles.

fragile and transient, one touch and they cease to exist.

so why is it that i keep blowing bubbles,

hoping that the wind will be more gentle with them than my own fingertips?"

"if pain is time, then this must be eternity."

"his claws, so sharp and lethal and drenched in his arrogance's blood, almost feel as gentle as the breeze ringing in the spring."

and when sukuna raised his gaze, wanting to find a trace of the person who wrote these lines with such anguish, ruby irises found your form sitting underneath a tree. a little book was in your hands, black ink on the tips of your fingers as you dragged the brush across the paper. a faraway look in your eyes and glossy lips parted ever so slightly as you wrote down word for word.

who would've thought that a mere concubine, a woman whose purpose was to please sukuna in any way possible, was capable of creating such beauty? of executing such etiquette and carrying the brush with the sorrows of days gone by.

what else was going on in your mind, in that little soul of yours?

"sukuna. is everything alright?" uraume asked as they emerged from a sliding door. they had just come back from aiding the maids with a task that they needed help with and upon coming back, uraume immediately noticed the foreign expression on sukuna's face.

was this..awe..curiosity..or something entirely different? they couldn't tell.

sukuna crumpled the piece of paper in his fist. "yeah. no need to worry." he reassured his subordinate, but..those words were directed to himself as well.

soon after, sukuna requested you more often and kept you by his side for a little while before you'd pick up your kimono from the ground to go back to your own chambers to wash the sin off your body.

candles lit up sukuna's chamber, dipping the walls in hues of orange and yellow as the flame flickered. paintings as well as weapons made for war decorated the space – tools which still scared you, because what could a being such as sukuna do with these weapons? he could likely do worse than just murder you, you thought.

a sheen of sweat coated your nude body. your breasts rose and fell with each deep breath you took and sukuna's marks littered your skin. his bites on your neck, fingerprints on your thighs and the marks of his claws on your hips which were partly bloody. semen leaking from your entrance, you shivered.

"may i assume you're satisfied for the night, sukuna?" you looked up at him through your lashes, eyes still hazy from your orgasm.

sukuna's lower arm was wrapped around your shoulder and pulled you into his side. it was the most gentle touch you had ever received from him.

he hummed as if he was in thought. "..not quite."

immediately, you squirmed into a more upright position, eyes wide and shimmering even in the dim light. "i promise i can do better! if you let me just–" deft fingers attempted to raise the blanket from sukuna's lower half, but he stopped you, shaking his head.

"no, not that. rather.." he trailed off, watching the confusion grow in your eyes. "..i desire to know whether it's you who's lost a page of poetry?" sukuna's voice was deep, smooth like velvet, yet as dark as the abyss in his pupils. "the other concubines wouldn't even know how to write poetry, so..the only one left is you, [name]."

heat rose to your face. ashamed, you raise the blanket up to your collarbone as if it could hide the words sukuna had found. "..how did you..?"

"i found it when i stepped on it." sukuna was gentle when he cupped your chin with his clawed fingers and made you look at him. "consider me impressed."

surprise was written all over your face, lips parted, eyes wide and all that. you swore your heart was beating in your throat. did sukuna, the king of curses, just praise you?

he never praised anyone.

"..pardon..?" you breathed out. was this some kind of dream? a lucid dream? or maybe you were put under a spell? whichever it was..it felt pleasant.

"i'm not going to repeat myself." sukuna brushed a few strands of hair out of your face, tucking the strand behind your ear. "but i am going to keep you by my side. it appears that you're good for more than meets the eye."

that night, sukuna handed you a brush, ink and a piece of paper. he kept you by his side the entire night, wanting to hear the words you put to paper until you had fallen asleep with your head on his shoulder and his marks on your skin.

people said that love came all different shapes and forms: platonic love, familial love, erotic love, the love one held towards a pet and so on. if one were to ask sukuna what sort of affections he held towards you when you sat by his side, filling pages of poetry for him to read, he likely would remain silent.

because as arrogant as he was as the king of curses, as much as he didn't care about anyone but himself, he could not deny the fact that, in your company, he found peace amidst the violence that he caused himself.

sukuna liked the way you sat next to him with no fear, gentle eyes focused on that little notebook and a brush in your hand. silently would you sit next to the catastrophe that was sukuna, pouring your feelings onto paper that would one day fade and crumble like leaves in the wind. yes, even your tranquil self would one day fade into nothing like the ink on your papers.

"will you miss me when it's my turn to go?" you asked without looking at sukuna. a few cherry blossoms petals got tangled in your hair.

sukuna was gentle when he used one of his hands to pick the petal out of your hair. he should've said no without hesitating so long, because despite your appearance, you were awfully perceptive – that much sukuna had learned.

a smile graced your lips. seated next to sukuna on the engawa had become your favorite pastime even though he would use your body later on with no regard for your aching limbs.

"what? am I dear to you?" you teased the king of curses. within the last few months, you had become attuned to each other without meaning to.

"..if it is possible for a curse to love."

a sigh slipped sukuna's lips. he begrudgingly entertained your thoughts. "it seems that my treatment towards you has got to your head, [name]."

at that, you giggle into your notebook, eyes closed and the apples of your cheeks tinting a hue of red. "maybe a little bit. i was merely wondering if.."

sukuna was certain that he didn't love you, but rather the words you wrote. they flowed like water, written with grace unknown and beauty unmatched. each syllable was either fragile like a petal or sturdy like a warrior on horseback. it was funny how your poetry was a reflection of yourself.

when you sat next to sukuna, you were tender but when he'd order you into his chamber, you'd take and obey his orders like a samurai with nothing but moans on your lips.

"my affection has nothing to do with you." sukuna said after a pause.

"how sad." you mused, putting your brush down. "a being who has been living for so long and never experienced any sort of love. it must be lonely."

that day when you pressed a kiss to sukuna's cheek like a lover would, he wondered…if maybe you were attached to him instead.

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #ryomen sukuna x you #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x you #sukuna x reader #sukuna

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hiskillingjar · 6 months

Note

helloooo, hope youre having a nice day :) can we maybe get mc huffing strades sweaty pits? im am a very normal anon who can be trusted around stinky men, if you cant tell

you....you understand me, anon. like nobody else. this is totally pornographic and ya'll better be cool with it.

600+ words. we're on some faggot shit

The headboard of Strade's bed banged rhythmically with each hard thrust, accompanying grunts, groans and whimpers, and the sound of slapping flesh on flesh.

He had you on your front, hands and knees, head down and ass up. Stereotypical, really. Or, your head would have been down if he didn't have his thick fingers fisted in your hair, pulling your neck and chest upright as he fucked into you hard.

"Nghhh-" You moaned mindlessly, your drooling mouth wide open and panting as the headboard banging got a little less rhythmic and erratic, the more he went on.

You felt his hot breath on the back of your neck as he let out a gritted teeth groan, irritated by how long this was taking.

"Fuck, you're taking a lot out of me today, you little whore," He grunted, his accent thick, each breath heavy as he let go of your hair and placed his hand on your hips. "Let's have you doing some of the work, hm?"

You whined as he pulled out of you (feeling somehow empty without his pulsing cock), though you couldn't mourn the loss for long before he was man-handling you into a new position, pulling you into his lap, yanking your soft thighs apart and forcing your head down, so that he could wrap his arm around it, lodging you deep into the grove of his armpit, and keep you still in a tight headlock.

"Mmph…" You murmured, still a little dazed, your lids fluttering as he slid back inside of you and resumed thrusting, his other hand on your hip, forcing them to bob in time and putting a little more effort on your part.

He was already sweaty before this from a hard day of work, evidenced by wet stains in the pits of his overshirt and a thick, sour smell of sweat lingering on his tan and damp skin. Despite popular belief, he actually showered every day, but that wasn't enough to keep up with what he got up to (nor did it keep up with his German genes, he blamed it on once).

Sex had exerted him all the more though, and the scent of sweat and sex, deep and heady and teeth-achingly addictive, had only gotten worse, which meant being nestled so close to his armpits was sending you into absolute fucking overdrive.

"Goddduh-" You moaned stupidly, feeling your body tighten involuntarily when you felt the thick, wet hair that dusted his armpits against the corner of your mouth.

"Oh yeah, you like that?" He asked between pants, sliding a little deeper inside you, like he was trying to penetrate an organ (and you wouldn't have put it past him. "Your pussy is clinging onto me, so you must like it an awful lot, liebling." He laughed and flexed his bicep a little tighter, squeezing around your neck and making your head rush all the more.

"You're so fucking gross," You slurred, gasping as he pulled out of you and pressed the head of his cock up against your erect clit, stimulating it but barely. "Nghhhhh, so disgustinggg…guhh..."

"Mm, you like that though, don't you?" He teased, shifting his arm up a little more so that you were pressed right up against the deepest groove of his armpit, your nose nestling against the damp hairs, breathing in the thick, rich smell of his sweat. "You wanna be fucked by someone as gross as me, which, if you think about it," He breathed out, sliding back inside of you and feeling you grow tighter. "Makes you even grosser than me."

