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kneelingshadowsalome · 1 year

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A Brute, An Angel... (König x F!OC)

Summary: König gets an order to make a female SpecGru sniper talk, but König doesn't want to hurt women.

Category: Smut 🔞, angst, fluff

Tags & warnings: Explicit mature content +18 audiences only, strangers to lovers (slight enemies to lovers), dubious consent, threats of rape, virgin!König, size kink, size difference, p in v, multiple orgasms, cunnilingus, squirting, hugs and cuddles, super fluffy ending. König will be named in later chapters.

A/N: KorTac and SpecGru are rivaling military contractors, Conor is König's superior (and a huge villain), and I just wanted to write angsty smut featuring our favourite Austrian boi.

Part 1/3 of Valkyrie

Read on Ao3

A Brute, An Angel...

"You're always yappin' about how ya can make prisoners talk. Now here's ya chance."

König tried his best to stand tall while Conor spat at him with a gruff accent he couldn't quite place. He could tell the man got off on this: getting a chance to order him around and making him uncomfortable. He concentrated on looking down at him — knowing perfectly well that it only pissed Conor off when he did that. As if König could will himself to be shorter.

"But she's a… She's a girl. Sir."

"She is an enemy, and we need that intel."

I highly doubt that, sir.

"What do you want me to do with her?"

"Make the captive talk. Ya don't have to do the usual. If y'know what I mean."

"Are you suggesting that I rape her, Conor?"

The fact that he used the Lieutenant's name to appeal to him on a more personal level should've spoken volumes. But it had little effect on the man everybody in the KorTac was more or less scared of.

"I'm not suggesting anything. I'm giving you an order."

If Calisto or Stiletto were here, Conor would be on the ground by now, begging for mercy. König found himself thinking what stopped him from gutting the man right then and there.

"Does the team leader know about this?"

“Never ya mind about that."

"Permission to speak, sir," Zero pushed in.

"Go on."

"This goes against the protocol-"

"Did ya give two shits about the bloody protocol when we were in Adal?"

The abrupt outburst almost made König flinch. Almost.

Zero didn't turn the slightly disgusted gaze away, but snapped his mouth shut.

"I - I can't do it," König muttered.

"You sayin' you refuse to obey an order?"

König straightened upon hearing the word 'order' but otherwise remained in confused silence.

"I suggest you carry on unless ya wanna get demoted to a fuckin' desk job. It's your call."

And with that, Conor turned and marched off. Zero followed suit, sparing a pitiful glance at König as he went.

He was left alone in the bunker hallway, illuminated by a lamp that produced an unnerving buzz.

Conor was only doing this because he liked to bully him. Somehow, somewhere, Lt had lost his humanity, but it wasn't supposed to be his problem. Not until Conor made it his problem.

Something in him made the Lieutenant tick. König didn't know whether it was because he was a relatively fresh recruit or whether it was the fact that he was a foreigner. Hell, maybe it was the mask, how could he know?

"Fuckin' jerry."

And he wasn't even; he was Austrian, but Conor didn't care, which meant that it was something else about him that got under his skin. The man had vehemently decided to hate him, and he could do nothing about it.

König turned to the door leading to the interrogation room, grabbed the doorknob, inhaled deeply, and went in.

The girl was tied to the ceiling with a grey paracord that bit into her wrists as she hung there, barely able to stand. The bastard had bound her unreasonably tight. An ugly sight, that.

But she wasn't.

The thick braid was messy, her arms were more or less bruised, and her face had dirt on it, but she was, by far, one of the loveliest beings he had ever seen. She looked like heaven and hell, an angel of war who had fought for days against overwhelming forces and only wanted to sleep.

He swallowed, glad of the hood making the blob of his Adam’s apple invisible. She stirred and looked up, eyes dark with the burned out wrath of a cornered wild thing. She looked dog-tired, and scared. Beaten. And no one had even struck her yet. Not that he knew of, at least.

She pulled herself to her feet by the rope, although it was long enough to allow her to stand, and raised her chin.

"So you're the one they sent to break me."

-----

It was him.

The man that had gotten her in this situation in the first place.

She had been stupid enough to freeze for a few moments, the crucial little moments that meant the difference between life and death, escape and capture. And for what? To watch how this beast raged on the battlefield like it was his playground, to watch how he plowed through her mates while bullets showered around him. Seemed to evade him even though he was the largest possible target in the whole damn skirmish.

It didn't really help that his gear was gone. He was still one of the biggest men she had ever seen. If not the biggest.

The black hood was still in place, though, making him look like an inquisitor. Or an executioner.

She suspected he was here to make her talk. He could probably make anyone talk... But there was a particular threat present here. She was a woman in a helpless state, and she had a hunch that this mountain of a man wouldn't shy away from any methods that would humiliate and destroy her. He probably enjoyed it: getting a little treat after a nice day in the field.

The man strode to her, and it seemed that the only thing that moved as he walked was his hips. But the sound of his weight, the sheer mass that met the floor through combat boots, made her draw back in a futile attempt to disappear somewhere between her raised arms.

He stopped a generous few feet away, crossed his arms over his chest, then unraveled them again to his sides. He was all corded muscle beneath that black shirt, the fabric barely concealing the curves of a well-built chest. The poor textile stretched from the swell of his shoulders.

She didn't say anything. She expected a punch in the face, a knee to the stomach. Something to get things started.

He walked behind her, much more slowly, the thumps against the cold, hard cement causing the hair on her neck to stand on end. He stepped close, so close that she could feel his body heat against her back.

"Listen to me." She flinched at his voice, far more high-pitched than she would've suspected from such a beast of a man.

"I'm going to help you. But you have to assist me here."

The 'here' sounded more like german for 'hier'. Through her terror sweat and confusion, she found herself wondering how odd it was that the KorTac had some German guy working for them.

"We have to…" he cleared his throat from the falsetto his voice was climbing to.

And she only now realized that he was nervous.

The soldier was fucking nervous.

"We have to have intercourse," he continued, his accent bleeding thick through her senses like some goddamn ASMR she used to calm herself with. A guilty pleasure she succumbed to when she tried to reach sleep after a mission.

Only after she got past the fact that the enemy soldier's voice made her feel tingly, she understood what he had said exactly. What he was proposing.

She knew that nerves and adrenaline were a fucked up thing. You could get turned on during the most absurd situations when the survival instinct kicked in. Those situations could include getting a target on sight and pulling the trigger, or getting hit and receiving care under fire.

Turned out that it could include the prospect of getting tortured by a 6 feet something enemy merc who whispered in her ear with a thick German accent, gently like a lover.

Perhaps this whole set-up was just another kind of torture. A good cop, bad cop routine, in which he was both of the cops. He tried to tear her walls down and make her trust him, and when she refused to tell him anything, he would get to work. Tear her nails off, dislocate joints, rape her bloody.

"I'm not going to speak."

She announced it with a far less stern voice than she would’ve preferred, and heard him swallow. Either he was damn good at acting, or he was the most socially anxious soldier she had ever seen.

He rounded her and stopped only an inch or two from her face. Which only reached the man’s chest, broad and lean, covered in that black shirt and smelling of battlefield along with his sweat - the combination hitting her nostrils as an undiluted, masculine scent. He reached a gloved hand to prop her chin up, to force her to look at him.

It was her turn to swallow, and the angle he forced her neck caused the sound of her gulp to echo in the bunker. The tactical glove had cut-proof padding on the knuckles, and it scratched the delicate facial skin, even though his touch was more of a coax than a yank. But that wasn’t what caught her attention so vividly that it nearly made her knees buckle.

It was his ice-blue stare. The eyes stood out from the holes of his mask, from among the heavily applied black facial paint like two beacons. And they were gentle. Bordering on puppy eyes. The thought alone nearly made her laugh hysterically.

Even with her faltering knowledge of human character, she could’ve bet all in that this man would not hurt her. That he was far from a torturer.

And the knowledge made her even more confused. If he wasn’t the torturer, then who was he? What the hell did he want?

“You have to co-operate.” His voice was strained with something akin to despair.

“I can only help you escape if you co-operate,” he whispered, his voice so low it went straight between her legs.

Jesus, this was not okay.

He released her chin, but she didn’t turn her gaze away. Her eyes roamed his face, or rather, the black hood that covered it. She wondered why he wore it when other soldiers didn’t bother to hide their identities. The only other man she had seen wearing a mask was Lt, with the top of a human skull attached to his balaclava. And even he wasn’t this big. Albeit menacing and shrouded in mystery that came from all things danger, death, and pain, the man before her now intrigued her far more than even Ghost did.

Why did he hide his face? Why was he so… jittery?

And why did he try to escape her gaze?

He looked like the whole situation was too much for him. To say that the man was distraught when she merely looked him straight in the eyes when he told her that they needed to fuck, would be an understatement.

If she were to choose a man to torture someone with his dick, this would be her last choice.

“What’s the escape plan, then?” She asked, still not believing for a second that he would help her, even if he didn’t strike her as intimidating anymore.

"I, uh…"

"You don't have a plan?"

"Well, not yet."

"Why am I not surprised," she murmured into the stale, dusty air of the chamber. "Why would you even want to help me?"

"I don't hurt women," he said and took a step back as if to confirm that statement.

This was so fucking ridiculous. He was a mercenary in a filthy bunker with a bound prisoner, assuring that he was a gentleman. Was she on candid camera or something?

She had never been in a situation like this. She had never imagined being in a situation even remotely close to this. She would have laughed over the absurdity of the whole thing but couldn't, because her lower lip started to tremble.

He noticed it and instantly shifted weight from one leg to the other. He tried to direct his anxiety into the leisurely movement, and it caused his hips to sway from one side to the other, making her think of all kinds of stupid associations, such as lapdance and snake hips.

With those rather tight khaki pants, it was impossible to prevent her eyes from darting to the bulging thighs and the evident package he was delivering between them.

Jesus fucking Christ, pull your shit together…

"I'm going to get you out of here," he promised.

"That's cute of you," she tiredly threw in, getting far too much satisfaction out of the reaction her words managed to pull out of him. He blinked a few times, and the colossal chest heaved as if the man was trying to catch his breath. "Funny that you need to fuck me to be able to do so."

Another switch from side to side, a sway of those goddamn khaki-covered hips.

"I'm almost positive that the only surveillance they have on this room is that camera over there. The screen is in another room," he told her, sounding stupidly proud of his debatable skills in spying. She pursed her lips and raised an eyebrow. "But the guys there are usually watching tv," he hurried to add.

"I doubt they will today if your orders are to rape me." Again, he looked abashed, eyes darting to the floor and back to her. Was this guy thick in the head or something? "Probably got their beers popped and their pants down by now…" she said, and the man let out something close to a squeal.

"That is exactly why we have to… provide them with something until I come up with a plan."

She looked at him and almost smiled. Like one would smile at a daft dog that was far too eager to please.

"You just said you don't hurt women," she said.

"That is why I very much wish you would co-operate," he answered.

"You are the weirdest torturer ever."

"I - I am not a torturer. I'm just a soldier," he tried to assure her with that climbing voice. He was shitty at concealing his uneasiness. The man was completely flustered.

"Then why did they assign you with this… task," she demanded to know. It was yet again laughable: as if he was the one being grilled here. He wouldn't answer, and she cocked her head to the side.

"Ever interrogated with your dick before?" She blurted.

His hands were trembling. Slightly, but they were.

"Negative," he said, voice tight.

Was this guy….

Was he a virgin?

The twisted concept of some romantic chivalry, the nervousness, the respectful distance he kept, and the fact that his hands started shaking when she said a dirty word, all pointed to the possibility that he very much might be.

She thought he was picked because he was big, because his obvious blessings in the crotch department also held a promise of pain. But this guy certainly didn't know what the heck he was doing. And not only because he wasn't a torturer or because he didn't want to hurt a lady. She could almost swear, hand on Bible, that this man had never been with a woman. Not much further than the first base, anyway.

"Well, get on with it then."

She told herself it was only because it was useless to postpone the suffering that would eventually come anyway.

She told herself it was not because she was trying to break a Guinness world record of developing Stockholm Syndrome to this guy and his adorableness. She told herself it was definitely not because she kinda sorta wanted to see how he would act when he had to actually pull that cock out and touch her with it.

He stared at her, eyes wide beneath that oversized hood, and she could swear it was his heart, not hers, that made that thumping sound.

"I am going to touch you," he informed her. Like the dumbest moron.

If she ever got out of here, and if she ever, ever told this story to someone, they wouldn't be able to believe it.

He took his gloves off - why would he even bother to do that? - and let them drop to the ground.

His fingers were long, the fingernails meticulously cut. There were a few scrapes and scratches here and there on his palm, indicating his lack of coordination. Clumsy boy.

When he reached for her, she assumed he would go for her tits, or her waist, or grope her ass. But he didn't. Fingers cupped her face, trembling still, before they slid over her neck and grabbed her throat, not to choke, but to revel. Like she was a sculpture or something, and he wanted to know how the material felt. How soft she was.

She looked into his eyes, because eyes told everything; they would betray a flash of sadism or whatever else she still expected from this strange man. They roamed all over her, darted across her face, every now and then to her eyes, but mostly avoided her stare like the plague. He wouldn’t hold a gaze for much longer than a glimpse of a second. And there was still no sign of lust for inflicting pain. Only perplexed wonderment.

Her hands and arms were numb because of the position she was in, hands tied above her head, blood flow inhibited. But she paid it no mind as his hand traveled down her neck, caressed her collarbones, and then stopped right before he reached the gap between her breasts, free game in the white tank top she had been left with, along with her cargo pants and boots.

“Can I… May I kiss you?” He asked, his voice muffled and so thick that it was difficult to untangle what he had said.

It was such an odd request that her words left her, and she could only produce a whimpering sound at the back of her throat. He took it as a yes, and raised his hood, only enough to reveal a pair of thin lips among a light brown stubble. His mouth opened slightly, then closed, then opened again, as if he didn’t know how to proceed.

He bent down like the giant he was, not hinging at the hips but hunching over towards her, probably trying to appear smaller but ending up looking like there was a tower falling on her. The smell of gasoline and sweat hit her as his lips met hers, parted, and a shy flick of tongue swept across her bottom lip. She tried to remember how to breathe and ignore the rush of wetness that told her she would have no problem whatsoever with him parting her nether lips too. He captured her lip, sucked, then opened his mouth wider and hers with it.

She answered his kiss - just a little bit, and he instantly deepened it and moaned into her mouth. She fluttered her eyes open and saw that his were squeezed shut. He pressed a hand against her back and pulled her against his overwhelming body. All she could feel was muscle… and then some more. He was hard, the thick erection colliding with her stomach all but seductively. She went completely stiff, eyes wide and lips tight.

The man went even more rigid, if possible. He released her mouth with a grunt and buried his head in her neck.

"I can't -... I can't do this, I'm gonna go and tell him they need to find somebody else," he said in a strained voice, riddled with pain.

No. No.

The fuck he would.

If he would be replaced by somebody else, some crazy, blood-drunk soldier with cold eyes and a knife, some jerk-off who hadn't had a go with a woman since their last leave, she would fucking die.

"Please don't," she hushed and swallowed against him, the place where his hood and the collar of his shirt revealed skin.

"I want it to be you," she continued to whisper in his ear, meaning to say If it has to be somebody, let it be you, but choosing to deliver a sentence as persuasive as possible. As inviting as possible.

So that he wouldn't leave her in the hands of someone with no mercy.

"Scheiße…" The hot air brushed against her skin, even through that hood.

"If only I could touch you too," she said, regretting it immediately. She was acting a little too enthusiastic in the midst of her panic. Trying desperately to prevent him from leaving.

But the hand on her back moved down a bit, and long fingers splayed over the small of her back, pressing gently.

"Don't tease me," he huffed, panting although they were both quite still.

Jesus Christ… at this rate, the KorTac could hire her to do the interrogations.

She wondered whether the surveillance team was looking at the scene, which was far too intimate and loving to be an interrogation. What kind of a man would try to pry information out of someone by embracing them gently? Kissing them hesitantly?

In a way, this was torture: she didn't know what would happen to her after… whatever this was. She didn't know what procedures would follow when the others found out he had no intel for them to tell.

Let's get this fucking over with.

"What's your name?" She asked, hoping that the puppy boy wasn't naive enough to tell her his actual name.

"They call me König."

King in german...

"König…-"

She meant to ask him to touch her so that this horrible, awkward mess would come to at least some sort of an end, but couldn't find the words. His name on her tongue seemed to do the trick, though. He ground his hips against her, and had she not been tied to the ceiling, the movement would have toppled her. The hand on her back went behind her knee and raised it to his hip. Then another hand slid down to do the same to her other knee, pulling her from the ground like she weighed nothing at all.

The strain on her arms was released, and the relief was heavenly. For that alone, she could've let him do whatever he wanted to her.

"You're so klein… small," he commented with her raised to straddle his lap and her face finally on the same level as his. "Small people make good snipers," he declared with a hint of longing in his voice.

She had a terrible urge to sling the bundle of hands over his head. And not for self-defense reasons.

"I'm not that small, you're just big," she said, like a beauty to the beast, like it was a cute scene in a movie where everybody was nice to each other. Her gut feeling of the man being a virgin only increased by the minute. He was so… blameless. It was downright unintelligible that he was a soldier.

