#i’m at my fuckin wits end
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I hate kids lmao
#d slur#disclaimer: i did not drop the d slur in fromt of a kid lmao#it’s just. very tiring. I either get called emo which incredibly inaccurate or I get barked or meowed at#sir i know you’re like 8 but have you perhaps considered you’re not as funny as you think?#because you’re not. you’re a moron and I wanna kick you in your tiny shins#next kid that does this to me im gonna pick up like a hammer in hammer throw and toss the#*them across the street#i’m at my fuckin wits end#I WASNT EVEN DRESSED UP TODAY I WAS IN JEANS AND A CAMP HALFBLOOD TSHIRT
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heyyyy!! do u think u could do a oneshot of everyone finding out that y/n n bkg have been sneaking into each others dorms? (or you could do an aged up version if your not comfortable with it <3)
LOVEE UU!! <33
3:04pm
suki baby: i’m coming over
my baby: YAY miss u
he laughs to himself at the contact name you gave yourself. so stupid.
suki baby: we just saw each other at school, leech.
my baby: shush
katsuki pockets his phone and continues on his way to your dorm room.
“yo! bakugou! come train with me!” kirishima yells from the other end of the hallway.
“im busy.” he replies, turning the corner to the elevators.
stepping inside and clicking the button for your floor, he pulls his phone out to reply to you.
“wait!” kirishima yells, squeezing his arm between the doors and getting inside.
“too busy for training? that’s so unlike you.” kirishima says, thinking out loud.
katsuki sighs and shoves his phone back in his pocket, hidden from kirishimas snooping eyes.
“you’ve been secretive lately too. and you’re never in your dorm.” kirishima continues with his rambles while katsuki rolls his eyes to the back of his head.
the elevator dings, signalling they’ve now reached your floor.
katsuki steps out and kirishima looks around confused.
“dude this isn’t the first floor.” he says, running after him.
katsuki halts. kirishima bumping into him from behind.
“stop fucking following me.” he says coldly.
kirishima groans, backing up towards the elevator.
“fine! fine! told you you’re secretive.” he mumbles, pressing the button for his floor.
katsuki stands there with his arms crossed in disapproval until the elevator door closes.
pulling out his phone he sees new messages.
3:11pm
my baby: why are you taking forever 😒
3:15pm
my baby: if u don’t walk through this door rn you’re not getting kisses.
suki baby: i’m On my way!
speed walking towards your dorm he looks around for any witnesses before throwing your door open.
he comes towards you, snuggled in your blankets with a frown towards your face.
you can tell by the look in his eyes and his body language that he wants a kiss.
“stop right there.” you say, putting your hand in front of his face.
he halts but kisses your open palm anyway.
you huff, putting your hand back down.
“why did you keep me waiting?” you ask with a raised brow.
he frowns, already fed up with your interrogation.
“shitty hair tried to follow me.” he grumbles, inching towards you slyly.
you ponder over his answer for a moment.
“hm.” you say, pretending to be unsatisfied with his answer.
you watch as katsuki’s face contorts in annoyance.
laughing at him, you open your arms so he can slot himself between them.
he rolls his eyes but falls forward anyway, shoving his face in your neck.
he begins to press open mouth kisses to your neck and you hum in appreciation.
“love you.” you whisper.
he pulls his lips away from your neck in favour of pressing them to yours.
“yeah?” he asks, his eyes trying to immerse themselves in your soul. asking the question as if he doesn’t know you’d destroy the world and rebuild it once more just to make him smile.
you nod slowly, kissing him with a smile on your face.
he chuckles and pulls away.
“stop smilin.” he grins, returning to your lips.
the two of you laugh together now. teeth clanking together and noses smushed, trying to merge as one.
he pulls away once more while you continue giggling.
“baby.”
you cup his cheek in your hand.
“when you tell me not to laugh it’s hard not to!” you defend.
he places his lips on your cheek as a kiss, resting there while he speaks.
“it’s hard not to laugh when you’re fuckin laughing.” he says into your skin.
you thread your fingers through his hair and he lets out a breathy moan.
“mmm love you.” he mumbles, shifting his face off your cheek and into your neck.
he wraps his arms around your waist and focuses on your fingers massaging his head, your nails grazing his scalp every so often.
kirishima gets out of the elevator on the first floor, walking through the common room in the direction of the training rooms.
“hey kirishima!” midorya calls to him from the kitchen.
“hey.” he replies, less upbeat than usual since he’s still confused about what’s going on with bakugou.
“uhhhh you okay?” midorya questions.
kirishima stops walking, turning to look at midorya.
“huh? oh uh yeah. thanks.” he says.
midorya doesnt look convinced. walking around the kitchen island to have a proper conversation, he speaks.
“are you sure? where’s kacchan? are you going to train with him?” he asks.
kirishima sighs.
“well i was. he got off the elevator on the 4th floor and told me to stop following him.” he frowned.
midorya thinks to himself. the fourth floor? what’s he doing there?
“hey guys!” mina calls to them, smile on her face.
“what’s going on over here?” she asks.
the boys look at each other and then back to mina.
“bakugous acting weird.” kirishima says.
“bakugous always weird.” she replies.
“hey there everybody! is this a common room party?” kaminari says as he walks in with sero.
everyone watches as they enter the conversation circle, seemingly interested in what’s going on.
“we’re talking about bakugou.” mina says.
“oh! …uh why.” kaminari asks.
“bakugous acting weird. i don’t know what’s going on with him.” kirishima adds.
sero pipes up.
“weird how?”
kirishima looked to him.
“he refused training.” he replies.
that has everybody thinking.
“i don’t think he’s ever refused training.” midorya says slowly.
“exactly!”
“GUYS! you gotta see this!” jiro and uraraka scream and they come barreling out of the elevator.
the five of them run to the elevator to catch up with the girls.
uraraka pushes the button for the fourth floor and kirishima and midorya lock eyes.
“guys you have to be quiet when we get out.” uraraka says.
they all have confused looks on their faces but nod anyway.
the elevator dings and the doors open, revealing a crowd around your dorm room door.
they all speed walk towards the crowd quietly, hearing the whispers and giggles of their classmates.
when they turn the corner to peek inside your dorm, they all let out quiet gasps.
there, you and katsuki are sleeping. your arms around him and his face buried in your chest.
“that’s not fair!” mineta yells.
everyone turns to him in shock, the girls around him swatting him in annoyance.
they hear a grumble from inside your room and everyone’s heads whip towards the noise.
“baby.” katsuki grumbles. his deep sleepy voice tickling your neck.
“hm?” you mumble.
“turn your fuckin alarm off.” he groans.
the class continues watching in shock.
you remove one arm from around him and he tsks in annoyance.
flipping to look at your clock, you see that no alarm is going off.
“katsu baby, i don’t have an alarm… set.” you trail off, seeing your entire class watching you and your boyfriend.
not being able to find the words, you tap katsuki, eyes still open wide while staring back at your class.
“whaaaat.” he groans, wrapping an arm around your waist and trying to pull you down.
when you don’t budge he cracks open an eye and sees everyone.
he sits up so fast you feel air whoosh onto your face.
“GET THE FUCK OUT!”
#bakugou x reader#bakugou fluff#bakugou x yn#bakugou x you#katsuki bakugo x reader#bakugou katuski x reader#bakugo x reader#bakugou katsuki x reader#katsuki bakugou x reader#bakugo katsuki x reader
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Ultraviolence
pairing: raider!joel miller x fem!afab!reader
summary: thank god—a handsome stranger saves you from the grips of a pack of cruel, cruel men. unfortunately, said stranger, joel miller, is cut from the exact same cloth as the rest of them.
warnings: oh. boy. rough sex/smut (fem penetration, fingering, cum play if you squint) so 18+ only content; fem!afab!reader; raider!joel; canon typical violence; mentions of hair pulling/reader having long hair; light dacryphilia; age gap; pet names (baby, darlin’, sweetheart, girl); slapping, spanking, choking; !!!NONCON!!! (sexual violence/assault, coercion, allusions to more sexual abuse—Dead Dove, Do Not Eat y’all, protect yourselves).
word count: 4k+
no use of y/n in this fic
alright y’all!!! here is the non-con raider!joel fic!! stay tuned for the version coming out soon wherein Joel actually rescues the reader LOL join the taglist to be notified when I post it!!! y’all’s requests will quite legit be the death of me BUT this was fun to write so im not mad. this version is just purely depraved & Joel ‘Big Dick’ Miller is a mean mean man. wrote it pretty fast too so b nice 2 me.
love u all, sorry for searing your eyeballs:)
-em<3
—
The stucco prickles and tears at the flushed skin of your cheek, a reminder that it’ll be winter soon. The birds are sure of it, and most of them managed to get away before the frost stood a chance of nipping them.
You didn’t.
After a few years of non-stop struggle, losing everything but your own life, you figured there were worse ways to go. At least you would be… well—you, in the end.
In whatever shape this man and his leering group of accomplices left you in.
“Against the wall,” and his voice had been the crack of a whip, snapping by your ear as electricity shot up and down your spine, as the tingling realization that the chase was over—the jig, up—settled into your bones. “Spread your fuckin’ legs.”
There were more hounds around… waiting.
Always waiting.
They’d already gotten to your old, tattered clothes. The brisk air bites at your exposed skin, but at least the cold would account for the violent shivers wracking your limbs. Even as the beast pins you to the side of the decrepit house, forces himself between your knees, your primary preoccupation is to stifle your fear.
They’d get everything else on display—but they would never get to see that.
When the screaming starts, those confused grunts, huffs, and squelches of a blade carving into flesh, you mostly commend your own imagination:
“I did it. I’m in my happy place. This will be quick, then.”
But then a rough, unfamiliar hand grabs hold of your naked waist, flipping you around, slamming your spine against the frosty stucco.
This is real.
And you bear witness to his carnage.
He painted the side of the house into a mosaic of inter-mingling blood, splattered like a Pollock against the grass, the wrinkled clothes and the rugged face of your salvation.
His eyes rake over your still-trembling body before he wrenches a red-coated knife—never breaking eye-contact—from the throat of the man you’d been at the mercy of just a few seconds ago.
Blood gushes up from the fatal wound, and you both watch the cruel scene, mesmerized. The attacker’s eyes dull, all evil dissipating from that once-ferocious gaze. The rescuer’s big, wide hands flip him over, stripping him of his stained beige jacket. Then, he carelessly kicks the lifeless form face-down onto the yellowing grass.
“Put it on.”
You uncross your arms, snatching the coat from the stranger’s extended hands. It doesn’t bother you, its belonging to him.
He’s dead; you get his coat.
A fair exchange.
He keeps an eye on you as he sorts through the pickings: a few strips of dried meat here, a loaded gun there (two bullets in the clip—you watch as he checks), and a few good blades, stashed inside pockets, bags, and down shirt-fronts.
The man straightens up.
Tall.
“Get in front of me,” his low baritone strikes you, causing your knees to concede to a slight wobble. “You run, you die. Got it?”
Texan.
Slowly, you nod, and a firm grip circles your wrist, tearing you from the wall.
“Walk.”
Your heart hammers—near deafening in your ears—as the stranger stalks behind you, directing your trembling movements with brusque, snapped commands.
Finally, the scattered orangey-red leaves begin to multiply, the domestic remnants of a past civilization thinning. The neighborhood opens into a field; large oaks and slouching willows shiver under the weak glare of the afternoon sun.
There’s a house up there. It seems to be in alright shape (some things are built tougher than others) and it’s certainly a step up from a few of the more… unsavory places the outbreak had led you to.
Nearing it, you take not of how much it resembles a barn-house. Red, pentagonal roof, and a big, wide, brown front door.
Gingerly stepping a foot on the cracked wood of the porch, you turn to face your rescuer, uncertainty tying slippery knots in your tummy.
Because there’s clamour coming from inside. There’s people in there.
The momentary hesitation allows you to get a good look at your rescuer: he’s greying and dark—mixed, likely, or just disposed to a stubborn tan—and probably in his mid forties. Probably handsome, too, if it weren’t for the resident cruel scowl deepening his apathetic expression, or the violence dancing in his eyes.
A raise of his eyebrows.
“I tell you to stop?” He nods towards the looming house. “Move.”
But… you don’t.
“Are you gonna kill me?” and you’re downright shocked by the strength—the resignation—of your tone, the way the question comes out so matter-of-fact.
That sparse mustache crinkles in the corners, teasing into something wicked. “You want me to?”
“No.”
“So get movin’, then.”
That left little room for debate.
So, you turn, fingers and knees shaking with anxious anticipation. He cuts in front of you at the last minute, shoving the front door open with his knife at his side—for you or for something else, you’re not entirely certain.
He pulls you into the foyer by your forearm; to your great dismay, you’re faced with an entire group of middle-aged men. Killers—for sure—leering at you with that same starved, animalistic look your rescuer had fixed you with.
Then, he tosses the bag on the floor.
“Found ‘em by the school. Decent haul.”
Their eyes tilt to your shuddering frame, dwarfed by the jacket weighing down your shoulders. One of them looks strangely familiar, proud features reminding you of something else you were afraid of. “No shit, huh,” he commends, “Nice work, Joel.”
Joel.
As the shaggy-haired man speaks, his voice strikes familial resemblance, and it dawns on you. Your rescuer’s brother, or at the very least a cousin.
And what he says is a clearly marked taunt. That much is clear. Uttered with the kind of cruel camaraderie which collected on the tongues of men who committed acts of violence together.
Who hunted together.
And it’s obvious you’re not being rescued. Just… reclaimed. Redistributed.
Fuck.
Another voice joins the mix. “How much you think y’could get for her?”
Joel’s profile turns, harsh, brutal lines forming as he assesses you. “Depends,” and then—ohmothermary—he smirks.
“Gonna have to test her out first.”
A few snickers.
Oh god. Oh god. Oh god.
You’re trapped with nowhere to go, once again surrounded by a gaggle of soulless monsters. Fear grips you, but thankfully, it’s muted, now, having been mostly expended during the harrowing events of the morning.
Just an hour ago, pressed to the side of an abandoned house, you’d allowed yourself to give up.
So, it feels easy—natural—settling back into that rhythm.
To submit to your inevitable, violent fate.
Joel’s voice cuts through the clamour of your racing thoughts. “Upstairs, the room with the open door. Go.”
Eyes glued to the floor, you put one foot in front of the other, your insides twisting and turning inside your core. Fuck, you can feel the pairs of eyes following you with every step you take. The stairs creak as your weight presses into them, squealing like wounded prey.
“N’ take that fuckin’ jacket off,” Joel calls after you, the echoes of his booming voice and the group’s degrading laughter chasing you all the way up into the room—the one with the open door.
And it’s nice, surprisingly. Dusty, admittedly, and clearly having belonged to someone else—a long, long time ago—but the bed is made, the window lets the light in, and the walls remind you of cinnamon.
No, this wouldn’t be the worst prison. Or the worst place to die. It’s a sure-fire step up from the gutter between two dilapidated houses.
You keep the jacket on, shivering under its weight. Even as you hear footsteps climbing the stairs, even as the more rational, civilized side of your mind urges you to accede to your (non)rescuer’s every command.
The conversation downstairs dies off just as Joel rounds the corner, appearing in the doorway—a giant. Though your stomach lurches, and though your legs feel like putty, you hold your ground.
“I’ll fight, you know,” you hiss, watching him seal off the entrance to the room behind him. His flannel has droplets of blood on the collar—reminders of your previous captor—would your other attacker have been a better option? Who’d be more merciful to your quivering body?
You charge your voice with every last modicum of strength at your disposal. “I’ll fight.”
He turns, smirking softly at your clenched fists. “S’good, sweetheart. I like a little fight.” He stalks towards you, swiping his thumb along the plushness of his bottom lip, his intimidating presence forcing your back to meet the flat hardness of the wall behind you.
So much for fighting.
There’s nothing living in his eyes as he says it—nothing save the roiling flames of hunger: “You see those guys downstairs?”
You glare up at him, trying not to notice the alluring hook of his nose, or the way your body works against you, responding to the earthy smell of him.
Then, you nod, wordlessly.
“Did you count ‘em?” He splays a hand beside your head, using one hand to pry your arms uncrossed.
Again, you nod. “How many?” He asks, his voice deceptively soft.
“Five.” Breathless.
“S’right, sweetheart. Ever had your lil’ holes stuffed by five guys at once?”
A swallow, and your voice cracks when you’re finally able to put it to use. “No.”
He pries your elbows to your sides, pulling the beige fabric open, revealing the torn remains of your underwear.
It’s almost a croon, feigned concern underpinning his low tone. “You wanna see what it’s like?” He drinks in the sight of your bare chest, almost groaning at the sight of your naked front.
It’s not cold anymore; no, suddenly you’re very hot.
“No, please, no.”
He slips the coat off of your shoulders, letting it fall in a heap to the ground. He assesses you once more: studying every square inch of your skin under his shadowed eyes.
“M’only gonna say this once, sweetheart.” All that fake-gentleness fades from his tone, replaced by the sadistic, authoritative timbre he’d first greeted you with. “I need you to be very careful.”
You’re frozen—all that fight, it drains out of you, captivated by the raider’s looming form, his mesmerizing speech.
“You’re alone, yeah?” A nod, which he acknowledges, trailing a hand up the length of your waist. “S’what I thought. N’ the way I found you today? That’s a best-case-scenario for a girl like you, out here on your own.”
He drags a finger up the centre of your breast, skilled fingertips just barely brushing the peaked nipple. You lean into his touch—the near imperceptible arch of your back doesn’t go unnoticed, and you kick yourself internally as the corners of his lips twitch up.
Still, the raider ignores your trembling.
“You’re mine, now,” he continues, egged on by your involuntary movement. “Means you’re gonna be a good girl n’ do as I say, n’ I’ll make sure I’m the only man who touches you.” His big hand drops to his heavy silver buckle, and the clearly defined, bulging lines underneath it have your heart clawing out of your chest. Joel senses your fear—and it only makes him harder. “I don’t like sharin’ what’s mine, y’know? But you try anything—you step outta line—I’ll throw you to my guys downstairs.”
His hand finds your throat, hunger and warning beating to the same rhythm in his gaze. “I have no problem watching.” He gives your larynx a squeeze, multitasking as he pulls the strap of his belt through the worn loops of his denim. “Understood?”
You have no words left, shaking from head to toe as the reality of the situation finally settles in.
As he works the intimidating weight of his cock out of his jeans.
A huff. Joel flips you over, impatient, pressing your scraped up cheek to the cinnamon-brown of the wall.
Déjà vù.
Your knees are separated by his own, and his weight flattens you. He wastes no time: lining himself up, his tip separates your folds. Resistance is futile—with one hand, he holds your thighs open—even as they try to press themselves closed, even as you whimper at the rough, male knuckles pressed to bruise on the insides of your legs.
Leaving his mark.
It’s not an option to simply take it. Joel forces you to participate in the sinful act: “I asked you a fuckin’ question,” he growls, gripping your chin indelicately. “You understand me, girl?”
A swallow and a flinch as you feel the head of his cock poke at your entrance. “Yes. Okay. Yes.”
“Yes, Joel,” he corrects. “Use my name. You’re mine now. Use my fuckin’ name.”
Tears prick the corners of your eyes at the promised savagery in his tone. Holding back a sob, you respond: “Yes, Joel.”
You watch his hand, large and capable, splaying out a mere inch away from the tip of your nose. “Good,” he commends. “Z’are the only fuckin’ words you know, from now on.”
His free hand slaps against your hip, yanking you down onto his hard length. Your hips buck up against his abdomen, responding to the pull of his fingertips, even as you cry out at the sting, the stretch. The raider tries to force himself between your walls—muttering a grunted “shit”—and thrusting up against your ass.
But you’re too tight, too tense, and your stubborn body refuses to open up for him. Finally listening to you.
“Relax,” he orders, surprisingly softly. He moves his hand from your hip to the apex of your thighs, rubbing rough circles against your clit. Fuck, how’d he find it so fast? You gasp at the feel of his fingertips against your most sensitive, touch-starved spot, hating yourself for the way his pressure makes you feel.
Because…
Because—fuck.
It feels… good. The man knows exactly what he’s doing—methodical in his ministrations, prepping you only enough to ensure his own eventual pleasure. “S’too tight, baby,” he breathes against your neck, “Need to loosen up for me, yeah?”
He’s not gentle. No part of it is gentle. Nonetheless, pleasure ripples through your centre and down your thighs as he effectively turns you on.
“Thaaaaaa’s right,” and his voice is mocking and taunting and degrading as he drags his digits away, grabbing and pulling at your breasts, instead. Feeling the involuntary release of your cunt, Joel finally pushes himself in, sheathing the long, thick length of his cock inside you.