You couldn't resist a deep moan as you buried yourself more against his skin and dragged your tongue over him, tasting his body, tasting the thick scent, the sour, salty taste of his sweat.

"Gaaah," He groaned, squeezing your neck even tighter. "You little freak…"

"So fucking good," You murmured, your voice thick with demented lust as you delved your tongue back against his armpit, moaning as it worked its way against the sweaty and warm fold of fat, muscle and flesh, and your cunt squeezed even tighter against his pounding cock. "You smell so fucking good."

#strade btd #strade ykmet #strade x reader #strade x mc #qs #fics #drabbles #if strade isn't disgusting and sweaty and gross I DON'T WANT HIM!!!!!!!!!!!!

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lupiningwolves · 1 year

Text

Teasing | S.Rogers x fem!reader

summary: teasing steve leads to him snapping

warnings: Dom!Steve x Sub!fem!reader, smut, Sir kink, degradation, praise, male and female masturbation, light choking, light breeding, cumming inside, unprotected piv

guess i‘m back? not proofread btw

“Don’t you think that this is a bad idea?”

Sam didn’t need to say that. You were able to feel the tension in his shoulders and the fear that radiated from him. Still, he fulfilled his best friend duties and helped you. Though he was right and this was probably the worst idea you ever had in your entire life

To be fair, it was Steve’s own fault. His idea to agree with Tony on this celebration party in a club somewhere in New York. His idea to ask you to be his date. His idea of what you should wear. His idea to tease you by small touches and smirks and dark looks. And definitely his idea to not interact with you otherwise. He knew what he was doing. He had smirked every time you pressed down your thighs together after he touched you.

Now, the tables have turned. You had discarded your jacket, now revealing the little of an outfit you wore and asked Sam to go to the dance floor with you. He had agreed way before he saw the death stare his friend gave him.

“Don’t be silly, Sam. What could possibly happen?” To you, Sam. There was a lot to happen to you, though—at least you hoped so. You and Steve had been teasing each other forever to the point that you weren’t possible to give yourself the much needed release anymore. And Steve knew. God, he so did. And he got off on the way you tried everything to get a reaction out of him.

It surely seemed like you did now. He watched you from the table as Tony and Clint talked about something he definitely was not listening to. His had that rested on the table was balled into a fist, his eyes filled with lust and jealousy. It wouldn’t take much longer for him to get up, drag you out of here and fuck you.

“Are you really sure that-“ Sam stopped mid-sentence when you slung your arms around his neck and pulled him closer towards you. “What the fuck are you doing?”

You moved your face to the other side of his head, where Steve couldn’t be sure what you were doing. “Just relax, I’m this won’t be much longer. Put you hands on my-“

Before you could finish your sentence you were pulled off of Sam and dragged out of the club. You looked back over your shoulder when Sam stood, head shaking and grinning. Then, you looked up the the person on your right. Steve looked furious, which only increased the wetness pooling in your underwear.

His hand gripped your upper arm tightly when he opened the door to his car for you. Never had you been driven around New York so quickly. “You just had to be a little slut, didn’t you?”, Steve asked harshly and opened the door to his room in the tower. “Desperate little girl.”

“I just ended what you started. I think you should thank me.” Oh, so someone would help you.

Steve gripped your neck and squeezed. “It had only taken a little ‘please’ from you and I would’ve made this so much more pleasurable for you. But apparently, the idea never crossed your mind. Or you just wanted to be treated like the whore you are.” He let go of your neck and threw his jacket somewhere into the room. “Clothes off. On the bed.”

You did like he had asked in record time and lied down on the bed. Steve had gotten rid of his shirt, revealing his muscular chest. “Steve, please.”

“Now’s not the time to start with the begging. You should’ve done that a lot earlier, baby”, he said and stood in front of the bed. “I think seeing as you were a bad girl, you should be punished. Denied what you want most.” His lips turned up into a devilish grin as your eyes widened. “Make yourself cum, otherwise I won’t touch you.”

“Steve-”

“Wrong”, he interfered sternly. “Adress me properly, baby.”

Your eyes rolled back at his words and your hands involuntary found their way to your dripping core. “Sir”, you breathed. “You know I can’t do that.”

“You should’ve thought about that a lot sooner, then. Get going, we haven’t got all day.”

Fuck, maybe it was possible to do that if he continued with his words. You started teasing your clit, head already throwing back. Everything was sensitive, especially now that Steve was watching. Your other hand gripped your tits and squeezed and massaged.

You were already moaning and shutting your eyes after a few touches. You pushed two fingers inside of you, whereupon a particular moan erupted in the room. But it wasn’t yours. You opened your eyes to see Steve standing naked now, his semi-hard cock in his hand.

A whole new wave of arousal came over you. “Sir, please, j-just touch me. Let me touch you.”

“No, baby. Be a good girl and continue. If you’re good I’ll fuck you afterwards.”

At the thought your fingers sped up, trying as hard as possible for your filthiest dream to come true. Much to your surprise, it didn’t take much long for you to reach the point where you were able to cum already. It was probably the way Steve had jerking himself off, throwing his head back here and there, but always looking at you and keeping eye contact.

Something about all it was forbidden arousing, having you ready to cum—just like he had asked. “G-Gonna cum, Sir. Please let me.”

“Already? I thought you said you couldn’t do it.” His eyes were fixated on your fingers as they sped up again, bringing you so close to the edge. “Go on, be a good girl and cum all over your fingers.”

And you did. You felt yourself clench around your fingers and let out a series of loud moans. Still, you kept your eyes open and watched how Steve admired his view.

In a moment of content, you let your eyes fall shut for a second while you pulled your fingers out of your dripping pussy. Steve had used this to his advantage, got on the bed and thrusted into you in one hard thrust.

Your eyes flew open in shock, immediately whimpering at the stretch. “Fuck, baby, always so fucking tight”, he moaned. “My good slut.”

You rapidly nodded, watching how Steve’s cock pumped inside you. “Mhm, s’good, Sir.”

“Yeah? Feel good, baby?”

You nodded, throwing your head back when Steve grabbed your waist and took you at a different angle. That allowed him to hit this specific spot inside of you, making your legs shake and mind cloud. Every time he pushed his cock back inside of you, an unidentified noise escaped your mouth.

You had stopped registering anything else than the pleasure and Steve’s word a long time ago. Now, you felt the edge building in your stomach again, there was just a little something missing.

“Please, Sir, m-more”, you mumbled and gripped his biceps.

Steve smirked down at you, knowing exactly knowing what you wanted. “What do you need, baby? Hm? Tell me or else I can’t help you.” You mumbled something incoherent. “C’mon, be a good girl.”

You couldn’t talk anymore, simply grabbing his wrist and placing his hand around your throat, closing his fingers with yours. It was like something had snapped inside him. He closed his hand tightly, a little oxygen still making its way. He pounded even harder into you, his other hand circling your clit.

“Needa cum, Sir”, you said. “Please, p-please, cum.”

“Do it, baby. Right behind you.”

You fell over the edge the second he finished his sentence. You were still shaking around him, because he was pounding into you restlessly, trying to chase his own high. “Where do you want my-“

“Inside”, you answered before he could finish his sentence.

With one last thrust, he spilled his seed inside of you. “Look at that, baby. You think anyone else would’ve bred you this beautifully?”

“No, Sir. Only you.”

#steve rogers smut #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x reader smut #marvel #marvel smut #avengers smut #avengers

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genderlessghoul · 11 months

Text

I'm feeling a lot of feeling so this is episode #1947392747 of me making Phantom suffer so I can project onto him.

Phantom has a really bad day and goes to Swiss for comfort. It's really short and quite frankly not that well written but it did make me feel a whole lot better so... Yeah.

"Come in!" Swiss calls right after he hears a knock at his bedroom door. He's laying in bed, a book in his hands that he's only half paying attention to. He knows who's behind the door before they even have a chance to open it, can sense the presence of his favorite quintessence ghoul through the hard wood. He's not surprised to see Phantom appear as the door creaks open but he's truly shocked to see the expression on his face.

The quintessence ghoul looks absolutely miserable, shoulders tense, tail wrapped tight against his own leg and arms folded over his chest almost as if to protect himself. His eyes are filled with tears threatening to spill and he's biting his lower lip in an attempt to stop it from quivering.

Swiss is off his feet before he ever has a chance to process it, his book long forgotten and thrown somewhere in the room. He makes his way up to Phantom and immediately wraps his arms around him, the other ghoul hides his face into Swiss' shoulder. "Hey hey hey, I got you, it's okay."

He drags his lover fully into the room and closes the door. He unwraps himself from the quintessence ghoul and brings his hands to his face, forcing it towards his own. Phantom refuses to look at him, his gaze off to a corner of the room.