But she had seen how brutal he was on the field, how he had struck holes in her teammate with a combat knife like he was playing tag and didn't quite know the rules. Didn't know that one stab in a well-picked spot would have sufficed.

She had seen him haul a grown man with 100 extra pounds of tactical gear on him up like the poor man was a barbell, and bring them down over his knee. The sound of a breaking spine would probably haunt her dreams for the rest of her life. She had simply gawked at the display of utter, brutal violence before her. Normal men, even soldiers of a special forces tactical unit, simply didn't do stuff like that. Hands-on, down in the mud, barbarian kind of stuff from medieval times.

And now the same man was fondling her like she was his sweetheart. Like he was about to carry her in the bedroom full of roses and other syrupy valentines shit.

"And what do they call you?"

The accent was really doing things to her, along with the few german words tossed here and there, absentmindedly like candy. He was an enigma with his colossal body, croaking voice, and gentleness that surpassed even the violence.

"Valkyrie."

"You've got to be kidding me," he said, astonished.

"My team found out I used to do fencing, and I'm blonde, so…"

It was silly and the swords weren't even that big. One could hardly call them swords at all, the pointy little things they were.

But the situation indeed had taken a turn into a sick fairytale. Like, come on. Valkyrie and König? Some stupid hippie would've loved that: how it was meant to be, destined, even, that the two of them had met. That she was a damsel in distress, and he was here to save her from the ring of fire.

She stifled the urge to shake her head, to snap out of where this was spiraling into.

Affection.

They barely even knew each other's codenames. She was in a modern version of a dungeon, lit by a single light bulb, about to get raped by some edgy, mentally unstable goliath, she reminded herself. While perhaps psychologically interesting, he was not okay. This was not okay. She had been trained for situations like this.

Except that she wasn't. She was trained to withstand torture, battering, spending days in a cell where the lights never went out. She knew methods to draw the mind away from constant pain. But she hadn't received instructions on what to do in a situation where she wasn't even being questioned. Not even on the sly. Her call sign wasn't much of a secret. They probably knew who she was before they brought her to this room.

"There are many stories of valkyries in my Heimat," he prattled on enthusiastically.

"Yeah, I know the Nibelung saga," she said.

"Very heroic, very German tale."

"You ought to know."

"No no, I'm not German, I'm Austrian," he said.

This was turning into an odd conversation.

"König." She said in an attempt to bring his attention to the present moment. He fluttered his eyes, long lashes batting over that innocent-looking stare.

"Don't. Just… don't," she tried not to stutter.

He had lied to her about not being a torturer. Chatting with her like they were on their first date, discovering that they were actually intrigued about one another... It was insufferable. Although she was the one who had started it by asking his name…

"Right. Getting on with it," he said like he had been given an order. Her heart stung. Tears were welling up from the absurdity of this whole situation, from his silliness, from her having felt rather comfortable and safe in his hold. Fucking safe.

She should quit the army when she got out of here. If she got out of here. She wasn't right in the head to continue with this job.

"I've been an idiot," he told her.

You're damn right.

An idiot she could imagine herself falling in love with in another situation, but an idiot nonetheless.

"You should put on more of a fight, and…" he trailed off.

And you should be rough, you dumdum, she thought. Again, in another situation, she would've probably loved him to be rough.

"Roger," she said to him and heard him chuckle, saw how a few wrinkles appeared in the corners of his eyes. He lowered her down to the ground, and she hissed when her arms extended against the rope again. He let her go, gently, like it was his fault that she was attached to the roof.

"I would help you, but -"

"It's ok." She gave him a weighted look that told him to stop speaking. To get on with the action so that she wouldn't get attached even more than she already was.

He grabbed her by the throat again, doing a shitty job at trying to make it look like he was manhandling her. His eyes landed on her chest, and she could almost hear the wheels turning in his head, thinking about whether he should tear her top. Apparently deciding against it, he went for his trousers instead, pulling the belt buckle open with a click.

It had been a while, what with all the stress and the sleep deprivation not being an ideal combo to get her juices flowing. But nothing could prepare her for the surge of wet heat when the front of those light brown pants practically gave way for what must’ve been the largest bulge she had ever seen. It was almost vulgar, even more so when the fabric of his boxer shorts stretched at the sudden throb.

She realized her mouth was hanging slightly open, and she closed it carefully, but her lips parted again when he continued to shove both of those pants down. He didn’t even bother to take them off, and they were left somewhere mid-thigh, with belt buckle dangling in the air.

And God, he was huge.

It wouldn’t even stand up properly, even though there was no doubt that he had a full-on erection. It jerked between them like a threat, or a dare, but mostly it was just a long, thick, veined baulk that couldn’t support itself because it was just so goddamn big. He was uncut, but the foreskin had drawn back from the arousal, and the tip of his slit glistened with precum.

And he was flustered again, misinterpreting her stare as a sign of fear instead of awe.

"I promise I'll be quick," he whispered, and the first thing that her mind chirped back was Please don't. And not because it would probably be painful. But because she desperately wanted him to slide that monster in inch by inch and take his beautiful time with it.

"Uh-huh," she managed to say before the man codenamed King stretched his fingers toward her pants.

With trembling digits, he opened them and started tearing them down before realizing she could not spread her legs without him taking the pants off. And then he realized he couldn't take them off without taking her boots off.

So what happened was that her panties and pants were halfway down, and the Austrian hulk kneeled in front of her with his hooded face in level with her pussy. He turned his head to the side and leaned a bit on her thigh to unlace her boots, but she was pretty sure he did it mainly because he was embarrassed to look straight at her cunt.

She helped him as much as she could, raising her feet one by one for him to take the combat boots off. He tossed them somewhere to the side and tore her pants down, all the way down, and over her feet, leaving her in her tank top and socks.

He rose, his cock brushed her thigh, and she jerked like she had been scraped by some sharp object. It bounced at the contact, bumping against her again, sweeping a wet streak over her skin.

"Sorry," he mumbled like it was somehow worse than what he was about to do next. When he would shove… that thing inside her.

He picked her up again, almost in a hurry. Her heart was ramming against her ribcage and her mouth was dry as her feet left the ground. He was hard against her belly, flesh hot and throbbing and slick with precum that pushed out from the tip and left wet stains on her top.

This time she did raise her hands over his head and let the arms come down to rest on his shoulders. Her intuition told her she would soon need the support.

He moved her around like she was a doll, letting the erection drop between them to position himself against her slit. Her folds parted without effort as he slid against them, once, twice, before halting.

Don't comment about it, don't…

"You're wet," he grunted with delighted surprise.

"Yeah?" She said like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Just fucking do it, she yelled in her mind, lips drawn into a straight line so that even a dumbass like he could see that this was not the moment for hesitation.

And he didn't hesitate.

He searched, adjusted himself, adjusted her, spread his stance, grunted…

And it was pretty clear by now that he didn't know what he was doing. Her nipples brushed against his chest as he searched for the right spot with her in his arms, and she hoped he would've taken his shirt off so she could feel skin instead of cotton.

"There," she helped him with a whisper as he hit the right spot. He returned, probed, and she guided him. "Now up…", and he bent his knees while raising her slightly. The angle was right, and he finally drove in, slowly but surely.

The stretch was phenomenal. It hurt more than a bit after he had passed the entrance, and the delicious feeling turned into a burning sensation.

"Wait.." she begged, and he stopped immediately, panting like a runner.

"Back up a bit."

He did, pulling out almost completely before she bucked her hips to let him know he could push back in. And when he did, she gasped, and he moaned, so tight and so glorious that the sound that erupted from him was laced with pure need.

"Ach, you're tight.. soft…"

She clenched around him at his shameless commentary, and he let out another broken sigh.

Of course it's tight when you're so big..

He wouldn't go fully in, and she doubted whether he ever even could. She had never been this filled. But more was coming.

He withdrew again before thrusting back inside, deeper still.

"Oh Jesus," she gasped, "yes, just like that.." the words escaped her lips and she noticed his eyes were directed at her, drunk and half-lidded.

"Yeah…" he echoed, his voice shivering like a leaf. "Das gut?"

If her hands were free, she would've torn that hood away, buried her fingers in his hair, and pulled until he would expose his fucking throat for her to kiss and lick.

He began thrusting with a steady pace, shallow but intense, going deeper every now and then when he slipped. His hands shifted, one by one, to grab her by her butt to glide her up and down his length. It was fucking hot that he didn't need his hips to fuck her, that he could just move her around with his hands and slam her against it if he wanted to. Her ankles hooked around his waist on reflex, and her fingers flexed in the ties, trying to grasp onto something but finding only air.

"You feel so good," the short, agonized 'good' coming out more like 'gut'; and her pussy tightened, pulled, and sucked him like he was the best thing ever.

"Sch…shit," he breathed laboriously, taking a moment and thrusting even deeper, eyes closing like he was on the brink of losing consciousness..

He hit a spot that was both familiar and unfamiliar, and she was pretty sure that if someone was looking at the surveillance material, they couldn't tell whether the look on her face was of pain or pleasure. She couldn't keep herself in check, couldn't seize control anymore. She was so soaked at this point that the evidence of her arousal was heavy and loud. So audible that it made her cheeks hot.

"I wonder what you taste like," he mused, his hood shaking in sync with his thrusts. "Honey and raindrops, eh?"

"Mh," she sobbed, her thighs quivering. She wanted to spread them more, to let him see her and have a taste, to present herself for him to do as he pleased. But she couldn't move much in his grasp. It was like she had been propped up on a machine, buckled to a seat reserved just for her.

He took a wider stance as if hearing her thoughts on wanting even more of what he had to offer, and she held on to him as he shifted like the continental plates beneath her. He proceeded to fuck her while leaning his head against the side of hers, and she held on to him as he breathed into her neck. The occasional moan sounded more like a sob as his cock slid in and out, in and out, slick with her wetness.

"You're what they sing about in Rheingold," he kept talking that romantic bullshit in her ear while stuffing her with that long Austrian cock that would make most women squirt if he kept at it long enough. "Und Walküre…"

It was so good she wanted to cry. She thought about letting a tear or two slip and saying it was just for the show if he asked. Virgin or not, König was doing a pretty decent job in making her a writhing, weak mess. He was not too quick, not too slow, but set just the right, rigorous pace that would send her into oblivion. He became the fountain stone, the buoy in the storm. He was the man that would send her over the brink and the man to hold her unwaveringly as she fell.

"Not much longer," he informed her light-heartedly, like he was in the middle of a mission about to be completed. Completed to the fucking full.

She couldn't even begin to tell him that she was already there, because everything suddenly coiled and burst, and she was arching her back, making him reach even deeper, almost fully inside her, the heavy balls slapping against her ass as her toes curled and her body went completely rigid…

The sound that broke out was not a yell, nor a scream, it was a violation of her vocal cords. She had never sounded like this — like someone falling and meeting the ground with a strained, lewd groan. Like someone who had the orgasm of their life.

He startled, almost quailed from her. Not because of the screaming, nor the sounds she made after… but because she came, hard, while he was banging her like a battering ram.

"Genau so…" König rasped, taken aback but trying his all to cover it. He slowed down on instinct, letting her greedy pussy suck on him like it was giving him a blowjob, telling him he was a good, good boy… because her words had left her.

He moved a little, and she could see the flash of those eyes from within the darkness of the hood, knew that he was watching her intently as she swam in ecstasy with an open mouth and pinched nose and eyes that wouldn't focus.

"Schön," he continued, sounding fragile. Weak. Vulnerable…

She couldn't for the life of her look at him, look in those eyes that must've told her things she wasn't strong enough to deal with at the very moment.

Her head dropped and her thighs went slack, but König held her, steadfast like the most gallant knight. He resumed his earlier pace with caution and care, breathing distinctly with his mouth open under that black mask. She was limp in his arms, trying to hold on as best she could while listening how the cock drove into her again with moist, sloppy sounds.

The moans that followed didn’t suit a man of his build at all. She had expected brute strength and hoarse grunts, not pinched, needy sobs and a head softly pressed against her. Forehead against fucking forehead. And he probably didn't even know what it was doing to her because he was such a stupid, adorable little — ugh, big dumbass.

She wanted to grasp his shoulders, slide her hands under his mask and raise it, kiss those moans straight from his lips, and run her fingers all over his stubble, the chiseled jawline she had seen only once. She wanted to feel him, all of him, not just his hands and his cock, even though they were good. Or fucking best. It almost made her cry; the post-orgasm need to cuddle for a bit but not being able to do so because her hands were bound to the fucking ceiling of a fucking dull grey bunker.

"Can I… cum..?"

Was he asking her permission to…

"Can I cum inside… Please, I'm close," he panted.

"Yeah… Yes.."

He slowed down the pace as he drew out his own upcoming release, relishing the last thrusts like he was sampling the finest cuisine. She finally dared to look at him and saw that his eyes were open and full of naked, helpless adoration. Devotion, even.

She must have been imagining: they were only the eyes of a man who was about to nut good. But damn if that fevered, helpless stare didn’t succeed in touching her very soul. To her horror, he wasn't shy this time, but held her gaze, held it, held it — until his lashes fluttered and he went over the brink with a cry.

It echoed from the damp concrete walls, just a single, prolonged wail that eventually broke and ended in miserable panting.

She could feel his cock throbbing, shooting the load inside, emptying the whole magazine in her. How the seed welled up, unable to go anywhere before he would decide to pull out.

König laid his head on her shoulder and pulled her against him, and she was not suspended only in rope but in time and space as well. His shoulders moved up and down with the heavy breaths, and she pulled her tied hands to awkwardly brush his neck as he came down from heaven.

He was shaking. Shaking, and let out a whimper against her skin, and for a fleeting moment, she was sure he was crying or on the verge of doing so.

"König?"

He shuddered a sigh, taking a moment to himself.

She felt hollow. Not raped, not assaulted, not abused. Just hollow, knowing what had happened between them would not be a recurring thing. That there was no 'them', not really. Not in the real, actual world.

"You can let go of me now," she whispered, although that was the last thing she wanted him to do.

But he did as she proposed, lowering her down and sliding out of her only after her feet had met solid ground. He pulled out carefully, gently, like he was leaving his beloved. Warm fluid descended down her left thigh in a streak, indicating that it had been a while for him.

Her head was full of dumb thoughts, such as whether he had a girl waiting for him somewhere back home. In Germany perhaps — no, in Austria. And if he had, just how lucky that person was.

She wondered if he had found someone here, and if they were in the military or not.

She wondered if there was no one, if he was alone, and if he curled up in a fetal position every night before he fell asleep in some bed that was too small for him.

And whether he would get into trouble for violating orders.

"You were," he started, eyes directed to the ground, "magnificent."

Was I your first, King?

"You weren't that bad yourself," she complimented him back, and he huffed.

"You liked it?" He asked in a way that made her heart squeeze tightly in her chest.

"Wasn't it obvious?" She couldn't help but smile. Couldn't… Wouldn't.

"Ja," he chuckled while looking down at his boots with an interest that was totally born from shyness. "I'm glad I could please you," he said before tucking himself demurely back into his trousers.

She wondered if he was as aware as she was of the fact that neither of them had played out the part they were supposed to. It had all gone out the window the moment he had touched her again. Practically thrown out, as if they were defying death itself together.

He gathered her boots and helped her step first inside her panties and then the cargo pants. He had to go around her back and reach from behind to zip her up and put her belt on, and it was such a mundane, cute act that she thought that this was indeed the cruelest form of torture she had ever witnessed. He hovered over her after he was done, and stole a brief caress of her waist before crouching to lace up her boots.

He rose, and came back in front of her, and the silence between them stretched to a short eternity. There were so many things she wanted to say, things he probably wanted to say, thoughts buzzing in both of their heads like bees as his seed cooled down on her thigh and made her pants stick to her skin here and there.

She thought about thanking him for being gentle, but what was she really thanking him for? Raping her tenderly? With the attentiveness and passion of a lover?

Was it rape if she had enjoyed it? If she had had one of the most powerful orgasms of her life?

He was… she had no words for him. The way he had unraveled her in mere minutes was shocking. Devastating, to say the least.

"I will find a way," he promised for the thousandth time. "I will not let them hurt you."

She nodded slowly, continued to do so while looking at him, her eyes welling with tears.

“Hey, kleine Süße, don't worry.” He brushed her cheek with his knuckles, soft and sweet. "I will be your Siegfried."

She didn't have the heart to remind him that both Siegfried and the valkyrie died in that story.

Part 2:

#könig fanfiction #könig smut #könig mw2 #könig call of duty #call of duty #könig imagine #mw2 smut #konig fanfiction #könig x oc #könig x female oc #könig

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catboyfics · 1 year

Text

Ghost of a Memory [part I]

I have finished part 1! This is more of an introductory chapter, and is much shorter than the others will be. Once I have part 2 finished, it will be posted. I will keep the same taglist, unless you ask me to remove you. I will also add people onto the taglist for the next part, just leave a comment :>

𝑴𝑨𝑺𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻

𝑭𝑨𝑵𝑫𝑶𝑴: COD

𝑷𝑨𝑰𝑹𝑰𝑵𝑮: Ghost x m!reader

𝑮𝑬𝑵𝑹𝑬 & 𝑾𝑨𝑹𝑵𝑰𝑵𝑮𝑺: hurt/comfort; male reader; violence, guns, death (not in this part), allusions to torture,

𝑾𝑶𝑹𝑫𝑺: 1.7k

You could feel the quick rotations of the helicopter blades as you flew over the English countryside, bringing you to your new base. You were hardly expecting to stay long, you had a poor track record with that ever since you had become a soldier. Few places but the SAS would willingly take you because of your aggressive and destructive fighting style. Really, it was a miracle you were still a part of the army, and had even managed to stay in the special forces.