“Need to show this pussy what it’s fuckin’ made for.”
A current of pain flutters up your cunt just as he fills it up to the brim. You can’t help it—your stoicism crumbles to dust—and a soft, scared, pained whimper tumbles from your lips.
And he groans at it, thrusting roughly, over and over again. And again. “Hurts, does it?”
His breath is hot against your ear, and despite the fear, the ancient instincts gripping your bones, telling you to run, run, run, fight, fight, fight—it’s… enticing.
Hot.
“It hurts.”
He laughs, low and dark, bringing his hands to circle your hips, steadying you as you stumble on your tip-toes.
“Cry about it.”
And he keeps on going, tearing you open. The way his girth touches every starved part of your insides leaves you wanting, even despite the sting of his fingernails biting into your hips, the tears and cuts stinging at your opening.
You hate yourself for it.
But you clench around him, stifling a pathetic moan.
God, no—I am not enjoying this.
He breathes another laugh. “Feelin’ full, baby? Tell me how good it feels, c’mon,” and your inhalations come in heaves as he pounds into you, delivering a harsh slap to the side of your hip, hard enough for your skin to ripple from the contact. “Do as I say.”
When you refuse to sate him, swallowing all of your little noises, Joel grips your throat, bringing your head slamming against his shoulder. Your back arches into a perfect crescent, spine contorting at his will. A gasped cry fans out against his salt-and-pepper jaw.
A sob—of fear, of frustration, of reluctant pleasure. “You’re evil.”
The grip on your throat tightens, and he looses another laugh, squeezing your skin, muscles, and tendons oh-so-tight.
You’d be wrecked, bruised—branded—come sunrise.
“Yeah?” He groans, cock slamming up into your very guts.
“M-mhmm—” and the saltwater tears start pouring, trailing glistening slopes down your cheeks in long, long lines. Distantly, you hear his answer—“Yeah, well, you’re wet”—as those silver droplets keep on falling. Where they come from, you aren’t certain; of course, the terror, the physical torture, and the frustration at your entrapment contribute to the mess under your eyes.
But that warmth… the unbridled desire radiating between your thighs… that wasn’t helping, either.
“Fuuuuck,” he groans, muttering another “S’it—s’right,” and releasing your throat to tilt your head up to face him. He drinks in his creation, the ruined sight of your tear-stricken face, and his cock swells between your beaten walls. “God, you look so fuckin’ pretty takin’ it from me—cryin’ like your lil’ pussy ain’t desperate for this.”
Joel smiles when you sob.
It goes on for a while. He doesn’t tire quickly, bringing you right up to the edge of reluctant ecstasy before you remind yourself of the hatred you owed the man fucking into you. You get used to the sound of his hips snapping against your skin, your cries mingling with his gravelly, low grunts. It’s a dirty, depraved symphony—orchestrated by the monster between your thighs.
You can’t help the moan that escapes your lips when he finally, finally brings his fingers back down between your legs. He grunts in approval, barely grazing the length of your folds, pressing his thumb into the delicate flesh of your thigh, instead. “Dirty lil’ girl—fuckin’ dyin’ to be an old man’s whore, z’that it?” and he doesn’t even touch you, focussed on his own pleasure, but the proximity alone is enough to have you wrecked.
And you just can’t help it: “J-joel—”
“Y’know,” he chuckles, slightly out of breath, slowing his strokes to address your wanton whine, “You’re gonna make such a good lil’ fuck-toy, baby, f’you keep makin’ those pretty lil’ noises for me.”
The reality of the situation comes barrelling down on you as he acknowledges—praises—your enjoyment of his torture.
This man… this man was cruel. He was hurting you, and enjoying it.
You struggle against him, a pathetic show of weakness. Joel holds you in place effortlessly, arching your back further, keeping your hips preened back to receive the harsh thrusts he delivers to your torn, ruined cunt. “Where you goin’?” He laughs at your pathetic attempt at resistance, grips tightening. “Thought we were havin’ fun, baby—don’t it feel good?”
And he quickens again, slamming into every needy spot inside you. His breaths grow shallow, as rough as his hands and the ferocity of this punishment.
“No,” you manage, fingernails digging into his forearm.
He tuts, the vocal click constricted with lust, and his hand travels the length of you, settling against that aching bud between your thighs. “Fuckin’ liar.”
He presses down, proving his point. Your entire body tenses as pleasure ripples through you—despite your best efforts, climax crests through your core, threatening to implode within you. Joel hums, smirking when he feels your legs parting even wider.
“S’mine now, alright? You’re mine now.” He crams every inch of his cock up inside you, pulling you flush against his chest. “S’okay to come for me—s’okay, baby, I want you to—s’fuckin’ right, let go for me, baby—” and his crooning takes you over the edge.
Christ, it feels so good.
You clench around him, high-pitched pleas and moans tumbling from your lips, his own pair dragging down the swoop of your ear. In that split second, Joel—the devil at your back—is your favourite thing in the world: your hero, your haven, your God. Fuck, you could just kiss him, marry him, fuck him over and over and over and over—
A hand clamps over your mouth during those brief, blissful moments; the man practically bounces you up and down the length of him, muffling the cries of pain and pleasure tearing from your sore throat against the rough skin of his palm. He groans inside your ear—a stammered, sinful “fuuuck”—and then he’s spilling his seed inside you, shoving it impossibly deep as those quick, harsh strokes stutter and slow.
You come to, waking up from your pleasure-drunk daze. Before you get the opportunity to wriggle away from him, the monster flips you over again, slamming your shoulders to the wall. With his forearm barring your chest, and despite your fear and ire—somehow, all you can think about is the fact that he’s not as out of breath as he really should be (given his age and, of course, what he’d just done to you).
Joel leaks out of you. His cum paints masterpieces down your legs.
He slides his free hand down the length of his cock, collecting the last bits of slick clinging to him and not dripping out of you. The intermingling juices are brought to the roundness of your breasts—the raider slathers your sore peaks with his own spend.
“Nobody’s gonna fuck with you—but that means you’re Joel’s girl. Hear me?” With your head bowed, you glare up at him through silver-lined spider lashes, shame beating at your cheeks. When you hum your acknowledging “uh-huh,” the stranger continues on, gripping your jaw to angle your gaze up: “Means you listen—you-you don’t fuckin’ try me—n’ you take everything I give you, every fuckin’ time. Understand?” He tucks his softening length back in his pants, dark eyes dancing with satisfaction as he leers at your destroyed form.
When you don’t respond, he brings the back of his punishing hand colliding with the side of your face.
Something between a squeal and a gasp tumbles from your lips; Joel catches it, placing the pad of his thumb to your bottom lip, pressing down. Your cheek stings from his harsh slap, delivered on top of the scrapes and wounds a different cruel man had left upon your skin.
“I don’t wanna hurt you, baby, but I will f’I have to,” and he’s earnest, commanding and pleading at once. “You gotta answer me.”
Slowly, you croak out a timid, “Yes,” and an “I understand,” followed by a final “Joel.”
Nodding, he straightens, the violence in his gaze fading just minutely. When he lets go, you stagger—the raider senses the instability of your knees, reflexively snaking a steadying arm around your waist.
You’re not sure where the impulse comes from. Perhaps it’s exhaustion, the aftermath of your orgasm, or maybe it’s just a sick, twisted desire to sink into something beyond your body—either way, you respond to Joel’s support by throwing your arms around his neck.
And he responds by lifting you, walking you over to the bed, and tossing you down on the sheets. Awakening into reality, you scamper back, grabbing and yanking at the surrounding bedding in a desperate attempt to cover yourself.
But Joel pays you no mind.
Having had his way, he’s through with you—for now. Nonchalantly, apathetically, he runs a hand through his hair, tracing heavy steps towards the door.
“Lock the door when I leave,” he instructs, but his tone is soft… possessive and commanding, yes, but… caring. “Don’t open it for anyone but me.”
He waits for your show of understanding, your near imperceptible nod.
Then, he sighs, yanking on the handle and giving you his final address over a pair of creaky, squeaky, rusted hinges. “Try to sleep, sweetheart—got a long night ahead of you.” Chuckling to himself, he leaves the sanctuary of the room.
All you can hear as your body grows heavy and warm, travelling somewhere far, far beyond this violent world are the echoes of male laughter down the hall, and a familiar, satisfied, gravelly voice:
“Not worth much, now. Might just fuckin’ keep her.”
And you slip away, dreaming of belt buckles, blood-stained collars, and the lung-squeezing heat of the setting Texan sun.
—
He used to call me DN
That stood for deadly nightshade
'Cause I was filled with poison
But blessed with beauty and rage
Jim told me that
He hit me and it felt like a kiss
Jim brought me back
Reminding me of when we were kids
With his ultraviolence
Ultraviolence
Ultraviolence
Ultraviolence
I can hear sirens, sirens
He hit me and it felt like a kiss
I can hear violins, violins
Give me all of that ultraviolence
He used to call me poison
Like I was poison ivy
I could've died right then
'Cause he was right beside me
Jim raised me up
He hurt me but it felt like true love
Jim taught me that
Loving him was never enough
With his ultraviolence
Ultraviolence
Ultraviolence
Ultraviolence
I can hear sirens, sirens
He hit me and it felt like a kiss
I can hear violins, violins
Give me all of that ultraviolence
We can go back to New York
Loving you was really hard
We could go back to Woodstock
Where they don't know who we are
Heaven is on earth
I would do anything for you, babe
Blessed is this union
Crying tears of gold, like lemonade
I love you the first time
I love you the last time
Yo soy la princesa, comprende mis white lines
'Cause I'm your jazz singer
And you're my cult leader
I love you forever
I love you forever
With his ultraviolence
Ultraviolence
Ultraviolence
Ultraviolence
I can hear sirens, sirens
He hit me and it felt like a kiss
I can hear violins, violins
Give me all of that ultraviolence
—
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TAGS WILL CONTINUE IN A REBLOG (there are simply too many of you & I don’t want this post to crash <3)
#joel miller x reader#joel miller smut#joel miller x you#joel miller#joel miller x female reader#joel miller x y/n#raider!joel miller#raider!joel#tlou#the last of us#joel miller the last of us#Joel miller fanfiction#Pedro pascal#pedro pascal x you#pedro pascal smut#pedro pascal x reader#tlou fanfiction#joel the last of us#joel miller tlou
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Can you do a story on jey about his gf tryna go to bed mad at him and he ain’t having it 🤗🤭
We Ain’t Going to Bed Angry
Jey Uso x Black Female OC! (Jasmine)
Rating: 18+
Warning: Smut; sex, fluff, couple arguing, Jealousy
Summary: Jasmine wants to go to bed angry and in separate bedrooms, but Main Even Jey Uso is putting his foot down.
My first ever request....I hope you enjoy it @mya2real
Pensacola, FL
Jasmine’s POV
“Damn I finally get you alone, and all you want to do is cruise the coast and talk about your man. I hope he realizes how lucky his ass is, cause I really was trying to get your number,” Carmelo said as I laughed.
“Thanks for helping me out Melo you are a sweetie. I promise he won’t come at you with any drama,” I said giving him a kiss on the cheek as I began my walk back to Jey’s house.
I had Carmelo drop me off down the road from the subdivision. I ain’t crazy by no means, I ain’t letting just anybody know where I lay my head at night. Folks can be crazy as hell.
I groaned as my phone rang again looking down, I sighed. Another call from Jey. I knew I was wrong, but I was still pissed so I hit ignore and punched the code to be let into the subdivision. You let a bitch dance all up on you like you're single and shit.
But, oh, but when I leave yo’ ass at the club you concerned. Give me a break you weren’t worried about what I thought when she was twirling all up on your dick,” I muttered continuing my walk. I hate these fuckin’ groupies with a passion.
Jey’s POV
“Jasmine, I know you ignoring me. What you doin'? I know you had betta be on your way home. I bet he trying to fuck you ain’t he? I’mma get’em you know dat right? I’mma hurt him bad Jasmine,” I said ending the voicemail before I dug an even deeper hole.
“Well damn, you just threatened to kill Melo for nothing, Jasmine ain’t that type of woman, and you know it,” Jimmy said shaking his head at me.
“She ain’t, but I know Carmelo likes her. I knew when I brought her to a show last year. He was looking wit no damn shame Uce, and tonight she got into a car wit his bitch ass trying to make me jealous,” I said steaming thinking about Carmelo touching Jasmine in any way.
"Hell, ain’t no tryin’ in it, you jealous Uce" Jimmy said as I rolled my eyes at him.
“This woman gon’ be the death of me,” I muttered as Jimmy snickered. “Aye, sis told you not to play in her face, and you did anyway. Serves yo’ ass dead right,” he said laughing.
“I ain’t played in her face, I was just dancing with a fan,” I said oblivious to what he was trying to say.
“Uce, it wasn’t that you were dancing with her, it was how she was dancing all up on yo’ ass and you did nothing to stop it. Ya’ll was all but fuckin on that dance floor,. You lucky Jasmine didn't show her ass,” Jimmy said as I tried to think back to what happened, and when it finally clicked, I felt like an ass.
“Ok, yea, I admit it was outta pocket, but she ain’t have to leave with his ass to prove a point. She knows I’m wit her, that shit didn’t mean nothin',” I said as I heard the front door open.
A wave of relief washed over me as I saw her beautiful face as she took off her heels seemingly ignoring me. Thank God she was home safe.
“Uh, I’ll let myself out, and let ya’ll talk,” Jimmy said trying to hurry to the door but not before hugging Jasmine. “Glad you ok sis, you had me worried,” he whispered as she smiled rubbing his back. “I’m ok bro, tell Trin I’ll call her tomorrow” she whispered as I tried to keep my cool, at least until Jimmy left.
I felt my anger rising by the second. What had she been doing with Carmelo that she couldn’t pick up the fuckin’ phone? As the door closed behind Jimmy I exploded.
“Where the fuck have you been?!” I hissed trying not to wake up our son upstairs.
“I went for a ride with an old friend, is that a problem?” she asked with a bit of an attitude.
“Aye, chill with the attitude, I’m the one that should be mad. My girlfriend left me at a club to go be with another motherfucka she knows I don’t like,” I said as Jasmine rolled her eyes.
“Well, my man was dancing all up on a ho like he’s single so I guess we even, and can both be pissed the fuck off together then. Ugh, I can’t wait to go back to Georgia, this was a mistake coming here to visit, It just was too soon,” she said walking away as I followed her upstairs.
“What the fuck does that mean? You really feel visiting me was a mistake?” I asked as she stopped walking.
“Jey, all I wanted was to spend time with you, and all you’ve done is spend time with everyone else but me and our son! I feel like we don’t belong here Jey, that’s why I left in the first place!” Jasmine exclaimed as I ran my hands over my face in frustration.
I knew she was right; I had been on the go since they got here, and I had promised I wouldn’t be. I truly had no defense for my actions.
I was in keep-busy mode because that’s all I had been doing since Jasmine had left with our son a couple months ago.
This was my fault, I agreed to host that party at the club tonight knowing they were here. I asked today to be added to the meet and greet for tomorrow instead of enjoying my day off with them.
“Baby, I’m sorry ok can we just talk about it in the morning. I promise I’mma make it right please, I don’t want us to go to bed mad at each other,” I said as she sighed in defeat.
“I’m not mad, I’m hurt and I’m not going in there with you pretending everything is ok when it isn’t. I’ll sleep in the spare bedroom. I put my bags in there earlier anyway,” Jasmine said as I frowned at her not believing what she was saying.
Jasmine’s POV
“You ain’t staying in the spare bedroom, that’s for guests and this is yo’ fuckin’ home regardless of how you feel about it. “Jey I’m not,” I started as Jey cut me off firmly. “Jas! You ain’t stayin’ in there and that’s it!” Jey said as I felt myself shiver at his commanding deep voice.
I was speechless looking at him trying to remain unfazed. “You are sleepin’ in our room…. In our bed, and in my fuckin arms 'cause that’s where you belong, nowhere else,” Jey said full of conviction as I shook my head in defiance at him.
“I ain’t doin’ this wit you, I’m going to check on Jayden,” I whispered walking away from him and peaking my head into our son’s room. I couldn’t help but be in awe of him as he slept in his crib.
He’s almost a year old, and I still can’t believe we made his little amazing self; he looks so much like Jey it’s scary.
I felt Jey’s eyes on me as I turned to see him standing now in the doorway of the bedroom, we shared together for the last four years up until four months ago.
His intense gaze makin' me weaker in the knees by the second as I closed my eyes finally breaking eye contact with him, it was too intense.
“Jasmine, we been playin’ this game for four months too long…Don’t make me have to come get you. Tell our son goodnight, and get yo’ fine ass in here so we can go to bed,” I heard him say as I opened my eyes ready to give a smart-ass reply but saw he had already disappeared into the bedroom.
I could hear him shuffling around the room, then the shower started. I blushed to myself at the thought of him getting naked to take a shower. “No, remain strong Jasmine,” I whispered to myself as I went to the spare bedroom.
Jey’s POV
“I know her ass betta be in there when I get outta this shower. Sick of this shit, she knows I love her ass,” I muttered letting the hot water and steam relax me.
Ok, maybe my approach wasn’t the best, but I love my family and if I have it my way they won’t be going back to Ga if I can help it. “Jey, you got to get it together and get yo’ family back,” I muttered to myself stepping out of the shower and drying off.
Walking back into the bedroom I saw Jasmine wasn’t there. “Oh, so yo’ ass think I’m playin’ wit you huh,” I muttered to myself wrapping my towel around my waist, and heading down the hall. I could see the light under the door and as I got closer I heard her on the phone with her mom.
“Hold on mama let me put you on speaker, I'm changing," she said as I heard her mother take a deep breath. "Now like I was sayin' Mama I am trying, we came out here didn’t we,” Jasmine said as her mother laughed.
“Girl, you flew out there with hell in you, 'cause of them thirsty ass Instagram comments on his post he made about being happy ya’ll were flying out to see him. “Mama, I wasn’t mad,” Jasmine said as her mother laughed.
“Baby, he loves ya’ll. I know all the female attention he gets worries you especially since he’s on the road more with them adding more house shows,” she said as I frowned at her words as Jasmine wiped her tears.
“I know he loves us mama, and I love him. I just want him to act like he’s in an actual relationship. I mean stop making these women think they have a shot with you dude, you got a family at home waiting on you. That's why I gave him the engagement ring back and told him we needed space,” Jasmine hissed as I sighed. Damn was I that bad?
“Baby, why do you think that man has been begging, calling nonstop, and flying to Georgia on every off day he has just to come to little ol Warner Robins, GA even if it’s only for a couple hours. He misses ya’ll and wants his family back. You gotta let him in baby, this been goin' on long enough,” her mother said as I felt the need to make my presence known as I opened the door.
Walking inside I saw her standing nervously there in her bra and underwear talking to her mom as she spotted me trying not blush.
Yea, I’m looking at yo’ fine ass. Damn, my baby was fine as fuck, it had been four months too long for my liking. How the hell did I even let her leave in the first place.
Jasmine’s POV
I can’t believe he brought his ass in here, didn’t even fuckin’ knock. He is getting next to my nerves I swear. I see him lick his lips looking at me as if he could devour me whole.
I ain’t gon’ lie, I felt powerful as hell. I could see and feel his need for me, just from his intense stare that seemed to be burning a hole in my soul and it made my thighs quiver at the thought of being in his arms. He knows what he’s doing coming in here in that lil ass towel.
“I love you, sweetie, give my grandbaby my love,” my mother said as I smiled. “I will mama, good night and love you too,” I said rushing to get off the phone.
“Why are you in here?” I asked as Jey began walking closer to me almost like he was stalking his prey. “I told you to take yo’ ass in our room, but you just keep tryin’ me,” he smirked as I shrieked in shock as he picked me up and put me over his shoulder.
“What the hell are you doing?”! I hissed as Jey carried me down the hall back to our room. “What does it look like? I’m takin’ your ass back to where you belong, which is in our bed wit me with yo’ stubborn ass,” he said not missing a beat as I hit his back continuously.
“Put me down Jey! This shit ain’t funny!” I exclaimed irritated as he laughed. “Calm yo’ ass down, before you wake up the baby. I want you to myself da night,” he said slapping me hard on the ass before tossing me on the bed as tried to gather myself.
Sitting up on my elbows, my eyes met his smirking face, and it made me madder. “Oh, you want me to yourself?” I asked smartly rolling my eyes.
Yeah, I do. That ain’t gon’ never change Jasmine,” he said as I got up and tried to walk past him as he growled pulling me close.