"What happened baby, what's going on? Did someone do this to you?" worry laces his tone as Swiss speaks. Phantom answers him after taking a few moments to try and collect himself, voice shaking.

"No it's not… it's not anyone I just… It's been a really long day, Swiss." a single tear falls down his cheek. He fixes his eyes on the ceiling to stop any more from spilling out, his bottom lip now fully trembling. The multi ghoul holds him close to his chest once more.

"It's okay. It's okay, I got you. I got you, baby boy. What can I do to help?"

Phantom's answer comes out muffled against the fabric of Swiss' shirt, his voice cracks at the end as he begins truly sobbing "Hold me." He's holding on to the multi ghoul like a lifeline, fists digging into his shirt. Swiss squeezes him tight against his heart.

He guides his quintessence ghoul to his bed without letting go, placing them both so Phantom is laying on top of him, head still buried in his chest as he cries. His heart twists in his chest at the sight and he decides that if he needs to fight the Universe itself for making his boyfriend so upset, he absolutely will. Later. For now, he has a more important task at hand.

Swiss doesn't try speaking to him, doesn't need to. He holds Phantom tight until his sobs quiet down. When they do, he loosens his grip to bring a hand up into soft black curls, claws scratching slowly at his scalp. The other hand remains on the quintessence ghoul's back, running up and down his spine in a slow, soothing pattern.

Eventually, the crying stops. Swiss doesn't let go. The small ghoul that glued himself to his body slowly peels back. His arms loosen their death grip on the multi ghoul's body, still wrapped around Swiss but much more relaxed. Phantom brings his head out from where he buried it in soft cotton, instead resting his cheek on the steady rhythm of his beating heart. His tail lets go of his own thigh and seeks out his lover's, wrapping them together.

Swiss untangles his hand from Phantom's hair, bringing it up to his face to wipe the tears collected on his cheeks. He plants a soft kiss at the top of the other ghoul's head. "You doing better, bug?"

"Mhm… I think I ruined your shirt." he answers apologetically, staring down the massive wet spot soaked into it.

Swiss gives him a light chuckle. "It's just a shirt, I have like a gazillion more."

Phantom nuzzles his face against the multi ghoul. "Thank you."

"No problem, darling. I love you."

Swiss plants another kiss on top of his head, it kicks a purr down Phantom's chest. "Love you too."

#the band ghost #ghost bc #nameless ghoul #nameless ghouls #swiss ghoul #phantom ghoul #swiss ghost #phantom ghost #swisstom #ghost ficlet #ghost fanfic #fanfic #ficlet #meerkat writes

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zippidi-dooda · 4 months

Text

Chapter: 1

2 - A Little Trip

"Who. The hell. Do you think you are?" An elegant, dark haired figure demanded, slamming open the door to your room.

He wore a stark white suit with long, shiny, leather boots and gloves. Many badges and jewels were pinned to his chest. They glistened under the moonlight. A flowing black cape dragged behind him as he took each thundering steps towards you.

His head was no longer held high and proud as it normally was. He was tense and clenched his fist, his jaw set tight.

His attitude was a large contrast compared to just moments ago when he was busy dancing in the ballroom. When he was blissfully unaware of your previous late night endeavors. Of your plans for tonight.

How he found out now, you didn't know. But it made your heart beat faster as panic began to settle in.

The only way he could have found out was through your doctor, though you had pleaded repeatedly that he didn't say anything about it to anyone.

And your doctor had never said a word about anything going on with you (despite who it was) before now.

He was trustworthy.

This man must have done something horrible to make him pour it out.

Or sent someone to spy on you.

You were regretting not leaving sooner.

"I'm . . . I am simply Y/N, you know that, Rias."

Rias let out a short laugh. "Ah, another of those wisecracks I love so dearly about you, Y/N. You're always so fucking smart about everything, aren't you?"

He stopped once he was in front of you and pulled you towards him.

He held your waist up against him with one hand while he squished your cheeks with the other. His grip was tight, enough to keep you from pulling away. It hurt and just got worse the more you squirmed.

"I'll tell you who you really are, okay, honey." He pressed a kiss onto your lips that he forced into a pucker. "You."

Kiss

"Are."

Kiss

"My."

Kiss

"Wife."

Kiss

"You do remember that, right? Cause I could never forget the day we were wed. How gorgeous you looked in that white dress, the happy smile on your face when we said 'I do.' I remember being so thrilled when I found out it was you I'd have to be marrying when I was a boy, and then finally getting to do it, finally being able to declare you as my own, I can't even put how great that felt into words. God, I love you so much Y/N. You're perfect for me, as I am for you . . . But you don't believe that, do you?"

You swallowed thickly. "Rias . . . I need to get ready for my leave tomorrow."

Wham!

Your cheek was met with the back of the man's gloved hand. It stung.

"Tell me, honey. When were you planning to tell me you were with child."

You squeezed your eyes shut and opened your mouth a few times trying to feel if your jaw had been knocked out of place. It hadn't. Just hurt a damn lot.

"Seeing how this is your reaction, why would I tell you?"

Rias laughed again, but it was eerily quiet. "If the bastard was mine, I wouldn't have to react this way, would I?"

You spoke quietly. "Just kick me out right now, then. Before anything is obvious. Your family name would be ruined if word got out."

"Our family name, Y/N," he stroked your bruised cheek tenderly. "I'm not happy about this, but I think I can forgive you one day. It sucks that I love you so much. Let's just act like this is our child; no one but you, me, and your doctor has to know the truth."

You squinted your eyes at him. "You're willing to keep it as your own?"

Rias smiled sweetly. "Of course. They may not be mine but they are still a part of you. I'll treat that part nicely. But just to keep people from finding out, we'll need to do something about the donor. So tell me, sweetheart, who was it?"

"Mom," Your son's voice broke you from your thoughts.

"Huh?"

"I'm bored."

You watched him for a moment. He was laying on the floor in the hall, swinging his feet around randomly. A pout was set on his face.

"I am going to die of boredom. Really. You don't believe me but wait too long and I will. And you will be so sad about it and say 'why didn't I make him not bored when I had the chance?'"

You chuckled. "Oh really now. I didn't know you could do that. Let me watch you then and see how it happens."

"Mooom! No! You're supposed to make me not bored, not watch."

"Hmm. Why not go dig up some weeds then."

Lucas rolled onto his stomach and glared at you. "I don't want to do that. That's boringer. Can we go back home already?"

"I told you, sweetie, we can't go back there."

"But I don't wanna be here anymore. There's nothing to do. There's no people here. And Dad hasn't come back yet and it's been forever already."

You frowned. It had been four days since Malleus had showed up and Lucas hadn't stopped calling him 'Dad' since.

"Lucas, that man you saw was not your dad. And if you see him again stay away from him, you hear me?"

He blew a raspberry at you.

"Lucas. I am not joking with you."

". . . Ugh. Sor~ry."

You sighed. He had an attitude about it, but at least he apologized. You hoped he understood and actually listened.

You picked up the bag whose contents were now emptied in the cupboards. By now, you were almost completely out of food and needed to get more. You weren't too skilled at hunting and there wasn't much you could pick off the shrubs nearby, so you needed to take a trip to the Valley of Thorns.

You should have gone sooner, but you were honestly terrified of what would happen to you there. If you waited any longer though, you and Lucas wouldn't last long.

So you steeled yourself for the journey and stood up.

"Put on your shoes, let's go for a walk."

***

The mood was dour in the Valley.

The sky was dense with dark, thundering clouds, the people walking around on the cobbled streets shuffled along slowly and chattered quietly to each other, jumbled bushes of jagged thorns grew carelessly along the walls of the gothic style buildings, and tall, stone faced soldiers stood at every other corner.

No one seemed especially happy to be here.

Other than Lucas.

He was bouncing with excitement, pointing and smiling at each person who had a unique feature to them, like shimmering wings sprouting from their backs or large fangs that protruded from their mouths to name a few.

He kept trying to run up to all the interesting new people, all of which you figured were different types of fae, and you had to do your best to keep a firm grip on his hand.

If he wandered off and got lost here, you doubted the soldiers who found him would be kind. You couldn't let him get out of your sight.

"Lucas, shhh. You don't know these people, you have to be careful around them." You whispered leaning towards his ear.

"But Mom they all look so nice, they won't hurt me. Look, that one is smiling at me. Hi!"

Lucas waved happily towards the person he implied.

It was a tall, slender woman with scaly, pale skin, slitted, amber eyes, and long, light brown hair. She was indeed smiling at him. With a long forked tongue hanging from her mouth between two, pearly white fangs.

You tensed, not liking the look she was giving Lucas.

You nudged him in front of you. "Look I think that's a market up ahead. I'll get what we need and you can get one candy from there, okay? Just stay close to me."

"Okay!"

Not wanting to be here much longer than necessary, you moved quickly. Anything that looked unfamiliar you made sure not to grab but you actually found lots of food that you did know the names to.