You’d used to be a part of the SRR – they did all of the reconnaissance and it was work that fit you well – but you ended up being transferred to the SAS after ‘The Incident’, at your request. Regaining your footing after all that had happened was… difficult, but you managed. You always managed.

You had been transferred to 19 Troop, specializing in mountain operations. You were usually away, helping international troops with their own missions. You spent a good amount of your time in Russia and Canada, before you were abruptly called back at the end of your mission. As soon as the helicopter had touched back down on the ground, you were sent to your Captain’s office. You knew your captain quite well as you saw him quite often.

“(l/n).” He called out seriously, looking at you with disappointment. You were a bit worried for a moment. Was this finally the point that the Special Forces would boot you out? You snapped out of your thoughts when he spoke again. “An international task force has heard about your skills and is looking to recruit you.”

That was… surprising. Your captain could clearly tell, because he took one look at you and spoke again. “I’ll give you until after dinner to think about it. It’s relatively urgent.”

You nodded strictly, saluting to him before turning and leaving the room. It wasn’t the first time you had been invited to join an international force, but they very rarely kept you around. Said you were too much of a liability. You wondered if it was even worth the effort. You were happy enough with what you were doing in 19 Troop, and the SAS was good to you. Then again, there wasn’t really anywhere to go from there if you wanted to stay on the field. You could become an officer, but that would defeat the point of you joining the SAS.

You didn’t want to think about it too hard, though. You did still have until dinner, and you wanted to make good use of that time. Your exit from Canada had been abrupt and disruptive. You weren’t exactly in the middle of an operation with the crew, but you were starting to plan for one. You had been a vital part of their plans, and you felt guilty for leaving them with an empty space. You hoped what you had trained them would help them through it, though you knew the Canadian Special Forces would be able to manage.

You took your time sorting through the belongings you had brought back, taking care to choose what you really needed to keep. You had spent more time with the Canadian soldiers than you thought you would, and they made a good impression on you. As much as you hated to admit it, you would miss them. You weren’t one for sentimentality, though, not after what had happened what seemed like so long ago.

You were snapped out of your memories when you felt the helicopter starting to descend. This was it, then. You mentally steeled yourself to meet your new team, a team you would only end up leaving after they remove you.

It was still a bit of a wait after the helicopter started its descent and eventually landed, though, and you had some time to yourself. You hated when that happened. It always led to thoughts about what happened that night. That night, you had seen unforgivable horrors. Atrocities, carnal sin. It made you want to purge the world of that evil yourself.

You ripped yourself from your thoughts, tearing a hole in the horrible memories before you were consumed entirely by them. It was a fight to get yourself back into service after what happened. Lucky you were a good actor.

You forced yourself to think of the only thing that could distract you from your memories: something worse. The force you were joining was infamous, though very little information was released about it. Task Force 141. You felt sweat gather in your palms as the helicopter approached their main base. You didn’t think you were particularly special yourself, and you wondered why you had been picked to join some of the best special OPs in the world. Apparently there was another SAS operative, maybe you'd be able to get along with him.

You sucked in a breath as the helicopter landed on the soft pad, grabbing the duffel bag you’d brought with you and standing up from the seat. It wasn’t a very comfortable seat, and your legs rejoiced to finally get up after the two-something-hours that you’d been sitting down.

The doors on the sides of the helicopter opened and you let yourself fall out, comfortably landing on your feet. You’d gotten very used to getting out of the helicopters easily, and the motion had become very slick. You still carried yourself like an SRR operative, despite your transfer. It was a habit you’d never broken.

As you walked towards the large concrete building, you saw a man standing there. You figured he was the captain of the task force. If you remembered correctly, he was called Captain Price. You switched your trajectory to him, walking with firm steps as you breezed through the air.

As you approached him, you stopped stiffly and saluted. In a loud voice, you announced “Sergeant (l/n), sir!”

You heard the man chuckle, and you almost felt self conscious until he spoke casually. “At ease, soldier. I’m Captain Price, I’m the captain of Task Force 141.” He announced, speaking in a calm voice. “I’m the one who requested you be transferred here. Thank you for coming.”

You nodded, letting your hand fall from its position at your forehead. You looked around, expecting to see some of your superior officers and other soldiers, but there was no one there. You frowned, wondering why, and the captain seemed to pick up on your confusion.

“I wanted to go over a few of the things in your file. Privately.” He said firmly, looking you in the eye before smiling gently. Those words sent chills down your spine. You didn’t want to have to act more, but it seemed you would have no choice, so you just nodded agreeably as he turned around and started to walk to the building beside you.

You made your way through the twisting halls of the base, looking at the room numbers, though they didn’t suggest much. You had passed by a few busy gyms, and a canteen. It seemed surprisingly busy for a task force. Busier than you were used to. You weren’t a huge fan of working in large teams.

You were eventually brought to a large meeting room with a table and a plethora of empty chairs. At one end of the table, there was a large screen. You took a seat, having another look around the room but finding nothing of note. Finally, the captain spoke up. You had been preparing for this.

“So, soldier, I want to make sure that you’re the right fit for this team. I don’t want any disasters happening because of your trauma.” He said sternly, getting straight into it. At least he didn’t bother with small talk.

“You don’t need to worry about that.” You said coldly, looking him in the eye as you answered. “I’ve already had a psychological evaluation done by a psychiatrist, and she said I was fine to go back out in the field.”

Price shot back almost immediately, like he had dealt with others like you. Maybe this team wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows.

“That doesn’t mean you’re fine to go back out into this field. I’m sure you’ve been briefed on what Task Force 141 covers.”

“I have, and it’s nothing I’ve not done before.” You explained coldly, going back through the motions. It had been a while since you had to put on this act. Before Price could get another word in, you spoke up.

“Trust me, Captain. A little bit of torture isn’t gonna do much to an agent of the SRR. I’ve been trained for much worse.”

The man looked like he wanted to fight back, say something to make you break, but you were completely right. SRR operatives had the most interrogation training out of all the other corps in the British Armed Forces.

“Alright. If you say so. If you’re struggling, though, there’s another guy who’s been through the same thing as you. He can help you.” The man said, though you couldn’t tell if it was more for his own peace of mind or yours. You only scoffed.

“I’ll be sure to stay away from him, then.” You mumbled, rolling your eyes when the captain looked at you with confusion. “People who have been through that aren’t usually very fun to be around. And anyways, no one can help me except for the Rileys, and they’re all dead.”

That shocked Price. He knew Simon Riley was famous as a cold blooded murderer, but as someone who offered help? He almost wanted to say you were too far gone then and there, but there was an edge to your voice he’d rarely seen before.

You didn’t want to stay much longer. The room was plain and the conversation brought up bad memories. You were great at hiding things, but not so much hiding from things. That’s why, instead of hiding from your past, you were hunting its ghosts. Hunting for the last traces of that damned Riley family. Hunting for salvation.

Salvation came at a great price. A price that had already been long since paid.

@imasimpsowhat06

Here is Part II

taglist:

@zyonsay

@cptg00s3

@redactahoe

If you would like to be added or removed from the taglist for the next part, leave a comment please.

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#ghost x male reader #ghost x reader #cod x male reader #cod x reader #ghost #x male reader #x reader #male reader #reader #call of duty x male reader #call of duty x reader #male reader blog #male reader fic #simon riley x male reader #simon ghost riley x male reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley

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slayfics · 1 year

Text

We're not Just Friends

Series featuring Muichiro, Obanai, and Reader

You train with Muichiro.

Chapter links

Chapter 2

You stood up and prepared yourself to train with Muichiro.

"Ready"?" He asked.

"Yup!" You said enthusiastically nodding. You were determined to be better than the last few times you had trained with him. You always found it impossible to keep up with his speed, but you wanted nothing more than to make him proud and prove you were a worthy opponent.

In your inner thoughts, you were barely conscious of, you acquainted being a worthy sparring partner as being worthy of Muichiro's affection. A part of you may have even believed that if you could keep up with him it would show him you were a worthy mate.

However hard you tried and tried though Muichiro seemed to beat you in no time at all. Today you didn't even think you did as well as the last time. Muichiro quickly disarmed you, winning the spar.

"Try again," he said, motioning for you to pick up your sword. You followed the Hashira's instructions and took your stance ready to try again, even though you felt your confidence shaking.

Within the same amount of time, maybe even shorter, Muichiro had disarmed you in the same way yet again.

The Hashira let out a big sigh and rubbed his forehead, "Try again, and remember what I told you last time. Don't be fooled by your opponent pushing so hard that may be exactly what they want you to focus on so they can get you with a surprise attack."

"Right ok!" You said and grabbed your sword again ready to spar once more. Although, you were confused by Muichiro's words. Don't focus on him so hard? What did that mean? You didn't have the courage to ask though so you prepared to try again.

This time he disarmed you even faster than the last time.

"No," he said. "That is the problem, you aren't listening. You have to get better if you ever want respect in the Demon Slayer Crops."

You felt Muichiro's words slice your heart in two. Did that mean he didn't respect you? Just as you were starting to think you two were getting closer.

These must be his true perceptions of you, and you must have been foolish to think he was starting to warm up to you and enjoy your company. He must think training with you was a waste of his time.

You didn't know what to say but you swallowed the lump in your throat and opened your mouth anyway knowing you had to say something. Just then Muichiro's crow appeared on a branch above you two announcing he was being summoned for a mission.

"Alright then, I'll see you later," He said and turned to follow his crow. You nodded but did not respond.

For the first time, you found yourself thankful for an abrupt ending to your time with Muichiro. Now you didn't have to worry about holding back the lump in your throat and the stinging in your eyes at his harsh words.

You followed the path in the woods back to your place feeling warm tears begin to drop. The more you thought about Muichiro's words, the more painful they became. Should you even stop bothering the Hashira to spend time with you? After today it seemed clear he would never feel the same way you did about him.

Why would he? The voice in your head tormented you. He is an amazing, beautiful Hashira, and you're nothing in comparison.

"What's wrong with you?" You heard come from above. Blinking away tears, you looked up to see Obanai resting in a tree.

Amazing artwork done by @valartsstuff!

Tags~

@sakurasunkiss @aeolia18 @unofficialmuilover @demonslayeranimex @yandere-kou @snowmist-hashira

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whxtedreams · 6 months

Text

Chapter Two: Bittersweet

The Depths we Devour, a gothic horror detective!joel fic

Summary

Detective Miller begins to investigate the strange clicking sound coming from below the cellar when he hears you scream, rushing to protect you.

Word Count: 6.4k

Tags: joel miller has inappropriate thoughts about reader, Joel POV, reader is referred to as the girl and she/her, reader has hair that can be braided and reaches her back, reader wears dresses, protective!joel, joel calls reader sweetheart/honey, violence, joel shoots someone, near death experience, anxiety, reader goes non-verbal, joel comforts reader, joel can carry reader, joel undresses and dresses reader, comfort!, im screaming while writing this, height difference, joel describes reader as small (height), joel is a little bit of an ass to alex, joel examines dead body (kind of) - as always, if i miss any let me know

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

The Detective

Day Two

5am

His sleep is restless, an annoying clicking coming from below him keeping him from sleeping more than an hour at a time. At three, he lays flat on the floor with his ear pressed on the dark wooden floors. He grunts as the clicking stops, then starts again and he taps his head on the floor a few times before getting back into bed. He presses a pillow to his head, attempting to drown out the noise but his efforts are futile.

Click, click, clickclickclick, thump.

Click.

At five, he gets up from the bed, grumbling at the noise as he dresses for the day.

He stumbles down the stairs with a long, audible yawn, his eyes adjusting to the light of the sunrise shining through the windows. The storm which had settled overnight and caused such chaos has now passed, the clouds parting and clearing as the sun rises again, the harsh weather of yesterday reduced to the gentle blue sky and calm, refreshing, morning air.

He reaches the bottom of the stairs and pauses momentarily, his ears catching the soft song of her voice, a melodious tune paired with the soothing keys of a piano. It calls out to him just as it did yesterday, and he is drawn to it, like a siren seducing him deeper into its embrace.

He finds her once more, her back to him as her soft voice rises and falls, paired against the soothing keys and the peaceful atmosphere of the morning. Her fingers dance smoothly over the keys, her movements and motions as fluid and pleasing to the eye as her voice is to his ears.

“I flew back home. It seems everything's the same. Except that you weren't home ‘Hello,’ I call to no one. When you're home, you're home. When you're home, you're home.”

He listens in a trance until the song comes to an end, the words flowing and tapering off as the song comes to a natural and satisfying conclusion. His gaze remains fixed upon her, his body relaxing as he leans on the doorway, his arms crossed against his chest and a faint smile finding its way to his lips as he takes in the beautiful scene in front of him.

Her hair is braided in two small braids today, each sporting a delicate, soft pink bow at the end. Her dress is shorter today than it had been yesterday, revealing the delicate skin of her legs beneath it. The dress itself is a light shade of pink, almost white. There is another small bow at the back of her dress near the waist, giving her a young and youthful appearance.

Tooyoungtooyoungtooyoung.

She turns a moment after her fingers press the final key on the piano and brings an abrupt end to her song as she catches sight of the detective, a soft smile spread across her face as she sees him. However, as she turns, the dress rises slightly, exposing a brief hint of her thigh before he quickly averts his gaze. He refuses to continue to let his eyes linger in a way that he knows would be inappropriate.

He craves to touch her again, to feel the smooth skin under his fingertips as she responds to his touch with goosebumps on her skin, his every urge screaming at him to reach out for her, yet his body remains still.

Tooyoungtooyoungtooyoung.

“Good morning detective. You’re awake awfully early.” she remarks with a warm, kind smile, standing from the piano with a fluid, graceful motion. His gaze flickers downwards for a moment before settling back onto her face, his eyes momentarily caught by the soft, white lace-trimmed socks which rise to just below her knees. The sight draws his focus once more, and he swallows thickly, unable to help himself. His attention then returns to her face, trying to push away those thoughts that were growing increasingly... inappropriate.

To throw her soft laced covered legs over his shoulders as he-

She’s his client.

A younger client.

He clears his throat. “Couldn’t sleep.”

She lets out a soft sigh, beginning to move past him as she walks across the room, leading him into a smaller, more intimate kitchen as compared to the kitchen from the lower level of the previous day. She gestures for him to sit down on a stool at the island before her, moving towards the coffee pot as he follows along, settling down into his seat as she begins to prepare some coffee for them both.

“Was it the clicking?” She asks, her back to him.

He frowns, clasping his hands together as he leans on the bench. “What?”

“What kept you awake, was it the clicking? We’ve searched the whole house, can’t find where it comes from. It’s always lower, even when we go down to the cellar, it’s still coming from under the floorboards even though that’s the lowest part of the house.” She sighs as she busies herself.

“Any sugar? Milk?” She asks, finally turning to him as she asks.

“Just black coffee is fine.”

He frowns as she speaks, his curiosity piqued at the strange clicking noise. It was loud last night, like it was right beneath him. Yet the fact that it seemed to come from beneath the cellar only added further confusion to the mystery. But if the noise comes from under the cellar, how did he hear it so loud last night?

He shakes his thoughts aside as she sets a mug of coffee in front of him, the hot steam filling the air above the mug as she does. “I don’t know how you drink it like that, it’s so bitter.” He is brought back to the present moment by her adorable little nose scrunch, his thoughts on the clicking momentarily diverted, if only for a few moments by her expression. He hates himself for finding her cute, but then, he can't seem to help himself when it comes to her.

"Yeah? I bet you have ten sugars, right?" He teases back, taking a small sip of the coffee. He watches as she rolls her eyes at him with a smirk on his face.

“No, that’s gross. I have honey and milk in mine.” She shrugs. His gaze flicks over to the jar of raw honey on the bench, a small Winnie the Pooh design on the jar standing out to him.

“Honey?” he raises his eyebrow at the jar.

“It’s really good, I swear.”

“I doubt that.” he responds with a teasing lilt to his voice, scrunching up his nose as he does so. She huffs in response, crossing her arms over her chest. Her small, adorable expression all but screaming out that he had clearly touched a sensitive spot with her.

He watches her pout and huff with amusement, a small corner of his mind telling him that he's just watching her and not trying to commit the moment to memory. That he's only watching her and nothing more. Yet, despite his attempts at denial, another portion of his mind remains focused upon these small, subtle details about how she makes her coffee, just in case he does end up having to make it for her himself, a desire to make it right for her.

Perfect for her.

No, of course not. He’s just watching.

She sits down next to him with a huff, but all trace of the small pout and the even cuter huffing soon vanishes as she sips the coffee, a smile spreading across her lips as it seems to hit all the right points of her taste buds. He watches her, catching a brief glimpse of the smile, before he quickly returns to his own mug of hot, bitter coffee.

She’s too sweet for him.