“Jey let me,” I started as he took me in a possessive kiss, pinning my arms behind my back with one hand as the other grasped my neck, angling my mouth for better access as our tongues battled for control.
“Mmm, we can’t, we said we would wait,” I moaned against his lips as he released my arms, and I tangled my fingers in his hair. “Yes, we can baby, I got you,” Jey said picking me up by my thighs as I wrapped my legs around his waist tightly, as his towel fell to the floor. God, it felt so good to be this close to him again, I needed him bad.
“I want you so bad baby; Daddy missed you, and he needs his pussy,” Jey whispered against my lips as he ripped my underwear. “Fuck! I missed you too,” I moaned moving my kisses to his neck as he groaned moving us to the bed.
“Can I have you, it’s been so long Jazzy” Jey moaned gently sucking on my neck as I shivered at his use of his nickname for me.
“Jey, I’m still mad, we need to talk,” I moaned, unexpectedly gasping along with him as he entered me suddenly, both of us shivering at the feeling of our bodies and souls becoming one with each other again after four long months.
“You can be mad all you want tomorrow. Not da night, you gon’ enjoy Daddy reclaiming his pussy,” Jey moaned never stopping his thrusts as my hands clawed at his back as he hissed.
“Jey, you feel so good,” I gasped as my body felt like I was on fire, I bit his neck before attacking his neck with kisses, sucking greedily, applying pressure trying to leave my mark for the world to see. I wanted them to know he was mine.
“Yea, suck that shit and mark me up, this yo’ dick, let’em know I’m yo’ man fuck,” Jey encouraged as I purred at his words as he rolled us over with me now on top. “Jey! Shit! Mmm,” I whimpered scratching down his chest, feeling him so deep from our new position.
“Uh huh, daddy deep in his pussy ain’t he? Come on and ride Daddy's dick and tell him how much you missed him. Tell me how this pussy was made just for me,” Jey groaned grasping my hips as I began riding him slowly enjoying the jolts of electricity going all over my body.
“Mmhmm, it’s made just for you daddy, you hear her talking to you,” I moaned talking my own shit as Jey growled beneath me as the sounds of my wet pussy sinking up and down on his dick filled the room along with our moans of desperation.
“Fuck Yea, Daddy hear, see, and feel her, damn she wet and tight as fuck. Talk yo’ shit girl, you makin’ daddy dick even harder. Give me dat pussy,” Jey groaned slapping my ass before grabbing my breasts with his hands almost painfully squeezing my nipples while meeting my slow deep thrust.
Shit, he knows what to say and what to do to set my body on fire and I loved it. I’m addicted to him, and I didn’t care who knew it.
Jey’s POV
“Yea, ride that shit slow and deep, you know how much I love dat shit,” I panted biting my lip trying not to lose control. “Mmm, I guess you did miss me, Daddy. Shit, you gettin’ even harder,” Jasmine moaned swirling her hips beginning to bounce harder on my dick with wild abandon.
“Fuck yea, I missed you, only you can get me like this,” I moaned not afraid to let that shit be known slapping her on the ass again as she whimpered, her body shivering with anticipation.
"Oh! Fuck, you promise it’s only me that gets you like this…You promise,” Jasmine groaned leaning down, kissing me with all her might as I groaned complete putty in her hands. I held her closer as our eyes met.
In that moment I knew I had to let her know how I felt. “We gon be ok, you hear me,” I whispered as she nodded as a few unshed tears fell from her beautiful eyes as we both were chasing our orgasm.
“Say you hear me,” I said more demanding, sitting us up as she held on to my neck as I gripped her hips helping her keep pace, thrusting her even harder down on my dick.
The feel and sounds of her wetness was driving me insane. “Tell me you hear me Jasmine,” I moaned, sucking on her neck trying to leave my own mark. “Josh, I hear you!” She cried as I moaned in satisfaction hearing my real name fall from her lips in passion as I rained kisses from her neck back to her beautiful lips.
“I ain’t never letting you go, we workin’ this shit out,” I growled holding her gaze as I reached between us rubbing her clit, while meeting her thrust with equal power.
"Oh my God," Jasmine moaned as I knew she was close. “You gon’ cum hard for daddy? You gon’ gush on daddy’s dick ain’t you?” I said, taking her in a deep kiss as she whimpered in my arms.
“Mmhmm!” she whimpered in pleasure as our tongues danced passionately with each other as I felt her nails scratching my back as she fell apart in my arm. “Josh, I love you!” she moaned as I saw the look of ecstasy that washed over her as her orgasm took over.
“Fuck, you are so fuckin’ beautiful. I love you too,” I said feeling my dick get even harder as I kept thrusting. Yeah, you gon’ give me another one and it’s gon’ be big.
Jasmine’s POV
“Mmhmm, I want you to give me another one Jazzy,” Jey growled reversing our position as he now towered over me, playing with my sensitive clit, thrusting long and hard trying to make me cum again.
“Josh, I can't, it's too much,” I moaned as sweat dripped from his face, falling onto my chest as he kissed me speechless “I…Said. Give…It…To…. Me…Now, “Jey growled against my mouth, each thrust more powerful than the last as my pussy gripped him like a tight vice, and I couldn’t hold it anymore.
“Josh! I’m cummin’!” I cried as my pussy quivered and gripped him even tighter as another orgasm rippled through my body.
“Oh yea, that’s what I wanted, shit! Give it all to me baby, I’m cumin too!” Jey groaned loudly as he came inside me. I could only hear the heavy beat of my heart and our heavy breathing in sync as he collapsed beside me holding me close as we came down from ecstasy.
“You know you I ain’t letting you go right? We a family and gon’ stay one,” he said as I smiled. “I know and I ain’t letting you go either,” I whispered as he kissed me gently.
“When I’m on the road all I think about is you and lil man, you ain’t never gotta worry bout, nothin’ girl, I love ya’ll and I ain’t messin’ dat up for nobody he said as I tried not to get emotional. "I know, baby it's ok," whispered as he held me closer.
"I was outta pocket not stopping her from dancing all up on me like that, I promise it won’t happen again,” Jey said as I sighed tracing his arm tattoo.
“I love you and I’m sorry about leaving the club with Carmelo,” I said honestly as he growled. “You had my ass trippin’ I was ready to kill his ass, Jasmine. I don’t even wanna imagine you wit somebody else,” Jey said as I shook my head.
“Can we just drop it for tonight before one of us gets mad again,” I said as he laughed.
“A'ight new rule, we ain’t never goin’ to bed angry in this house again,” Jey whispered caressing my face as I smiled. “I like that rule, no more going to bed angry,” I whispered settling in his arms as we both fell asleep.
The end
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Passenger Bitchᝰ.ᐟ
synopsis: jin was kind enough to "help" you out yet again, so you reward him with more than just a free ride home.
.ᐟcontent: nerd jin itadori x bully fem reader, oral (m receiving), cum swapping, ball fondling, slit tormenting, reader has a tongue piercing, degradation, slight humiliation
.ᐟword count: 1.2k
.ᐟa/n: is it obvious im slowly becoming obsessed with a character that I haven't even met yet?
he sits in the passenger seat of your car, his face impossibly feverish. jin is having a rough go at breathing with your lips wrapped around his cock. he’s grateful to you as this being your new form of payment for getting you an A on your physics thesis, but he’s not sure how much he can take, especially when your low growls and moans travel right through his immense length and down his spine.
he peeks down at you, his glasses almost sliding down his nose, watching you swallow his length like a popsicle on sweltering summer day. his tip prods at your uvula before passing right past it with ease. he hiccups a moan as his head snaps back against the head rest, you throat constricting with small gags feels intoxicating. “Oh God, y/n…y-you’re getting so deep…”
a raspy chuckle vibrates from your throat onto him, making his sensitive dick jump. you release him from your skilled jaws with a pop and a (not so) exaggerated gasp, stroking him harshly and spreading your slimy spit around his length. your serpentine gaze lands on him and sends a chill down his spine.
that pathetic look on his face makes butterflies dance in your stomach, dampens your panties even more.
“feelin good, four eyes?” you sneer. he opens his mouth to respond, but your hand sliding down and squeezing his balls like a stress ball chokes him up.
you pout like his silence actually hurt your feelings. you jut out your bottom lip and furrow your perfect eyebrows.
“y’gotta learn to answer people when they talk to you. it's bad manners if you don't.” your voice is so saccharine with its faux concern. he whimpers from the arousal stemming from the embarrassment. he really can’t understand why he lets you treat him this way, humiliate him.
and he can’t understand why it makes him so horny. you don’t give his brain enough time to actually function long enough to ponder this when your pierced tongue begins teasing his slit.
“fuck!” jin rarely swears, wanting to uphold his reputation of a respectable student. you groan at his vulgar language, suckling harder on his embarrassed, red tip.
jin has messed with his slit before in those quiet, dark moments when his house is asleep. his thumb would tentatively prod at it, triggering a chain reaction of muffled whimpers and arching his back perfectly off the bed like a whore. he avoids doing it too often because he cums almost instantly every time, painting his body and bed in his milky seed.
but of course you, being the mastermind of his torment, manage to make this even more unbearable for him; fondling his balls and using that pink stud in your tongue assaults all of his nerve endings, has his mind melting in his skull, his eyes rolling back as if to witness that happening. his toes curl in his black loafers, his heart doing its damnedest to try and beat out of his burning body.
jin’s large hand, instead of residing on the head rest like you instructed, plops down carelessly onto your head as his shaky pleas tumble out of him haphazardly.
“p-please don’t do that, i-i’ll cum if you do—”
“you cum in my fuckin mouth I’m gonna spit it back in yours, ya hear?”
his jaw drops, but he can’t tell if it’s from your threat or the pleasure that builds in his abdomen the longer you suck him. he’s never tasted himself before, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t even a little bit curious…
you hover your lips over his cock head, trickling the silky liquid of your spit onto it salaciously. the way you look at him as you do it is lecherous, hypnotic. he can’t look away, even if he wanted to (he doesn’t want to). you look ready to devour him whole, the same look you get when you tease him in the halls or in gym.
it’s a look he’s grown to adore, even in the face of your treatment of him. something in him tells him there’s more to you than the power-hungry, sadistic bitch he’s had to deal with since his first year of high school. and with this new..relationship you guys have, maybe he can finally peel back those layers and find the real you.
jin holds your stare longer than you anticipated, and it disarms you for a moment. why isn’t he averting those pretty caramel eyes?
you huff some air out of your nose and resume your previous ministrations. your pink stud prods mercilessly at his slit and he bucks his hips with a bitchy whine.
“y/n, please! d-don’t, i’m g’nna fuckin cum!” he now grips a fistful of your hair, eliciting a sharp hiss from you.
jin can’t hold it anymore, he just can’t. your warning rings like a tornado siren in his skull before his brain fills with white noise as the pressure in his core reaches a tipping point. with one last harsh drag of your wet muscle across his poor urethra, jin arches his back clear off the seat and sprays his cum into your awaiting oral cavity.
"fuck, y/n- fuuuckk!" he cries, the sound dissolving into a sweet symphony of whimpers and incoherent babbling. his cum is sweeter than you expected, and you let every last drop sit on your tongue, you have a promise to fulfill after all.
after sucking him dry and leaving him a shaking, blushing mess, you right yourself. your predatory gaze finds him once again, and he feels himself getting aroused all over again. oh, the power you have over him...
"open." is your only command.
he remembers your words from earlier the second he blindly obeys and you deposit a mix of his seed and your saliva onto his tongue. you then grab his throat and force your wet muscle into his mouth. "mmph- mm, hmm..." he hums as his eyes become heavy-lidded.
he can't believe how...good he tastes. maybe its because he's on your tongue that he tastes irresistible. anything would taste good coming from you. the hand that had vacated your hair when you sat up finds your nape, his thumb caressing the smooth skin.
a filmy saliva trail forms between your mouths when you two part. you're both breathing hard, the receding ecstasy allowing your facial muscles to finally relax. in the midst of your collective cooldown, jin notices how your face soften. your eyes, for a short-lived moment, aren't hard and hungry for his pain. he sees a different side of you, a vulnerable, almost innocent side; it's something in that brief second you're unarmed that he desperately wants to explore.
it's in that same second you regain that abrasive demeanor of your. "get out of my car, four eyes." you spit with a simper.
and as he is collecting himself, you cup his chin and yank his face toward you. before you even say anything, he can sense what you're about to demand of him by that signature smile on that damned gorgeous face.
"i didnt say to zip it up, did i? walk into your place, just like that."
#paradiseofpleasure𓏲𝄢#dividers by benkeibear#jjk smut#jujutsu kaisen#jjk x black reader#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen smut#jin itadori smut#jin itadori jujutsu kaisen#jin itadori jjk#jjk x you#jjk x reader smut#jin jjk#jin jjk smut#jin itadori x black reader#jin itadori#jjk jin itadori#jujutsu kaisen jin
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Dramatic | Simon “Ghost” Riley x Wife!Reader
a/n: ghost is a baby when he’s sick. no, you can’t change my mind. i may or may not be the exact same kind of sick right now. and i may or may not have had my mom do the same exact nyquil thing to me my entire teenager years. (also i’m so happy that so many of you love this series. i seriously did not think it was gonna do this well lol)
warnings: sickness, simon’s a big baby about medicine, you’re taking care of him but you’re at your wits end, MENTIONS OF AMERICAN!READER
summary: Simon’s been sick for three days and has refused any medication, claiming the cold medicine you brought from your home in America is poison and he’s rather die. You are convinced that the British medicine does nothing. Only one will win.
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“Let me die.”
“Simon, just open your mouth.”
“No. Let me die.”
You were nice enough to pull out your last bottle of NyQuil you brought from your last trip home, knowing that it would kick Simon’s cold faster than any medicine at a pharmacy in town. You sat right next to him on his side of the bed, holding the little plastic cap full of the red liquid medicine. He had been fighting off the flu for a couple of days, Soap was kind enough to take the girls until he got better - knowing that little kids could have it worse than Simon.
You were almost at your limit. All your husband wanted to do was sweat it out, convinced that the medicine you’d give him wouldn’t do a thing. It’s been three days and he hasn’t gotten any better, only worse. “Simon. I mean it. This is the last time I’m asking nicely.”
His brown eyes narrowed, glaring at you as he coughed, covering his mouth with his elbow. “No.”
You placed the cap full of NyQuil down on his nightstand, putting the bottle beside it. You moved onto the bed, straddling your husband’s hips and keeping him pinned against the bed. You leaned close to him, still a foot away from his face before you gripped his chin, forcing him to look at you. “Simon Riley. I will stop taking care of you if you don’t take this medicine right now.”
He scrunched his nose, a trait both of your daughters inherited from him. “Your American medicine will poison me.”
“I’m not getting you your shitty British medicine. It won’t work as well as my poison.” You glared at him, fingers digging into his pale skin. He looked like his callsign, a ghost - coughing, barely able to breathe, vomiting and a fever that just won’t break. You were ready to do what your mom had to with you and your little brothers when they were sick as teenagers and stubborn as hell - pry open their jaw, pour the dose in and hold their nose closed. If they wanted to breathe, they had to swallow the medicine. Yes, it was harsh, but you and your brothers were almost as stubborn as your husband; whining and crying about being sick yet doing nothing to help yourselves. “You’re on thin ice. You’re going to take this medicine or I’m not going to take care of you while you’re sick ever again.”
“You wouldn’t.” He called your bluff, sniffled, and wheezed.
You glared are him. “I can do this my way or I can do this my mom’s way.”
“Your mum’s way is probably-“
He was not prepared for you to wrench open his jaw, sliding your fingers in between his teeth - you knew he would never hurt you - and grabbed the cap of medicine on the nightstand. His hands were too slow to stop you from pouring the medicine down his throat, your other hand pinched his already stuffed nose and you pulled your fingers from his teeth, covering his mouth. His eyes were blown wide in shock and disgust of the liquid before he swallowed, and you released your hands from his face.
He coughed and gagged, trying to take in breaths as you triumphantly sat back on his thighs, hand rubbing his chest. Simon glared at you as his coughs finally paused, snapping, “Fuckin’ Hell! What is wrong with you?!”
You gave him a sweet little smile. “I can almost guarantee you that you’ll be fine in a day or two.”
“You could’ve killed me!”
“Really? Weren’t you the one begging to die five minutes ago?”
He scoffed and coughed again, his lungs rattled as you kept rubbing his chest. As soon as he could breathe again, he asked, “Do I have to be worried that you’ll smother me in my sleep?”
“No.” You gently patted his chest, going to slide off of him to put away the medicine, but his hands clamped on your hips. You glared back at him, frowning. “You’re gonna get me sick and I will be very upset.”
“Well, if I let you go, you’ll sleep on the couch again when you could be sleepin’ wit me.” He whined. A big baby.
You considered it. It was freezing in the living room and you couldn’t turn up the thermostat because your husband would boil alive, so you just rubbed his chest. “I’mll sleep up here. I’ll take a shot of cold medicine for good measure, if,” You patted his chest, rubbing circles into his sternum. “you keep up with my medicine. None of your British crap.”
He thought on it for just a moment before squeezing your hips. “Fine.”
“Good boy.” You swung your leg off of him and you stood, tugging the blankets up to his throat. He stared at you, scrunching his nose before sniffling. You opened your NyQuil bottle, pouring only half a dose before taking it like a shot. It didn’t phase you since you’ve taken it for years, you then placed it back on his nightstand.
You were careful to get under the covers on your side of the bed as to not bother your husband, but he had other plans - as soon as you were settled, his arms and legs were around you, caging you to him. He was sweltering, a furnace and you were so tired of his sick antics that you almost pushed him away. He pressed a kiss your hair, sniffling as he said, “Thank you for poisoning me.”
You laughed a little. “Go to sleep, baby.”
“M’kay.”
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taglist (ignore that tagging hates me): @sigynxlokiwifelover @lumpypoll @multitargaryen @chloeforde @blueoorchid @vir-tual @lolis-pikt @theverycelestialgemini @simpingforleoandnico @prodyng @royalty-purple
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Copyright © 2023 lethalchiralium. All rights reserved.
———
#simon ghost riley#simon riley#call of duty#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley x reader#lethalchiralium#lethal chiralium#simon ghost riley call of duty#simon ghost riley x fem!reader#simon ghost riley x you#simon ghost riley x afab!reader#simon ghost riley cod#simon riley cod#simon ghost riley x f!reader#simon ghost riley x wife!reader#simon riley mw2#simon riley x you#simon riley call of duty#simon riley x wife!reader
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“Fine By Me.”
Pairing - Daryl Dixon x Trans Masc Reader
Warnings - Talk of drug use, illness, needles, identity, possible transphobia.
Setting - S4 Prison
Summary - Daryl thinks you’re doing drugs, but ends up learning something new about you.
Type - Fluff
A/N: this is my first published fic!! i have briefly proofread, and i’m pretty happy with it. hope you enjoy :)
You sat on the edge of the bed in your cell, positioning the needle over your thigh, gripping at your flesh trying to gauge where to inject yourself. your palms were sweaty and you couldn’t get a good grip on the syringe, with Hershel in Block A, treating the prison flu, you had nobody to do this for you. Hershel had told you the week prior that he would be going to take care of the sick, and he took extra steps in showing you how to inject your medication, but this was the first time you had tried on your own, it was proving difficult.
You took a breath and widened your eyes, grabbing your skin and moving your face closer, trying to get the needle in the perfect spot before you pushed it in, ‘just do it, idiot’ you thought to yourself.
You heard a scoff and jumped, looking up with a surprised expression, Daryl stood at your door, holding the curtain you had put up against the frame.
“Didn’t take you for a fuckin’ junkie.” He said, a scowl across his face.
“What? No! I-“ you began,
“I don’ wanna hear it.” Daryl said, starting to turn away and leave.
“Daryl!” you jump towards him, grabbing his shoulder and spinning him around, he looked taken aback, offended, you weren’t sure, but before he could do or say anything, you grabbed his arm and yanked him into your cell, peering your head around the curtain to check nobody else was witness.
You held the syringe in front of his face, waving it as you annunciated “This is not heroin,” in a whisper-shout.
He looked puzzled and almost like he was challenging you, as if he was asking ‘oh yeah? what is it then?’.
“I am not a junkie, this is my medication! Now if you would give me a hand with sticking it in my thigh I would be grateful.”
You spoke to him in such a way he stood speechless for a moment, like he was a child who just got an angry finger waved in his face for his attitude.
“Well?” You ask, impatiently.
He flushed red for a moment and sheepishly nodded, taking the syringe from your hand, you sat back down and rolled your trouser leg back up, exposing the piercing site, jab marks from the previous weeks lingering.
Daryl sat beside you, needle in hand, inspecting it, and just as you thought he was about to stick you with it, he hesitated.