The trip was going smoothly. Now you needed to to go to the front counter and hope you could pay with your money. If you couldn't, you could then try to barter the jewelry you wore hidden under your coat.

The . . . being . . . checking you out was short and stout and had large tusks protruding from their lips. They had black hair neatly tied back in a bun. Their bushy brows were curled down, over a pair of blue, feminine looking eyes, making them look angry.

You hoped you didn't make them snap at you.

"Excuse me uh . . . ." You couldn't tell if the person in front of you was a girl or a man so you didn't know how to address them. "Excuse me. Do you happen to accept this as payment?"

They snorted and snatched up the money you slid across the counter. They held it up to the light, squinting as they examined it.

After a second, they looked back and forth between you and the money.

"This is from Rourinville." They announced in a deep, guttural voice.

"Yes it is. Is there a problem with it?"

They took care of the change and began packing everything in your bag.

Thank goodness.

"You're a long way from home, girl. What are you doing all the way over here in Briar Valley?"

"'Briar Valley?' Isn't this the Valley of Thorns?"

They let out a squealing type of laugh. "That's just what everyone outside of here calls it. It's actual name is Briar Valley. It's not as horrible as everyone makes it out to be, so get those ideas out of your head. But one small slip up and you may find yourself in a dire situation."

"Yeah . . . Thanks."

"Will that be all?"

"Yes. Thank yo-"

"GET OUT OF THE STREET, SMALL CHILD!"

You whipped your head in the direction of the shout and your face paled when you saw what was going on.

Lucas had run off while you weren't paying attention and was now in the path of a large buggy bounding towards him. He was in a daze, just staring at it unmoving.

"LUCAS!"

Forgetting about your things, you sprinted as fast as you could towards him, hoping and praying with all your might that you'd get to him on time.

Before you could, a man jumped and tackled Lucas out of the way just in time as the buggy barreled past the spot your son once stood.

You slid onto your knees next to them and pulled Lucas into your arms. Your heart was pounding in your chest and your voice shook as you spoke.

"Lucas, oh God, are you okay? Are you hurt? Oh, my baby! Lucas you have to stop running off like that! If this man hadn't saved you, do you know what could have happened to you right now?"

"I-I'm okay, mom."

"Oh, Lucas you-"

"Are you this child's mother, Miss?" The man who saved Lucas shouted.

You looked up at him.

He wore the same black and green outfit with purple accents that you saw the soldiers on the streets wearing. He had hair that was short, slicked back, and pastel green, green/yellow eyes that looked down on you in what seemed like disapproval, and light skin.

You nodded. "Yes. I cannot thank you enough, sir. Please te-"

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself! If you had been by his side watching him, this wouldn't have happened! Do you know how often something like this happens? Never, because other people actually take care of their kin! If you can't even do the simple task of keeping your son safe then you shouldn't even be a-"

"Sebek, that's enough." A slow, calm voice interrupted. "She saw her kid in danger just now, she's must be shaken up."

This new person wore the same outfit as the 'Sebek' guy. He had medium length silver hair, unique light blue/purple eyes that were half lidded making him appear tired, and fair skin.

"Are you both okay?"

"Mhmm. Lucas?" You asked.

Your son was looking up at Sebek in stunned amazement, his mouth agape. "Uh huh. Thank you, sir . . . ."

Sebek 'humphed' and folded his arms across his chest. "You better stick to your mother from now on, kid! It does you no good to go giving her a heart attack! Both of you need to learn to pay attention to your surroundings, got it?"

"Yes, sir. Sorry. It won't happen again. Thank you, so much. Is there anything I can do for you as thanks for saving him?"

Both men held out their hands to you, helping each of you up.

"Just go home already, we're doing something for Waka-sama and you've put us behind schedule. Get out of here." Sebek turned on his heel and strode off.

The silver haired man sighed before walking after him. "Forgive him, he means well. Do be more careful next time."

You and Lucas stared at the duo as the walked away, until they were out of sight.

"The green one's so cool . . . ." Lucas began to smile and took hold of your hand.

". . . Yeah. C'mon, let's grab our stuff and head home."

"In Ruins" Masterlist

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst malleus #malleus x reader #malleus draconia #“In Ruins”#x reader

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silverofthunder · 7 months

Text

● if you open your heart ●

PART 1: OF CHANGES AND CHANCES

Secondo x GN Reader (+ Terzo/Omega in the background)

content: 1.8k words || criminal au, mostly just basic drama

!! things aren't described very graphically but the topics can be disturbing so 18+ is valid, i guess. !!

summary: Coding had always been more like some kind of escapism to you and not a weapon. But perspectives could always change.

So here we go now! I'm not best at writing any kind of action so this might be a clumsy start but anyway... I'm feeling good about this whole thing, nonetheless. Hope you enjoy!

You were dragged by two people to somewhere – you didn’t know where as you were blindfolded and gagged. All your attempts of escaping had failed as the people holding you were much stronger. You could hear music playing somewhere, the light smell of smoke and booze reaching your nose for a moment, soon replaced by a hint of sweat and cologne.

Your heart was thumping in your chest, the fear of what was to come growing within you. Then there was door opening and soon the people pushed you down onto a chair, taking off the blindfold and gag.

You cursed, blinking rapidly, and started to take in the surroundings. The room was dimly lit, it resemled some kind of a cellar but made more – comfy, if you could say so. And there was five men looking at you.

”Sorry about the way you were brought here,” one of them, the black haired one, spoke and you weren’t sure if he was actually sorry. You let your gaze move between the men, wondering if you recognized them.

”Do you know who we are?” another man, clearly the oldest one, asked. You tried to think, eyes scanning the men and noticed that four of them had the same pair of mitmatched eyes, and then it hit you.

”The Emeritus brothers,” you said, gaze landing on the one sitting behind the desk. He was leaning on the desk on his elbows, holding a glass of whiskey or something in his hand, his eyes boring into you and you swallowed.

”So you’ve heard about us,” the man said, taking a sip of his drink.

”Why the fuck am I here?” you asked, not trying to hide the annoyance in your voice.

”Patience, dear,” the man told, voice low, then snapped his fingers and soon a file was thrown onto the desk before him. He opened it and started mumbling information about you. And there was a lot of that and it made you feel uneasy. You didn’t know much about the brothers but you knew they had some power in the city and of course there had been rumours about them operating on the edge of law and crimes.

”So you know my life story but it still doesn’t explain why I’m here,” you spoke again.

”We need a hacker,” the fourth brother, probably the youngest one, told.

”Oh?” was all you could get out.

”Yes, that’s what we need,” the bald man confirmed. ”Copia is good, but we need someone who knows code better. And you seem to be the best we have found.”

You had to think for a second. This whole situation was so… weird. You shifted in the chair, only now realizing that you weren’t tied up.

”So you’re asking me to… work for you?” you asked, getting nods as an answer. ”And what if I don’t want to do that?”

The bald man chuckled, shrugging.

”Well, you can leave… No one is stopping you.”

You squinted your eyes, doubt creeping upon you. Surely it couldn’t be that easy but you had to try. Slowly you stood up and turned, starting then to walk towards the door. Your heart was beating fast the closer you got and it jumped when the man spoke again.

”We pay you well, and you could still live your life as you want. You just need to be available when we need you.”

You clenched your jaw, squeezing your hand into a fist. Money wasn’t everything in life but it wouldn’t hurt to get more. Even if it the way of earning it was questionable.

”How much?”

There was a moment of silence before they gave you the numbers. It was much bigger than you expected and with a sigh, you turned to face the brothers again. They looked pleased as you walked back to the chair, sitting down.

”Tell me more, then.”

It had been a week since you agreed to work for the Emeritus brothers and you had done a lot of thinking. A part of you felt that this was really bad idea while the other part saw this as a chance to do something else, make your life more meaningful. After all the shit you had gone through in the past years, it felt like a fresh start.

The questionability was the part that made it bad – you had never done much illegal stuff, not in this scale, at least. But you couldn’t deny the fact that it was also the part that made you curious. And you could do something you were actually good at. So far you had used your skills mainly for small pranks at school and in your part-time job at the programming company. And well, maybe later – after one of the biggest changes of your life – you had used them for trying to figure out some unsolved things but as you hadn’t found out much, you had given up, and stayed on the right side of law. Coding had always been more like some kind of escapism to you and not a weapon. But perspectives could always change.

The brothers had explained how they operated and it seemed pretty simple and apparently their way had worked well so far. To your surprise they weren’t that keen on killing people but it was also obvious that if the situation needed taking lives, they wouldn’t hesitate to do so.

You had learned that the fifth guy in the group was Terzo’s boyfriend and he was sometimes part of the missions. He seemed to be a pretty chill guy despite his threatening appearance and he gave you this sense of… normality when you all shared a space.

They were definitely the weirdest bunch of brothers you had ever encountered. They didn’t seem that close – it resembled more like a boss and employees relationship but maybe it was just because you didn’t know them, yet.

