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judasofsuburbia · 10 months

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“what? hello?” steve mumbled sleepily into the phone.

“i’m going insane,” eddie nearly shouts.

steve sits up in his bed and scrubs his hand over his face. “woah woah, eds, what’s goin on?”

a high pitched wail is heard in the background and eddie is immediately cooing and shushing. steve presses the phone tighter to his ear.

“eds. eds, can you hear me?”

“i’m going insane i’m going insane i’m going insane,” eddie breathes. “she won’t stop crying steve she’s been crying for two hours—fuck, three hours. i don’t know what to do. i don’t know what to do steve.”

“who’s crying?” steve asks.

“my cousin. or my niece, maybe? i don’t know how it works. my cousin’s baby is here and she won’t stop crying.”

more crying and wailing is heard. steve has to hold the phone away from his ear when eddie gets closer to her. he can hear eddie pleading with her, trying to comfort her, to no avail.

“i need help,” eddie says. “i need help, please.”

“uh, okay. okay,” steve replies as he rolls out of bed and stumbles around his room in the dark to find some pants and shoes. “i can be there in ten.”

“make it five,” eddie nearly whines, anxiety pouring through the receiver.

“got it.”

steve’s tires screech into eddie’s driveway. his trailer is the only one with the lights still on and he could hear the baby crying from outside. he’s surprised no one has called to complain to the police station. though he’s sure callahan or hopper would simply hang up.

steve barrels up the steps and opens the door to utter chaos. toys and books scatter the ground, there are blankets and bottles strewn over surfaces (some definitely knocked over and spilling onto the floor), and baby clothes and diapers in the leftover spaces. and of course, a screaming infant.

eddie pops out of his room with said infant trashing in his arms. eddie has tears streaming down his fact too and steve’s heart just cracks.

“help me,” eddie mouths.

“uh, okay, okay,” steve is wracking his brain for any tips he learned in home economics about taking care of a baby. “what have you tried? i presume she’s in a clean diaper and…” god it was hard to think with the noise screeching in his ears. “fed her?” steve asks louder.

“yes fuck, i keep changing her and trying to feed her. i read her stories and rocked her and tried to put her in her crib. she’s so upset i don’t know why,” eddie’s voice cracks on the last word and suddenly, steve’s across the room. ready to comfort him.

“give her here,” steve says.

eddie’s eyes are panicky and wide but eventually, he hands steve the child. she continues to cry and thrash in steve’s arms so it takes a second for him to hold her properly.

“what’s her name?” steve asks.

“cheyenne” eddie responds, arms wrapped around himself like a hug. his whole body is bouncing and steve feels the urge to reach out and bring him in too but the more pressing matter is currently occupying those arms.

“hi cheyenne,” steve says gently. “seems like you’re mighty upset.”

she yanks at steve’s shirt with her little baby fists, definitely grabbing some chest hair underneath and ripping it. steve winces but recovers quickly.

“would your neighbors kill me if i take her outside?”

“probably,” eddie mutters.

“i’m going to anyway.”

steve heads for the front door and eddie goes to follow him but steve holds out a patient hand. “stay here, take a breath,” steve instructs.

eddie’s eyes well up with more tears. “but what if something—“

“then we’ll do something. right now, being around her isn’t good for you. let me take a crack at this, alright?”

eddie nods solemnly and backs away so steve can open the door.

cheyenne’s cries echo out into the night sky as steve starts to pace around the porch. steve starts to feel a little scared being alone with her but he’s more scared of what the stress has done to eddie.

so he decides to do it scared.

the baby starts to have this hiccuping breaths that pull steve out of his thought spiral. steve shushes her and props her up so her head is on his shoulder. he rubs her back with his hand, which takes up her entire back, and tries to stay calm when her cries are right next to his ear.

“you like music? 'course you do, everyone does.i don’t know how many lullabies eddie knows. his taste is a little more intense,” steve says conversationally as he continues to pace. “i don’t even think i know any lullabies. um…”

cheyenne cries with new fervor right into his neck and steve just panic sings the first song that comes to mind, “shake it up is all we know. using bodies up as we go. i’m waking up a fantasy. the shades are all the colors we used to see.”

cheyenne’s cries go down a peg, still loud but less wailing and more whimpering. steve’s heart is racing as he slowly continues the song.

“broken ice still melts in the sun. and ties that are broken can be one again. we’re soul alone and soul really matters to me.”

cheyenne keeps crying but it's getting softer by the second. steve rearranges her so she's cradled in his arms. he's blown away by how small she is. how helpless. everything must be so scary for her.

“i'm out of touch,” steve sings softly. “you're out of time. but i'm out of my head when you're not around. oh, oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh.“

cheyenne's eyes open up and they're this big beautiful brown, just like eddie's. his breath is taken away as he keeps singing weakly. he doesn't even realize that she stops crying entirely and is just blinking at him, dazed.

it takes eddie slowly opening the front door for him to recognize the silence. he sits on the couch and bounces her gently in his arms, still humming and singing the occasional "oh's". eddie very slowly and quietly sits beside him.

steve looks up at eddie who is staring at him in awe. the same beautiful brown eyes are puffy and swollen, just like cheyenne's.