“Just lemme see whatever you put in here, I don’t wanna be responsible for nothin’.”
It was your turn to hesitate, you scoffed and looked at him, gauging whether he meant it or not, whether he really needed to see why you were secretly medicating yourself every week, when his expression didn’t falter, you reached into the box under your bed, and pulled out the small vial containing your lifeline.
You placed it into his hand, avoiding all eye contact, this man was the one you worried about telling, he wasn’t as loud as Merle was about his opinions, but they were brothers, they were hicks, surely they had their opinion in common?
He rolled the vial in his palm, exposed the small text written on the label, and brought it up to his eye. The bottle read ‘TESTOSTERONE’ in a bold font. Daryl studied it before peering over the bottle and into your eyes, he looked at you almost knowingly, his eyes told you that it was okay, you were okay.
This was the softest look Daryl had ever given you, he had just said so much more with his eyes than you had ever heard from his mouth, it meant a lot.
He gave the bottle back to you, and took the syringe between his teeth, using one hand to move your trouser leg up, and the other to grip a chunk of your flesh, rolling it between the tips of his fingers until the chunk felt right, he took his hand from your trousers and retrieved the needle from his mouth, poking it into you, and pressing down on the plunger at a slow pace.
You watched him, how he nibbled on his lip and furrowed his brow in concentration, how gently he treated you, you watched as he handled you with such care, you looked so deeply into him that you didn’t even realise he had removed the needle. The sudden sound it made when he tossed it onto the table next to your bed startled you awake from your trance, and you found yourself staring at the side of Daryl’s face, his cheeks flushed and his eyes darting to all places other than your eyes.
“Sorry.” You said, he nodded.
“Thank you for doing that.”
“S’alright.”
The silence was so loud.
“How did you learn to do that?” You asked, breaking the silence so suddenly you caught yourself off guard.
“Do wha’?” he questioned, raising a brow and looking at you through his fringe,
“Inject, it seemed like you knew what to do.”
He nibbled on his lower lip again, looking around the room, as if he was trying to find the words.
“My Mama,” he replied, “before the fire, before everythin’, she was sick, I had to give her her medicine sometimes, she was in a lot of pain, kept her in bed all day, smokin’, readin’ her magazines, Merle took care of her when he wasn’t at Dad’s, but sometimes I had ta.”
He kept his eyes on the ground before timidly looking toward you, you looked at eachother for a moment, before you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, hugging him tight, you were telling him it was okay, you were thanking him for not freaking out over you being trans. You were very private about your identity before the world fell, and you thought you would have to be the same now, you had told Hershel very reluctantly, but he told you that God loved you, and that he accepted you, and now Daryl knew, and he treated you with more care and understanding than before. You thought maybe your family, your new, found family, would be okay with it too.
Daryl wrapped his arms around you, and squeezed before pulling away from the hug and standing up by the door.
“Gotta go, Rick needs help with the fence.” he told you, punctuating his sentence with a half smile.
“Okay.”
He turned away and lifted the curtain.
“Daryl?”
“Mm?” He hummed.
“Thank you, I thought-“ You began,
“I know what it’s like. Feelin’ like you don’t belong. What you’re doin’, who you are, is fine by me.”
#daryl dixon#the walking dead#daryl dixon x reader#daryl dixon x male reader#daryl dixon x trans reader#daryl dixon x trans masc reader#twd daryl#twd fic#daryl dixon fic#daryl dixon fanfiction#i love daryl dixon#norman reedus#the walking dead fic#transmasc#daryl dixon fluff
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“Ain’t shit.” - c.springer
(part four here.) (part six here.)
part 5
when this might be you and connie’s last conversation, you couldn’t care less about an argument.
violence, mentions of medium blood/bleeding, arguments, language.
it was another friday, a week after you made up with connie.
but coming to your senses, you realized he did admit to cheating on you, which didn’t end well for him because you were now in his car calmly telling him how much of a bitch he was for even thinking about doing that and how “you shouldn’t even have admitted to that shit cus that just pissed me off the moment i heard it.”
“mm-hmm.” connie hummed, nodding slowly.
the whole floch thing had ended, and you forgave each other. but the whole cheating thing just caught you off guard as you thought about it.
a whole week later.
“and who was the bitch? cus i know damn well she wasn’t better than me.” you raised your eyebrows and pointed to yourself while looking at him.
connie shook his head. “nah, she wasn’t.”
“i know. cus you piss me off. how you gon get mad at me for putting yo dumbass out and you was the one lyin to my motha’ fuckin face.” you spoke to him in such a calm voice, but he sucked in air through his teeth with every harsh shot you threw at him.
“peach-“
“matter fact, i don’t even know why i’m in yo damn car when i could’ve brought my own shit. i don’t know why you wanted to pick me up.” you cut him off, completely ignoring that dumb nickname he gave you.
“y/n-“
“and then you had the nerve to blame me for all the shit i did when it wasn’t even as bad at what you did? shit, i must’ve been in my feelings when you admitted that shit cus i would’ve punched you in yo shit.” you looked at him with a frown. “see this exactly why ion listen to yo ass because you be having me forgive you for that dumb shit, nigga i should run this car off the road.” you nudged his shoulder a little.
“y-“
“and then i was dumb enough to keep you at my house? boy fuck you— i should whoop yo ass in this fuckin’ car. but i can’t mess up my nails again.” you mumbled the last part while looking at your nails that he paid for.
“you done?” connie asked after a long amount of silence. you nodded and looked out the door.
he looked at you and then at the road before softly inhaling to say something.
of course he couldn’t.
“and i fuckin hate you. we never getting back together. ever. we ain’t even together right now. i don’t even know why i’m wasting my time wit’cho ass, knowing you prolly gon do the same shit again.” you nudged his head to the side while staring at him with a pissed face.
connie sighed. “are you done?”
“yes.” you said quietly.
“so we really not getting back together?” he asked, glancing at you from the road. you raised your eyebrow and looked at him again.
“fuck. no.” you said in almost a whisper.
all he did was nod before parking his car somewhere near the house before turning it off. as he got out, you stayed in the car, giving him a mean look as he walked around the car to open your door and close it behind you.
“i gotta open the door for you too?” he mumbled with a small smile. you gave him another mean mug and fully ignored him while walking on the concrete up to the entrance.
connie only followed closely behind you, looking around at all the people that looked at you two — like they always did — because of the way you argued last week and was walking together this week.
it could’ve been a never ending cycle. if you were dumb. but you couldn’t even forgive the dude for what he did it you.
as you opened the door for yourself, you walked in, and just like last time, everything filled your ears and nose. “aye ima go wit the gang. don’t get in no trouble.” connie poked your back before walking off somewhere else. you stared at him before humming and rolling your eyes.
you’ve never even been to whoever’s house this was, but it was more spacious for a party.
you went to the kitchen, again, getting compliments on your outfit along the way.
you rubbed your glossed and lined lips together before pouring yourself a drink, taking a long sip before swallowing the whole bit, sucking the bitter flavor off your own tongue. looking around to find sasha or mikasa, or anyone other than one of the guys in that case, you couldn’t find them.
so you just decided to walk over to where connie was, in hopes of finding someone other than him, and to your surprise, everyone was there.
“girl where you been?” mikasa smiled looking you up and down. you smacked your lips. “ain’t nobody tell me the whole group was over here.” you said before glancing at connie who was already smoking weed. “my bad.” he said before exhaling.
you looked around for any source of alcohol, just to get your mind off of the normal things. but the only cup around you was connie’s. you looked at him before leaning down to get it and stared at him as you used his t-shirt to rub the rim of it before drinking the whole thing.
“so y’all back together? again?” eren raised his eyebrow as his arm rested around mikasa. connie shook his head. “nah. we cool off each other. just hanging around each other.” he mumbled before taking another swift hit of the blunt in his hand, already looking high as hell before sitting the rest on the ashtray and reaching towards the cup you had, looking at you when he saw it was empty. “thirsty ass.” he mumbled, grabbing another bottle to fill the cup.
“so y’all just chillin for now.” ony said, rolling up another blunt. you nodded slowly. “for good.” you corrected him.
“yall ain’t getting back together? crazy.” sasha chuckled at you. you shook your head. “i can’t get back wit his ass.” you mumbled to yourself, but loud enough for connie to hear. “man you look like friends sitting over there. like when yall asses first met.” ony laughed at you.
“suck my dick.” connie smiled a little before taking a sip from his cup.
“aye bro, ain’t that floch?” eren frowned, pointing behind you and connie. connie didn’t even try to look back, and when you did, he looked at you and then ony. ony widened his eyes a little before resting them again.
“you ain’t gon fight him again, right?” sasha squinted at connie. “cus if you do ima whoop yo ass.”
connie smacked his lips. “i ain worried bout him.” he mumbled. “i already beat his ass, as long as he don’t come over here fuckin wit nobody, i’m straight.” he held his hands up in defense with a light smile.
everyone but you looked at him suspiciously. you were too focused on the way floch glanced at you.
‘don’t bring yo ass over here.’ you thought to yourself. but it was too late because as soon as he saw you, he was.
you sighed. “fuck.” you muttered lowly to yourself before scooting closer to connie, who looked at you. “you good?” he asked. you nodded. “mhm.”
you tried to see if anybody else noticed the fact that he was literally walking over to you, and of course they didn’t. you felt someone touch your shoulder. “y/nnn, long time no see. it’s been what, a week?” floch said, leaning towards you.
everyone went silent and looked at connie, who licked his lips and stretched his legs out, taking a deep breath in and out.
“didn’t you just get yo ass beat by connie? so what the fuck you doin over here?” mikasa squinted at floch. “did i? oh, ion remember that.” floch mumbled before moving around the couch and sitting right beside you, gaining stares from ony and eren.
as much as you wanted to get disrespectful, you didn’t wanna get that nigga jumped, so you kept your composure and bit your lip, looking at the ground as he wrapped his arm around your waist, moving you slightly closer to him.
connie’s eyes moved to floch’s hand, before he side eyed you and looked forward again, grabbing his drink and taking a sip.
“aye, you don’t see she uncomfortable?” ony frowned, dabbing his blunt with his tongue while staring at floch. “she ain’t say she was uncomfortable, did she?” floch pursed his lips together. your hands rested underneath your thighs and you deeply inhaled.
“why you acting so different from last week? you just wanted me all up on you.” floch mumbled, loud enough to make sure connie heard, and he did, manspreading and grabbing his phone, scrolling through instagram.
“that wasn’t for real. i was tryna make somebody jealous.” you laughed a little.
“mh. it did work, didn’t it?” he said, keeping his eyes on you, taking one quick glance at connie who kept his eyes on his phone.
“ion know.” you shrugged while looking around the crowded house. “you know you ain’t always gotta stay wit the same person. i could give you sum better.” he said, moving his free hand to your thigh. you smacked your lips. “man get away from me, i don’t want yo ass.” you pushed him off of you.
that’s all it took for ony to put his blunt down, eren to start laughing, and connie to put his phone down, exhaling.
“c’mere.” connie grabbed your hand, leading you to the other side of him. before you could sit down, floch grabbed your wrist. “nah she good over here.” he said, pulling you towards him. connie finally looked at floch before chuckling.
“didn’t she just tell you to get away from her?” connie squinted. floch stood up. “you still got a problem huh.”
connie bit his lip before standing up along with floch. “ight chill con’.” sasha said, looking at him and floch.
“nah cus you wanna get’cho ass beat again so ion know why the fuck you still testing me.” connie pulled his pants up, pushing you back a little. “connie don’t even worry bout it-“ you tried to stop him, but it seemed like this time he was more mad than annoyed.
“you tryna start wit me bout a female that don’t even want yo ass, connie.” floch laughed and squinted.
“ight, but it’s still war over her ass when it come to me.” connie bit his lip, while raising his eyebrows.
“war, huh? you ain’t so shit yet tho.” floch muttered.
“listen, i ain wit allat talkin shit cus i’ll hit’cho ass right now.” connie chucked a little, reaching and resting his hand under his shirt. “connie, for real, just go outside.” eren said, sitting up.
“nah if he wanna do sum he can do sum.” floch raised his eyebrows.
“oh i can?”
“hell yeah you can, so wassup?”
suddenly you saw connie quickly reach in his waist band and you heard a gunshot, jumping and flinching.
everyone started to scream.
you looked down to see that floch was holding his thigh, panting as he looked up at connie with a frown. “what the fuck?!” he yelled before connie tucked his gun in his waistband and pulled his tshirt down, grabbing you by the arm and dragging you outside.
“what the fuck is wrong wit’cho ass?” you frowned, trying to release his grip from your wrist, but he was far more strong than you. suddenly, connie was grabbed by someone else. one of floch’s lil friends.
“you think you finna get away wit that shit?” he frowned and pointed backwards. “fuck away from me.” connie mumbled, pushing the guy. the guy pushed him back, but before he could even throw a punch, you reached in connie’s pants, grabbing his gun and pointing it at the dude.
“get the fuck back, before you get shot too.” you mumbled, finger itching to pull the trigger.
“and connie, get the fuck back. go.” you waved the gun back.
boom.
everyone paused, it’s like the screams that got louder, blurred out and everything was moving in slow motion. you looked at connie.
blood soaking the side of his waist.
you looked behind the guy in front of you, seeing floch. “the fuck? what the fuck?!” you panicked, looking at connie.
that’s when eren and ony rushed out of the house, guns in their hands too.
“shit…” you whispered.
last comments left me a lil astonished, cs that’s how y’all feel? jk hope you like this. :)
#aot x reader#aot x y/n#connie springer#connie x reader#poc reader#aot connie#connie x black y/n#connie x black reader#connie springer x y/n#connie springer x reader#connie springer x black reader#connie x you#connie x y/n#connie aot
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Merry Christmas Eve!
Good for you by lilysaid - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 16,768, sterek)
Completely by chance, I saw a "human boyfriend for werewolf roleplay" ASMR video on YouTube and thought 1. Stiles would totally do something as reckless as making an ASMR channel for werewolves 2. He would be really good at it and 3. It would definitely blow up in his face
The Alpha and his Spark by sandyde03 - (Rating: Mature, Words: 22,771, sterek)
Stiles is pregnant. Derek is perpetually horny and possessive. Stiles is confused. Not by Derek sexing him up. He loves that. It’s the fact that ever since he started to show that he was with pup everyone has been avoiding his eyes.
Innerbloom (if you want me, if you need me) by nymphe - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 12,133, sterek)
Lydia and Stiles are study partners, Lydia (correctly) theorizes that Stiles is losing precious brain cells daydreaming about getting dicked down by our resident moody werewolf, Derek has issues: trust issues, issues using his words, feelings issues, issues with Lydia’s scent overwhelming Stiles’ scent & issues with Stiles not smelling enough like him. What’s new, basically.
Title from Rüfüs Du Sol.
feelings are the worst kind of f-word by EvanesDust - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 4,514, sterek)
Derek might have been an alpha werewolf, but he was an omega in biology. Thanks to the emotional shit show of his life—and the ever-present dangers of Beacon Hills—he hadn't had a heat in years. But he was finally in a better place, so of course, that was when it hit.
So he turned to the only alpha he trusted to help him through it.
The one he secretly desired.
Stiles.
A Place to Hide Away by Antistalgic - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 58,064, sterek)
Stiles gets turned into a werefox child with no memory of anything beyond the age of five (and a half, thank you very much). So when he smells the scent of home and security, naturally he follows it and finds himself face to face (or rather face to knee) with a scowling man (with pretty eyes).
local area man resorts to necromancy as everything is ruined anyway byLunaCanisLupus_22 - (Rating: Mature, Words: 7,847, sterek)
“Are we doing this?” Scott asks, taking Stiles’ arm before he can approach the pile of ash right in front of the Nemeton. Not ash. Derek’s remains. “Stiles, are we doing this?”
“He did it before,” Stiles snaps, pointing at Peter. “Why can’t we?”
Or the one where the teen wolf movie ending is trash, so Stiles returns to Beacon Hills and necromances his way out of it
His Boy by GhostInTheBAU - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 2,214, sterek)
“Come on, Big Bad,” he purred, voice lilting, teasing, taunting, “Is this really all you got? The best you can do? Everything you can give me? Hm?”
Derek went stone-cold rigid at the provocation, his Wolf clawing at him, snapping just below the surface of his skin, itching to be released, longing to show this boy—his boy—exactly where he belonged.
“Because, silly me, I thought you were supposed to be something scary,” Stiles continued, “Something cold and deadly—violent and dreadful and feared.” A huff of laughter leapt off his sharp-wit tongue; and a smirk danced shrill and cunning through the flow of his sultry voice. “Hell baby, I thought you were supposed to be a fuckin’ Wolf.”
And that was it.
That was the end of Derek’s self-control.
Folding Like Honey by Noname109 - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 1,811, sterek)
“I’m gonna take you apart,” Derek practically purrs. “I’m gonna fuck you so hard you’ll be screaming my name.”
“Derek,” he whines, flushing bright red because of how fucked out his voice sounds, throat raw. He swallows before speaking again. “Please.”
“Is that all you can say?” Derek teases, and his hands wander over Stiles’s body. He feels so exposed like this, totally on display for Derek. “Fucked your mouth so good you can’t talk, huh?”
“Derek, I — oh fuck.”
I'll Be Your Thrill by red_crate - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 5,354, sterek)
Stiles asks, “What are you waiting for?” He still hasn’t made a move to join Derek on the bed.
“I’m waiting for you, Daddy.” It takes everything in him to hold Stiles’ gaze.
There’s a hesitance in him every time they start this. Derek is older, an alpha werewolf. He can’t quite get over the spike of humiliation that occasionally works through him at the thought of wanting to give over his control. He closes his eyes for a moment.
Wanting Stiles to take charge and take care of him isn’t a shameful thing.
It helps that Stiles is never anything but enthusiastic.
Daddy Sweetly by LadyDrace - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 2,322, sterek)
Derek likes it slow and loving. And sometimes he likes a little bit more than that. Stiles is more than happy to provide.
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☆‧₊˚Cat N' Spider
⋆.˚[1.7.24]- e42!Miles x Reader
🕸˖°.TWs || Miles is lowkey a pottymouthhh
What makes a villain? Is it their frigid, pompous attitude tailored to mask that sentimental wound from past trauma? Or is it the narcissistic qualities that wash away the blood of the innocent from their fleeting, voided sense of memory? No matter the man or lady behind the mask, they all unite under one common umbrella- shielding themselves from the icy rainwater that forces them to heed the treacherous callback from the rain…
A desperate covet to be acknowledged…no…remembered.
Villains aren’t born; they’re created. There was no such thing as “good” or “bad”, there was survival, and there were morals. And when you were only thirteen, you became the victim of a team of scientists determined to create a “better” world for you and the Brooklyn, New York population. So emerged Plan 42-J, where a spider was sucked up from your world and engineered on another.
And when that spider found itself back in your world, guess whose teeth it found refuge in?
Little old you!
“Yeah…I’ll be there at like seven. You want somethin’ from the store?” Your boyfriend, Miles grunted, his scarred and sculpted shoulder blades facing the camera as he made himself look presentable in his bathroom mirror. “Uhhh, you don’t have to…Actually, wait, get me a pineapple Fanta and some chips,” you muttered, tugging on your pretty little red Converse with as much force as physically possible.
“Bet–...I might be a little late actually,” Miles sighed, turning around to face the camera and picking up his phone as he began to tap away at the miniature keyboard. Your face pulled into a deep frown, jet black brows furrowing as you pulled your face up from the invisible string connecting you and your shoelaces. “Miles, come on now…this is like the hundredth time you were late to shit we planned!” You grunted, rolling your eyes in slight sorrow and annoyance.
“I know, I know. I’ll try to wrap this shit up as fast as possible, I’m sorry mama” he sighed, running an exasperated hand across his face. “It’s just thirty minutes, ok?” He reassured, his gentle and wispy eyelashes batting softly as he toyed with the gifted gold-clad locket that nestled perfectly between his collarbones. You sighed, pressing the end-call button before falling backward on your couch, sinking into the comfy beige cotton and sighing deeply.
It wasn’t even 20 minutes before you were prompted to spring up from your couch, turning on the TV to monitor whatever was happening in Brooklyn today. Crime rates are dropping, cities are being rebuilt, and smiles are all around. A sense of gratitude washed over you– you weren’t too fond of being Spider-Girl ever since you found out about HQ, but it made ‘fixing’ your world much more satisfying.