Primo was the oldest, the most calm and probably the least scary of them. Terzo was charming when he chose so, and you thought that he liked to be a bossy and use words as his weapon. Copia reminded you of yourself, somehow, he looked calm but inside there seemed to be a lot going on.

And then there was Secondo. The boss. Grumpy older man was pretty much the first thing that came to your mind. He was hard to read – he was the most intimidating, though, and you weren’t sure if there was any shoftness underneath or was he just all danger ready to be unleashed. That tickled your curiousity as you had always found people that were hard to read, fascinating.

The brothers had also told what happened to their previous hacker who had betrayed them. Of course, you weren’t sure if they had left some parts out, but you had gotten to know enough. Betrayal was definitely out of question. Obviously betraying them hadn’t even crossed your mind but they had to make sure you knew the rules.

Your first mission would be soon and while you started to get excited about it, you were also a bit worried. What if you screwed up? What would they do?

You had escaped the party, going through some narrow corridoors and found the staircase that lead you to the roof of the building. It was dark outside, it was well past the midnight, after all, as you slowly walked away from the door and looked around. City lights were a colorful dots in the distance and the traffic noises mixed with the music playing at the club.

Then, on the left, you saw a shadow and realized that someone was sitting there. Slowly you walked to them and as you got close enough you recognized the person. You wondered what Secondo was doing here, and after a moment of hesitation you decided to join him. He was smoking a cigar, looking at the horizon as you sat next to him.

Secondo took a drag from the cigar and then let out the smoke, the gray cloud fading into the air.

”You did good,” he said, still not looking at you. He was talking about your first mission that had been successful and tonight you had been celebrating it.

”Thanks,” you said quietly, moving your hands to your lap, starting to fiddle with the hem of your sleeves. You didn’t really want to talk about the mission but you didn’t know what else you could talk about. Luckily, Secondo continued the conversation.

”What brought you here? The party got too messy already?”

”I just needed some fresh air.”

”Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it,” Secondo said, quickly glancing at you. ”This life I mean. The parties are just… normal among the madness.”

You hummed – that was a good way to put it. It was complete madness to choose crimes over probity but sometimes there wasn’t any other choice. Life wasn’t always fair, laws weren’t fair, they were just made for to keep humanity in order. Or maybe it only caused more chaos, who knew.

”Parties aren’t really for me,” you sighed. ”Too crowded.”

Secondo turned his gaze to you, the expression on his face stoic. You were starting to get used to it, though you couldn’t help but wonder if the stoicness was just a wall he held up. It wouldn’t be surprising as the life they lived could be ugly at its worst.

”I see,” Secondo mumbled, taking long drags of his cigar, turning his head to blow the smoke away from you. As his eyes settled on you again, you flashed a tiniest of smile to the man.

”What?”

”This is… I don’t even know,” you said, letting out a small laugh. ”Like why me?”

Secondo didn’t answer straight away, he just stared at you, maybe thinking and you waited. You had a lot of questions but so little answers, yet, and you were sure that some of them might never be answered.

”As you know, we did some research,” Secondo started and you nodded. ”You seemed the best and safest option.”

You knitted your brows together. ”The safest option?”

”I think you know what I mean,” Secondo stated and you started thinking about your life, comparing it to the information the brothers had about you and connect the dots.

”The file you have about me… Was that all you could find?” you asked, your thoughts going to the certain part of your life – the part that was a red stain on the white. The part that had broken your heart so badly that you would carry the scars with you for the rest of your life.

You might have imagined it due to the bad lighting but only for a fleeting moment Secondo looked almost… sad. Then it was gone and he gave you an answer.

”No, there wasn’t all.”

#secondo x reader #papa emeritus ii x reader #ghost band fic #ghost band fanfic #jen writers fics

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codfanficedits · 1 year

Text

Cheating Ghost part 9.

CW: Domestic violence and implying of rape.

Your POV:

You had nearly forgotten about Simon. Not really obviously, you knew you still had to face him one day. Half of your belongings were still at that house. But for now, for now you could forget him. Soap’s bedroom was filled with laughter, you had more in common than you thought, memories, hobbies, even the same dishes you liked.

Although he liked olives, and the mere thought of them was enough to make you shudder.

Soap was in the middle of a story about Captain Price, something about his hidden porn stash when three loud bangs made the both of you quiet. It was unmistaken who’s voice it was. It felt as if a hand had reached out to your throat, squeezing it shit. Your eyes pleaded to Soap, begging him to stay in his bedroom with you. Surely Simon would leave, right? Right?

The banging got louder, more violent, his profanities carrying out over the street. All you wanted was for the ground to break open and swallow you whole.

“I have to face him.”

“What? No Johnny that’s ridiculous.”

“He won’t leave, I can just explain what happened. I’ll tell him you don’t want to see him.”

“But he sounds dangerous.”

“I’ve known him for years, lass. I’ll be fine.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

You couldn’t ignore the knot in your stomach, the horrible feeling as if something was bound to happen, Soap had closed the door behind him, as if he wanted to shield you from what was about to happen. You hid away in the corner, your knees brought up to your chest, as if you wanted to make yourself as tiny as possible.

You could hear the door open. Soap’s voice was the first to be heard. “Hey man, I know this looks ba-“ His sentence got cut short.

Something was happening, but you couldn’t make out what it was. The closed door muffled the sounds to much.

Yet the sounds of a person falling was clear to you. A man begging another man to stop, the faint sound of fists hitting their target.

Your bag.

It was still on the couch, you knew it was there, all you could do was to pray that Simon didn’t find it.

Your mind was racing, where had you put your phone? You knew it was in this room, somewhere, you had used it to text him that picture.

Oh god, why did you do that?

This was all happening because you just had to be petty. Johnny was getting murdered and you were having a pity party. Selfish bitch.

You had to find that fucking phone. Call someone. Call the police even.

But you were too scared. Afraid that if you were to move, Simon would hear you and come for you.

The sounds of footsteps on the stairs snapped you out of it. You wanted it to be Soap, you really did, but you knew it was Simon. “I know you’re in there you fucking filthy slut!”

You pressed yourself against the wall, hoping that you could blend in, maybe disappear while you’re at it.

The bedroom door swings open, and the man before you is no longer the man you once loved. His eyes are wide, his nostrils flared, a predator looking at his prey.

You can hear the soft groans coming from downstairs. You want to escape, you want to leave, but your body betrays you.

“Simon, I, I, I.” You start to stutter. His hands grab a handful of hair, forcing you to look up at him.

“You really thought you were smart, huh?” He hisses through his gritted teeth. He lets go of your hair, and for a second you think you can breathe. That was a mistake.

His right fist hits you, then his left, right, left, right, left, right. Until you start to lose count.

You hold up your arms to defend yourself, but it’s useless. He is trained to do this, and you’re his target.

You start to beg him, beg him for your life, but you can tell he is enjoying this, your tears, the fear in your eyes, it is nothing but fuel to his anger.

His hands grab your hair again, dragging you towards the bed. You’re too stunned, too terrified to even react.

The sound of his zipper going down makes your eye widen in fear. “I’ll show you who the fuck you belong to.” He hisses at you.

It is Soap who stumbles into the room that make the both of you look up. God. He looks horrible, he looks as if he was dragged through hell and back. The pain is visible in his eyes, the blood on his face, the red marks on his body.

A broken promise.

Ghost let’s out an annoyed grunt. “I’ll take care of our little problem.” He whispers into your ear. His voice, the tone, the words, it sends shivers down your spine. The sound of his zipper going back up is a blessing and a curse.

You’re safe, for now.

You can only watch in horror when you can see Ghost make his way over to Soap. You want to react. Your mind is screaming at you to do something. But your body can’t.

It seemed as if time was slowing down. The sunset slowing illuminating the room you’re in. The tension in the thick air. It looks like a horrible nightmare, one you wish to wake up from.

You’re held captive by your own body and mind. No control over what you’re thinking or doing, it makes you feel helpless.

Deep breaths, deep breaths, deep breaths. Snap out of that freeze response, no more freezing. You need to fight or you need to get out. Go. Go. Go.

Your body handles on it’s own, despite the pain you’re in, you manage to get up, stumbling over your own feet.

Get out or fight.

It’s the gunshot that follows next, that puts you into freeze again.

#angst #call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod mw2 #call of duty #cod mwii #cod x reader #simon ghost riley #soap cod #john soap mactavish #soap mw2 #mw2 #cod #soap mactavish #simon riley

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lost-between-letters · 2 years

Text

Let's Fight Tonight

Pairing: Jack Kline X Reader (she/her), side Destiel, side Claire X Kaia

Warnings: guns, fake death (as in no one actually dies but take care if you are sensitive to that kinda stuff), some making out

Word Count: 1,277

Summary: what says romance better than a good old battle where you're guarding your loved one's back?

A/N: beta'ed by the lovely @ohwowimlonley (so I'm blaming typos on her (no I don't))

Outraged shouts and guns going off filled the air.