8:24am

A courtyard is situated on the other side of the conservatory, numerous large planter boxes filled with growing vegetables and herbs of all kinds, the small area arranged neatly and cleanly as it looks like its tended to regularly. The warm, soothing smell of the herbs and vegetables mix to form a pleasant air as the morning sun strikes the courtyard, casting its light to shine against the conservatory glass windows and the garden.

The girl mentioned as they ate breakfast together that she had not seen the grounds keeper for a few days, but that wasn’t unusual. The grounds keeper, Mia, is known to take small trips into the town a few hours from the manor and since there was a storm last night, it was more than likely she waited the storm out in town.

A woman with long wavy red hair kneels in front of a planter box, clad in a pair of gloves as she digs her hands into the moist soil, her bandanna tied around her head to keep her long hair out of her face as she frowns, focusing on the task before her. The sound of her movements and the quiet chatter of the occasional bird or passing insect is the only noise in the courtyard.

The detective doesn't care about being quiet, about startling the woman. His fingers wrap themselves around a metal chair neatly tucked under a table in the courtyard and drags it across the short distance that separates the two of them. He sets the chair down near her and sits down in it backwards, his legs spread around the back of the chair as he rests his forearms on the metal frame.

“I’m not in the mood sugar,” She sighs without glancing at the detective, her voice tired and slightly resigned.

Sugar.

“I prefer Detective Miller, actually.”

She turns to face him at the sound of his voice, her face registering a moment of confusion as she notices his sudden presence in the courtyard. She seems to be in her late thirties and her eyes are red, bloodshot. It's clear to the detective she's been crying. Small scratches line her neck, reaching down towards her collarbone. A dark bruise is beginning to take form under the collar of her shirt where her overalls are buckled over her shoulder.

Mia tugs the collar of her shirt slightly before she turns her attention back to the garden bed, clearly trying to avoid his gaze. She tries to reassure herself, her voice softer than before as she speaks.

"It's not as bad as it looks," she mutters quietly, but there's a waver to her words, and she seems to be trying to hide something.

“What happened?” The detective asks, his eyes tailing across her body.

There are splatters of blood and mud around the bottom of her overalls, a few small tears at her knees adding to the mixture of stains on her clothing. Her boots are caked in mud and grass up to the top, the grooves in the soles filled with small rocks that are pressed there from her travels. She was in the forest, he decides.

“I was in town before the storm. Stayed the night.” She shrugs, her eyes diverted from the detective.

“Don’t lie to me.” He warns, shifting in the chair as he looks down at her.

Mia leans back on her heels, seeming to try and get some relief from the physical labour of the task, but she doesn't seem to get any. She looks exhausted, sick even, her movements sluggish now. Her eyes still avoiding his gaze.

“You’ll think I’m crazy.”

“It’s going to take an awful lot for me to think that of you miss.”

“I went looking for Doctor Lewis.” She confesses.

Joel nods, waiting patiently for her to continue.

“I went to the cave he’s been working out of, but then the storm hit. It was so dark and cold, so I went deeper to get out of the storm. But there were monsters in there.” Her voice is a mere whisper now, a sharp contrast to her earlier tones. When she mentions the monsters, there is a clear hint of fear and caution in the way she speaks. She speaks of them in hushed tones, as if they might take notice of her call and suddenly appear, eager to attack her once more.

Joel nods with a sigh as he stands from the chair, crouching next to her to get a better look at her wounds. She's scared, tired, and hurt, he can see it in her mannerisms. She flinches when his hand reaches out for her, pain making her hiss as she tries to shrink back and hide from the touch.

"You think it was a wild animal?" Joel attempts to assure her, his arms now retreated to his knees, his tone remaining calm as he speaks to her. "Caves can be dark at night, easy to make mistake shadows for something else," he says, suggesting that what it was might not have been reality, but just in her mind.

"You think I'm crazy?" She scoffs, shaking her head as she stands up on shaky legs, trying to find her footing on the uneven courtyard ground. Her voice is sharp, defensive, but there's a hint of bitterness to it as she speaks.

“No,” He sighs as he stands with her, his knees cracking at the movement. “I think you’re tired and hurt. You should go rest, look after yourself. I’ll come find you when you’re feeling better, make sure you’re okay?” He tucks his hands into his jacket pocket, shifting on his feet and she slowly nods.

“Yeah, maybe you’re right.” She seems to give up when she acknowledges his comment, her shoulders slumping as if she's completely given in to the idea and that she might just be imagining things. She begins to turn away from him without saying another word.

She stops however, turning back to the detective as a look of curiosity and confusion spreads on her face, the wheels turning in her mind as she puts her experience in the cave together. She lets her thought linger, her voice a whisper as she speaks up again.

"I may be crazy or imagining things, but the same clicking we hear at night, it was in the cave too. Don't you think that's strange?"

The detective remains in the courtyard as she leaves, the sound of the clicks a lingering thought. The detective's fingers trail over his chin, thinking about the noise he's both heard himself last night and the occupants of the manor mention.

What is this damn clicking sound?

10:28am

Click. Click. Click. Clickclickclick, thump. Click.

The sound is loud, almost ghostly as the detective stands in the darkened cellar, his hands on his hips, his foot tapping in thought. It's as if something is calling to him, wanting him to pay attention to something hidden in the shadows.

The clicking seems to be coming from below him, from underneath the floor of the cellar, but there is no sign of a room beneath it. The clicking continues, faint but loud, the sound almost haunting as it echoes throughout the small, dark room. The detective shifts his stance, his eyes trying to pierce the darkness, and his hands reaching down to feel the floor in hopes of finding the source of the sound.

He had found a floor plan of the manor tucked away in Dr. Lewis’ study after leaving the courtyard. The underground level is fairly small, consisting of the staff kitchen, laundry room, storage room, cellar and an old boiler room.

No signs of a tucked away staircase, hidden room or ladder of any kind.

There is, however, the boiler room he found locked. On the map, there are two connecting rooms. The boiler room and an unmarked secondary room.

The detective pulls out his small notepad, scribbling on the paper a reminder to ask either the girl or one of the staff where he can find a key to the room.

His neck snaps towards the roof of the cellar, a loud terrified scream coming from the levels above. His blood runs cold, he knows that scream. Over decades as a detective, Joel has heard countless types of screams. From a child screaming over dropped ice cream, to the extreme of someone screaming for their life.

This one stands out from the rest, the sheer terror and desperation in it causing his heart to skip a few beats.

Her scream.

He drops his notebook without giving it a second thought, his legs automatically carrying him out of the room before he even has time to think. His boots are loud on the concrete floors as he sprints through the corridor and towards the stairs, his steps quick as he runs up them. He pushes the door at the top of the stairs open with his shoulder as he bursts through it, the door slamming against the wall from the force of his momentum, the sound echoing loudly as it does.

Her screams grow more desperate, and he turns towards the sound.

Upstairs.

“Get off her!”

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“You’re hurting her! Stop!”

He doesn’t know what lies waiting for him upstairs, the unknown almost paralysing as the terrified scream echoes above him. His pulse is pounding in his body as it races through his veins, his heartbeat quickening with every step he takes, his mind focused solely on the screams as they echo throughout the entire house. He pulls his gun from its holster, unsure of what lies ahead but prepared for the worst.

A sound that will haunt him like the others.

He kicks open the large wooden doors, her screams loud on the other side.

The detective freezes.

She’s on the floor, her back to him as she tries to scramble backwards. She cries as she slips in fright, her head hitting the floor.

Mia screeches, her eyes widening in hunger as she grabs her leg and tugs. Her jaw clamps shut, almost as if she’s trying to bite the girl. Mia seems different, feral. Her eyes are no longer filled with fear, but with hunger. It’s as if a switch has flipped inside of her, and she has turned into something else entirely.

Alexander hits Mia over the head with a wooden stick, broken off from a chair. Mia screeches once more, a sound almost animalistic and not human but the impact causes her no harm.

Mia’s hand reaches up towards the girl and before she has a chance to touch her again, a bullet hits her shoulder.

Her head snaps towards the detective as he stands in the doorway, his gun aimed at her. She screeches, scrambling to her feet.

“What the fuck.” The detective swears in shock. She should be in pain from the bullet. He watches as the blood seeps from her as she stands hunched over, her breathing laboured. There’s a high pitch angry screech before she sprints in the direction of Joel. The girl forgotten.

He shoots Mia again, this time in the leg but she only flinches as she runs erratically towards him.

He pulls the trigger on the gun, the shot ringing out loudly in the room as the bullet hits her face in the middle of her forehead. Her body twitches in shock, dropping to the ground like a rag doll as his shot makes contact with her. The sound of the gun echoes in the room, and the silence that follows seems even louder as he watches her fall to the ground.

She lies there, motionless on the ground, the detective taking in the sight of her form for a few moments, staring at her blankly. He wonders what might have caused this to happen to her, whether it was some form of fucked up rabies or something else entirely. He remains frozen in place for a few seconds before he reaches out with his foot to prod her body, checking to make sure she's dead.

What attacked her last night?

A broken sob snaps him out of his stare, the detective's attention now refocused on the girl. He tucks his gun back in its holster and strides with haste towards the other girl, concern evident in his actions as he moves quickly towards her.

She's pressed herself against the wall, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she experiences a state of panic. Her breathing is quick and shallow, her eyes darting around the room for something to explain what just happened, but she's unable to find a clear explanation for it.

He drops to his knees beside her, reaching out for her but retracting his hand quickly as he realises he might startle her. He looks down at her, taking in the sight of her body carefully, his eyes scanning every inch of her for signs of injury.

“Are you hurt?” He asks, almost panicked himself.

Her head turns, her eyes staring into his with fear, before her bottom lip starts to twitch, her body beginning to tremble. She falls apart in front of him, his heart shattering at the sight, as he watches the pain and fear she feels take over her.

Joel settles next to her as she cries, his fists clenching as her emotions take over and he struggles not to be able to hold her, to comfort her as she cries. The urge to reach out for her is strong, the urge to hold her and tell her everything is going to be okay tearing at his heart. He watches as she weeps, his eyes filled with concern and a small hint of sadness as the girl lets her emotions overwhelm her.

Her hand grips onto his sleeve, tugging him closer as she presses herself into his side, gripping onto him as if her life depended on it. He wraps his arm around her shoulder, finally pulling her closer to him as he does so. He can feel her trembling violently now, and his grip tightens around her as if he's trying to offer her some comfort in the form of his touch. His other hand settles on her head, gently holding it close to him.

"You're okay sweetheart, you're okay." He whispers softly, his voice gentle and caring as he holds her close and softly rocks her, attempting to offer her comfort and support in words as he tries to soothe her.

Her hand grips onto his shirt, and he feels her tears stain as the emotion pours from her, but he doesn't find himself caring in the slightest. He doesn't mind being stained with her tears, it's the least he can do to help her. He lets her grip his shirt as she sobs, his body becoming stained by her tears as he comforts her, his own hand wrapping behind her head as her head nuzzles into his chest. The feeling of her body pressed against him warm and comforting, soothing his own fear.

"What the hell was that?" Alexander swears, his voice a rough and harsh whisper as he stands across the room, looking down at the body of Mia. The blunt wooden stick still gripped tightly in his hands, staring at her as the pool of blood expands around her. His own shock overwhelming him as he stands there.

“I want you to go find Eliza, make sure she’s alright,” Joel instructs him, trying to keep him busy with a task to keep his mind from wandering to the body of Mia.

Alexander takes his eyes off Mia, looking down at the detective holding the girl close and comforting her, the girl sobbing into his chest. He frowns but seems to accept the situation at hand now and nods. "Yeah, yeah, I can go do that."

He turns and heads out the room, stepping over Mia’s body as he leaves.

Joel closes his eyes, leaning his head back against the wall as he holds her close to him, trying to calm down from the adrenaline rush. Her sobs have calmed in severity, but her body is still shaking slightly as she remains in his grip. He slowly rubs her back, and she seems to sink into his touch, her body relaxing in his arms.

He looks over at Mia again, but she's no longer his primary focus, his attention now turning to the girl in his arms. Now that her crying has subsided, he takes a long and careful look at her, the red watery eyes staring up at him from below. His hand covers the side of her face, his thumb making small and gentle movements that he hopes will be comforting to her, his gaze locked on with hers as he searches her eyes for any hints of her mental state.

“How about I take you to your room while I sort this out?” He proposes, his voice soft and gentle as he looks down at her.

She nods, her eyes wide and glued to his.

Protectprotectprotectprotect.

He starts to move her off of him to stand, to get her to start moving to a safer, cleaner environment. As he does, her body begins to panic again, her grip tightening on him as a reaction. He huffs a soft laugh in response, as if he expected this and is trying to keep the tension light, “Come on, I gotta get up honey.”

She pushes her face into his chest, burying it there as she holds onto him again for comfort. Her body is shaking again, her breath coming in quick and shallow breaths as she begins to panic again, her grip tightening once more on his clothes.

He sighs, realising that there's no point in arguing with her, that she's going to want to cling onto him no matter what. So instead, he acknowledges her need and offers her the comfort of being carried, a way to move her away from the horror and trauma that she's just endured. He knows the answer is going to be yes, but he asks it anyway just to make her feel as though she has some sort of choice or say in the matter.

“Yeah, yeah, alright. Want me to carry you, sweetheart?” He asks, already knowing the answer.

She nods into his chest.

Protectprotectprotectprotect.

“Can you let go for a second, so I can stand up.” As he speaks, he feels her shake her head, but he hushes her. “Just for a second sweetheart, I’ll be right here, I promise. Not going anywhere.”

He waits until she gives his question a slight nod, her grip loosening as he takes hold of her hand and gently moves her off of his body. She's still trembling slightly, but she's not holding onto him with the same intensity as she was before, and she allows him to help her stand up despite the fear.

“Come on, lift your legs, I got you.” He grunts, shifting her weight to a more favourable position as he picks her up, her legs wrapping tightly around his waist as she clings to him, her arms latching around his neck as she buries her face into his neck, wanting to feel as close as possible to him in her state of distress.

Protectprotectprotectprotect.

She's pressed tightly against him, her body clinging to him and moulding against his, and it takes every ounce of self-control in him to not think about the way she feels pressed against him. The way it feels right, the way it feels... like she belongs pressed so closely against him. Like this is where she should be, against him, in his arms.

The bed is just a few steps away, her bedroom door open as he walks through carefully, not wanting to disturb her space. When they get to the bed, he sets her down on top of the covers, making sure she's comfortable and secure. He wants her to feel as safe as possible after what just happened, and this is where she should be. Her bedroom, her bed, her safe space.

He looks down at her ripped socks, her blood-stained dress, and a frown spreads across his face. He kneels at her bedside and he feels her watching him carefully as he lifts her leg, placing her foot on his thigh as he begins to carefully remove her torn socks.

He places the socks on the bed beside her as he stands up, then nods towards her dress. "You should get changed."

She remains still, her eyes glued to his own, her face blank, emotionless. It's as though she's frozen in place, unable to respond to his words. He watches her closely, his eyes flicking between her unresponsiveness and the stained dress before he repeats himself.

Nothing.

He sighs with a nod. “Alright.”

He slowly moves his hands towards her, keeping his pace gentle and slow so she has ample time to respond or voice any objections to his actions. She remains quiet, her gaze locked onto his own.

He stands between her legs, the situation now mirroring back to what happened last night. This time it's not for fun, not for his own pleasure, not for anything except for necessity. He softly orders her to put her arms up.

She lifts her arms up and allows him to tug the stained dress up and over her head, the stained material sliding off of her. Once the dress has been removed, he folds it up and places it next to the socks before he looks back down at her, his gaze once more meeting hers.

He tells himself he’s checking for injuries as he looks further down her body.

Softsoftsoftsoft.

His eyes flick over to the other side of the room, to the neatly folded pyjamas on the chair, waiting for her. He takes them, placing them on the bed beside her.

She doesn’t move.

He takes her hand and gently tugs her to her feet. He kneels in front of her again, looking up at her as she stares back down at him, his gaze softening as he looks up at her and sees the adoration in her eyes.

Joel reaches for the pants, so soft in his calloused hands. His hand wraps around her ankle, helping her stand into her pants. Once both feet are in, he slowly pulls the material up her legs until the waistband sits snug on her waist.

His hands don’t linger, his thumb definitely doesn’t feel her soft skin like the night before. She doesn’t shiver under his touch.

Joel has always been too good at lying to himself.

He stands, his hands still on her waist as he towers over her, a few inches taller than her. She's looking up at him as if she's mesmerized, fascinated, intrigued.

Smallsmallsmallsmall.

His hands leave her as he guides her arms through the sleeves of her shirt, adjusting it and making sure it's sitting correctly before he turns his attention to her buttons.

He pulls each and every button through the little holes, closing the shirt around her form, keeping it away from his sinful eyes. His fingers fumble with the small and delicate buttons, frowning in concentration as he pulls each one through, paying extra attention and focus to making sure each one goes into the right hole.

He adjusts the collar, flattening it out and fitting it properly around her neck, ensuring that it sits softly and comfortably against her skin. His hands still on her shoulders as he gazes down at her. "There, all dressed." his voice soft and gentle.

He gently guides her back to the bed, easing her to sit down before she crawls into the middle of the bed, back against the pillows and stuffed animals surrounding her.

"I should probably leave, call the local police," Joel states, his voice soft and gentle. He averts his eyes away from her, turning to leave the room.

“Please don’t leave me.”