But alas, good things don’t last forever. The news reporters' eyes widened as they cupped their ears with what looked like shock and fear, cutting themselves off mid-script to announce a new threat down Kings Plaza. “Oh hold on– give me just a second, Brent, but we’re just now receiving word that the infamous ‘Prowler’ has been spotted down at the abandoned Kings Plaza shopping outlet. Witnesses say he was seen breaking through the window of the old building, presumably chasing after a taller man.”
You groaned loudly, throwing two unfortunate pillows off the couch as you stomped back upstairs to throw on your crimson and white Spider-Suit. “Stupid fucking prowler…ruining my fuckin’ date night,” you grumbled, angrily pulling the mask over your face before calling out to your mom. “Hey, mom? I’m gonna make a store run before Miles gets here! I'm gonna grab ingredients for cookies!” You shouted, quickly opening and closing the door so it’d seem like you left the house.
You slipped out the back window, climbing your way up the fire escape before swinging through the night, wind cascading across your masked face, taking deep gulps of air through your nostrils. Your blood boiled like overboiled soup stock, salt and muck bubbling to the surface as you grumbled under your breath. That stupid fuck ass had a habit of somehow ruining your quality time with your boyfriend, postponing dates and meetups in a futile attempt to put away your irksome ‘nemesis.’
You’ve had a couple of encounters with the Prowler, with him being the most determined villain since the ‘Rise of Spider-Girl’. Of all the many villains you’d put away, he seemed the most persistent in riding his wave of crime to fruition. The air, filled with its normal hubbub, voices clamoring together as car engines blended to create the everyday atmosphere of Brooklyn.
You dipped down in between the abandoned subway, scanning the topography of the old station before hearing an uncomfortably loud–
BANG!
You got up on your feet, quickly scanning the areas as you attempted to squint through the thick veil of darkness that covered your eyes. The soft, meshy fabric of your red and white spider mask made everything increasingly more difficult as you attempted to analyze every small detail of your location. Blurry pipes, massive trash bags, debris, and a run-down train that had been claimed by rust and nature.
You walked down the wide tunnel, clicking on the flashlight that you had attached to your tactical belt a couple of months ago. You smiled to yourself, glad that one of the many trinkets you’d created since becoming Spider-Girl was proving to be useful. It was freezing, your jaw clenching as you lumbered forward, running your gloved fingertips across the rusty metal walls.
“Yo! Come on, man. I know you’re down here somewhere, and I don’t wanna be in this cold-ass tunnel!” You shouted, not even sure if you were actually talking to anyone else. “I mean, hero to…villain? Anti-Hero? I’m sure you’ve got people to get home to. And I’d hate to send your busted ass home to your wife and kids with new bruises,” You threatened, voice low and serious as you began to do another routine scan around your new surroundings.
“My wife is none of your business,” A stern and rather agitated voice spoke from the far distance, causing you to whip your head around and assume a battle stance. You sucked in a large breath of air, lungs expanding and burning with each passing second as you ran forward at half your usual speed. “And I’m not going home with shit. From you.” He enunciated, the static overlay coating his voice like molten lava and burnt sugar.
“Man, wrap this up! All of the other villains are putting their shit away, why can’t you! Have you ever considered a job?” You spat, stopping mere inches away from the source of the loathsome voice before squinting up at the Prowler. “You’re the most desperate bitch I’ve ever fought with, you know that? I’ve never felt the need to prove something this bad,” You spat, growing more and more agitated by the second.
“You funny as shit for real. Now If Ian have no human decency, I’d have been sent yo lil’ass to the hospital but ion put my hands on women cuz my daddy raised me betta’ than that. So we can do it like this– you can get the fuck out of my face and I can keep my hands to myself, or I can show all of Brooklyn how you nothin’ but a lil girl playing pretend in tight spandex,” He grunted, dropping down from the tall ceiling and hitting the ground with a sickeningly heavy thud.
His mask illuminated about 6 inches in front of him with bright purple, advancing towards you slowly as he invaded your personal space. You were sure that had he not worn his signature holographic mask, you would’ve felt his breath ghost the tip of your nose. He was so close you could lift a finger and make immediate contact with his chest.
“You piss me the fuck off.” You grunted, staring back at the monster in front of you as you let the thick, discomforting silence fill the lack of space between the two of you. He was menacing, it made you wanna get as far away from him as possible and go home to your kind, and loving boyfriend. But a job’s a job, no matter how intimidating the ‘client’.
“And you give me a fuckin’ headache. ¿Lo sabes, verdad?” He rasped, quickly landing a sharp blow straight to your gut as he sent you flying backward almost one foot. It hurt like hell, your stomach suddenly felt tight and uncomfortably empty as you struggled to regain control over your breathing. “Mira, me estás haciendo sentir mal. You think I wanna hit you?” he muttered, slowly backing away from you before taking off in the opposite direction.
What a fucking dickhead.
You swallowed the bile that threatened to erupt from your gullet, regaining your footing and taking off after the arrogant man once more. You focused on your breathing, drawing long and stable breaths that you allowed to ease the pain that plagued your gut. The wind whistled around your ears as you charged forward, gentle howls and soft rustles caressing your ears with each step.
You followed the harsh neon purple lighting, giggling slightly at how obvious was when you actually got up close to the guy and were able to see his mask. Your footsteps echoed across the tunnel, the heavy thuds mingling with your dull pitter-pattering as you managed to catch up to the unknown man, tackling him from behind as you made a futile attempt to pin him to the ground. And for a second it felt as though he had relaxed into your hold, his usual tense and guarded posture faltering for only a fraction of a second before you felt a painful grip on your wrist.
You went flying forward, narrowly avoiding landing on your neck as you scrambled to land on your feet. Throughout this entire confrontation, your spider-sense seemed to fail you time and time again to warn you of your opponent's attacks, making it increasingly harder to dodge any sort of blow he would deliver. Your right cheek, neck, shoulders, and gut all ached with pain as you struggled to memorize his attack pattern.
He was unpredictable; switching his style of fighting with every new punch while you went through trial and error of pattern memorization. There were claw marks in your suit near your sides that revealed your skin as you finally found a solid fighting technique against the taller man. You finally found your perfect balance, landing disgustingly heavy blows to any part of him that you could reach.
He was lean. He may be built like a twig on the surface, but his entire body was fortified by nothing but pure muscle mass. He felt nearly hard to the touch as you threw your body weight into every strike. “You’re solid. You could put your…odd level of strength to much better use, c’monnnn,” you half-whined, groaning as you resorted to low blows and a style that consisted of legwork.
The white slits on his holographic mask narrowed, indicating his clear disgust as he jumped over your smaller form. “I have things to do. You’re in my way, little bug…” He spat, making a break for the surface as he ran onto the platform and seemingly glided up the stairs. Fuck, how annoying can someone get? He was faster than a bullet train and had incredible levels of stamina.
He was everything you needed in battle. Each time you found yourselves tangled in each other's path, there was an unexplainable tension that stuck each of you together with a bond stronger than any glue. Not to mention the way he managed to evade every single sense that spider had given you; almost like he wasn’t a threat.
You watched him dart up the block, getting ahead start on a taller building as he dug his claws into the sturdy brick. He climbed like a hungry panther chasing their next meal, starving for some sort of adrenaline as you followed closely behind him. The moon illuminated his figure in a ghostly white hue, highlighting the scratched metal of his suit components.
The frigid air left gentle kisses across your clothed limbs, provoking goosebumps as you pulled yourself up on the rough, concrete roof of some random building. You looked at the man, who rested an annoyed hand on his wounded shoulder as his mask mimicked an eye roll. “No quiero lastimarte. Pero, tengo una esposa en casa,” He grunted before quickly advancing towards you with pure anger.
Suddenly, as if they couldn't be late enough, that familiar tingle ran down your spine as you saw his next move in real-time before it happened. You grabbed his left wrist, which began to outstretch in your direction, and forced pressure onto his trigger point. He released a pained groan before you lunged forward, sending the two of you tumbling forward as something fell out of the collar of the neckline of his shirt.
The white eyes widened as a pretty little gold-clad heart locket dangled around his neck, spinning wildly before settling on his chest without so much as a sound. His eyes widened, kicking you off of him before tucking the locket back in his shirt with a relieved sigh and a silent prayer. “Weird. I gave that same locket to my boyfriend,” You muttered.
There was a low chuckle that sounded more annoyed rather than amused before he shuffled back to his feet and stood underneath the pale moonlight. “My wife gave this to me. Touch it, and i’ll fuckin’ kill you this time” he enunciated, a narrow squint to add insult to his words. “Anniversary gift. I hope you not trynna get personal, cuz I’m still gon whoop your ass”
The gears started turning in your brain as you stopped, your posture relaxing as your closed fist came to a rest on your upper left hip. “June 2nd?” You asked, eyes widening a fraction as you slowly backed away from…the boy? In front of you.
He stopped dead in his tracks, looking down at you with a mixture of confusion and fear before nodding slowly. “Yeah…why?” He murmured as he walked towards you, quickly closing any distance between you that you worked so hard to make. “Mozz?” You asked, gentle curiosity laced in your tone for the first time that night.
Miles looked dumbfounded. His sudden aura of anger and nonchalance melted before your very eyes before quiet forced giggles erupted from his throat. Quiet giddy chuckles quickly became cries, babbles of “I'm sorry” quickly leaving his lips as he lowered himself to the ground and became consumed by regret. “Ma I’m so fucking sorry I would’ve never put my hands on you…” he whispered, shaky breaths leaving his lips as you quickly came to his aid.
“Wait nononono don’t cry!” you pleaded, checking your surroundings to make sure there weren't any cameras, helicopters, or paparazzi before pulling off your mask. “This doesn’t even hurt! It’s fine! C’mon don’t cry, get up,” You pleaded as you scooped up your weeping boyfriend off the floor. His mask collapsed as he leaned into your hold, wetting your suit with salty tears as he grasped at your hand.
“It’s not fine! Since when is me hurting you fine!” He gasped, “I never wanted to do this prowler shit! I only did it so Mamí wouldn’t have to worry about bills…” he confessed as you peppered gentle kisses to his face. You nodded as he came apart in your arms, feeling your heart shatter into a million pieces as he practically died upon hearing his nickname.
“Miles, I’m not mad! I know you wouldn’t ever hurt me. It’s my JOB to stop villains. It's YOUR job to…be a villain! I still don’t know what you do I’m sorry boo,” you confessed, giving his head gentle pats as he chuckled into your side. “I’m not no villain. I just do what people tell me,” he shrugged, pulling you down to the ‘ground’ with him.
“ ‘m sorry. You know that right? I’ll quit all of this prowler shit Ma I just never wanna hurt you again” he whispered, pressing his lips to yours and pulling you impossibly closer to him.
“You miss a date again and I’m turning you in,” you joked in between kisses.
“Yeah Yeah my bad”
Tags below <3333
@ashsostrange @chessbox @janaeby @faeriesoiree333 @fivestardior @an1bara @bachirasgoist @milesnanana77 @niaurluv @sp1derw1re @ban-al3x @we-loveebony @kae2kaee @dxrlingcc @al3xwqz @l0starl @hobiebrownismygod @luv-kae @moriellis @daydreaming-en-pointe @malinashiftss @imjustagirlintheworld777 @edevotion
#atsv#across the spiderverse#into the spiderverse#miles morales#miles morales x reader#earth 42 miles x reader#earth 42 miles#e42 miles x black!reader#e42 miles#e42!miles#black reader#black tumblr#black women#I love this bye
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Our Little Secret
Disclaimer: GIF is not mine.
Pairings: Steve Harrington fem!reader
Warnings: Minors Do Not Interact! Jealously, enemies to lovers, smut, bathroom sex.
The blaring music and chatter of the rowdy crowd on the other side of the door had long disappeared in to the background as the sound of Steve Harrington’s skin slapping against your own echoed throughout his downstairs bathroom. His rapid thrusts sending you closer and closer to another orgasm as he nipped at your throat, leaving a trail of violet bruises behind as evidence of your current hook up.
You shut your eyes, hissing in pleasure while Steve continued to bite and suck on your skin as he bucked his hips in to you, a low groan escaping him as he chased his own release.
"Jesus sweetheart, you're...so...fuckin' tight, feel so good around my dick.” Steve growled, grabbing your waist, slamming in to you from behind, throwing your head back to lean against his chest for support as you watched him come apart in the mirror. You were wrecked at this point, completely cock drunk on Steve’s dick as the smell of sex and alcohol began to consume the room. You were totally hypnotised by the pretty sounds coming from him, the way he kept his glossy eyes on you in the reflection of the glass as he edged you both closer, hair an utter mess as he swiped it from his face...he was utterly fucking beautiful but you'd never tell him that.
You weren't entirely sure how you ended up bent over his parents expensive marble sink but you knew it had started with an argument, just like every other one of your encounters with Steve. You had never seen eye to eye with the boy, not in High School, not as Dustin's babysitter and definitely not as co-workers in Family Video. His constant need to flirt with every cute girl that walked in to the store made you gag out loud, rolling your eyes while he ran to the back to make sure his hair looked good before making his move on the unsuspecting female customers. Much to you and Robin's astonishment some of them even fell for his ridiculously shitty pick up lines and for some reason, it kind of bothered you.
"You know he just does that to piss you off, right?" Robin revealed on a late night weekend shift while you were stacking video tapes, nudging her head towards Steve who was leaning over the desk, flirting with some airhead who was giggling at his god awful jokes.
"Does what?" You questioned, trying your best to ignore the fake sounds of laughter at the counter to get on with the task at hand.
"Flirting with the ladies…He only does it make you jealous." Your friend stated as you scoffed at the thought, refusing to look in Steve's direction, afraid to give him the slightest bit of satisfaction that he might in fact, be getting under your skin.
"And why would he do that?"
"Duh, cause he's totally in to you." She said as you let out a loud enough laugh that Steve and the girl turned to face you both before going back to their conversation again.
"Yeah, right Rob, we can barely survive a shift together without killing each other. Plus, why the hell would I be jealous of those poor girls having to endure his cheesy chat up lines?" You asked as your friend shrugged her shoulders.
"I don't know, but you've been stacking horror movies on the kids shelves since dingus started talking to the pretty blonde, ten minutes ago." Robin teased, smirking smugly as you realised you were putting The Exorcist beside E.T - The Extra Terrestrial.
“That doesn’t mean I’m fucking jealous, Robin! I’m just tired of doing all the work while he stands around doing nothing as per usual.” You huffed in an angrier tone than before as Robin tried to change the subject, sensing how annoyed you were.
It was safe to say that Steve Harrington drove you fucking crazy. So, when Robin begged you to come to one of Steve’s many house parties you flat out refused, not wanting to spend your rare day off from work in the same vicinity as your colleague. Especially, if it meant having to witness him in a lip lock with some random girl all night. But somehow, you had let Robin convince you to join her at the party, your friend pleading with you to be her wing woman while she attempted to get to know Vickie a little better without “turning in to a babbling idiot”.
You somehow managed to avoid Steve for the whole time you were at his party, dancing with Robin and Nancy, beating Eddie at beer pong, even turning down two guys who were trying to get you to go home with them. So, when Robin had enough liquid courage in her to confidently talk to Vickie without you being present, you downed your final drink and slid off of the kitchen countertop, making your way through Steve's house, finally reaching the front door to make your exit.
“Leavin’ already?" The familiar voice asked as you turned to see Steve standing with some girl hanging from him. Fucking typical.
"Yep." Is all you said, not wanting to stop and talk.
"Didn't expect to see you here." He said, completely ignoring the brunette beside him.
"Trust me Harrington, your house was the last place I wanted to be on my night off."
"Why'd you come then?" Steve challenged as you folded your arms.
"Cause she asked me to." You stated pointing at Robin who was still in the kitchen, blissfully unaware that you were gone. "She was nervous about seeing Vickie, said she needed some backup." You explained, as he nodded, understanding how anxious Robin got around her crush.
The girl standing beside him let out an aggravated sigh, finally gave up, realising she wasn't getting anywhere with Steve now that you had his full attention. Steve didn't even notice she had walked away, he was too fixated on you, scanning your body, taking note of how your outfit complimented your figure, curves being hugged in all the right places as you stood looking at him. You were so fucking pretty and you didn't even know it but Steve desperately wanted to show you.
"You really going?" He quizzed as you placed your hands on your hips, letting out a deep breath.
"As much fun as it would be to stay and watch you flirt with the entire female population of Hawkins High, I think I'm gonna pass and head home." You said turning on your heels to reach for the door knob.
"It really bothers you doesn't it?" Steve smirked as you turned your head to face him again.
"What?" You huffed in frustration.
"Me, flirting with other girls." He replied as you let out a sarcastic laugh, shaking your head. "You really are so fucking full of yourself, you know that?" You spat, hoping the heat rising to your cheeks wasn't overly visible with the make up you were wearing.
"Maybe I am but I think m’right, aren't I?" He questioned, walking closer towards you as you decided to hold your ground.
"Sure, yeah, it bothers me when you flirt with every chick that walks through the door in work instead of doing your actual job...you know, the one you get paid to do?" You teased as he grinned at you. “Is that the only reason?"
“Can’t think of another.” You shrugged.
"I can." He challenged. "Please, enlighten me..." You mutter in a sarcastic tone, rolling your eyes.
"Maybe you're jealous."
"Maybe you're fucking delusional." You fought back as he smiled at you.
"Just admit it princess, s'ok." He whispered, closing the space between you, waiting patiently for your response. You weren't sure if it was the alcohol or the way he was looking at you or the fact that you knew you looked good but you felt a growing confidence inside yourself, so you tugged at the hem of his shirt, licking your lips as he watched you with complete curiosity.
"Is that what you want me to say, that I'm jealous? Is that why you do it, to make me jealous?" You challenged as he remained silent, smirking at you. “You think I don’t see the way you look back at me for my reaction every single time, cause you aren't really interested in any of those other girls, are you Steve?" You flirt, still playing with his shirt as he looked down at you, completely turned on by the way you were teasing him.
"You gonna tell me it's one sided, sweetheart? This little game we play...I think you enjoy it just as much as I do." He purrs in your ear and your heart stops at his sudden confession because you weren't actually expecting him to admit it and now that he had, you were more intrigued than ever, feeling the sudden ache between your legs. Cause as much as you didn’t want to believe it, trying to push it to the back of your mind every time he looked at you, you knew you wanted Steve Harrington and you hated yourself a little bit for that.
"The fact that you aren't walking away here kind of tells me everything I need to know, princess." He smirked, locking eyes with you, moving even closer as you tried to regain your composure.
"Kind of hard to move with your dick pressing against my thigh, Harrington." You replied, pressing your tongue to your cheek as he pushed his body against yours, an arm wrapping around your waist making you gasp out loud, the sexual tension between you almost crippling at this point. “Want me to put it somewhere else instead?" He suggested as you looked up at him through your long lashes, nodding.
"Need you to use your words baby, m'not gonna do anything unless you tell me what you want." He said moving his thumb over your lips.
"You're really enjoying this aren't you?" You huffed as he let out a little laugh. "Just need to know if you really want this to happen?" He asked as you pressed a soft kiss to his lips, removing them before he even had a chance to kiss you back.
"Steve, just fuck me already." You pleaded as his eyes filled with lust.
So, he took your hand, dragging you to the bathroom, locking the door behind him as he caught your lips in a passionate embrace, tongue dancing with your own as he pushed you back against the door while you began to unbutton his shirt. “This stays between us, got it?” You requested as he nodded his head, capturing your lips again. He tasted like beer and bubblegum and you couldn't get enough as you pulled him closer.
"So fuckin' beautiful." He murmured, lifting your top over your head, tossing it on to the floor to join his shirt. You watched as he got on his knees, unzipping your skirt, slowing pulling it down, leaving wet kisses on your inner thighs as your skirt finally hit the floor. You bit your lip with how close he was to your core, noting there was only a thin piece of fabric between his mouth and your cunt. "Can I taste you pretty girl?" He asked, looking up as you nodded again.
"Words baby, need your words." he purred moving a hand over your panties, tugging them down until they were around your ankles, lifting your heels off of the ground to fully dispose of them, stuffing them in to his pocket as your cheeks flushed realising he could probably tell how wet you were now.
"Do it....please." You whimpered, feeling his tongue immediately swipe through your folds, lapping up your juices before he started to swirl circles around your clit. "Fuck, Steve...that feels so fucking good, oh my god." You gasped, gripping at his hair as he buried his head deeper between your legs.
"So wet for me baby, you taste fucking amazing, knew you would." He moaned, palming his hand over his tight Levi jeans.
"Steve..." You hissed as he gently slid his index and middle finger in and out of you. "Not gonna last much longer if you keep doing that.”