"Jack!" Y/N whisper-shouted as she spotted the boy crouching behind a bookcase, gun pressed close to his body. He was unharmed though he turned and aimed at her with inhuman speed before recognition passed over his face.

Relief followed soon after. "They didn't get to you yet?"

"I'm faster than I look."

Jack nodded grimly and made to speak but stopped short and dragged her to the ground with him.

Moments later, his gun was going off at someone behind Y/N. Maniac laughter told them that Jack had missed though. Gabriel. He had been on Y/N's heels since this all began. Got Claire with a shot in the back before Y/N could save her. Jody would never let her hear the end of it for that - or Claire for that matter.

"Shit," Y/N voiced what they both were thinking when more footsteps approached, "any plans?"

"Shoot and hope?" Jack supplied. So pretty much their entire tactic for the day. And it had been supposed such a quiet day, spending time with people your own age for once. Oh what had become of that?

Yeah whatever. Wasn't like it would kill them or anything. "One last kiss?"

Jack smiled softly at the request and leaned over to press their lips together. His hand slid around her neck for just a moment and squeezed gently.

"I love you," Y/N breathed against his lips. She leaned their foreheads together as the steps grew louder, savouring the feeling of tender closeness before the fight would take them.

They had just gotten to their feet - standing with their backs to the bookshelf with just enough space between them to give the other room to fight - when a familiar voice echoed through the library.

"Told ya kids you can't win." Dean was coming from the left while Cas was rounding in on them from the right.

Both of them were walking the self assured walk of a warrior ready to take the win; their guns raised in perfect unison at the couple. Dean and his angel weren't here to take prisoners.

So Y/N and Jack had to be faster.

"What makes you think that?" Y/N stepped forward and deliberately drew their attention on her.

Worked like a charm too. Dean huffed, a smirk dancing over his face. "Oh I don't know maybe the fact the we've got you cornere-"

The hunter went down with a surprised sputter when Jack hit him straight in the chest.

And then all hell broke loose.

Sam - having heard his brother going down from some other part of the bunker - was suddenly right there, Gabriel at his side, and attacking Jack.

Meanwhile Castiel had turned towards Y/N who was determined to keep her stand next to her boyfriend. If they were going down, they were doing it together.

Guns were abandoned for fists and legs as the proximity didn't allow them, lest they wanted to accidentally hit someone on their team.

One shove sent Y/N to the ground, slithering to where Dean was laying. A grave mistake.

His hand was a vice around her ankle and pinned her to the ground with him. And here she had been thinking that he had been out already.

Jack - sweet Jack - noticed Y/N's peril almost immediately and bit and clawed his way over to her. "Leave her alone!"

"Yeah Dean-o no cheating," Gabriel sing-songed unexpectedly from the sidelines.

Wait, why wasn't anyone attacking them?

A glance to the prowl near the bookshelf confirmed Y/N's greatest hopes. Alex and Kaia were holding their own against two of the greatest hunters/warriors she knew. And that was saying a lot. Hell, they even were holding Gabriel back somehow - though he seemed more entertained than actually struggling.

Hey, whatever got them to the win.

Only that Dean had used her moment of observation to press his gun into her back.

"You tell me what you did to Charlie or I will pull the trigger," Dean threatened, his attention on Jack.

"You should be dead," Jack retorted and aimed again.

Which made Dean press harder. Y/N laughed. "You wanna know what happened to Charlie?"

She used the fracture of a second where his grip loosened and swung her free leg over his body.

"I shot her."

And then she shot Dean as well. This time, he stayed down.

"Dean!" Castiel lunged without thinking when he heard the body hit the ground for good.

His mistake.

Kaia took the opening as it was and shot him just as Alex got Gabriel.

Now only Sam was standing. With four victory high young adults turning towards him. He hadn't had the slightest of chance. He had been one of their best teachers after all.

"We won." The statement uttered with a sense of wonder came from Kaia. Her eyes were trained on the bodies around her, then slowly lifted to her team. Where one was missing.

"We did." Y/N nodded, a huge grin taking over her face.

They actually defeated them! A bunch of kids!

Jack was a step further already. Laughing freely. Without so much as warning, he drew her in and kissed her once again - in front of all of their family and friends. With tongue.

Y/N did not squak.

"Alright alright, game over, we do not need to see that," Claire said in that voice that clearly aimed for I-am-so-annoyed-with-my-little-brother-that-isn't-actually-related-to-me but didn't quite catch on that she was supposed to be, y'know, actually annoyed for that.

And with that, the spell was broken. Kaia flew into her arms, laughing and berating her for letting Gabriel get the drop on her.

"I still can't believe that you mojoed me to that damn floor," Dean grumbled and pointed his beer bottle at Gabriel.

The archangel in question was not impressed in the slightest bit and shrugged with his trademark shit eating grin. "Hey, you were cheating, I had to do something."

"I was not." Dean huffed indignant, "Jack missed."

"He didn't miss, I saw the freaking lights," Y/N stated as she re-entered the room. Beer bottles and glasses full of other beverages were handed to the grabby fingers of her friends.

They all let Dean complain some more while Jack pulled Y/N in his lap and rested his chin on her shoulder. This right there was his family. And Y/N loved it with all the parts that weren't already consumed by Jack.

The easy teasing that followed the aftermath of their laser-tag adventures was not-so-surprisingly aimed mainly at the adults.

"You're just a sore loser," Claire said and added smugly, "and still got shot the second time around."

"Yeah that was just sad to watch." Alex laughed and stretched out on her part of the sofa.

"At least I didn't get shot in the back."

"You really wanna go there Dean?" Charlie quipped, "your angel coming to your rescue?"

"Shut it."

Dean was getting grumpier by the second. It made Y/N want to tease him until he was as red as a tomato. But she was pretty comfortable right here with Jack and she didn't want one of his dads throwing her out for being giggly, thank you very much.

Turned out that she didn't even have to do anything to fulfill her goal. All it took was Castiel to look up from his own drink solemnly, nudge Dean's leg with his and say earnestly, "But I really was attempting to come to your rescue, Dean."

And there was tomato-Dean.

"Oh we are so doing this again," Gabriel proclaimed.

General Taglist: @immrbrightsideee, @fandomfoodiedancer, @lovesfandoms, @nyotamalfoy, @stixnstripesworld , @foxyjwls007 , @amythedoctor , @alexxavicry

Jack Taglist: @sweater-weather-spn, @xoxokiaraaxoxo

Join a Taglist

#jack kline x reader #jack kline x you #jack x you #jack x reader #supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfiction

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sweater-daddiesdumbdork · 2 years

Note

Transportation 4, with Colin Shea. (Bonus if Colin is the one being played with, but whichever way the muse leads you I will be overjoyed to see.)

Thank you for sending the ask! I don't often write for Colin but it's fun to dabble in this cutie.

Send a Location Smut Ask from this List.

Perhaps you shouldn't do this.

If you two were caught, there was the likelihood that you two would be banned from the airline or worst.

But there were a lot of things you "shouldn't" do, but you did. So when Colin made that cheeky remark about how fun would it be if you two messed around on the plane. You were more than ready for that challenge.

"Don't you dare get us caught." You pressed into him, your hand dragging along his thigh, over his shorts. His brows lifted in surprise when he glanced down at your hand in his lap, then quickly around the seats to see if anyone was paying remote attention.

"I meant sneaking off into the bathroom Y/N." He cautiously whispered and you shook your head at him as your fingers grasped his fly, making your own glance around to see where the hostess was.

Thankfully still at the back of the plane, chatting with another while they filled their cart. "We've done that before, where is your sense of adventure?" You pressed a kiss to his heated cheek, color starting to seep in while your fingers pulled down his fly, the zip of it seemingly loud.

You could already see him half hard, squirming in his seat because of you, the rush of air blowing harshly through his nose as his eyes started to sharpen with arousal. A tick in his clenched jaw made you spread your palm over his cock in his boxers, hearing him while needily. "Harder." He muttered, pressing his hand over the top of yours to press against him.

You smirked, pressing your lips to his jawline as your fingers stroked him, loving how you could feel him grow harder, thicker, the smooth feeling of his cock growing rigid with throbbing veins as all the blood rushed to his groin. Another low noise escaped him as his head tilted back to the seat. "Christ." He muttered, forgetting for a moment that it would be as simple as someone looking over from the other row to know you two were fucking around.

"Ssshh." You whispered in his ear as you angled your body in the seat, making yourself block him enough so he couldn't be immediately seen. Your teeth sunk into his ear lobe, sucking on the bit of skin while squeezing his cock just a bit more, just how he liked it.

"You can't tell me to sush and do that all at once Y/N. I only have so much will- oh fuck." He cut himself off, your thumb sweeping his crown and smearing droplets of pre cum down till you got to his balls, giving them a nice roll through your fingers, squeezing them slightly so his hips jutted up in a thrust.