Joel's heart aches as he hears her small and broken voice for the first time since the incident, that tiny little plea of hers for him not to leave her. He turns back, the guilt and sadness welling in his chest as he takes in her image, her state, and her desperate voice. Something inside of him breaking for just a moment as his gaze falls on every inch of her, from the blood-stained dress at the end of the bed, to the little stuffed animals surrounding her, to her broken and pleading voice.

“Yeah, I can stay sweetheart.”

Joel moves towards the desk chair, but she shakes her head, patting the spot beside her on the bed.

He sighs in defeat.

Joel sits at the end of the bed, untying his boots and leaving them on the floor as he stands. He tugs his shoulder harness and holster from his body, laying it on the chair before he moves once more back to the bed, to her.

He sits on the edge beside her before she tugs on his shirt, and he laughs at her impatience. “Alright, alright.” He laughs, giving in to her impatient tug upon his shirt, before moving to sit beside her on the bed, his back against the soft pillows and stuffed animals. He takes hold of her hand and gently squeezes it, the simple gesture meant to offer comfort and reassurance, to promise that he won't leave her side.

She moves quickly, moulding her body to his side, wrapping her leg around his and her arm around his torso as she buries her head against his chest. She settles there, cheek on his chest, pressing her body against him tightly. Her breathing slowly begins to return to a normal pace as she feels the comfort of his presence.

His hand settles back on her head, softly petting and playing with her hair as he speaks quietly to her, his voice soft and gentle. "You just needed a hug, huh?" he huffs, a soft chuckle in his voice as he speaks.

She tightens her hold on him as she closes her eyes.

Protectprotectprotect.

12:29pm

The detective slams the phone down, anger and frustration coursing through his body, before his eyes spot the closest thing to him, a glass cup. With a violent, explosive motion, he grasps the cup with his hand and hurls it across the room, glass shattering as it crashes against the wall. His hands then gripping tightly to the back of a chair as he leans over it, letting out a sound of frustration, as if he wants to destroy everything around him.

The local police were no help. He called them to inform them of the altercation, to explain what happened. They were very quick to agree to pick up the body but refused to cooperate any further.

He wouldn’t be allowed anywhere near the body after it gets transported to the morgue.

"Fuck this," he mutters to himself before stomping back up the steps to the crime scene. His anger is still at an all-time high, rage boiling up inside of him as he marches back up the stairs, intent on finding out more answers about what happened and why.

Mia’s body - thankfully - is still lying face down in her own blood.

He tugs his gloves over his hands, his anger still simmering. He carefully pushes Mia on her back, the body now exposed once more, giving him a full view. He takes in the sight, takes in the wounds and injuries that the victim had endured, both from himself and whatever attacked her last night.

He notes the change in Mia’s hair, how it is now thinner, duller in colour and texture. How when he reaches up to touch it, clumps of hair fall out as though plucking strands of cotton candy. The changes in her appearance and condition clearly something that catches his attention.

How interesting.

Her skin, once a rosy and healthy shade, is now pale and sickly, as if all life and energy had been sucked out of it. The skin is also moulted and covered in lesions. The detective's face scrunches up in disgust as he touches the skin, feeling the texture and the condition of the flesh beneath his fingertips is enough to bring about his disgust.

It doesn’t feel human.

He remembers the bruise that he saw on her shoulder this morning, but he didn't get a chance to take a closer look at it. Pushing the collar of the shirt aside shows the large animal bite. The bite itself is red and black in appearance, infected and inflamed, the flesh around the edge of the bite having rotted and turned black.

He crouches down beside the body, his face twisting in even greater disgust as he leans in for a closer look at the rotting bite, hoping to gain more insight into what could have inflicted the injury and caused her to behave the way she did.

“Huh?” Joel huffs as he spots a tooth wedged into the bite.

“You shouldn’t be in here.”

Joel turns away from the body at the sound of Alexander's voice, the detective raising a curious eyebrow as he gazes over at the man. But he doesn't take his eyes off of the body for long, his gaze shifting back to the body of the victim as he turns his head to look back at Mia.

“Neither should you.”

“Touché.” He shrugs as he moves to stand beside the detective. “What are you doing?”

"If you're going to just stand there and bother me, could you at least get me some tweezers?" the detective glares up at the man, demanding something to better occupy his busy hands. The man rolls his eyes before leaving the room, searching for tweezers to appease the detective. After a moment, he returns and hands him the tool.

"Wasn't so hard, was it," the detective murmurs, annoyance in his voice as he accepts the tweezers from Alexander. He leans back over the body, using the tweezers to ease the tooth from the bite, gently removing it.

“That’s fucking disgusting.” Alexander mutters, taking a couple steps back away from the detective, his body heaving from the sight as he reaches for the side of the wall, taking a deep breath before dry retching.

The detective ignores the man and his dramatics, instead bringing the tooth closer to his eyes, inspecting the tooth closely, inspecting the colour, the shape, the markings, and even the texture with the utmost attention.

How interesting.

A human tooth.

Click here for Chapter three

Notes

yall i went feral over this. JOEL DRESSING READER okay on a serious note, a first glance at what is haunting the manor and its surrounds! I really enjoyed writing this chapter - a lot - so i hope yall like it too!

If you want to be tagged, please comment on the masterlist for this series and I will add you. If you want to be taken off, please DM so i don't miss your request.

Every comment, like and reblog means the world to me. please let me know your thoughts about this, i want to ramble about this story so much.

tags: @jupiter-soups @lollabear

#joel miller #the last of us #joel tlou #joel fanfic #joel x reader #tlou #tlou joel #tlou fanfiction #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal #joel miller fanfic #joel x you

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celestie0 · 5 months

Text

MY LOVELY KICKOFF READERS PLEASE VOTE if u wld like

HIII MY DEARS i'm so sorry pls crucify me for being horrendous at meeting my OWN fucking release timelines for my fics :D it's like i SWEAR i'm okay w the chapter and then my brain does gymnastics and i get the anxiety of a gazelle being chased by a cougar and not the rich hot ones in beverly hills w the fake boobs im talking animal kingdom

anywho, i mentioned there's this scene i wanted to cut from ch10. but tbh, i'm thinking about it and i really don't want to cut the scene...i wanna see if i can work w it and include it, and tbh where i have ch10 ending rn is sooo abrupt n a little awkward w/out the scene. i'd love to include it, but if i do, i would need more time to work on it :''')

but i also know i promised a chap today so skfshdkf i wanted to include u guys in my decision

sooo my question is, would you guys rather have a shorter chapter today, or wait maybe an extra 1-2 days for longer chapter?

pls vote if you feel so inclined :'') love u all

i'll probs decide before 5pm PST based on poll results!!

#sigh #kickoff #gojo x reader

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believesthings · 4 months

Text

Not Just A Girl - Chapter 5 // Jason Sudeikis x Reader

A/N: This is a little bit of a shorter chapter but I'm excited about what's coming up in these next few chapters.

You wait while Todd finishes up a phone call for another one of his clients. When he hangs up, he smiles at you. "Okay, the apology basket has been sent over. Do you mind telling me why you felt it was such a dire need?"

You shake your head in response, "Mainly guilt. I was a bit of a wreck after eavesdropping. I ended up accidentally ending the message I was leaving for Jason right after an abrupt strong of curse words."

"Ah, say no more." Todd says holding his hands up. He knows you well enough at this point to understand. "I suppose I can forgive you for forgetting to tell me you'd gotten there alright then." Todd motions towards the stack of pages stacked up in the chair across from his desk. "Those are for you. I have a bag around here somewhere if you can't fit them in yours."

"Fan mail?" You ask, making your way towards the stack.

He nods. "Yeah." You're able to fit the pages neatly beside the script pages for the James & Mia script, which is what you've taken to calling the movie until it's given an official title.

You point to the stack that sits off in the corner that Todd has almost hidden. You can see that the one on top is addressed to you. "What about those? Might has well take as many off your hands as I can while I'm here."

Todd shares sharply at you. "No - those stay with me for now." He doesn't offer any further explanation. You're standing closer to the stack of papers than he is and he frowns when you wake your way towards it, reaching for the top letter and starting to read. He holds out his hand, urging you to give the letter back.

You feel your cheeks burning as you quickly read words addressed to you. Apparently, it's bullshit that you've been linked to multiple actors in the past few weeks, especially Jason and these people wanted to make sure you knew how they felt about it. "Oh -"

"Look, some people just..." Todd is speaking lowly now, still holding his hand out for the letter.

"That is quite a lot of hate there." He takes the paper gently from your hands and replaces it on the top of the stack that you eye with concern. "Are all of those letters like that?"

Todd turns back to you and grasps you by the shoulders. "Forget those. You can't please everybody all the time. Let's focus on the the fact that you landed the role of Mia and-" He moves you away from the letters trying to steer your attention in another direction. "Can you please promise me an alert for the next time you plan to worry Jason like that?"

You shrug, doing your best to try to forget the words you just read. "You could have told him I was getting the part. Did you know already? Wasn't that what you wanted to talk to me about?" Remembering the strangely worded text that Todd had sent you.

"No actually that notification arrived after you'd texted me." Once Todd is comfortably assured that you don't plan on diving towards the stack (although you still can't seem to shake that you've racked up an entire stack) of hate mail, he leans against the edge of the desk while he talks to you. "To redouble the happy news for the day, I've gotten confirmation from the studio that they want to do a sequel for All Your Monsters and, in so many words, they refuse to even mention your character's name unless you're willing to participate."

You squeal and jump towards him and he braces himself the incoming hug. "Oh my God Todd!" You step back again and start to pace. "What about Will is he also going to be in it? What does that mean for -"

He holds up a hand to stop you from falling to far into the rabbit hole of questions. "They've just confirmed that they want to pursue a sequel. There's a lot of details that need to be worked out before we need to start worrying about anything other than you playing the role of Mia. And for other good news, I've been looking into those rentals that you sent me. I think I have them sorted out to two good options for you - just let me know when you want to go back and double check that they would be a good fit and then we can get all the paperwork signed. "

You place your hand over your heart and give him a tender look. "Where would I be without you Todd?"

He waves his hand to dismiss you before you can get too sentimental. "You would still be here, just with a different person helping you along the way."

Todd's phone begins to ring and he glances at it before looking back up at you. You smile and pick up your bag. "I'm heading back to the hotel. Thank you for being the best agent. I really don't know how you juggle everything so well." He nods gratefully before scooping up the phone.

You're almost back to the hotel when a text arrives from Jason.

Gift basket arrived to the surprise and delight of the cast and crew. I half thought you were joking about that. They send their thanks.

You smile, happy your gesture was well received.

Another text from Jason comes in:

End of day time still looks right. How does dinner at my place sound? Will you have already eaten by then?"

Nice. Quiet. Just what you needed after the odd day you've had. You text back:

Sounds Divine. I can wait to eat. What should I bring?

Your pleased by the fact that there aren't too many photographers waiting for your arrival back to the hotel. Once you make it into the lobby, you notice that Jason has responded to your text.

Your company is all I need. See you soon.

Rather than tempt yourself to shop for things you don't really need you opt to stay in the hotel and answer fan mail. After reading how vehemently a complete stranger opposes your connection with Jason it helps to read the uplifting pages.

You estimate the travel time between your hotel and the location where Jason has been filming today and order a taxi. As you arrive, the driver notice your expression upon seeing the number of people standing on the sidewalk. "Are you alright there?"

You nod, now realizing you didn't really think this through. The taxi would need to be going to his next stop... and you weren't filming at this studio, or even with the respective company that owned it. Security would probably just think you were another respective fan trying to get a glimpse of Jason. You sigh and set your mouth in a determined line. You'd just have to wait off to the side and hope the crowd would be too occupied trying to see Jason exit the building. "Good. Thanks. How much do I owe you?"

The driver turns now to smile at you rather than look at you through the rearview mirror. "My girls love you. I guess you're here to see Jason?"

He hadn't made conversation the entire ride over so it hadn't dawned on you that he knew who you were. You adjust your hat a little. "I - yes. What are their names?" You pull a pen out of your bag and wait as he scrambles in his front seat to hand you something to sign.

"If you want," he looks away from you to the security gate, "I can see if they'll let me drop your inside?"

You shake your head. “I didn’t, we didn’t, really plan this out. I don’t know…But thanks for the offer.” You hand him back the paper along with the fare, which you now realize has been showing on the screen in front of your knees. He looks hesitant to let you out of the cab but doesn’t protest as you slide out of the seat onto the sidewalk. You wave to him in thanks and watch the taxi roll away from the curb.

Ok, now what. You again play with the notion of walking over to introduce yourself to security. You tap out a quick message to Jason.

Just arrived. A bit early. Oops.

You are adjusting your cap and about to walk up the sidewalk towards the studio when you hear a whoop. Someone shouts your name excitedly and you, without really thinking, look for the source. Now more faces are turning to see what the excitement is, and you note security is following the gaze of the few that were shouting your name. Well, this is one way to start the night. A guard reaches you after you’ve signed a few photos that had been thrust into your hands. Though patient to allow you to greet the first few individuals that had met you, the guard doesn’t let you linger long.

Someone from the crew is waiting to take you to Jason's dressing room. “He’s just cleaning up. Thanks for the goodies, by the way.” She knocks lightly on the door marked Sudeikis and you hear a muffled response. She motions for you to go on in with a wave of her hand before walking back down the hallway.

You can smell the soap he’s just used to wash, and note he is quickly pulling a shirt over his head to be presentable for whomever is coming to talk to him. Dear Lord the man has more muscle definition than you thought. His hair is now mussed from pulling on his shirt. You grin and stand in the doorway, waiting for him to see that it is you.

All he has to do is smile to propel you across the small space and into his arms. “How was the rest of your day?” With your ear to his chest his words reverberate around in your head.

You reply without moving, “Fine. Better. Good. Brett is going to be in the James & Mia movie with me!”

Jason uses one hand to flip your hat off your head that you ah, had forgotten that you were wearing. He kisses the top of your head before speaking again. “He sent me a text just after I had hung up with you. They evidently wrote the part with him in mind but then found him unavailable, until recently.” He grins as you step away from him with the intent of letting him finish getting ready to leave the building. He doesn’t let you get far, keeping one arm around your waist and pulling you back against him. “And here I thought I’d been the clever one, finding my way around those walls you’d constructed.” You stand on tiptoe to kiss him. Your fingers find that his hair has nearly dried. “I’m glad you came inside. This is a much better hello.”

You laugh and murmur a hello into his lips. This does remind you of the crowd waiting outside though. You press your hands lightly to his chest and lean back in his arms to look at him while you speak. “The taxi dropped me off and well, I got to say hello to some of your fans before a guard came to get me.”

“I asked the guards to be on the lookout. You could have gotten the driver to go up to the gate, though I’m sure the fans enjoyed seeing you. Hopefully they are our fans and not just my fans… ”

Knocking at the door frame precedes the rapid-fire stream of words altering you to company. The man that walks through the open door pauses a few paces and several sentences in. “Jason! You, my friend, never cease to amaze. We of course have – oh. Sorry the door was open and I figured I’d steal a moment.”

Jason releases your waist allowing you to settle back into a standing position next to him, much to the relief of your arches. Clearly you are going to have to practice standing on the balls of your feet. Jason introduces you to Theo, another actor on the project, and Theo gives Jason a wink before shaking your hand, then pulling it to his lips to peck it as Jason had done the night of the awards show.

“So – this is the lovely woman that we’ve heard so much about.” Theo switches commenting from Jason to you. “I’ve never seen him so transfixed."

You’re starting to blush.

“I’ll leave the pair of you to it…” He accompanies the comment with a wriggle of his eyebrows which makes you blush more. He calls out behind him as he clears the doorway, “Practicing sparring tomorrow buddy!”

“Whew. After that - I feel like I’m moving in slow motion. He rivals you for boundless energy!” You say, motioning after the human whirlwind that just departed.

“Do I make you feel like you’re in slow motion?” Jason asks waving your hat at you that he still holds in one hand.

You nod and move to reclaim said item. “Sometimes…” He grins and puts your hat on his head which, unless he starts cooperating, effectively removes it from your reach. You study him a moment with your hands on your hips before shrugging. “Well, the studio will surely love the endorsement.”

Jason takes a brief survey of the dressing room before nodding, which you take to be a signal that he is ready to leave. In the hallway you take a few steps towards the direction of the studio exit and pause to wait until Jason is at your side. His hand finds yours as you walk, "I meant what I said before Theo arrived, you know."

Nodding, you squeeze his hand lightly, "I know, but if I had gotten the taxi to go through the gates I wouldn’t have been able to…” Jason pulls you up short, laughingly wrapping his arms around your waist and shaking his head. You smile, though the cutting words of the letter you found in Todd's office still blaze in your head. “Jason, we can’t expect everyone to be happy that we’re dating."

"I can and I will.” Playfully defiant, Jason mutters the words into your ear before landing a light kiss just below it. He straightens and takes you by the hand again to resume your progress towards the fans, the waiting car, and home. “For my money, the world can think what they want, but the only woman whose feelings on the subject truly matter to me will be dining with me tonight."

You’re tempted to once again provide a smart retort - remind him of his family or yours - but opt, instead, to swoon.