"Gotta stretch you out baby, you're so tight and I'm pretty big, don't wanna hurt you." He hummed, sucking on your clit. You knew he was big, you'd seen the outline of his dick when you went to Eddie's to watch a horror movie and Steve got hard during a sex scene sitting next to you. Plus you heard all of the rumours in school too, you just didn't know whether Steve had started those rumours himself before that night in the tailer.
"St...oh shit, stop, I'm gonna come." You cried as you felt his lips curl in to a smile. "Go on baby, come f'me, come on my tongue." He demanded, flicking his muscle against you faster and faster as you bucked your hips, the coil in your stomach finally snapping as you reached your climax, biting your lip to stop everyone outside the bathroom door from hearing you.
Steve didn't give you much time to recover from your orgasm as he pulled you over to the marble sink, kissing you again as your hands moved to his jeans, unbuckling his belt and unzipping them as his dick sprung free. Jaw dropping at the sight of it, pre cum already leaking from the tip but Steve stopped you just as you tried to wrap your swollen lips around it.
"As much as I would love for you to suck on my dick right now, I need to fuck you before someone rudely interrupts us." He growled, as you voluntarily bent over the sink while he lined his cock up to your entrance before pushing in to you, letting out a loud moan at the feeling of being inside of you— as if he’d waited forever for this moment.
So, thats how you wound up getting fucked by Steve Harrington in his bathroom. His dick making you feel fuller than you ever had before and your tight cunt making it impossible for him to last much longer.
"Shit, Steve...I can’t, s'too much." You whimpered, gripping the countertop with one hand while the other grasped the back of his neck as your stomach tightened with a familiar feeling building once more.
“Can’t take anymore baby, huh? I know you’re close, can feel your pussy clenching around me, m'close too, you feel too good on my dick." He whispered as he continued to pound in to you while you rolled your hips on to him. "Where can I..."
"Inside me, please. m'on the pill, s'ok." You nodded as he pulled out of you. Your eyes widened feeling the sudden emptiness without him inside you.
"Steve why did you-" You asked as he turned you around, lifting you on to the countertop before sliding his cock back in to you again, wrapping your legs tightly around his waist with the feeling of him filling you again.
"Want to look at you when you come." Steve said as you bit your lip in sheer pleasure while he bucked his hips in to you. "You're so beautiful." He whispered nestling in to your neck.
That was it.
"Steve, I'm gonna..." You cried, closing your eyes, digging in to his shoulders as you winced in pleasure.
"Me too baby." He moaned, fighting back his own orgasm until he felt your body tighten and shudder around him, finally releasing the hot white ropes of cum in to you, his forehead leaning on your shoulder for support as you both tried desperately to catch your breath. It was only after a few seconds that Steve realised he was still inside you, eventually sliding out, helping you down from the counter. You avoided eye contact with the boy, not quite believing what had just happened between you. It was the last thing you ever expected to happen.
Once you both had come down from your high, you began to find pieces of your clothing that were scattered around the room, getting dressed just as quick as you had undressed each other previously.
“You ok?” You heard Steve mutter as you bent down to retrieve your skirt from the cold floor as he buttoned his shirt back up.
“Yeah, m’fine.” You replied, jumping in to your skirt, zipping it up as he kept his eyes focused on you. You weren’t expecting Steve to stay around while you dressed yourself, figuring he’d just walk out like he hadn’t just fucked you but he didn’t seem like he was in any rush to go back to his party.
"So what now?" He quizzed, buckling his belt, leaning against the countertop as you threw your top back over your head.
"What do you mean?" You asked, trying your best to fix your hair so it didn't look like you just had the hottest sex of your life with Steve Harrington.
"Are we just gonna go back to pretending we hate each other or?"
"Pretending?" You questioned, raising a brow at him as he let out a small laugh.
"Sweetheart, I just came inside of you, harder than I ever have actually. I don't really do that with people I hate." He revealed as you blushed.
"Me either...but that doesn't mean this is going to happen again." You warned as he rolled his eyes. "You know it's gonna happen again.”
"Steve!"
"What? One of us has to be honest here." He smirked as you shook your head, readying yourself to exit the bathroom.
"You forgetting something?" He coughed, swinging your panties on his index finger as you felt your cheeks go bright red again.
"Oh my god, Harrington, give them to me!" You giggled as he cupped your face, lightly kissing your lips unexpectedly as you kissed back, cursing yourself for the way you melted in to him again. You tried to grab your underwear but he scoffed shoving them back in to his pocket. "I just meant you forgot to kiss me goodbye, I'm keepin' these." He teased as you huffed, admitting defeat.
“You’re an asshole, Steve Harrington.”
“Yeah, but it turns you on.” He grinned as you took one last look at him before exiting the bathroom, trying your best to hide the smile that was quickly spreading across your face.
#steve harrington#steve harrington x you#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington smut#steve harrington imagine#steve stranger things#stranger things smut#steve harrington stranger things#king steve#steve the hair harrington#steve harrington fanfic
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I love how you write soldier boy…would you be able to write how he reacts with a spider-woman reader…she’s just swinging webs all around him and his old man brain cannot handle it. She’s a fit as a fiddle and she’s stressing him out because she will not just…sit down! (Preferably they’ve been dating for ages) 💖
More Than a Spider Can
masterlist
pairing: soldier boy x female reader
rating: R for language
word count: 1.4k
warnings: language, talk of sex, the boys spoilers
timeline: set in an au shortly after the events of season 3
author’s note: another request!? i’m genuinely flattered! sending you so much love anon, thank you! this was so fun to write, and something i never would’ve thought of! thank you so so much!
gif source
You’d have to thank Butcher one day for introducing you to the Supe you now lived with. He had needed a place to “hide” Soldier Boy shortly after the Supe incapacitated Homelander. You were hesitant at first, but Soldier Boy had just de-powered the most dangerous person on the planet, you had to help him out!
Butcher claimed it wouldn’t be for very long, but Soldier Boy never ended up leaving. Not that you minded, he was surprisingly sweet. You expected him to be a complete asshole but he wasn’t as bad as the stories you’d heard.
After about a month you took him up on the offer he’d made the first second he saw you. You spent a night together. Then another. And another. And a few more. And before you could overthink it, you said those three words that he then repeated.
With Mallory’s help, Butcher managed to clear Soldier Boy’s name, and even get the two of you a job at Supe Affairs (which was now run by Hughie since Neuman was running for Vice President).
So now, here you were; asking Hughie for clearance to go after a Supe who’d been stalking their ex.
“Y/n, there’s no actual proof this guy is doing anything you’re saying he’s done!” Hughie said.
“Hughie, the witness is a friend of mine. She’s not fucking lying about this!”
“I believe you, but I need proof before I let Soldier Boy kick his ass!”
“Soldier Boy won’t lay a hand on him, you have my word.”
“Oh, so you suddenly have control over Soldier Boy?”
“No, but I am faster than him! I’ll have this guy webbed up before Ben even gets there.”
“Ben,” He laughed a little. “Still can’t believe you’re dating the guy. Figured you’d hate Butcher for dumping him on you, but turns out you fell in love.”
“Okay,” You rolled your eyes at his teasing. “Just shut up and sign the damn form so I can get this asshole.”
“Yeah, yeah, okay. But you better be sure Ben doesn’t break any fuckin’ bones. I’m tired of cleaning up your boyfriend’s messes.”
**
“What the absolute fuck…” Ben furrowed his brows, walking into the kitchen. “Y/n!?”
“Yes?” You asked, clinging to the roof.
“God-fucking-damnit woman!” He exclaimed, putting a hand to his chest. “Why does our kitchen look like a spider puked in here?”
“I’m just making dinner, Ben, calm down! I’ll clean this all up when I’m done.” You hopped down from the roof.
“You…” He tried opening the fridge but it was stuck. “Y/n, I’m trying to stay calm here but why the fuck can’t I open the fridge?”
“Sorry,” You smiled with cringe-clenched teeth. You opened the door for him.
“So why are you on the roof?” He asked when you jumped back up.
“I cook better when things are upside down,” You shrugged with a smile.
“I sure do wish your mouth was close enough to kiss, though,” He sighed dramatically, you rolled your eyes a little. You let yourself down a few feet, hanging on a string of web.
“I think kisses are better upside down too,” You smiled. He kissed you, smiling against your lips.
**
“Dinner is served,” You smiled, holding two plates as you walked into the living room.
“Thank you, sweetheart,” Ben smiled when he took a plate. He furrowed his brows a little when you didn’t sit down right away. “Aren’t you gonna eat?”
“Yeah, of course,” You replied. Before Ben could say anything, you jumped up onto the roof before letting yourself hang upside down on a string of web. “What’re we watching?”
“Uh…Smallville,” He nodded slightly. “It’s…what was on…” He trailed off a little as you began eating upside down. “Honey, wha…what’re you doing?”
“Eating dinner?” You furrowed your brows. “Why? Is something wrong?”
“No it’s…all good,” He replied.
“So, you think Homelander ever watched this show?” You asked, half-heartedly.
“No clue,” Ben mumbled.
“Oh, by the way! Hughie gave me the thumbs up for going after Cara’s ex.”
“Cara?”
“Yeah, my old neighbor, you met her. Her ex is that creepy Supe who’s only power is x-ray vision and all he does is hang around outside dressing rooms and Victoria’s Secret stores.”
“Uh huh?”
“Anyway, Hughie gave me his location, I’m going after him tomorrow night. It’s no biggie if you don’t wanna come with me, it’s not gonna be much of a fight.”
“No, yeah…I’ll get the next one…have fun.”
There was about thirty seconds of silence before you put your plate down and swung your way over to the kitchen. You came back a moment later with two cold beers.
“Okay, would you stop!” He suddenly snapped.
“Ben?”
“You- Just- Goddamnit Y/n, I wanted to just fucking sit with you and watch this show but you’re on the fucking roof! Are you mad at me or something? Why don’t you want to relax with me?” What started off as an angry expression turned to one of hurt, which broke your heart a little.
“Ben, I’m not mad at you!” You exclaimed, hurrying down from the roof and sitting next to him. “I’m sorry, I just- I dunno, I don’t think much of it. I just like being off the floor.”
“It does look pretty fun,” He mumbled. He pulled you onto his lap, keeping your back pressed against his chest. “But sometimes I just want you here on the floor with us non-spider-people.”
“Okay, I’ll try and walk around like a normal person,” You huffed. “But only cause I love you so much.” You turned and kissed him quickly before focusing on the TV.
**
“Ben, what are you doing here?” You asked him the following night. “This is my case, I’m supposed to bring this guy in.”
“Oh, c’mon, don’t pretend you aren’t thrilled to see me,” He smirked.
“Of course I’m happy to see you,” You smiled, putting a hand on his cheek. “Just let me take the lead on this one, okay?”
“Fine,” He sighed.
“Are you two gonna eye-fuck all night or can we fight like regular freaks and get this over with?” The man at the other end of the street shouted.
“Think I’m gonna eye-fuck her a little longer if you don’t mind!” Ben called back. “I take it back, I’m bringing this asshole down!” He smirked then took off down the street.
“Fuck,” You mumbled to yourself. You knew full well you were faster than Ben but you didn’t like showing him up all the time. “Oh well.”
You thwiped a thick piece of web to a billboard above the street and hurled yourself up and onto it. You then ran down the side of a building and landed on top of the Supe before he could see where you were. You had him webbed up like a fly before Ben even made it down the street.
“Seriously? You take all the fun out of this!” Ben grumbled. “You can’t just web the guy up! I was in the mood for some ass kicking!”
“I think the words you’re looking for are ‘thank you so much my beautiful girlfriend, Y/n! Because of you I still have a job at the bureau and now we can go relax in our apartment because you managed to take down this Supe in record time!’ Then I would have said, ‘of course Soldier Boy! I love you so much and you’re very welcome’.”
“I love you too,” He mumbled.
“What was that? I couldn’t hear you?” You asked, walking up to him. You wrapped your hands behind his head, running your fingers through his hair.
“I love you too,” He rolled his eyes a little.
“Come on, just kill me, I’d rather that, then watch this!” The webbed-up Supe groaned. “Y/n, I thought your type was guys your age, not-” He was cut off by you webbing his mouth closed.
“What does Campbell want us to do with this asshole?” Ben asked, not letting his green eyes break contact with your love-filled ones. You tilted your head a little and smirked. “What?”
“You just called Hughie by his real name,” You giggled. Ben thought about it for a second and sighed with annoyance when he realized you were right.
#soldier boy x reader#soldier boy#soldier boy fluff#the boys#the boys fluff#the boys fanfic#the boys tv#request#requested#by mind empty just fictional people#by jean
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Guys. I can’t. I can’t go through my Pinterest without seeing posts like this every time. As an artist I am at my wits end. Guys. Critical thinking. Learn it. I’m begging you. Pleading in my knees. Please.
God forbid a character doesn’t look like a fucking supermodel in every frame
Your view of characters is so fucking skewed I can’t shut the actual fuck up.
I’m not even a Miguel simp because a) the word has been ruined beyond even having meaning and b) just isn’t my thing because I don’t fucking fetishize Latin men but FUCK CAN YOU GUYS NOT COMPREHEND THAT ART CAN JUST. NOT BE PRETTY. ALL THE FUCKIN TIME.
EVERYONE WHO MAKES POSTS LIKE THIS ACTS ALL HIGH AND MIGHTY “oh i dont even like him he isnt even all that” WHEN YOUR VIEW OF THE CHARACTER IS VERY OBVIOUSLY STILL INFLUENCED BY FANDOM BASTARDIZATION JUST LIKE THE PEOPLE YOU CLAIM TO HATE
#this fandom makes me irrationally angry#why can’t you guys think for more than 4 seconds#atsv#across the spiderverse#miguel o'hara#excuse my language#but fucking hell guys
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SNAIL & THRUSH (II)
|| COV MASTERLIST || NEXT: CHAPTER III ||
PAIRING: Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick x F!Reader
WORDCOUNT: 8.4k
WARNINGS: Angst, self destructive tendencies, insinuations of PTSD, talks of death, thoughts of violence, banter but it’s more just straight up attacks
*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*
“Can you—” An aggressive sigh sounds out over the air as your fast-walking form continues on; the earth molding to your shoes. “The area isn’t locked down this far out, Ma’am. Can you just get in the bloody car, please?”
Your eyes stare straight ahead, half-lidded, and could probably melt a sheet of metal if they had to.
Not answering, you continue to walk back into town, ignoring Gaz entirely as he attempts to coax you into the large car he’s driving. The window is down, his accented voice hitting your ears and bouncing off the invisible barrier you had put there to block out his prattle about a mile back.
You utterly refuse to enter the vehicle, even if you were already as tired as a marathon runner. The person driving followed you at a snail’s pace at his wit's end.
Stepping on gravel that crunches under your weight, your fists swing clenched beside you in small clipped arches. If volatile had a picture attached to the definition page, it would be you.
Not only had you figured out Samson Row was dead before you could kill him yourself, but now you had to deal with weapon and drug lords who had it out for you and your mother.
Under your breath, quick worded mumbles are missed over the car’s engine, the slow forward motion of tires that stir the dust and leaves you blinking quickly.
You’d both been at this ever since you’d forced your way out of the garage back on Base and had restrained yourself from making a scene because they had refused to give you your laptop back.
“Protection detail,” your lips curl, thinking over Laswell’s clipped sentences. “Like I want your help after all of this. Just open your home, why don’t you?” Sarcastic flails of your hands leave Gaz groaning and rolling his eyes at the childish scene, a hand going to rub over his neck soothingly. The attempt to bring clarity back to himself only barely works. “Just accept that we can’t keep our own operatives on a leash—but here! Just take the one that forced you into the back of a van and put a revolver to your forehead—God!”
“Are you done out there yet?” Kyle calls, single grip over his hat as he glares out the windshield, no longer wanting to look at you as your teeth bare else he’d get to the end of his rope before he even started climbing. “Bit of a walk back to town, y’know. Not exactly how I’d want to spend my morning, copy?” He mutters the last sentence under his breath.
Don’t want to spend any bloody mornings like this.
“If you tell me one more time to get into the car,” you level as you crush a weed in your way, “I’m sprinting off into the field and making you run after me.”
A long scoff and an exasperated shake of his head later, Gaz is growling an acknowledgment; tapping his fingers over the wheel. Did you not understand the severity of the situation? Hell, it was like you didn’t even care! This was his job, and he took it very seriously. There was no room for fuck-ups.
The car continues to waste gas and slug along, even if the Brit wanted to hop out and drag you into it like the stubborn brat you were acting like.
“How many years overseas?” He asks himself as your form stomps farther away before he presses his foot to the gas lightly and hears the gears squeak. He pulls up beside you moments later, lips tight. “Fuckin’ hell mate. Have a go at this.”
“I can hear you, idiot.” Your voice sounds off, face turning slightly his way. The mid-morning sun was warm, but the breeze from the not-so-far-off Lake Michigan was a welcome feeling as it went over heated skin. “Talk quieter so I don't have to.”
Kyle didn’t understand how you could wear that thick jacket, though. It was slightly chilly, sure, but not that bad out. But he certainly wasn’t going to ask. Not when you were acting like you were going to shank him in the kneecap for breathing in your direction.
“Brilliant.” He spreads his digits from where they curl over the steering wheel, shrugging his shoulders to himself mockingly. “Anything else I should know, Ma’am?”
Drive into a tree, you want to snap, but refrain. Even if seeing the Brit’s eyes go small and jaw go tight was a smirk-inducing sight, what you wanted was silence. A silence that you would probably never get now that your house was being invaded without your say.
At least it’s only him, trying to find light in the situation was your father’s specialty–not yours. Your body forces out a tight breath to calm down. Could you imagine what would have happened if Laswell had forced the one with the dead eyes to watch me? Ghost?
Your body shivers tightly. If Price was at the top of your list of people you feared, Ghost was second. You couldn’t stand to feel those blue orbs lock on you in the rear-view mirror when they’d brought you in. You already had enough ghosts living at the mansion, you didn't need another.
A few seconds later, the car beside you comes to a fast halt with a ruckus of crunching gravel. You hope for a moment the car will turn around and disappear into the background.
“...Y’know what, yeah? I’m solid walking.” The clashing of keys being ripped from an ignition makes you blink in horror, head whipping to the side to watch as the car door is shoved open.
Sergeant Kyle’s tall form greets you as your legs stall, shock coating your lungs.
“The hel–” you stop your sharp tongue. Gritted words fall instead. “And what are you doing?”
Gaz’s body goes to the back of the car, popping open the trunk and throwing out bag after bag as your jaw drops. He grasps one of the largest—a duffel bag—and slings it over his back. Two more are taken in one hand as his muscles writhe, though it looked like the apparent weight doesn't bother him much.
The Brit ignores you, striding past as his long fingers go to his right ear.
“Actual this is Bravo 2-6, I’ll be needing a pickup for a vehicle about a mile down-road. Parked near the edge. You copy?” A pause as you watch him continue on, looking back and forth from the still metal to his clenched fist over the straps of his belongings. A small sound escapes your throat. “No,” Gaz huffs a stiff laugh in response to the conversation you can’t hear. Your ear tips burn. “No, there’s not a damn thing wrong with the bastard, believe it or not.”
“Hey!” Calling loudly, you stare at the figure as it gradually gets farther away, feet spread apart and the air smelling of corroding anger saturated in lake water.
“Affirm, Actual. Will do.” Kyle smoothly utters, taking his hand off his earpiece and fixing the black cord that descends from it so it won’t get in the way of his shirt collar.
Not thinking much of your absent footsteps, the Brit’s head tilts. His ball cap blocks out the sun from his eyes yet they still squint at your practically vibrating silhouette.
“You coming then, Love? Long walk.” Your hands snap to your pockets, the one finding the small coin immediately and bringing it into a tight grip. Suddenly, Gaz’s dark Adam’s Apple was the most offensive sight you’ve ever laid eyes on. “Best get to it, then.”
You can no more say you were fighting off a string of curses more than you were struggling against the rampage of your heart. Kyle just turns back around with a small smirk growing at the apparent slackness of your jaw; brown eyes crinkling. His internal scoreboard marks a point under his name.
Staying stationary for a good minute, stance tight and mind running, Laswell's words come back to encompass your consciousness in between the seething hatred you hold as the two of you become more separated. The price on your head—the threats to your mother’s safety as well as yours.
Your thighs tighten.
For better or for worse, you had to stick close to Kyle for the simple fact that he knew more about this than you did. Trained to be a killer and not hesitant to pull the trigger of a gun for the sake of his precious orders. Even now your eyes snap to the open expanse of the military base’s outer fields; the long grass and the dark ruts in the dirt. Blinking, your tense feet slam the ground as you start forward begrudgingly.