You were loving this, having Colin squirm in his seat, muffling himself, which he usually was quite noisy when the two of you were messing around. The bob in his throat and heaving chest was tell tale for you just how much he was trying to stay quiet.

"Come on baby." You purred in his ear, licking up the shell in a way that made him shiver, another low-pitched moan escaping because your hand jerked and slipped on his cock, you removed it long enough to spit in your hand and slip back into his shorts that were too tight and constricting to him now. "You know I love when you make me a mess."

Grabbing the blanket the hostess gave you before to nap with, he spread it messily across his lap and you finally pulled him full out, able to work your hand up and down speedily, spit and pre cum slicked, you hissed for him to cum, his hips jutting up to meet your fisted hand, making the seats creak a bit with your movements, you arched your neck up to look over the seats, to see the hostess was coming down the aisle.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck." Colin whispered hoarsely, his hands gripping the seat with his head thrown back, tendons stark against his neck while the rush of the moment started to overtake him. His hand shot out to grasp your thigh, strong fingers digging in to hold on.

"They are coming Colin." You whispered urgently, enjoying the way his eyes screwed shut and his jaw dropped.

"I'm close." He rushed out and your hand expertly twisted, making him finally lose control and you felt the heated spurts of his spend coat on your hand while he jerked a few more times. His breathing was a rush as he let himself loose all his tension and sink into the seat.

"Can I get you anything to drink? A snack?" The hostess pushed her cart up next to your seats and addressed the couple across the aisle from your seats. You carefully pulled your hand away from him, wiping it against the blanket while Colin shifted the blanket to make it look more appropriately spread over him, still hiding the fact his cock was free out of his pants. "How about you two?"

"Umm yeah, we could use some napkins and water, please." You flashed a smile while Colin next to you muffled an amused snort from escaping him. "I tend to make a mess, I'm pretty clumsy with drinks." You offered an explanation and thanked her as you were handed the items.

"Anything for you sir?" She directed at Colin who gave a quick shake of his head, ready for her to move along and give the two of you some privacy. As she moved along, Colin's hand darted back under the blanket and shifted himself to tuck himself away.

"Change seats with me, Baby." He tossed the blanket aside for the moment while you worked on cleaning your hand off.

"Because?"

Lust-filled blue eyes and a smirking Colin faced you as he took the water bottle from you and half-drained it. "Because we are not done with this little game."

It was enough to make you switch seats, both of you looking around to make sure no one was paying any attention to the two of you before Colin put his hands on you.

#colin shea x reader #drabbles #smut locations #thank you for the ask babes!#amber answers #amber writes #sweater writes

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quietwingsinthesky · 1 year

Text

Self-Preservation Over Lost Causes

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Archive Warning: N/A Fandom: Supernatural Ship: Crowley/Kevin Tran Additional Tags: Not Canon Compliant with Episode: s09e09 Holy Terror (Supernatural), Kevin Tran Lives (Supernatural), Pre-Slash, Attempted Murder, Kevin Tran is So Done (Supernatural), Minor Injuries WC: 2965 Summary:

When his back is against the wall, Kevin still has one person left in the Bunker to turn to, and he might be the only one who can save Kevin's life.

Something Kevin’s learned the hard way: when Dean says to trust him, don’t.

He could hear the barely disguised panic in Dean’s voice when he demands Kevin look for ways to clamp down on an angel. He’d have to be blind not to notice the weird ways Sam had been acting since failing to close the Hell gates, the way he ran off with no explanation or went so still, so deathly silent, staring at Kevin like he was studying him, a hawk's expression before it swooped. Sam's voice buzzed in Kevin’s ears in ways he let be written off as migraine auras or leftover juice from the trials. It should have been something Kevin saw through earlier, but he’s exhausted and hungry and hurting all the time. Now, on top of that, he’s terrified.

Because the pieces are falling into place and Kevin’s got a paper with his name scrawled on it clutched in his hands and the sigils on the wall are different than they were when Kevin made them and Dean isn’t someone he ever should have trusted.

He leaves Dean thinking he’s talking to his brother. It crosses his mind, for a moment, that that’s selfish, throwing Dean to the meat grinder for a few seconds more to escape, but then he remembers how Dean didn’t even bother to tell him what he was doing. If not for the paper in Kevin’s sweaty palm, with his name, only his name, drifting lazily out of Sam’s jacket, he might not have eavesdropped. He might have been left a sitting duck. So screw Dean. He’s Kevin freaking Solo.

That makes a nervous laugh erupt from his chest. He knows where his feet are taking him, even if he’s doing everything in his power not to think about it. The safest place in the Bunker. It’s a dead-end, Kevin knows that, but where else is he going to run? If he’s lucky, he hides until the storm blows over. If not-

He’s not thinking about if nots. He’s thinking about surviving. He drags the door to the dungeon open and shuts it behind him. All he can hear is his heart pounding as he backs away from it. Should he bar the door? Can he? What is there to-

“-vin. Kevin!” An annoyed growl from behind him. Kevin nearly jumps out of his skin. Crowley rolls his eyes, crossing his arms on the table in front of him. There’s a scrap of paper there. A crayon. Kevin squeezes the name in his fist harder. “What do you need now? Another translation? A spell, maybe? Or is are we getting dirty again?” Crowley glances suggestively at the tools on the wall and then back to Kevin. He looks Kevin up and down. “What’s wrong with you? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Kevin thinks he hears something, and his head jerks back to the door. “Well, maybe not so surprising in your line of work. Is that-“

“Shut up,” Kevin whispers. “It’s going to hear you.” Crowley tilts slightly in his chair, as though he can look past Kevin and through the closed door.

“Don’t tell me you’ve let another ancient horror out of a jar.”

“Shut up!” Kevin hisses. Crowley’s smile, what there is of it, falls. When he speaks again, the taunts are gone.

“Kevin. What did those idiots set free?” There’s another noise from outside, or Kevin thinks there might be. He’s not sure. Anything could be a sign of danger. Desperately, he grasps for one of the hammers on the wall. It has a familiar weight to it. He’s used it on Crowley… more times than he would like to admit.

Kevin feels like a mouse in a trap, caught wrong, his neck not snapped properly, squirming and squeaking.

But this trap has the king of Hell in it. Kevin’s out of options.

“Can you kill an angel?” he asks. Crowley leans back in his chair.

“Do you have one of their blades?” Kevin shakes his head. “Mm. Gun loaded with grace bullets? A very sharp needle?” Kevin doesn’t even bother to answer those. “Then, no, I can’t kill an angel.”

“If it gets in here, it’ll kill you.” Crowley grimaces.

“Not exactly what I had planned for today.” He lifts his cuffed hands expectantly, and when Kevin doesn’t move, he says, “Well?”

“What?”

“You said it yourself. We’re both going to die. Set me free, so that we don’t!” Crowley’s voice rises in aggravation. Kevin is about to shake his head, but that’s when he hears it. Crowley does, too. He tilts his head, listening as Kevin does to the echoing sounds of footsteps. They’re slow. Searching. Still far enough away that Kevin knows they have a few minutes more to live. He holds his breath. “Make a choice, Kevin. The angel hunting us or me.”

“Like you won’t kill me the second you’re free.”

“I’m telling you I won’t. You can trust me, or you can walk out those doors right now. Better a quick death than waiting in here scared out of your wits.”

Crowley sees as well as he does that there isn’t a real choice. Kevin drops the note he’s holding and goes for the keys to his shackles.

“Cuffs first,” Crowley instructs as Kevin’s shaking hands try to fit the key into the lock. Crowley’s taken the paper and crayon, and he’s scribbling away quickly. “Then, you have to smash those marks on the floor. You’ve got the upper body strength for it. I’ve felt it when you hit me.” The cuff around Crowley’s neck falls, and he rolls his head. The cuffs on his wrists are easier, and then Kevin is down on one knee unlocking his ankles. Crowley finishes writing before he stands. “It’s going to make a lot of noise, so when your angel friend gets here, do exactly what I say, or this will just be a lot of wasted effort.”

Kevin stares at him. For a moment, the surreality of the situation is almost too much for him to handle. Crowley has tortured him, he’s killed Kevin’s mom or good as, and now, he’s going to save Kevin’s life. Crowley snaps his fingers and points at the ground. Kevin is shocked back into movement, lugging the hammer in his hands up and smashing it into the ground. It doesn’t have to make a big crack. It only has to sever the mark enough that Crowley’s free to do whatever he wants.

He’s beside Kevin in a moment. His hand covers Kevin’s arm. They can both hear the footsteps outside drawing closer, lured by the sound of the hammer. Crowley slides the drawing he’s made to Kevin, and Kevin recognizes it as an angel banishing sigil, the kind he might have thought to use himself if he wasn’t panicking. “Give me your hand.” Kevin does, and he cries out when Crowley digs his nail into his palm hard enough to tear it open. It bleeds freely. “Copy this onto the table in your blood,” he says, “and as soon as it’s done, slam your wound against it as hard as you can.” Like Kevin needs to be told.