Tag List: @my-soupy-brain @tegan8314 @tortilla-maria1 @nerdgirljen

#Jason sudeikis #Jason Sudeikis x reader #Jason Sudeikis rpf #Jason Sudeikis fluff #x reader #Jason Sudeikis fanfiction #Jason Sudeikis fanfic #Jason Sudeikis fic #Jason sudeikis blurb #rpf #not just a girl

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abitohoney · 2 years

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I Just Want to Fuck You

(A sequel to Roses are Red)

Ch1, Ch2, Ch3, Ch4, Ch5

AO3

This contains Explicit smut, so NSFW, MDNI Sevika x female reader 3.9k words (why are my smut scenes always so dang long? And this is shorter than usual! 😭)

AN: Sorry I couldn’t get this last chapter out by Valentine's Day, but hopefully it’s still enjoyable!

"Your place or mine?"

Seems simple enough a question, but as Sevika only eyes you in contemplation, you start to wonder if perhaps you somehow misinterpreted the poem. But then again, how could you possibly misinterpret the words 'I just want to fuck you'?

"You got a key to the storage closet, don't you?"

What?

Oh.

OH!

"I- Well yes. I do," you reply dumbfounded. That was not the response you were expecting, but you're certainly not complaining either. "But my shift doesn't end for another hour," you add dejectedly.

Sevika looks past your shoulder, which you find odd, at least until she suddenly bellows, "Hey! Thieram!"

You nearly jump out of your skin at the abrupt and commanding call to your fellow bartender. And judging by the shrill little yelp from behind you, he was just as startled as you.

"Y-Yeah?" Thieram stammers nervously as he walks up beside you. He avoids Sevika's gaze like a trembling mouse, and you can't help but smile at how Sevika can bring men to their knees simply with her voice. Her presence.

"She's taking off early," Sevika states matter-of-factly, tilting her head towards you.

"Wha-?" He stops dead, catching the way Sevika narrows her eyes at him threateningly. "Oh. Uh- okay," he finishes meekly.

You almost feel sorry for him. Almost. Hard to feel too bad when you know what this is going to lead to. For you. His loss equals your benefit. A damn good one at that.

“Meet me in the back,” Sevika instructs, but before she can turn to leave, you hoist yourself up onto the bar-top. She arches a brow, clearly impressed.

You swing your legs over to her side of the counter. “My feet are tired. Carry me?” you ask with a playful pout.

Sevika’s lips curl into a smirk and she steps between your spread knees. Wrapping her arms around your waist, she grabs a handful of your ass and tugs you towards her.

You squeal, earning yourself a throaty chuckle from Sevika. The two of you smile at one another as you wrap your arms around her neck and legs around her waist. Neither of you give two shits that the other bar patrons are watching your little display. Not when both of you are so enamored with the other. And horny.

“You’ll be more than tired by the time I’m through with you,” Sevika husks as she carries you around the bar and towards the back.

Biting your lip, you try to contain your excitement. You don’t doubt for a second that she’s going to wear you out. You’re willing to bet a week's pay she’s a master between the sheets. Or in this case, between the mop and the sink.

"You're the one who sent me those flowers, right?" You ask.

"Yeah."

"Thank you. That was very sweet of you."

"Bet you're sweeter," she replies, gaze dropping to your mouth when you instinctively lick your lips.

Using the sole of her boot, Sevika kicks the door open that leads to the hallway behind the bar. Her plump lips are on yours before the door can swing shut behind her.

She kisses you with such fervor, such hunger, it’s enough to steal your breath. And she allows you no time to recover, her tongue immediately forcing entry.

Your soft moan turns into a muffled gasp when you feel your back press against something hard. Blinking several times, you gather your bearings and realize it’s the door to the storage closet.

Sevika finally breaks the kiss, leaving you desperately trying to refill your oxygen derived lungs. “Key,” she grunts, hands groping at your ass. But before you can recover enough to respond, her mouth is latching onto your neck, biting and sucking down the length of it.

“Fuck,” you groan, tilting your head to the side to give her easier access. Reaching down to your pants pocket, you struggle to retrieve your keys, cursing yourself for wearing such tight pants. And Sevika is not making it any easier by sandwiching you between the door and her large frame. Not to mention distracting you with her hands groping your ass and her mouth trailing down into your cleavage.

Nearly ripping your pocket with how violently you yank the damn keys out, your next hurdle is getting them into the lock behind you.

"Someone's impatient," Sevika chuckles as she lifts her head to press her lips to your ear.

"You're the one who couldn't wait to go to one of our places," you reply. Unfortunately, the way you're nearly breathless from being so worked up, your playful snark loses quite a bit of its edge.

Sevika nips at your ear, withdrawing a sharp inhale from you. She grabs the keys from your hand, pressing herself against you harder to keep you from slipping down her body while she hastily unlocks the door.

Though it should have been expected, you aren't prepared for how the door flies open from how damn hard Sevika is pushing you into it. Seems she isn't either, as she stumbles inside. The next thing you know, your back is slammed against yet another immovable object. Judging by the plethora of bottles that crash to the floor, it's a shelf.

The door swings shut, leaving the two of you in a very tiny closet with only a dim, dingy light hanging from above. Sevika wastes no time slipping her hand beneath your shirt to grope at a tit while her metal hand continues to squeeze your ass. She kisses down your jaw, dragging her teeth and nipping along the way.

"Sevika," you groan in protest. You want to touch her. Kiss her. But she's overpowering. Dominating. She gives you no room to return any of the attention, crushing you with her body and leaving your head muddled by her overwhelming presence. All you can manage is to cling to her shoulders and wrap your legs tighter around her waist while she starts grinding against you. And fuck, you can feel a bulge in her pants…

Oh dear Janna, she's wearing a strap.

And it's rubbing against your aching clit, leaving you desperately trying to bite back your moans.

Then she stops. And your resultant desperate whine doesn't go unnoticed.

Sevika smirks at your knitted brows and flushed cheeks. "Needy little thing, aren't you?"

Says the woman who can't seem to keep her hands or mouth off you.

"I thought you said you wanted to fuck me," you tease. And damn do you wish you could capture her expression and keep it forever. She just looks so stunned at your brazen comment. She's clearly not used to having someone brave enough to fire back at her. She's also clearly pleased, if the little smirk she wears is anything to go by.

"Alright sweetheart," Sevika purrs. Then, without warning, she backs up and unceremoniously drops you to your feet. "Fingers or strap?"

"What about mouth?" You ask with a sly grin.

"Your choice."

"Yes," you reply, and when she doesn't seem to take the hint, you add, "I'll take them all."

Her lopsided smile grows large enough to reveal a sliver of teeth.

Oh she likes that.

"Then drop those pants," she sneers.

You stand, unmoving, and watch as she pulls her cloak off over her head and tosses it on the handle of a mop. Smiling sweetly when she raises a brow at your still fully buttoned pants, you answer her unspoken question, "You forgot to say please."

You wonder, for a moment when her stormy gray eyes go wide, if perhaps you are being too brazen with Silco's right-hand woman. She could easily crush you with any part of her body. But you remind yourself; she came to you. She couldn't keep her eyes, hands or mouth off you. You've got this big, sexy brute under your thumb.

You raise an expectant brow to match hers and add, "Unless you've changed your mind." Slowly, deliberately, you run a fingertip down your chest, watching her pupils dilate as she follows the path down to your cleavage. "Would be such a pity," you add with a pout. "I've been so lonely. Needy." And when you see her metal and flesh fingers twitch at her sides, you know you've won.

"Please," she finally relents, but she refuses to meet your gaze. Her eyes remain glued to where your finger traces along the low collar of your shirt and over the swell of each breast.

Although she mumbles the word in the quietest voice, you opt to accept it. Not so much out of the kindness of your heart, but because you're aroused as high hell and want her touching you again. Without another word, you slowly undo your pants and pull them down to your ankles.

You're about to remove your boots when she's suddenly invading your space again; strong, thick thighs nearly touching your face. Peering up at her through your lashes, you find her smirking down at you while she unbuckles her belt, that smooth confidence apparently back in place. Now you can't seem to decide if you prefer her in that shocked, pussy-whipped state of mind, or this cocky, gonna take what I want version.

"Leave 'em," she states, placing her index finger beneath your chin and forcing you to rise.

You don't argue this time, deciding you want- at least for the time being- to let her take control again. Having only dropped your pants, you wonder if she plans to just fuck you with your panties on. But she quickly answers that question when she grabs said panties in her metal hand and just outright rips them like they're made of nothing more than tissue paper.

Sevika's haughty grin spreads wider at your startled yelp.

Okay, you're pretty sure you prefer this version. And as you watch her- this cocky, vast, powerful woman- slowly drop to her knees before you, you realize just how completely fucked you are. Or are about to be.

Sevika places a hand on the top of each of your thighs, and the contrast between the mechanical and organic is startling, but also thrilling. She’s certainly killed men with both, but one feels sharp, cold and crafted by mortals, while the other feels rough with callouses, warm and crafted by gods.

She slides the thumb of both between the apex of your thighs, gently prying them apart to reveal your dripping core. “Already so wet for me,” she hums appreciatively.

You release a shaky breath. Your sudden rise in arousal leaves your lower half aching for her touch. Your body shivers despite your skin feeling entirely too hot.

Sevika’s thumbs delve further, dangerously close to where you need her. But she simply spreads your folds and just… stares. Hungrily.

“Sev-” your whine is cut short, devolving into a broken moan when she drags the tip of her tongue through your folds, stopping just before your swollen clit. And then her mouth is on you, and the pleasure that courses through your body threatens to break any remaining composure you have.

She kisses you between your legs just as she did your mouth; hot, heavy, wild and downright insatiable. It's a myriad of sloppy licking, sucking and prodding. And paired with how fucking wet you are for her, the resulting crude noises should be enough to make you blush, but it feels so fucking good, you couldn't care less.

Then there's her nose. Oh Janna, her nose. She runs it along the throbbing bundle of nerves above while she laps at your cunt.

You card your hands through her silky hair, gripping the little half ponytail at the back. You tug when you feel her ease a finger inside your dripping hole. An impossibly long, thick finger.

"Fuck. Sevika, that feels good," you moan, eyes fluttering shut and head lolling back.

Sevika pulls that finger back out slowly, curling and dragging along your walls and with it another moan from your now slack mouth. Tongue swirling around your clit, she adds another finger, sinking both clear to the knuckle. Reaching up under your shirt with her prosthetic, she wraps her hand around one of your breasts, gently squeezing.

Her mouth sucks and tongue flicks at your clit. Her flesh fingers scissor and pump inside your cunt. And her metal fingers pinch and roll over the hardened peak of your breast. The sheer amount of stimulation is nearly overwhelming, leaving you reeling and struggling to remain standing.

Tugging her hair as you try to grind against her face and chase that rapidly approaching peak, you freeze when you feel the rumble of her threatening growl against your clit. It almost sends you over the edge. "Fuck, Sevika," you whimper. "I'm close. Please."

"Mmm. Not yet, sweetheart," she replies. And blessed Janna, her voice is so raspy, so full of lust, you think you might just collapse right then and there.

Peering down at her through half-lidded eyes, your legs tremble at the sight of this gorgeous brute of a woman with her face buried between your thighs, looking as if she's enjoying her last meal. Ravenous gray eyes meet yours and your knees finally give way.

Sevika catches you, her prosthetic leaving your breast to wrap around your waist and steady you. Removing her fingers from between your legs, she chuckles lowly at your fucked out expression. Wiping her mouth with the back of her free hand, she slowly rises.

Letting your hands drop to her shoulders, your lust-clouded eyes follow her smirking lips, neck craning as she reaches her full height.

Damn, she's so fucking tall. So sexy.

She suddenly pulls you against her firm body. Your resulting gasp is muffled by the press of her lips to yours. Her tongue forces entry and rolls over yours.

The taste of your own arousal fills your mouth, pulling an appreciative moan from deep in your chest.

When she pulls back, haughty smile still gracing her beautiful face, you’re too busy gaping to realize she’s reaching down to unzip her pants.

“Bend over the sink.”

You blink. Still light-headed from desire, you can’t quite process her statement. “What?”

She arches a brow. “Bend over the sink,” she repeats, slower this time.

Your gaze drops to her pants, eyes widening when you find her human hand languidly stroking the length of her long, purple strap.

Oh. Oh fuck yes.

Pants still at your ankles, you’re actually grateful for the absurdly small size of the closet, as you only have to waddle like a fool a short distance to position yourself facing the sink.

“That’s a good girl,” Sevika purrs as she steps up behind you, and your knees threaten to buckle again at that praise. She presses her metal hand to your back, gently forcing you to bend over. With the same hand, she spreads your thighs apart, her human hand guiding the head of the faux cock between them.

The anticipation that fills your entire being has you squeezing your eyes shut tight and biting your bottom lip. You’re certain the sharp tips of her metal fingers digging into the flesh of your thigh is the only thing keeping you grounded as she starts to ease the tip of her strap inside.

“Mmm,” she hums deeply from behind you, “Look at that. Such a hungry pussy. Wants me to fill her up.”

“Oh dear Janna,” you groan. She’s so fucking sexy.

“Forget my name, sweetheart?” she teases. She moves her human hand to your other thigh, helping spread you open as she ever-so-slowly sinks inside you.

Fuck, she’s going too slow. You need her inside you now. “Sevika,” you whimper.

“That’s right," she praises, thumbs gently stroking the insides of your thighs. "Bet I can get you to forget your own name though.”

You try to push back into her, but her nails dig almost painfully into your flesh, stilling you. You’re about to protest when she pushes the remainder of the silicone toy inside you, clear to the hilt. Shuddering at that delightfully full feeling, of her filling you completely, your breath comes out in a shaky moan.

Sevika moves her hands to your waist, holding you while she gives you a moment to adjust. “You still with me, beautiful?” she asks after a moment of just listening to you struggle to compose yourself.

Beautiful? Can this woman be any more perfect?

“I’m- I’m good,” you manage to breathe out. “More than good.”

"Ready?"

Yes!

"I was ready the-" your playful remark is cut short by her abrupt and hard thrust. "Fuck me!" You cry out, hands scrabbling to find purchase along the slick edges of the sink.

You barely register the short, throaty laugh coming from behind you, too focused on the pleasurable sensation between your thighs.

"That's what I'm doing, sweetheart," Sevika sneers as she slowly pulls back out before slamming into you again.

She sets a pace that's somehow both too slow and too fucking good. Using her grip on your waist, she pulls you back onto her faux cock with each snap of her hips.

It takes every ounce of your strength to withhold all the desperate noises brewing in your chest.

Sevika moves her hands to your shoulders for leverage as she bends over and presses her chest to your back. "Fuck! I've- been thinking- about this- for weeks," she grunts against your ear between perfectly timed thrusts.

"What? Fucking me- in a- tiny closet?" You try to tease. It doesn't hold quite the attitude you were hoping for. You're having just as much difficulty speaking as Sevika is, panting in synch with each deep stroke of the strap along your walls.

Without breaking rhythm, Sevika pulls her head back to regard you with an arched brow, to which you offer her a playful smile from over your shoulder.

"Fucking you-" she times her pause with the withdrawal of her strap, leaving just the tip inside. But before you can protest, she slams it back inside. "-anywhere," she finishes with her own cocky smile as you bury your face in the crook of your arm to muffle your cry of pleasure.

Her pace suddenly turns borderline brutal. Powerful thighs pounding against your ass hard enough to rattle the pipes connected to the sink.

Your grip on the sides starts to slip, knuckles turning white as you hold on for dear life. Your strangled moans and whines bounce off the walls of the tiny room, but you can’t hear it over the ringing in your ears as she slips her human hand around you to make messy circles around your wet, swollen clit.

It’s fucking heavenly. She’s a damn sex goddess, you’re certain. The way she rails into you mercilessly at just the right speed, at just the right angle to leave you seeing stars. The way her fingers apply just the right amount of pressure as they tease and toy with your clit. The way she leans over you, pressing her chest against your back in a move akin to an alpha claiming her mate.

You screw your eyes shut, tears pricking at the edges as your climax quickly approaches. Sucking in a deep breath, you hold it, your entire body tensing.

So close. So close!

"I can feel you clenching, sweetheart. You feel so fucking good." Sevika groans against your ear. "Say my name."

The tightly wound coil that burns low in your belly finally snaps. Your eyes roll back behind their closed lids. Sevika's name falls breathlessly from your slack mouth as your muscles contract with the waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

Although Sevika stills her fingers against your throbbing clit, she continues to pound into you mercilessly. It doesn't take long for that pleasure to run it's course and leave you feeling entirely too stimulated. "Sevika," you whimper, "too much!"

She takes pity on you (thank the heavens) and gradually slows to a complete stop, strap buried to the hilt in your weeping cunt.

The two of you breath heavily for several moments while you attempt to recover. Her chest presses against your back with each inhale, and you can't help but wonder how great it would feel if both of you were naked.

"Shit," you curse under your breath, "That was… amazing."

Sevika runs the side of her nose along the back of your ear, warm breath tickling the tiny hairs at your neck when she chuckles. "Worth the wait, hmm?" she hums.

Before you can reply, Sevika rises and you feel the overwhelming drag of the faux cock as she pulls it out.

"Shit."

Sevika merely grins at your mumbled curse. Then, as if she hasn't already caught you off guard enough, she brings her flesh hand down against your bare ass with a resounding smack. "I asked you a question."