Fine. I’m an adult. I can handle it. But…maybe getting in the car would have been better than walking beside him. Your jaw clenches, not willing to admit that small fact to the man ahead of you.
“Do you get tired of being a piece of work?” You call loudly, catching up quickly at your pace as though the man was hanging back purposely, also knowledgeable of the situation.
He couldn’t just abandon his charge.
Kyle glances at your side profile, quirking a dark brow and sloping his chin. Being this close to him made your nose scrunch at the smell of his cologne, the scent not unpleasant but ultimately still attached to him.
“Actually, Ma’am, I take it as a compliment. Means I’m doing my job.” A pause as he fixes the hold on his gear, grunting. Not able to help himself now that the opportunity presents itself. “Do you?”
Keeping a wide berth between you too, your face tilts to the sky, finding the whizzing forms of water birds and growling like a dog choking on a bullet. The hatred in the air was palpable; none too eager for the job ahead.
My protection detail, you send long glances at Kyle thinking over the title again, studying his strong back and the sharp stab of his nose as it twitches to the scent of native switchgrass seeds. Keeping your studious attention far away from his brown orbs, you peel at the sides of your nails inside your pockets. The person I need protection from is already right beside me. How ironic can my life get?
But you can’t really be surprised, after all, you had expected to see him and the others again someday. Just…not like this. In the ground would have been preferable.
As you both walk in a strangling silence, your thoughts go back to your mother; wondering if she would be okay. The woman was far more stubborn than even you—there were few things that pulled her away from her work in helping others.
Taking one hand to itch at the skin under your left eye, you stifle a yawn.
At most, you’d text each other perhaps once a month. Quick updates and brief conversations about the weather like strangers. You couldn't talk about your nightmares or your father even though she’d been informed about the accusations on her deceased husband.
You didn’t know if the CIA agents had told her the specifics about how he died when they delivered a detailed condolence letter and forced signatures of silence. It would destroy her if they did.
Maybe I’ll call her when I get my phone from my nightstand back home.
You narrow your vision. An urge to hear your mom’s soothing voice hit you like an anvil. She couldn’t make this better, but she’d certainly be able to help.
Gaz’s eyes rove and observe the land, his combat boots leaving prints behind him. But his inspections always lead him back to you. His charge. The phantom from his past that had never really been forgotten just pushed to the side in between missions. The girl who seemed to not give a damn that he was the only person able to keep her alive at this point.
The line on Kyle’s forehead deepens.
Part of him was completely fine with keeping his voice in his throat; listening to the chatter of birds and the clink of his bags’ zippers as he carried the great weight of them with no complaint. Another piece, the loose, reliable, part of him that followed procedure was hesitant to try and articulate how dire this was out loud to you because that wasn’t how this usually went.
The target on your back was no joke, even Laswell knew it. But the soldier carries the burden of detail.
Would she take me seriously if I don’t try to tell her, is the question. The Sergeant makes a noise in the back of his throat.
First impressions are a lock and seal as he was sure you were well aware.
His lips part, half a word formed before the skin gradually falls shut again. Kyle takes a glance at you once more, looking at your wound-tight form and the utter mental exhaustion on your face. Despite his reservations about you, a sliver of regret finds his heart.
You hadn’t asked for any of this, and while you weren’t giving him much slack, his dry sarcastic nature hadn’t helped either. The two of you were just good at making the other go insane, no matter how much time you did or didn’t spend together.
Kyle would never admit it, but it slightly impressed him.
“Should be back in town near o-twelve-hundred.” He clears his throat, trying to lose the bleeding of his stoic words. Make them lighter; airier. Attempt to be cordial. “If we keep this pace, of course. Then I can set up and be out of your hair for a bit.”
Your feet had come to a slow drag-legged stop. Gaz blinks, noticing from the corner of his vision, and does the same—his tightness immediately going to confusion. He looks around the area, though spots nothing out of the ordinary.
Hell, what did I say now?
But he sees your distant gaze with a stilling of his facial features, gaze falling to what you were staring quite hard at.
You blink down at the corpse near the side of the road.
Its small body was covered in dirtied feathers; colors of orange, gray, black, and white speaking through despite the obvious decay. A beak so long it took up larger space than the skull.
Belted Kingfisher.
When an animal dies the eyes are always the first to go—maggots and flies, whatnot. Soft and squishy. You don’t know why, but looking down at that small, dead, bird you longed to know what its eyes had looked like. The color, the intelligent sheen of them. Now only a black eye socket gives its voided opinions like a mute judge.
You’d spotted it quite by accident, just looking over the landscape as the Brit tried to speak to you. A breeze ruffles the feathers that are left over the frail being and you find for the first time in a long while your head is completely silent.
Your muscles loosen.
“...Ma’am?”
Violently flinching, the brief contact to your shoulder is snapped back in an instant, Kyle going to splay the offending hand in a sign of no harm. Dark eyebrows tight. Taking down a full breath, you miss the concern in the Sergeant’s expression, the steady look. There’s a moment when the world holds its air; the animals nearby fall wholly still as the wind carries every unsaid word better than you can annunciate it.
Your stomach rolls at the reminder of his touch, even through layers of clothes. Gaz murmurs a question of which you ignore.
Shoving past him, on your way past his tilted face you growl upwards, “Keep your hands off of me, Garrick.”
You increase your walking speed, trying with all of your might to fight the impending explosion of anger and anxiety. It was like your hands wanted to grip him by his neck, shove him down to the floor and let him know what it felt like to hurt the way you do. For a moment glimpse the life draining from his amber optics.
But any sort of physical pain, or even death, could never amount to knowing what you’d gone through. Not to mention you’d probably get your ass handed to you in mere seconds.
Staring after with wide, creased, eyes, the Brit waits for a moment before he looks down at the small bird carcass you were entranced by moments prior.
His head tilts, lungs filling.
“...Poor bugger.” He frowns and observes the way you quickly walk on with emotion on his lips. Gaz sighs and shakes his head, raising a brow back down at the now-soulless body as the telltale signs of a migraine start to pulse. “Recon I’ll be ending up like you in a bit, Mate.”
He catches up easily, even with the weight of his bags and you have to wonder how anyone thought that this was a good idea.
The devil beside you walks so far removed from normal life that it astounds you, and the rest of the trip is stuck in an uncomfortable silence reserved for those who dislike one another.
Town can’t come soon enough, and you’re stopping at Hector’s Café along the way to your Estate.
“It’s best to go straight back,” you thin your lips and slip into the building, the door creaking behind you as Gaz waits at the entrance. “I need to secure the property ASAP.”
“You’ll get to wreck my home all you want in an hour.” Your backpack was on the main counter, and you walked to it slowly; drawing out the Sergeant's annoyance as much as you could. If you can’t hurt him physically at the moment, mentally was just as good a substitute. “I need my backpack.”
“Oh, you mean the one that left a dent in my skull.”
“Yes. I think I’ll end up keeping it as a family heirloom. Frame it maybe.”
“Ah, Lovely. Glad I can be a part of such a defining moment.” Strap in hand and a sarcastic retort on your breath, a great ruckus sound off from the backroom.
Before you can react your jacket sleeve is being pulled sideways, a form shoving itself in between you and the kitchen door. Your eyes widen, feet stumbling to a stop before adrenaline stabs itself into your heart.
“Son of a bitch!” Rushing out, Hector wields a skillet in one hand—raised halfway above his head with a rabid snarl. “You!” He points it at Kyle, who has a small pistol gripped in his hands; bags haphazardly dropped back near the entrance. Your lips pull to a smirk when the Brit’s ready stance lessens. His wide shoulders lower like a dog’s neck fur. “You think I don’t know a government conspiracy when I see it! I lived in Jersey, motherfucker! What have you done with ‘er?”
“Hector,” you peek over Garrick’s shoulder as the Sergeant spares you a look. “Easy with that, man….Aim for the throat, though, would you?”
The skillet lowers, bright eyes landing on you while yours stick to his growing smile and twitching mustache.
“Kid!” Loud laughs echo. “Holy hell, you scared the shit out ‘o me this morning. What was that all about?”
“Misunderstanding, Sir.” Gaz tries to explain, placing the pistol back into the belt of his pants as you clock it before stepping out from his shadow. It looked like an X12 to you.
When did he get that, your eyebrows tighten and store that thought for later. There might be a chance to use that against him if you could get your hands on it.
The Café owner glares at the Sergeant as you fix the backpack strap over your shoulder. “Did I ask you, Son? I’m speakin’ to the lady.”
“An Ex.” You lie smoothly, feeling Kyle’s shocked eyes on you instantly. Itching at the back of your neck, you feign embarrassment. “Cheated on me in high school. When he showed up, well…I did what I’d wanted to do for a while.”
Letting the sentence trail, you were excited for what came next. Genuine giddiness builds in your lungs; fighting a smile as the Brit stutters beside you. Gaz’s eyebrows pull up even higher.
“Cheated…” Hector’s accent becomes more prominent as you twist on a heel and begin heading to the door—only then do you anchor a hand to your mouth to stop the belly-deep laughter. “Oh, you’ve some nerve, showin’ back up, Son. How dare you make her see your face—!”
“Sir, I, bloody hell, I’m not—” Gaz grumbles, shooting heated glances at your disappearing form. “This isn’t….” Stuttering like a rookie. Everything in VIP Protection Training and his copious years in the army was pulling null.
But no one was ever pulling his strings like you and it’s only been a few hours.
“See you, Hec!”
“Hey! Come get this piece of trash out of my building.” Your face turns sideways, and Kyle notices the smirk immediately. His chest goes heavy with a wave of seething anger.
“C’mon then, Kyle. You heard the man, didn’t you?”
If looks could melt people like gold, you would be a puddle of great Midas's curse before your skin hit the air outside, kicking the Sergeant’s bags away with a foot.
Oh…she’s wicked, she is. The steps he takes are firm, a great cloud over his head as he re-situated his cap with taut fingers and grunts aggressively under his breath. Insulting him directly was one thing, but the chips at his character were cruel. Can I even do this? Hmm, Laswell might still be able to pull me out, let me join back up with the boys.
But everyone was counting on him for this and his stubborn side knew that he’d gone through far worse than a few verbal attacks. Physical strength was needed for this job, but many overlook the larger aspect. And if there was a single thing that Kyle Garrick was prideful about, it was his mental fortitude. Rare were the times that rigorous interrogation even put a dent into his psyche.
“Just hold out,” he grumbles, ignoring the Cafe owner’s now-known disgust and picking up his bags. Gaz almost felt regretful for being so swift to place his body in front of a possible threat but scolded himself for thinking that immediately. This was his job. “She’s just scared, yeah? Doesn’t want to be around the bloke who,” he slightly cringes and lets the building’s front door close behind him, seeing your jacket ahead and rubbing at the back of his neck. “Who shoved her in a fucking van and put a gun to her head…Christ, Kate, what were you thinking assigning me to this?”
For the remainder of the small journey, Gaz stayed behind you, calming down as your enjoyment of his torment swiftly ended. Small victories weren't worth it, especially when the Brit says nothing in retaliation. Did your little dig at his character really insult him that much? It wasn’t the worst thing you had thought you could say. Not by a long shot.
Sure it seemed that you could piss him off, even if he never snapped and exploded with anger—he didn’t seem the type beyond back-handed comments—but if he didn’t respond it made no difference.
You…you wanted to hurt him. Make Garrick suffer. You just didn’t know how to do it effectively, or if you could. Now you knew, though, that attacks on his person and morals were the way to go for quick results of muteness.
The iron gate of your home was up ahead, and with a delving of fingers, you produced a key from your back pocket, moving your wallet out of the way to grasp it firmly.
I want them all to suffer. Your mind wanders as you twist the lock, hearing the metal shriek at you in figurative suffering. Blinking, the shadow behind you causes your body to be hyper-aware. A plan forms grimly, and you have to think if you even have the courage to try it.
“Hm,” you huff, shoving open the gate and calling over your shoulder. “Close it behind you!” Tossing back the key.
Kyle catches it, you know, because of the small thump of material meeting a ready palm. A moment later you’re walking through a path of weeds and overgrown bushes, eyes scanning the hedges blandly. You hear the gate close and a moment later, footsteps.
Gaz twirls the key in between his fingers, trying not to say something about the state of the place. But his brown vision roves from one area to another with muted shock.
Didn’t expect this.
Everything was falling into disrepair, even the gargantuan mansion of white and black coloring which normally would have been a grand sight to anyone with sense. Windows were all shut, the lawn looking more like a forest; the concrete underfoot was layered with dirt and insects—grass bleeding into the cracks.
What should have been a multiple-million-dollar home was looking more like an abandoned lot.
Kyle turns his confused stare to the back of your head, looking down at the key in hand.
“Past its prime, I’ll say that.” He speaks to himself, keeping his manners despite the discourse between the two of you.
It was one thing to bark back and forth like animals, but another to involve the place where one lives. But, your family was well off. There was no reason for it to look like this.
“Any staff I should be aware of, then?” he needs to ask as you ascend the front steps to the double doors. “Gardeners,” Garrick glances quickly at the greenery and coughs, “or, butlers, maids…anything like that”
“Everyone quit because of the publicity.” Your voice is unusually distant, and you push aside a raggedy welcome mat to produce another key. This one is smaller and rustier, belonging to the main entrance. “Shocker, people didn’t like being harassed on their way to work by camera crews and news anchors. Didn’t hire after that.”
Kyle’s feet shift, a strange feeling entering his skin as he blinks at you.
You slip through the doorway first and immediately dart to the side table to the direct right—dropping your backpack dismissively with a quick, yet silent, slam. Heart jumping, your adrenaline spikes.
Normally the small table would be reserved for purses and other small belongings, but before Gaz can come into the mansion you grab the slick body of a penknife and shove it into your sleeve with twitching fingers. Eyes snapping to the corners of the large foyer and looking over the gray walls and navy curtains. Creaking hardwood.
“Nice place you got ‘ere,” Kyle tries to lighten the mood, if not for your stubborn sake than for his. Easier to get the job done if at least one person was willing to engage, and he’s willing to attempt it again. The bags in his hand are carefully placed down.
A hand snaps to your father’s gag and you yell when he rages, body shifting forward feebly before a shadow descends upon you. A swift force keeps you back, and your head snaps upwards.
“Been in the family forever.” You slowly slip the blade out, trading weight from one hip to another and keeping it hidden. “Not really mine, at the end of the day.”
The hand digs into your shoulder, forcing you to stay in your seat as your lips quiver. It’s not delicate, the hold, and when your eyes scrunch in pain, he somewhat lessons it though not enough to stop the sting.
A slight relief at the non-confrontational action lets Gaz force out a chuckle.
“Lots of places like that over in England—you have to wonder how they’re still standing, eh? Solid foundations.” A pause. “Proper interesting pieces of history.”
Never would the image of sepia-colored eyes like those leave you again. Inlaid in brown skin and below dark eyebrows.
You stop fidgeting, all thoughts for a moment stilling. What had he said?
“You—” Stopping yourself, you turn and tilt your head in his direction, watching the rise and fall of his chest as he looks around the stairs to the second level and the small seating areas. Your voice echoes like it usually does; like a ghost unwilling to go to rest. Kyle closes the door behind him with one hand, only looking at you directly when it’s fully shut.
“What’s that, Love?”
Your feet rearrange over the rug.
“You’re…interested in that kind of stuff?” Kyle sees your hands clench but thinks nothing of it. His curiosity fills his lungs when he becomes familiar with the deadly expression on your face.
The material of his clothes moves as he shrugs, turning his gaze away when he knows it makes you uncomfortable. Gaz wasn’t ignorant—he knew you didn’t like looking people in the eye. As his orbs find the dusty and dim chandelier hanging dangerously above them, he notices your eyes now settle back on him.
“Not overly, but I can say History was one of my best subjects back in Secondary Education—erm,” his lips pull tight, a tiny pinch of a smirk on his face, “high school as you call it.”
You fiddle with the weapon secretly, unblinking vision stuck to Kyle’s feet. His comment made you think about the assignments you still had to complete for college; the papers to write. After all, if you flunked out of all the courses, you’d never be able to take your father's place at the museum. It was your ultimate goal, at the end of the day. Become like him.
The inability to move made your teeth bite down, but common sense won over. You place your hand into your pocket and slip the penknife inside, your other holds itself out loosely.
I have to be smarter than that. Discreet.
But you really wished you could have slid the blade home.
“Key.” Gaz nods, moving over and dropping it into your awaiting clutch before you rip it away and toss it to the side table.
“Ma’am,” the Sergeant’s face twists, but you’re already stalking past him, going off deeper into the house. Brown eyes follow. “I know you don’t want me here,” his voice bounces at the stark emptiness of the mansion, “but the only reason I’m staying is to keep you safe. I’m not expecting you to—”
“East wing is all yours.” You’re halfway up the stairs and still going, feet silently stomping over the various moth-eaten rugs. But the man cannot see your face as he’s left with a line on his forehead and a blunt frown on his lips. So much for your few seconds of compliance. He’d thought he was getting somewhere.
“I’d rather be closer. Encase there’s—” Again, he’s cut off. There’s going to be a lot of that.
“Keep to it after your little exploration. And don’t try anything, my father installed security cameras.” You didn’t give away that you didn’t know how to operate them, but that was beside the point.
Reaching the top, you head to the west and disappear down a hallway. Kyle hears one last comment bounce.
“I leave at eight every morning!” He’s left alone with only faint light and silent walls.
But, with a shake of his head and the grabbing of bags at his feet, he can’t say he’s surprised.
Looking about, Kyle takes in the lack of personality and blandness all around, forgetting for a moment that this home once belonged to a late museum director. He had expected more character—more expression. Certainly more light.
This place was at a stand-still, like time didn’t begin or end in this house and it simply was.
He sighs, nodding. He’d just have to work with it. “East wing. Brilliant.”
His mind still held doubts about this—had ever since Price had given him the order straight from Kate. How can you protect someone that rightly hates your guts? You had more of a chance of tearing him a new one than he did of getting you to cooperate. And that was saying something, considering he was professionally trained in hand-to-hand.
Again, Gaz had to ask himself if he was capable of doing this job. He thinks back to that mission three years ago, expression pulling tight as he jogged up the stairs and took a swift right.
He regretted what had happened, yes, but at the end of the day, it was just another target who had gotten what he deserved. It was what the Sergeant did—got his hands dirty to clean up messes and keep everyone else safe.
Your father couldn’t have been any more of a good influence than a bad one. Gaz had seen the file on him. The countless dead.
He wasn’t a good man, how couldn’t you see that?
“Mate, that was her fuckin’ father.” Growling, that sliver of civilian common sense slithers back in like a rope around his neck when he goes deeper into the house, past various open doors that show meeting rooms, libraries, offices, and art rooms. No bedrooms yet. “Christ, you’re losing it. Man got his bloody head blown off right in front of ‘er.”
When had he become so desensitized to this?
His brown eyes glared at the floor when he realized he couldn’t remember being horrified by anything he had seen in the last few years.
Death was death—didn’t matter how bloody it was, or how drawn out. At the end, all of it was just red.
But he’d never taken a moment to think about how that would be for someone like you. Unused to violence. There was a grand question that Garrick still didn’t know the answer to. Were you a hostage in that little stunt, or were you just leverage?
The Captain knew the answer—leverage. There was never any intention to actually pull the trigger on you. Kyle would have flatly refused if there had been, as would Soap. Ghost was still an enigma, but part of the Sergeant wanted to believe that he didn’t want that either.
Samson Row.
An overwhelming hatred struck the back of his skull as he entered the first room he saw with a bed in it, setting his bags on the covers and pushing his fingers to his nose bride. Eyebrows pull in.
No use getting like this over a dead man. Stay focused.
His fingers had only just begun to toss off the duffel bag from over his back when he first saw it.
His hands paused, body going as still as a stick when he breathed in tightly.
It was a portrait of your family. Picturesque. Mother on the left father on the right, and you—younger, of course—in the middle. Gaz blinks away to study the rest of the room.
It was incredibly large, with chairs and a couch covered by white cloth to imitate oddly-shaped ghosts and the same navy curtains over a wall of nearly all window panes. And yet no personal belongings other than the picture.
Brown eyes filter back, staring long at the small girl with a wide smile; the mother with a hand on her shoulder, and the father looking down at his daughter with a nearly missed look of adoration. Garrick half expected the image to bed down and kiss you on the forehead.
Looking away with a clenched jaw, he huffs.
Wordlessly, the Sergeant once more grabs his belongings and walks out the door.
—
You shook above the bathroom toilet, your breaths a heaving mess of warring instincts. Take down air or let the swirling of your gut cease—the offers were tempting. You’d been in here for most of the day, knees grinding into the tile with the efficiency of a blunt chisel; clothes ruffled as your jacket lay tossed on the floor back in your dark room.