“Why not your blood?” Kevin says. Years of this and his pain tolerance should be better than it is, not make his eyes water from a cut. He doesn’t let that stop him, pushing his fingers against his bleeding palm and scrawling the symbol onto the table.

“Has to be human. Stay behind me.” He doesn’t have to tell Kevin that, not only because Kevin isn’t going anywhere but because Crowley is the one who chooses to step between Kevin and the door as it opens. Kevin draws frantically.

“Get out of the way.” That’s Sam’s voice. That’s not Sam. Kevin’s ears are buzzing again.

“Oh, good choice. I prefer Sam myself. Never possessed him, unfortunately. I’m sure you've noticed his little tattoo when you’ve admired him in private.” Crowley’s voice is as glib as it was when Kevin entered. He reaches back, and he braces one hand against Kevin’s side as though he’s making sure he stays put. Kevin’s not even sure if the angel possessing Sam can see him where he’s hidden. It makes no difference; it knows he’s there. But Crowley won’t let it see him.

“You are the demon they keep locked up,” the angel says. “I’ve watched you talk. Let me have the prophet, and you will live.” Crowley clicks his tongue.

“Give me a moment to think about it.” This symbol is hard to draw, harder in his own blood. Kevin’s not sure if there’s enough to finish it. He digs his own nails into the wound to free more. The scent floods his nostrils and makes him want to gag. He smears it into the shape of the sigil. “It happens that I’m very attached to this adorable little prophet. What more do you have to bargain?”

“Only your life.” Kevin hears the angel take a step closer.

“I see,” Crowley drags the word out. He’s buying time. Kevin only needs a few more seconds. “In that case, having fully considered every facet of your offer, I’m going to have to-“ Kevin slaps the sigil. The broken skin of his palm screeches in agony, but not nearly as loud as the angel screams as it’s forced out of the room. Kevin’s eardrums feel like they’ll burst. He covers them to no effect, only warm blood coating the side of his head. A moment later, it’s all over, and the room is dark and quiet again. “Turn you down,” Crowley finishes. The hand at Kevin’s side falls away. Kevin leans on the table, swallowing down air until his lungs hurt. He feels Crowley pat his shoulder, and he flinches from it.

“Well done, Kevin,” Crowley says, and whatever note is in his voice, Kevin doesn’t want to analyze or worry or think about it.

“And now you kill me?”

“No. No,” Crowley huffs. “That was a deal we made back there. My freedom for your protection.” Adrenaline is a nasty thing. Kevin’s got too much first-hand experience. He might actually throw up. “We made a good team.”

“Fuck you,” Kevin says. Crowley chuckles. He's free to go. There's nothing Kevin could do to stop him. For some reason, he stays, and he speaks again, his tone serious once more.

“I’ve been meaning to ask something for a while now. I told you that your mother was still alive, and I wasn’t lying about that.” Kevin’s head shoots up so fast, his vision dances with black spots. “It seems exactly like the kind of rescue mission the Winchesters would love to undertake for family.”

“She’s as good as dead,” Kevin repeats what Dean said, but the words sound even more hollow now.

“That’s what I thought,” Crowley says as he tries to place his hand on Kevin’s shoulder again and Kevin moves away. “I tried to warn you. The Winchesters burn people up. I’ve been around them a long time. I’ve seen it again and again. What do you think would have happened today if you didn’t come looking for me?” Kevin’s hands curl into fists.

“He didn’t tell me. He put an angel in Sam, and he didn’t say anything. It could have killed me whenever it wanted.” If his voice shakes, he hopes it sounds like the anger he’s finally letting out rather than fear.

“Years of your life gone. No closed hell gates. One mother you miss dearly that they wanted you to condemn rather than look for. Countless nights letting you abuse that irreplaceable brain of yours. And one near-death experience because despite everything you’ve given them, you weren’t important enough to be in the loop.” Crowley counts out the score. Kevin squeezes his eyes shut. His nails dig back into his already injured palm. “Does that sound like a life you want to keep living?”

“You’re doing the ‘work for me’ speech,” Kevin says. The last few times he heard it, Crowley had a one hand outstretched and the other holding a knife. He doesn't think he needs a threat to coax Kevin onto his side anymore.

“I am,” Crowley answers, “and do you know what you’re doing? Considering it.”

Kevin doesn’t want Crowley to be right.

“Look at what I’m offering. Protection from anything who tries to hurt you, whether it’s coming from Heaven or Hell. Lavish living arrangements, food, housing, you name it. The first thing we’d do is pick your mother up and make sure she’s kept safe with you. Is the deal sweet enough?”

“You want me to hand over myself and the tablets to help you rule Hell?”

“You'd be helping people. Hard to see it from your, or Sam and Dean’s, point of view, but I kept Hell organized. If Abaddon’s left in charge, she’ll bring her reign of terror to Earth as soon as the deals she’s collecting early dry up.” He pauses. “But screw helping people. Be a little selfish for once, Kevin. Haven’t you given enough?”

Kevin takes a deep breath.

“Yes,” Kevin whispers.

“Couldn’t hear that.”

“Yes!” It’s freeing. He’s tired. He’s done. The Winchesters promised him this would be over by now. He thought he lost his mother for this fight. Dean couldn’t even give Sam up when he was willing to die to finish things.

“That’s what I thought. You go fetch your tablets, your notes, whatever you think is important. I’ll meet you at the exit.”

“What are you-“ By the time Kevin has turned around, Crowley is gone.

Alone in the dungeon, he’s left to wonder if this was the wrong choice.

His hand stings. He hisses in pain as blood continues to drip down his palm. He looks back at the angel banishing symbol, at the walls around him, and he walks out without any more doubts. He’s had a bag ready to go for ages, even if he could never convince himself before now to leave. He had nowhere else to go, and even if it turns out he's exchanging a prison with the Winchesters for one with Crowley, at least he knows Crowley will feed him better. He sweeps his notes into his backpack, filling it near to bursting but he can’t leave any of his scribbled thoughts behind or risk losing days of work. The tablets go in another bag that he slings over his shoulder. They spark outraged pain in his head at being jostled like trash, but he shoves it away. He’s been hauling them around for years. He’s used to it.

Crowley is waiting by the stairs, as promised. There’s no blood on his hands or his clothes, so Kevin has to presume that if that angel didn’t kill Dean outright, then he’s still alive somewhere in the Bunker. It doesn’t matter except to lend some peace of mind that Crowley didn’t go straight from his newfound freedom to murder.

“There you are,” Crowley says. He motions Kevin closer, and hesitantly, he comes. “No second thoughts, I hope?”

“None.” Crowley holds out his hand. Kevin lifts his injured one, and when Crowley nods and flexes the fingers of his outstretched hand, Kevin lays it in his. Instead of some sort of painful retribution for the days Kevin has blown off steam hacking away at him, Crowley draws out a pristine bandage. “Where did you get that?”

“I stole it. Hold still.” Pressure on the wound stings a little as Crowley wraps it. One hand keeps Kevin’s still, and the other winds the bandage around and around his palm, securing it. Staring at his hand, Kevin realizes it’s the one that Crowley once cut a finger off of.

And now, he’s making a pleased noise as he checks the bandage is tied properly.

“That will be enough for now. Once we’re somewhere a little more secure-“

“After we get my mom,” Kevin insists.

“After we get your mom. It’s at the top of my priorities, I promise. Then, I’ll see if I can throw together a spell to have you good as new.” Kevin adjusts the bags he’s carrying. “Ready to leave?”

“More than.” They climb the steps side by side. Kevin doesn’t look back at the Bunker.

“Since this is a deal we’re making, we’re going to have to follow protocol,” Crowley says off-handedly as the Bunker door swings shut behind them and Kevin hauls himself up the final steps. He can’t tell if he feels like he’s going to pass out because he hasn’t slept in days or because he’s finally out of the rush of nearly getting killed.

“What?” Crowley stops and turns to him.

“We have to do it right. Pucker-“ Kevin’s brain catches up with what Crowley wants before he finishes speaking. He’s the one who grabs Crowley’s coat and yanks him down to get it over with.

As things go today, kissing Crowley isn’t that bad. He’s awful, and Kevin still hates him, but the kiss itself isn’t horrible. Crowley’s hand on his shoulder isn’t horrible. Kevin pulls back, letting Crowley go, realizing a moment too late that Crowley would have to let himself be pulled for Kevin to be able to drag him around.

“Happy?”

“Hm. Really, we made two deals today. You owe me one more.” Kevin makes a face.

“Bite me.” Crowley smiles, and it is disturbingly fond.

“All in due time. I’ll collect on that second kiss later. What say we go pay your mother a visit. I’m sure she misses you.”

By the time Dean wakes up from being knocked out on the cold Bunker floor, Sam is gone, Crowley is gone, and Kevin is long gone and never coming back.

#crowley spn #kevin tran #crowley/kevin tran #spn #fanfiction #kevin lives bitches. join the dark side man!!!!

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