There's no malice in her tone. You know she's simply teasing you, especially when you feel the terribly sweet rub of her hand over your prickling skin. "Would have preferred it sooner," you reply as you shakily straighten your jelly-filled legs.

Jelly covered legs. Damn, your thighs are coated.

With the help of Sevika's metal arm wrapped around your chest, you rise and turn to face her. She's wearing the most self-satisfied smirk you've ever seen, and it only makes your body flush all over again, arousal returning almost full force.

"Thanks," you say softly, not trusting your own mouth to contain your desire.

She bends down, grabbing your pants and pulling them up far enough for you to take without having to bend down yourself. It's a simple gesture, but you find yourself shocked at how sweet it is. That moment doesn't last long though, as she notices how messy your thighs are.

"Really enjoyed that, didn't you?" She teases and runs her fingers up along the trail, collecting as much as she can before bringing it towards her mouth.

"Wait. Let me," you insist.

Sevika arches a brow, crooked grin taking over as she brings her cum covered fingers to your mouth instead. Her gray eyes watch intently as you let her slip her fingers between your parted lips.

With her close proximity, you can feel how she sucks in a breath when you take the full length of those long digits. She looks delightfully pleased as you suck them clean, tongue swirling around each finger before she slowly slips them back out. Her lips part to say something, but you're pulling her mouth down to yours by the back of her neck before she can speak. This time you're the one to force your tongue into her mouth.

Sevika makes a quiet, deep, guttural sound. Something caught between a gasp and a groan. And when you break the kiss to peer up at her, you find her eyes filled with renewed lust.

"That good, hmm?" You tease.

"That mouth of yours could get you into a lot of trouble, sweetheart," she husks.

"Oh I can do so much more with my mouth," you reply with a sly grin.

Her mouth tugs up at the corner. "That so?"

"Mhmm." You're nearly teaming with how you've clearly, and oh so easily, caught the interest of Silco's right hand woman. How her eyes follow the tip of your tongue as you trace your lips.

"Come back to my place and show me."

You know it's not a request. She's insisting. Not that you have any problem with that. As a matter of fact, it's exactly what you were going for.

Stretching up on your tiptoes, you place a soft kiss to her scarred cheek before whispering, "Sure thing, Valentine."

Next chapter >

#arcane #sevika #arcane sevika #sevika x reader #arcane sevika x reader #sevika imagine #honey writes #HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY! <3 #(belated)

215 notes · View notes

pookasluagh · 5 months

Text

Chapter 17 is live: As Zee reemerges from depression, Crowley entices him to play piano—something Zee has mostly given up in his solitude. Neither of them expects the resultant euphoria. (Note: last section is explicit but skippable if that’s not your thing)

Fic description: Zee (Aziraphale) Marsh is a widowed hermit who secretly writes bestselling romance novels under the pseudonym Bella Swansea. His life is rigorously controlled until his new downstairs neighbor arrives. Anthony Crowley causes something to come alive in Zee that he hasn't seen in over twenty years, but Crowley brings with him some of his own very dark secrets. // Human AU, dark fic, E rating.

Chapter excerpt under the cut:

This was Zee on a whole different level of existence. His fingers flew over the keys, shoulders simultaneously rigid but loose. When he played a particularly abrupt chord, his curls shook as the vibrations went all through his body. He glanced up and down the piano as his hands moved from one end to another. Crowley had no idea how he managed to land on the right keys so exactly every single time. It sounded as if several people were playing simultaneously. If there were mistakes, he couldn’t have picked them out. The music was alive, pulsing in and out, soft and loud, fierce joy contrasting with pensive contentment.

Zee had said this was a shorter piece, but Crowley felt as if he had been swimming in notes for days by the time it came to an abrupt end. Zee sat back, removed his hands from the keys, and stretched them. He was breathing heavily. Crowley’s fingers, he suddenly realized, were digging deeply into Zee’s hips now, and he loosened his hold. Sucked in air. Let it out in a quiet, “Fuck.”

Turning to him, Zee ducked his head, shy. “I’m really out of practice. That was awful. I’m sorry.”

“No—Zee—don’t you dare,” Crowley sputtered. He peeled one hand from Zee’s hip and put it over his mouth. “That was the most incredible thing I’ve ever heard. I’ve heard piano played before and it was nothing like this. That was…raw and powerful and…and literally breathtaking. Jesus.”

“Oh,” Zee said as Crowley let go of his mouth. He did the most adorable pleased wiggle on the bench, and Crowley was nearly overwhelmed by the urge to bite into his smile. “I’m glad you liked it.”

Liked it? Crowley didn’t know it was possible to get aroused listening to classical music. Every single one of his thoughts right now were inappropriate.

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #fanfiction #good omens fic #good omens au #gomens #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #aziraphale #crowley #ao3 #ao3 fanfic

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felicitysmoaksx · 7 months

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Hi everyone! Thanks so much for sticking with this story! This chapter while on the shorter side took a while to find its voice because I had an idea that wasn't going the way I wanted it to. So I scraped part of it and kept some of it. And this is my Frankenstein chapter. Hopefully, there won't be such a long gap between this chapter and the next. Thanks so much for reading! Hope you enjoy it!

Rating: Mature

Summary: Her eyes squeezed shut before she dropped her head. Borrowed time. It was meant to be her…It was meant to be-

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: Complications with a birth that end in death are mentioned, but don't go into great detail, and heavy survivor's guilt.

Read On AO3 | Fic Playlist | Fic Playlist but Less Shippy | Want to be tagged when I post a Rheese story?

“I loved the stories you and Sarah shared about Justin,” Natalie said with a laugh to Tucker while they were both in the kitchen getting a drink. If he hadn’t already said that he spent almost every day here, how easily he navigated this kitchen would’ve said that for him. The man nodded, laughing along with her.

“I still can’t believe Hank knew about the concert in New York and didn’t bust us for it,” Tucker shook his head, grabbing a beer out of the fridge while handing Natalie another water.

Usually, he’d stop drinking after one beer, so he could drive home. But he wasn’t driving home because he was staying here. Olive was having trouble sleeping alone in Justin’s room by herself, so Tuck offered to blow up the air mattress and shove it in between the foot of the bed and the desk like he used to when he slept over so she could have some company. If the roles had been reversed, Justin would’ve done the same for Leah. He even thought he heard Annie say she and Erin were spending the night too and with Travis and Autumn taking Sarah and Erin’s old room…Maybe he should offer the air mattress to one of them and he just tough it out with a pillow and blanket on the floor. It was carpeted…

“I’m probably being nosy but I have a question that’s just been bugging me for a while,” Nat told him in an almost guilty tone.

“Okay,” Tucker said feeling curious.

“Autumn, I’m wondering why she follows Sarah like-”

“Like a little duckling following behind its Momma?” He finished for her and the female doctor nodded, “I asked Sarah about it…Actually, I assumed she was Autumn’s mother before I remembered that wasn’t possible because she would’ve had to be born right around the time Owen was…but she gave me a vague answer about it taking a village.”

“When Leah gave birth to Autumn, it was like Murphy’s law. Anything that could go wrong, did. Preeclampsia but we already knew that it developed at the same time as her gestational diabetes. The doctors were slightly concerned but they said they’d monitor it and everything should’ve been fine.” Tucker's face twisted, while he watched his daughter clammer up into the brunette’s lap, “But we weren’t counting on there being a placenta abruption too.”

“Oh god,” Natalie breathed, second-hand dread filling up her stomach. Tucker swallowed. “Leah passed away due to labor complications and the doctors said Autumn almost went with her. They said my little girl was lucky to be alive,”

“I-I am so sorry,” Natalie said, her heart breaking for both the man in front of her and the little girl.

“So flash forward to two hours later? I’m not sure about the time. Most of that day is a blur, but I texted Sarah to let her know Autumn was here because Leah and I had decided we wanted it to be just us in the delivery room.”

He paused, shaking his head. “Justin was serving his year in jail, so we hadn’t seen each other as much because he was our bridge. Up until Autumn’s birth, Leah saw Sarah more than I did. Because I wasn’t sure if we were friends just because we were both Justin’s friends.”

“What made you realize you were friends and not just because of Justin?”

“She showed up at Lakeshore Memorial. Now I remember this part perfectly, and I think it’s because of how surreal the situation felt. I told her, ‘Leah’s gone, and not only do I have to raise a baby by myself, which I have no clue how to do by myself, but I also have to bury my wife.’”

Natalie didn’t know who she felt worse for, because she had been in Tucker’s shoes with Jeff. But also for Sarah to hear something so jarring. Tucker smiled now, even if it trembled a little at the edges.

“And my best friend, the one who claims to have no maternal instincts, took it all in stride, squared her shoulders in a very Camillie Voight way, and I know you don’t know Ms. Camillie but trust me, I got chills. She said we’d figure it out together and we did.” Tucker shrugged, “She was with me every step of the way and yeah, I had a village between Hank, Erin, Annie, Justin when he got out, and Olive when she came along. Leah’s parents. Even my parents, but they’re older because they had me late in life so Sarah was…is…”

“You’re main support system,” the woman finished for him. He nodded, not even mentioning that the brunette practically lived at his house the first year of Autumn’s life. Because that’s how long it took him to get the hang of the whole parenting thing. That Sarah had to give him a crash course in everything baby. That Sarah changed her whole schedule around in her last year as a medical student, so that he could work at night and when he tried to thank her for it, she waved him off. Because that’s what best friend’s did.

“She’s never tried to be Leah, and Autumn has other women in her life, but Sarah is her mother figure. The one she looks to first after me…Sometimes before me. I’m probably not explaining it right…”

“No,” she reassured him because she got it, understood it. Will had been that for her, never replacing Jeff, but offering a support system all the same. “I understand what you’re trying to say.”

[LINE BREAK] [LINE BREAK] [LINE BREAK] [LINE BREAK] [LINE BREAK]

“Can we talk?” Hank asked later that night after almost everyone had left. He had found Sarah in the backyard, staring at her tree with Connor’s suit jacket wrapped around her frame. The stark white gauze stuck out to him in the dead of the night. Like a reminder of what they had lost and what was almost lost. He turned and sat down next to where Sarah was sitting with her knees tucked in tight. It had been Camille’s idea to plant two trees; one for each girl so they knew they had roots with the Voight family, when Erin and Sarah came to live with them.

For a second, he wondered if his youngest daughter heard him as she continued to stare ahead. Then she glanced sideways at him as she spoke quietly, “I hate when you say it like that. Quiet. Gentle. Like you’re trying to approach a deer without scaring it. Reminds me of when I used to get in trouble as a kid.”

“I was more stern than that,” Hank disagreed, with a shake of his head as he took a seat beside her. Sarah’s lips twitched as if she wanted to smile. But she hadn’t smiled since earlier when Tucker had made her laugh. He sighed, burying his hands in his coat pockets. “I’m worried about you, kid.”

“Isn’t it a little late for that?” She asked in a dry voice. When her joke missed its mark, Sarah shook her head. “I’m not your responsibility anymore, Hank.”

(Sarah didn’t know that Hank refrained from commenting on her calling him Dad all day and now it was suddenly Hank?)

“You’re my kid,” her pseudo-father disagreed quietly, looking at the young woman he had known since she was eight years old and took into his home at eleven, “It’s always going to be my responsibility to worry about you.”

[LINE BREAK] [LINE BREAK] [LINE BREAK] [LINE BREAK] [LINE BREAK]

“He’s worried about her,” Erin said quietly to Alvin as she started filling up the sink to wash the dishes. Most of everybody was gone after the emotionally draining day. The ones to linger were family, Tucker with Autumn, and Annie with Travis, Connor, their unit, Trudy, and Sarah’s co-workers from Med.

“I think he has a right to. Doesn’t he? You probably remember it clearer than I do because you actually saw it while I only heard about it secondhand. You remember how hard Sarah took it after Camille died.”

Erin’s eyes widened as she turned to stare at the older cop. Because she did remember it. When everything with Sarah and Justin being shot, she didn’t even think about Sarah spiraling like she had with Camille’s death.

Because there wasn’t a version of the world where Sarah and Justin both didn’t make it through this. And yet, here they were in a world post-Justin Voight.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen, Al,” her voice broke, tears threatening to spill over.

“I know. But it did. And now Hank is doing what he can to make sure she doesn’t disappear again.”

[LINE BREAK] [LINE BREAK] [LINE BREAK] [LINE BREAK] [LINE BREAK]

“I think you need to talk to someone,” Hank wasn’t sure how else to say it. How did he explain how much his youngest daughter was scaring him because he wasn’t even sure she was allowing herself to grieve. How could he ask her to see someone when she was a physiatrist? When she could probably see the signs, but was more than likely actively ignoring them in favor of anger? When Sarah remained silent, he continued. “Sarah, I know you’re angry-”

“Of course I’m angry!” Sarah exploded, standing up. She paced a few steps forward before she whirled around to face her pseudo-father. Her arms flailed out in anger while tears welled up in her eyes. “Because no one understands that I’m the reason Justin is dead! If he hadn’t been protecting me…he’d still be here! No, instead they’re comforting me and checking on me when I don’t deserve that because the truth is I got your son killed, Hank.”

#one chicago #chicago med #chicago pd #Sarah Reese #hank voight #erin lindsay #my writing

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scarebats · 1 year

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WIP Wednesday

Across Your Shoulders and Chest - Icemav (chapter 2)

i have only written the pre-smut since i posted chapter 1, but possessive ice is still here! kinda NSFW at the end

Maverick is dropped down onto the soft blankets with a quiet thud. Still processing the events of earlier, he doesn’t necessarily comprehend Ice crawling between his legs. A shaky breath is let out as Ice makes his way higher and takes his starting place on the lips of the shorter.

He can’t really return the kiss that’s too eager to stay for long. Breaths too unstable and Ice licking his way to the edge of his jaw. Ice takes note of Maverick’s overwhelmed state and lifts his head. “You alright, baby?”

Swallowing, Maverick nods shallowly. Not buying the confirmation, Ice fully lifts himself to hover above Maverick, his arms bracketing Maverick’s head. “You have to be vocal for me, hon. I don’t want to do something you don’t like.”

“I’m— I’m fine, Ice. You can keep going,” Maverick manages out, little sighs in between some words.

“If you say so. But I’m stopping the second you feel uncomfortable with something.” Ice’s tone has no room for argument, so Mav has no option but to agree.

“Okay.”

Now Ice resumes his activities, ones that would’ve either already happened or be happening if it were not for Slider. He stakes his claim on Maverick as he works his way back down to his beautiful ass. Slowly, Ice traces his hands down Maverick’s stomach and comes to a stop at the waist of his shorts, folding his shirt up in the process.

Maverick shivers as Ice leaves wet marks along his neck, stretching the neckline of the shirt to reveal his smooth skin that’s perfect for biting. Maybe he could revisit the biting after he gets his tongue inside of Maverick. It’s been torture for the past twenty minutes, every passing second like agony.

A sudden idea comes to mind. “Baby? Could you flip onto your front for me?”

“Why?” Maverick still obliges despite his confusion.

“‘Wanna be able to see my name on your back while I ravage you.” Maverick lets out a choked groan at the abruptness of the statement.

(i hope y’all are excited for chapter 2!! i am also refraining myself from writing anymore chipmav until i have at least 2 fics posted)

#icemav #my writing #wip wednesday #iceman x maverick #top gun #across your shoulders and chest #pete maverick mitchell #tom iceman kazansky #top gun 1986 #top gun smut #kazanksy writes

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rollercoasterwords · 6 months

Note

genuinely thank you so much for writing thtf. it's my favourite thing to read in the whole world for so many reasons. like other than where it's obviously devastating (in SUCH a good way), idk it just makes me so happy

I think it's the first wip i followed from start to finish and I have to say that part of 2022 was not the greatest but yk, every few days there'd be a new chapter. and it was great.