Throwing your empty stomach up.
Struggling to think over the day, you force yourself back from the white porcelain, shuffling on jerking legs to rest your back on the opposite wall.
“He’s in my house. Oh, Dad, one of them is in your house.” Fingers weave through locks and clench tight, hitched words loud in the silence you’d grown to comply with like an old God. Cryptid horrors that stalk the hallways that you see from the corners of your eyes, ghosts that won't leave. “I couldn't do it, why couldn’t I just try?”
The penknife. It would have been instantaneous.
But you knew deep down you’d never even be able to get close.
Sweating and panting, you can almost hear him walking the halls, studying the layout with invasive digits. A parasite. And you’d just let him in.
The price on your head was scary, sure, but there was already a threat in your very home; learning the rooms like he had any right to be here—like he knew the memories that lived in the walls. Holidays were spent in the main living room, meals made as a family in the kitchen as the butlers watched with happy eyes. The man-made pond in the back behind a wall of green trees because your mother loved to watch the birds.
This house was generations of your very bloodline. Stories along every surface. History.
“He can’t be here.” You gasp, curling inward as you try and suck down larger breaths. Trying to calm yourself down with reassurance. “He’ll leave soon. He has too. He will.”
Just wait until Mom gets back, she’ll make them go away. The thought makes air return to your lungs; shaking come to a drawn-out ceasing point. Blinking, you let your hands fall to your lap, body slouching forward. She’ll make it all go away.
When you find the strength to rise, your feet only stumble slightly, propelling you out of the bathroom towards your bare-bones room. A bed, nightstand, dresser, and couch are the only articles of furniture seen outwardly; a fireplace set into the wall with a rug by it. Curtains drawn closed and smelling of charcoal and old linens.
Peeling back paint, you stare heavily at the nightstand’s drawer, seeing the copper handle and thinking. But you shake your head and dispel the thoughts.
The acidic taste in your mouth made you smack your lips, almost enough to make you want to gag again. But as easily as the high of injected panic came, it went with a low of immeasurable depths. Still, though, your fingers twitched with unruly nerves; anxious at every creak in the wood outside the door.
It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair.
Exiting your room, your socked feet know where to step so the wood doesn’t talk back at you, one hand rubbing up and down your face to bring the aliveness back. You needed coffee. Something with caffeine or an immensely high sugar content to keep the rest of this at bay.
As you turn a corner, your stomach grumbles, sweatpants bunched at your ankles. Food too, you decided.
Walking through the large, arched, entry to the kitchen, you make your way through in complete blackness. You frown, though aren’t surprised you’d spent most of the day inside your room—past the fabric barrier, the hidden French doors to the patio let in the faint light of a dying sun.
Around seven, if you had to guess. The loss of time to you should have been concerning, but you had in fact grown used to it.
Year number one after your father’s death was…really nothing more than a blank slate. But you didn’t want to remember any of that, truth be told.
Stumbling to the fridge, you grip the handle and pull.
“Bit late for supper.” Yelling, you jerk your hand back and whip to the shadow in the entrance.
The light snaps on with a flick of a finger, and the sheepish smile on Gaz’s face leaves vexation perforating the large room.
“Shit, sorry.”
“Do you mind, Garrick?” Your eyes go to his chest, looking away just as quickly when you spot he’d taken off his outer later and was only in the white t-shirt that hugs his physique. The army pants still remained. “What are you even doing down here? I told you to stay on your side.”
“Not really able to do my job from the corner, yeah?” He walks closer, noticing the layer of dust over the gas stove, and raises a brow; wisely knowing not to comment. “Heard you comin’ down, thought I’d make sure everything was solid.”
“I’m fine.” You take out an old carton of milk, nose wrinkling at the smell emanating from the interior. Kyle’s eyes narrow, crossing his arms over his chest. “Now leave.”
You were too tired for this.
Slamming the milk back into the fridge and closing the door, you plan to make the trip back to your room on an empty stomach. Kyle clears his throat, seeing an opportunity presenting itself.
I have to get her to at least tolerate me.
He’d take every occasion he could get.
“How about I have a go at it?” He speaks quickly as you freeze in the entryway, light from the kitchen spilling out into the hall. “Sandwiches?”
Your gaze stays dead ahead, numbly stuck to the paint of the wall as if it was going to move and entrap you. Lips pulling back you feel your heart skip a beat.
Kyle continues, hopeful.
“Can’t say I'm an expert at it, but I spent a good few weeknights fixin’ my own meals on Base.” You can hear him moving behind you, opening the fridge back up, and grabbing the few items you had that weren't expired. Opening cupboards that your father opened. Grabbing pans that your mother made eggs in. “...Ma’am? That alright?”
Your eye flinches minutely, cheek pulling upward in response. Yet the churning in your stomach was volatile, and if you went another hour without food you’d probably be passing out every time you stood up. What harm was there in taking advantage of the man? A meal was a meal, and you’d only had coffee today anyways.
Saying nothing, you take one step backward and pivot.
Gaz watches in shock, not expecting you to take him up on his offer. By the heat in your eyes, he supposed you wished you didn’t.
I didn’t see her at all after she disappeared into her room—not even when I was doing a sweep. The Sergeant had memorized the entire mansion layout in only two hours, going into every room except the one that had been closed tight. Yours.
It wasn’t hard for him, though it was tedious the fourth run of the place. He’d counted every window and every entrance or exit door and had locked every one that led outside.
But he kept re-walking past that closed door; his feet taking him back even as his mind stayed focused.
Gaz’s hand had been poised to knock at one point during that time period but had only stayed stationary before it fell back down to his side. It was best not to push too hard. Inch before the mile.
In the kitchen, he sees you slip onto the island bar stool, always keeping a side-eye on his hands as they dig through sparse ingredients.
Egg sandwich it is, then.
Your voice rasps out, “I don’t remember ‘cook’ being in the detail description.”
“Well, I sure hope it wasn’t.” Kyle chortles. His brown optics spare you a quick dart, seeing your form tense over the marble countertop as he swishes away dirt from the stove; placing a pan on top. You seem subdued…fingers twitch over the handle before his eagerness to earn your favor slowed. Sickly.
Your skin is sunken, eyes blinking fast and snapping back and forth at every sound his body makes as if he’d pounce on you. Keeping an ever-heavy glare to where his pistol was sitting in the clutch of his belt—visible from over his shirt.
The Brit swallows and looks back.
“My job’s just to make sure you live another day, yeah?” The man’s voice lowers and you look to the coffee bar near the abandoned family table. “I’ll be in the background the entire time.” Leaving the chair, you go to it and speak as the sound of cracking eggshells hits your ear like a caving skull.
“I have rules.”
Garrick nods firmly, but you don’t see it as you open a bag of fresh grounds and grab a mug.
“Copy, Ma’am. It’s your house—I’ll follow what I’m told.” He shifts his arms into a crossed position and leans back against the island as the eggs sizzle. You know he wants to say more, and too tired to care to give a retort or interrupt him, you let Gaz continue. “But I’m not willing to let that interfere with my mission. Any order I’m given’ll override what you tell me if it has to, even if it’s dodgy.”
You watch dark liquid fill the coffee pot in a deluge of blackness like a wave of ink, and with that inkiness, the pit in your stomach gets larger.
You could always poison him. Your eyes blink, hearing the slight beep of the machine in front of you as you grip your mug.
Nightshade.
“Well, then,” Kyle looks for plates and finds a stack in a cupboard near the entrance. “What do I need to know, Ma’am?”
Hemlock.
“I don’t like people messing with my things,” you level, filling your cup to the brim as Gaz takes the pan off the heat; putting out the flame. “Stay out of my room and the room next to it if you insist on walking around.”
Choosing the opposite end of the wide island, you put your cup down and sit. A plate with a piece of bread with the yellow and white sight of scrambled eggs is slid into view. Kyle does what’s best and goes as far away from you as possible to eat his fill as well.
The built man stands.
“Shouldn’t be a problem,” he admits, “I’ll be taking a look around every day, but I doubt anyone would try and break in.”
The fingers which had picked up a small piece of egg paused with it halfway to your mouth.
Castor Bean.
“Why do you say that?”
“The curtains.” You spare a glance at his nose, watching him take a bite out of the bread and act like the answer was obvious. He swallows and you follow the action with a tight throat. “Erm, no offense, Ma’am,” you raise a brow slowly, “but am I safe to assume you never open them? Least, not all the way?”
“What do you think?” You eat your food and take a long sip of your drink, downing half the mug in one go. You really just wanted him to disappear like a bad dream.
Large quantities of Daffodil.
“Less of a chance of anyone else knowing where your room is—would take too long to figure out. Wasting time like that isn’t how foreign cells operate…quick and easy, y’know?... Any others?” Kyle finishes his plate quickly, moving to place it in the sink; not wanting to dwell on the comment.
You take a few bites of your own, wondering silently how he can eat so quickly, and nod.
“If you hear me screaming in the middle of the night, leave me alone.”
The air thickens.
Kyle blanks as you continue eating slowly, taking brief intermissions between bits to sip down more coffee. The tired moments of your sluggish eyes and twitching fingers. You don’t think to explain further, content to hear in those few moments absolutely nothing besides the beating of your own heart.
Rosary Pea. Induces tremors, high heart rate, and burning in the back of the throat. Fatal.
Your mother also liked her plants, though you doubted the fauna in the back garden was still alive. You hadn’t bothered to keep it up after the gardener quit.
“I’m…not following.” Gaz scratches at his chin, face pulled back in confusion, lightly shaking his head. “Screaming?”
“Screaming.” Taking the empty plate, you wipe at your mouth with the back of your hand. “In the night. I was quite clear.” A devious smirk whittles itself over your flesh like wood. “You’ve heard my scream before, you’ll recognize it. Sound carries.” Dismissively you toss your free hand. “As I said, it’s an old property.”
Gaz tries his best to not engage, but the words he’d been wanting to tell you slither off his tongue after a moment's thought. He had to make you understand. Strain forms again.
His head shakes with a slight parting to his lips. No matter what, every conversation always led back to an argument. “Do you think this is a joke?”
You’re walking back to your seat with the coffee pot in hand, scooping up your mug with the intention of bringing both back to your room.
You don’t answer right away, causing the man to call your name sternly; seriously.
“I hate you. That’s not a joke.” Your words bounce, not at all hollow like the wound in your heart. Violent and utterly true.
You didn’t want this man around—you didn’t want him in your house, you didn’t want him in your city, you didn’t want him living.
Walking off, the suffocating air trails after you as you disappear into the darkness, avoiding the truth.
But this situation is not a joke. Not at all, but you can never say that out loud. Where would your thin bit of control go? The brief moments of pleasure when you make Kyle’s patience and lax nature devolve into annoyance—even anger.
The words follow after you in a deep, aggravated, sigh.
“Yeah, trust me, Love, I’m well aware.”
Cold was a day in hell before you admitted to this boy you were terrified.
But how many more days could you keep that act up? Three? Five? Ten? How long was this even going to go on?
Your mind was scattered, torn between duty and self-preservation. Killing the Sergeant would lead you down a dark path, one you weren't sure you could take by yourself. But was that justice?
Is that what Dad would want? You have to ask yourself as you make your way back to your room in pitch blackness, guided only by the old walls of a home even more dented and destroyed than you were.
But the worst part was that you didn’t even know the answer anymore. And everybody who could help was limited to a stray cat that didn’t like you and a mother who left you here alone during your darkest moments.
The house was filled with ghosts, but you’d never felt more alone.
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"Just Friends"
Part of my 900 Followers Celebration!
Request: I'm gonna get another cheeky one in under the wire! 🥰Let's go for "please don't be in line with someone else, please don't have somebody waiting on you" and "We were never just friends..." Biggest congrats to you on the big 900! What a writer! 😘
Roy Kent x Reader
1.1k words
Warnings: Language, drinking, little bit of angst, kind of implied smut at the end?
It had been a great game for Richmond, and especially for Roy. You were so glad you’d been able to attend; it had been a while since you’d last made it to the Dog Track, despite Roy’s begging for you to come. Part of it was that you were unusually busy with work, but you had to admit that part of it was because it was getting harder and harder to spend time with Roy.
Keeley had introduced the two of you at a party, and the two of you clicked, quickly becoming the best of friends. Of course, you initially found him attractive; over time, though, you found yourself desperately in love with him, with the kindness that laid under this gruff exterior and his quick wit and his love for his niece… and about a million other little things.
But he was Roy Kent. You’d seen the models he dated, and you were definitely not his type.
Still, you knew he was happy to see you after the match, when he wrapped you in a big hug on the pitch and insisted you come to the team celebration.
“Be my date,” he’d teased, oblivious of how his words twisted your stomach.
So, there you were, in some club, sticking close to Roy, fully aware of the eyes shooting daggers in your direction. Several women- most of them stunning- had come up to him with flirtatious invitations to dance, but he’d declined. What he did instead was buy you drink after drink and laugh as he watched you joke around with the Greyhounds while he sipped his beer.
Soon enough you were just tipsy enough to start clinging to Roy, beaming up at his smirking face as he brushed some hair off of your face. “Should take you home,” he murmured, eyebrows raised. “You’re pretty fucking plastered.”
Reluctantly, you let Roy load you into a taxi and walk you to your door. He chuckled as he watched you struggle to get your key in the lock and shoved you aside to do it himself. He stood on your porch, the dim streetlight framing him angelically.
“I’m glad you came out,” he murmured, his thumb stroking your cheek. “Fucking missed you lately.” He frowned, ignoring the fact that the taxi was waiting for him. “You been avoiding me?”
You shook your head frantically. “’course not,” you lied.
He nodded, not quite believing you. “Good. Good.” He took a step back, letting his hand fall from your face. “I’ll call you tomorrow, alright?”
“Alright,” you whispered.
Once Roy was gone and your door was locked, you collapsed into bed, flipping your mobile over and over.
You’d lied to Roy. You never lied to Roy. Well, except for all those times when you’d made up an excuse for why you couldn’t hang out or make it to a game. Or the couple of times when he teasingly asked you if you fancied anyone and you vehemently denied being interested in anyone. Other than that, you never lied to Roy.
With a mix of alcohol and guilt in your stomach, you unlocked your phone and hit Roy’s contact before you could talk yourself out of it. It took only two rings before-
“What, you fuckin’ miss me already?” Roy chuckled.
“Please don’t be in love with someone else,” you blurted out, squeezing your eyes shut to avoid looking at the spinning ceiling. “Please don’t have somebody waiting on you.”
There was a long pause from his end. “The fuck are you talking about?” he finally asked quietly.
With a giant sigh, you sat up in bed. “I have been avoiding you,” you admitted. “Because I love you, Roy. I fucking love you.” You were close to drunken and embarrassed tears. “And-and I know we’re just friends, and you date models and shit, but I fucking love you.” Your eyes focused on the picture board above your dresser, where there was a rather sweet picture of you and Roy on the pitch at Nelson Road. “I love you.”
“Fuck, I-” Roy cleared his throat. “I gotta fucking go.”
He hung up. He hung up. Roy fucking hung up on you.
“Shit, shit, shit,” you hissed, the tiny part of your brain that was sober realizing what you’d just done. You tried to call Roy back, but he sent you to voicemail.
With a groan, you laid back on the bed, more miserable than you’d ever been in your entire life. You’d done it- you’d ruined your friendship with Roy Kent. Your favorite person in the world. He’d never talk to you again. He’d never look at you again. He’d probably have you banned from Nelson Road. He’d probably laugh with some gorgeous model in bed about how you actually thought you had a chance with Roy Kent. He’d probably-
Ding dong!
Okay, apparently he’d come back to your house to tell you to your face that he never wanted to see you again.
Stumbling more from panic than drunkenness, you made your way through the house as quickly as you could, banging your shoulder into a wall hard enough that you’d probably have a bruise the next morning. You finally managed to yank the door open to reveal Roy on your porch, his face crumbled as he took in your panicked expression.
“You love me?” he rasped, hands balled into fists by his side.
There was no point in lying to Roy Kent ever again. “Yes,” you admitted in your smallest voice. “I’m sorry, I know we’re just friends-”
His hands were cupping your face as he tugged you onto the porch. “Friends?” he repeated incredulously, a laugh escaping his lips. “We were never just friends, you drunk muppet.”
He brought your mouth to his, pressing the smallest, most tentative kiss to your lips; spurred by the realization that you finally had Roy Kent kissing you, you leaned into him, wrapping your arms around his waist to pull him closer. His beard tickled your face the way you’d always known it would, and when his tongue skimmed your bottom lip, you thought your heart was going to stop.
Roy pulled back with a smile, hands still grasping your face. He nodded behind him, gesturing to the still-waiting taxicab. “Should I go ahead and let him go?” His raised eyebrows begged you to say yes.
Emboldened by Roy’s kiss, you nodded, taking a step backwards and tugging him towards your open front door. “Think you better. You might be here awhile.”
Waving off the cab driver, Roy reattached his lips to yours, humming with delight as you pulled him inside.
#900 followers celebration#request ❤️#he's here he's there he's every fucking where#roy kent#roy kent x reader#roy kent fanfic#roy kent fanfiction#roy kent fluff#roy kent fic#ted lasso#ted lasso fic#ted lasso fanfic#ted lasso fanfiction
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Hii!
I was wondering if you had any n.sfw type of headcanons for Harvey vs Two Face when they're being intimate? 🤭
Because of the Jason Dent AU fic, part of me thinks TwoFace might be a pillow princess for Matches 😅
I mean, I try to assume couples are versatile but was also curious if you felt either would be more or less likely to enjoy something over the other. Or if they'd be pretty much the same in their wants/desires. Hope this makes sense!
Really like your blog. Your post with Batfam Twitter about Harvey breaking out of Arkham to take Bruce out on dates is part of what got me into them 😍🥹
HOOOO. NSFW ahead!!! Minors don’t interact, please and thank you!!
—
I’m so goddam thirsty for this man. No, — it’s unhealthy. I’m like a feral Resident Evil nightmare that escaped confinement and I’m in need of emergency euthanasia.
In my heart I can’t imagine Harvey or TF bottoming. But it also really depends on!! I could maybe see Harvey, whimpering like a goddam mess, Bruce bounces on his dick like a fucking horny rabbit, and TF snarling, “Fuckin’ wimp.” (He loves it)
One thing’s for sure thought; These mfs are So Nasty.
Two-Face is big on degradation; Bruce’s pleasure is extremely important for him, and while he prioritizes his baby doll getting the best treatment possible, you can catch him shoving Batman on his knees anytime, anywhere.
“C’mon, sweet boy. Use that smart ass mouth for something useful. “
And Bruce can’t ever say no 😔 He has them memorized down to the veins
Also you bet Harvey’s hung as hell. 10 inches. Bruce has higher chances of ending up in the ER after fucking than fighting.
DADDY KINK DADDY KINK DADDY KINK DADDY KINK DADDY KINK DADDY KINK DADDY-
I just know for a fact Two-Face always has Bruce on his lap when he’s playing poker.
Either when Bruce is disguised, or just normal. Besides, Brucie Wayne is basically Harvey’s glorified blow up doll. So what if he’s around the room while talking essential business? So what if he’s witness to it?
Black Mask makes that comment exactly once and Harvey paints his brass knuckles red <333 “Tsk. Fucker got blood on my watch.”
God help you if Bruce wears red lipstick around this bastard. They’ll make out so messily. Everywhere. At any time. Cause Harvey’s not stopping until Bruce begs him to let him breathe.
SCAR WORSHIP.
MUTUAL
SCAR WORSHIP
Harvey will call Bruce princes while fucking him doggy style, his belt tightly snaked around his neck. He makes the prettiest noises, punched out moans and tiny little gasps. “Ah, heh— you came? Again? You’re making a mess, sweetheart.”
I genuinely do think rough sex is their go to, but like. Loving rough sex? Nevertheless, when one or both have an off day, when Gotham’s nightshade hand punches just a little too hard, they find sanctuary in each other’s softness.
Sometimes Bruce gets fucked with Harvey between his legs, spread like a last meal on his WE office, his smaller hands sinking in his man’s broad shoulders. And he’ll say nothing except his name, like a mantra.
“Harvey. I love you.”
“I know.”
“Bastard,” Bruce laughs rarely, and when he does, it feels like a prize, “Say it back. Both of you.”
“Tch. Brat. We love you. Happy?”
“Always.”
#ANYWAY THEM#bruharvey#nsft#1 8 0 - HORNYHOURS#bruce wayne#dc#dc comics#harvey dent#two face#dc two face#twobats#batman#bottom bruce wayne#text#text post#asks
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