I fucking love Dorcas talking about "a butterfly in the palm of your hand" it's changed the way I think so much. like you would not expect this from a fanfic lmao but it's pretty much exactly what I needed to hear at the time. living just to live, even if it's complete shit, not caring about what they're leaving behind. ch 42 (i think) where all they're doing is just washing the dishes but it's so special and they're listening to dawn storm is so important to me I love it SO much. fucking amazing.

ngl I don't really think there's anything I don't like. every character feels so right - regulus in particular sticks out to me, like there's such a good balance between him doing pretty bad things because he's not a particularly "good person" but also not being a complete dick. also I would die for marlene mckinnon and the way you write her is just so fucking good. the way she is just so alive to make up for her shorter life is so beautiful to me. I could ramble on for a very long time about everything in this fic but I dont want this to get too long lol

the music you put on the chapters is also really good like I'm pretty sure the first time I read it I didn't listen the music and then I reread it with the music and it was like a whole different experience

yeah i would've sent this earlier (like maybe a year ago) but looks like I put it off for a really long time lol

also - really love where atwmd is going rn I'm so excited for more chapters, i love Sirius Black etc etc

ahh thank u this is so sweet! i love hearing that thtf resonated w people it definitely feels like the fic kinda took on its own life & became a little philosophical journey that i was not entirely expecting lol. i think writing a story where i knew my main characters were going 2 die the whole time really made me contemplate like. ok what do i actually want 2 say abt death, and by way of that what do i wanna say abt life? bc like. as someone who doesn't believe in an afterlife i didn't wanna write a story that says "well it's ok bc they can be happy in the afterlife" <3 bc like. that does not comfort me lol. & i also didn't wanna write a story that was like "it's ok bc there's gonna be a good future 4 others after them," bc i think life means something and matters even outside of futurity. i didn't wanna play into this narrative that u have 2 Do Something 2 make ur life meaningful by making sure u have an impact on the future, etc; i wanted 2 write abt life as meaningful outside of that. & i also specifically wanted 2 write abt life as something beautiful & meaningful even with the bad stuff mixed in, and even if death is abrupt and scary and painful and unwanted. like i purposely made both their deaths pretty brutal bc i personally find the idea of a "bad death" really scary! the idea of dying before ur ready, dying scared or alone or in pain or all three, etc...and i think part of why that's so scary is bc we place this big emphasis, again, on a linear timeline of life, where death is The End, and if The End is bad, then the story's a sad one. but death is just one moment in the sum total of billions of moments throughout your life; why should that bad cancel out all the good? why should a story be sad, just because the last page of it is sad? you can open the book to any page and find happiness, and love, and warmth, etc. & that's what i'm trying 2 say w "a story is not its end."

anyway. this got much longer than expected lol i love 2 ramble abt thtf but! again ty 4 the kind words glad u enjoyed the fic glad u enjoyed the music as well!! i love the playlist 4 that fic <3

#ask #thtf #wfrau #<- glad ur enjoying this one as well! <3

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avaritia-apotheosis · 1 year

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Bid A Strong Ghost Stand at the Head Ch. 1

An art exhibition ends with Poison Ivy attacking a research facility and Danny getting caught in the crossfire. Bruce takes this opportunity to find out more about his firstborn son, but getting answers out of Danny is like chasing ghosts. 4th installment of the Hey Brother AU

A DPxDC crossover // Read on [AO3]

MASERLIST // Next Chapter →

There was a bevy of older women surrounding Damian at the art gala. Mothers, all of them, with their bored children dragged behind and then pushed in Damian’s way. From where Bruce stood in his own circle of sycophants, he couldn’t hear what the matrons of high society were saying to his son, but he could make an educated guess that it was something along the lines of what a handsome boy you are, you take after your father so well. Why don’t you play with my son, Hunter, or my daughter, Regina? I know you’ll all get along so well!

Damian, unsurprisingly, was disinterested. Unimpressed, given by the way he looked down on all the children shoved in front of him. (An impressive feat, too, considering that Damian stood at least an inch shorter than most of them.)

Bruce inclined his head to the man towards his right, making the appropriate sounds as he half-listened to a story about the Bahamas and swimming pigs.

A brief glance towards the buffet table revealed that Damian was not there. The gaggle of children were, of course. The buffet table was one of the few sanctuaries a child could get in these events. He scanned the gallery a few more times. Dick had caught his gaze, flashing a quick ‘ok’ sign as he headed towards Iris Graham’s collection of charcoal drawings a little farther into the venue. Presumably to where Damian was.

A server came by with a fresh tray of champagne. Bruce took that moment as an opportunity to loudly exclaim that there is someone he absolutely must talk with on the other side of the room, and deftly extricated himself from the group. Now, off to find his son.

Bruce wasn’t worried that Damian would try something— wait, no, he took that back. Five children and even more ‘children-adjacent’ children taught him enough to know that peaceful galas with the Wayne family present were few and far between.

But that wasn’t the point.

Damian had been ‘off’ more times than ‘on’ these past few weeks, following the appearance and just as abrupt disappearance from his brother.

Damian’s brother. As in Bruce’s son.

(His firstborn son. His resurrected son. His ‘ trained in the League of Shadows to become a perfect killing machine’ son. Bruce was not one to believe in coincidences, but this was just absurd.)

Stubbornly, Damian continued to keep quiet on the subject of his brother. Either ignoring the question completely at worst or giving out cryptic comments at best. The best in the League , Damian had said. Even Grandfather feared him.

A pack of reporters hounded at his heels, all bright flashes and a hundred questions per minute. He gave them one of his signature BruceTM smiles, all gleaming white teeth, and empty-headedness. He ended up being saved by the star of tonight’s charity gala, Iris Graham, an up-and-coming artist who grew from the poverty-ridden streets of Gotham herself. She approached him, most likely, to convince him to buy one of her works. Unfortunately for her, Bruce had places to be and had no time for idle small talk.

“Ah, Ms. Graham, you look positively dashing tonight.” He turned to the reporters, gesturing at Graham’s elegantly cut dark green pantsuit. “Doesn’t she look lovely, ladies and gents? Anyway, have I told you, Miss Graham, how much I adore your work? Truly marvelous stuff. Especially the one with the Gotham skyline at night. How ever did you come up with that?”

The reporters shifted their attention to Miss Graham, who flushed under their gaze. Shoulders rolled back, she lifted her chin high and began to enthusiastically detail the story of the painting, first addressing Bruce on pretense, and then fully embracing the press’ attention. Bruce, without missing a beat, left to pursue his children again.

The past few days marked a noticeable shift in Damian’s behavior, however. There was a lightness in his step as if a thread of unseen tension came loose. He was less snappish, less moody.

And he spent a lot of time on his phone.

It did not take being the World’s Greatest Detective to guess that Damian’s brother came into contact with him again. Though whether this would bode them ill or not…Bruce couldn’t say for sure.

He met up with Dick who was leaning against a large square pillar, arms crossed and phone held at an angle that seemed a touch too awkward. “I would have figured you’d be over there with him instead of spying on him through your phone.”

Dick stuck his tongue out. He tilted his phone slightly to get his shoulder out of the frame and zoomed in on Damian who stood a little farther down the hall. “I tried, earlier, but he kept trying to run away from me,” Dick said. “He’s gotten better at this gala thing, for sure, so I thought it was fine to keep my distance. I’m just glad he’s not chewing anyone’s head off.”

“Is he texting again?”

“With the way his thumbs are moving? Oh, yeah.”

Bruce’s phone buzzed. So did Dick’s.

“It’s O.” Dick pushed himself off the pillar. “Poison Ivy’s been sighted and she’s causing havoc at one of Synototech’s research labs.”

Bruce grunted. “Get your brother. We’ll suit up.”

◆◆◆

Red Robin was already on the scene when they arrived, dodging and weaving through the hoard of vines that sprouted in front of the entrance.

“Poison Ivy has enough explosives inside the lab to level it to the ground!” Oracle said through their comms. “There are still people trapped inside. You guys need to get them out .”

A thick vine lunged at him. Batman barely rolled out of the way. The vine retreated, turning to curl itself around Poison Ivy, a calm and collected fury plain on her face. He barked orders at the others to disarm the explosives and get everyone inside the building out .

Farther away he spotted Robin with his katana drawn, slicing pieces of Poison Ivy’s plant army away.

“You’re not going anywhere.” She thrust her arms outward, the vines obeying her command. Batman threw explosive batarangs at them before jumping away.

Nightwing yelled at Red Robin to jump back and slug explosive pellets at the entrance. The explosion ripped a hole into the entrance, and the two dove inside the building.

Batman ripped a thick vine out of the ground and swung it around to take out the other plants. Another plant wrapped itself around his legs and flung him into the air. He barely stuck the landing.

The plants advanced on him again. Batman slid under them and slung a bolas at their base. The rope swung around the base and exploded.

Oracle’s voice crackled through the comms. “Nightwing got all the civilians out. Red Robin is nearly done disarming the bomb.”

He dodged a large thorned stem. At the corner of his eyes, he could see something dark red pulsing .

Fuck. Where was Damian?

It burst. A shrill scream. A bright blinding light.

Batman’s breath hitched. “Robin!”

He ran over to the plant bomb’s detonation sight. Pressing his comms, he shouted “Robin, what’s your situation? Where are you?”

“Help,” Robin said. Bruce’s blood ran cold. “ Father— he won’t stop screaming!”

“Poison Ivy’s fleeing the scene,” Oracle said.

Let her run, he’ll capture her later. Right now, his son needs him.

“Gas mask, B. Don’t forget to put it on.”

The screaming had tapered off by the time he found his son. Robin knelt over something, back turned to him, the edges of his black cape singed. A few feet away from there were the remains of a giant plant that laid limp on the ground, its red petals curled back tightly to the base of the flower. All around them there were giant holes— seeds —that dug straight through concrete.

“Robin,” He called out.

The other whipped his head back, eyes wide, gas mask already attached. “Father! Please— I don’t know what’s wrong with him.” Robin shifted his position.

There, knelt on the ground, was Damian’s brother. His head was bowed, nearly pressed against the ground, one hand grasping at debris and the other clenched against his side. He whimpered on the floor, drawing himself tighter. Red coated his hand, seeped and spread through the white of his shirt.

He knelt at the boy’s—at Danny’s? That’s what he preferred to be called if Bruce remembered correctly— side. “What happened?”

“I was careless. I wasn’t watching my back. Poison Ivy’s new plant bomb has a quicker detonation time and I wasn’t able to get out of the blast radius quickly enough. My brother he— he saw and he shielded me. But I don’t know why he’s— He said he wasn’t hit .”

Danny convulsed. A scream ripped through his throat.

“Bullet?”

“A— a seed bullet from one of Ivy’s new plants. It’s still inside him.”

Shit. He fished out a small bottle of saline and wads of gauze from his utility belt and gave Robin instructions to help pack the wound. They’ll have to take him back to the cave.

Bruce spoke through the comms. “Red Robin, Nightwing, report.”

“Explosives have all been disarmed, B. I think I might know Poison Ivy’s motives, too.”

“The building’s all clear too, except for these plants. What the hell’s been happening on your end?”

“Poison Ivy’s escaped. Danyal al Ghul has been injured; I’m taking him to the cave.”

“What?” Nightwing and Red Robin exclaimed.

“RR and I can handle the clean-up here, B. You guys go on ahead.”Batman grunted. He lifted Danny up off the ground—why was he throwing himself into a fight wearing jeans and a t-shirt?— and carried him to the batmobile. Damian dogged at his heels, only pausing to swipe a sample of the plant bomb.

“Oracle?”

“Already sent a message to Agent A to prep the infirmary, B.”

“Good.”

◆◆◆

Danny slipped between consciousness and unconsciousness during their ride back to the cave.

Alfred was already prepared, the infirmary fully stocked and the operating theater ready for use.

“Wait—” Damian. “Anesthesia doesn’t work on you.”

Danny groaned through clenched teeth as Bruce helped him onto the operating table. “It’ll work. Righ— hah— ‘m weak ‘nough right now that it’ll work.” He turned to Bruce, words slurring. “Jus’ gimme the strongest you got.” Another groan. “Please.”

Bruce slipped that piece of information into the file labeled ‘investigate later.’ “Damian, get the computer to analyze the plant sample you collected.”

Alfred helped Danny slip off his torn and bloodied shirt and tossed it into a bin. “I wasn’t aware that crime-fighting attire would be so casual these days.”

“Gettin’ shot wasn’t r’lly on m’ to-do list today. Might’ve dressed better ‘f I’d known.”

They worked quickly, hooking Danny up to the appropriate machines and identifying the location of the seed. Damian had rushed back with an analysis report on the seed. Other than possessing a very tough shell, the seed itself was harmless.

Alfred finished cleaning up the wound. “The seed will have to stay inside, I’m afraid.”

Danny vigorously shook his head, eyes squinted and unfocused. “Nonono, ya’ gotta take it out.”

“Taking it out will only risk more injury than leaving it in.”

“‘Nd the seed is made out ‘f the only thing in this world that can kill me.”

What?

“Rosa disanthus,” Danny wheezed. “Check. That’s the plant, yeah?”

Damian flipped through the report again. “Its— the plant shares similar DNA with it, yes. But according to the computer it's harmless.”

“Not to me.”

With the exception of a raised eyebrow, Alfred looked nonplussed. “Very well then.” He injected more anesthesia into the wound site and pulled up a rolling chair next to Danny, forceps brandished in one hand. “Do try to keep still.”

“I’ll have you know that’m a champ at playin’ dead.”

◆◆◆

Danny passed out soon after Alfred fished out the seed. Damian insisted that he help bandage his brother up, and in a rather surprising display of empathy, refused to leave Danny’s bedside.

Bruce managed to wrangle him to sleep by setting up another cot in the infirmary with plenty of promises to wake him up if anything happened. He crashed the second his head hit the pillow, showing how much this entire ordeal shook him.

Before Alfred went about to clean the operating theater, he passed the bloodied seed off to Bruce. “While I may be old and hardly a medical expert, I’m quite sure that blood is not supposed to have bits of green in it.”

“Green?” Bruce took the forceps, holding the seed up to the light. It was unusually large, though judging from the plant it came from, he couldn’t be too surprised by it. He angled it slightly, eyes narrowed as he tried to spot a sliver of green. There. It was hardly noticeable amidst all the dark reds, but if you held it just right, you could see little flecks of green swirling about the blood.

The seed itself looked unharmed, so it couldn’t have been from that.

Hm. More unanswered questions.

While the blood was being analyzed, Bruce took the opportunity to breathe and—

And…

The remarkable thing about Danny was that his skin was unblemished. In their line of work—hero, vigilante, assassin — it was next to impossible to remain unscathed unless one had preternatural healing abilities or nigh-indestructible skin. Even Damian, young as he was, had a few scars to his name

Danny—with the exception of the wound Alfred had stitched closed (a wound that will scar)— had none. Not a single mark.

That should be a good thing.

He is the best the League has ever produced

Bruce rubbed his face, pinched the bridge of his nose, and sighed. He checked Danny’s vitals one more time, pulled Damian’s blanket over his shoulders, then sat himself down in front of the computer monitor.

The first thing Bruce did was check on the summative reports that both Nightwing and Red Robin sent him. The mission was successful with minimal casualties and no deaths; all researchers within the facility were taken to the hospital for treatment. The two managed to neutralize the majority of the hostile plants Poison Ivy set both in and around the facility. Poison Ivy, however, still remained at large.

Dick’s report also said that he and Tim were going to get something to eat at BatBurger and not to wait up.

You have some shit you need to sort out , the message seemed to say. And we’re not gonna be a part of it.

He closed off the report and opened a random assortment of case files. Despite his efforts, none of them really caught his attention, and he found his eyes glazing over.

Bruce always had a good memory.

It was useful more often than not. He was good at remembering faces and storing away minute details that may or may not become useful in a case, and it helped him juggle both of his personas. But there were times when having a good memory was more trouble than it’s worth.

Time heals all wounds— but a sharp memory had a penchant of reopening them.

(The heat was one of the things he remembered the most. The hot desert son relentlessly bore down on him, sweat sticking to his skin and matting his hair. The air so dry that every inhale parched his throat, and insects buzzed annoyingly around his ear. But all of that— all the discomfort, the heat, the sun, the stress—faded away when Talia—his once-love, once-passion, once the owner of his heart and soul—pulled him aside to whisper in his ears “beloved, I am with child.”

He kissed her there in that cursed desert. And even years later he still remembered the feel of her lips against his. The way that her pulse fluttered beneath his thumb. The slow curl of her smile.)(Another memory: It’s that damn desert again. The moon shone high in the sky, a pale and waning crescent. The sand that was hot to touch in the day was cold beneath his fingertips. The air was still so dry. He is angry at Ra’s, angry at this mission, angry at himself. Then came Talia, face cold and impassive but her eyes rimmed red, her spine rigid but Bruce did not miss the way she angled herself against the doorframe, almost clinging to it. “It’s gone,” she said, simple and straightforward as if she was remarking about the fucking weather. “The baby is gone.”)

(And another: They’re miles beneath the sea, just off the coast of the United Kingdom. The cave is dark and infested with mutant man-bats trying to escape to the surface and their son—their son, arrogant and unexpected but as relentlessly determined as their parents—had run off to fight the world’s most renowned hitman. Talia was not dead, was not captured. She stood waist-deep in the Lazarus pit…waiting.

Then, as if possessed, she dove in. He shouted her name and went in after her. Pulled her back to the surface. The green waters had slipped into her wounds, suturing them closed and seeping its madness into her. Her eyes flickered green. She tore herself from his grip, but then fell limp. He caught her, and as he did saw something that might have looked like tears at the corner of her eyes.)

( A final one: Reunited and victorious, Damian ran to his mother. But as he came closer his steps slowed, then stopped. Face contorted into confusion. “Where—?”

Talia’s composure broke— but only for a moment. The cracks smoothed themselves away with an exhale. She closed the distance between her and Damian, fingers carding through his hair before coming down his neck and then cupping his face. “I’m sorry,” she said. “He’s gone.”)

He blinked.

Alfred appeared at his side with a cup of warm tea in hand.

Bruce gave Alfred a grateful look and silently took the cup. He took a sip, long and slow, letting the scent of chamomile calm him, and appreciating the pleasant warmth on his tongue.

“Alfred,” Bruce said as he rolled back his aching shoulders. “What do you make of him?”

“Master Danny, I presume?” Alfred placed his hands behind his back. “I would not presume to make such judgments when I’ve only met him once. However, I do see a resemblance.”

With a grunt, he sipped his tea. “There’s something strange about him, Alfred.”

“I would say that about all your children, Master Bruce.”

Bruce chuckled. “Can’t argue with you there.”

#dpxdc #hey brother au #my writing.txt

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