“c'mon eds, sing it with me,” steve jokes quietly.

eddie shakes his head. “i can't believe she's a hall and oates fan.”

“everyone is,” steve says simply and sings, “i'm out of touch.” he gestures to eddie to continue.

“i'm out of time,” eddie sings, looking incredibly pained to do so.

“but i'm out of my head,” steve leans his ear to the side.

“when you're not around,” eddie says flat, voice raspy from his exhaustion. it makes steve's stomach flip so he returns his attention to the near asleep girl in his arms.

they keep humming until she's fully asleep. steve leans back into the couch with a long exhale, his shoulders rubbing up against eddie's.

“you're magical,” eddie whispers.

“please,” steve scoffs.

“i'm serious,” eddie replies. steve turns his head to face him and nearly chokes from how close their faces are.

”i don't know how you do it,“ eddie mumbles.

”do what?“

”make everyone around you so calm. i feel like all i can do is make everyone stressed out,” eddie laughs weakly.

steve shakes his head. ”not true. just ask buckley, i stress her out on a daily basis.“

eddie chuckles and sniffles. steve sees his lips stretch over his teeth in a smile.

”thank you for coming over. i didn't know who else to call.“

”how did you end up with your baby cousin anyway?“ steve asks.

eddie sighs, tilting his head back into the cushion. if he leaned his head closer, he'd be on steve's shoulder. steve wishes he would.

”her mom is taking a much needed vacation and i promised wayne that he didn't need to take time off work to take care of her. that was a huge mistake.“

”you did your best,“ steve argues quietly.

”maybe but it wasn't enough.“

”hey, c'mon. don't beat yourself up. you did what you could and found help when you couldn't. it's not your fault this is her only form of communication.“

eddie smiles again and yawns. ”you wouldn't happen to have this album on cassette would you?“

steve beams at him. ”in my car, actually.“

”i'm getting it.“

they put cheyenne to bed with the big bam boom album playing softly on eddie's stereo. they stare at her peaceful form snoozing away and seem to forget how she looked not even a half hour ago.

”you should get some sleep,” steve whispers, nudging eddie with his shoulder.

“you're right, you're right,” eddie sighs. he gestures that he's gonna walk steve to the door. steve grabs his keys and turns before opening the door.

“thank you again,” eddie whispers.

“anytime. hall and oates always heals,” steve smiles.

eddie rolls his eyes fondly and shoves steve's shoulder. only, his hand doesn't move away. it splays out over steve's beating heart which is rapidly picking up speed. eddie's eyes slowly drift up to catch steve's.

“i was listening to that song yesterday,” steve whispers. “over and over and over again.”

“you must really like it,“ eddie says, a little confused.

”no. i mean, i do but…“ steve whispers. ”i was listening to it because... i start to go a little insane when i'm not around you.“

eddie's brows furrow. ”w-what do you mean?“

”can't keep you out of here,“ steve explains, tapping his temple. ”i don't know what to do. this is where i need help, eds.”

eddie's lips part in a silent gasp. he takes a step closer and rubs his thumb over steve's shirt. steve's hand comes up and covers his.

“i can help,” eddie whispers, tilting his head up so their noses brush.

that's how steve and eddie share their first kiss in eddie's living room, sleep deprived and unhurried. just four lips gently sliding over one another.

when they pull away with tired smiles, eddie murmurs, “in case she wakes up, you should probably sleep over.”

(inspired by @gothbat99 's wonderful steve harrington playlist)

#emily writes #idk why i hc steve being great with babies but i just DO #steddie #steddie ficlet #steddie fics #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things ficlet

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another-lost-mc · 4 months

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Okay but what if, before MC is taken to the future by nightbringer, they had a big fight with the brothers?

Like, they fought about something and said something along the lines 'go away' ' I don't want to see you', but then, when you don't return they start feeling guilty.

At first they'll think you're angry and don't want to talk with them, but when time passes and you don't return they start to get so worried, looking everywhere for you, regretting that the, possibly, last words they said to you were harsh confrontation.

The angst potential 😭😭 how do you think each of the bros would react?

😈🍬 anon

a/n: well, nightbringer sure is a blessing for angst fans.

the worst goodbye | the demon brothers

2.8k words | gn!reader | sfw | angst

cw: mentions of lesson 16 in belphie's part.

Lucifer goes to his office and pretends that he's not angry. He attempts to distract himself with paperwork, but all he does is read the same paragraph a few times over and over again before he throws the page down with a huff. He taps his pen against his desk while he sifts through the emotions clouding his mind. All he felt earlier was wounded pride—that's why he scolded you with more force than necessary, speaking with his cruel, barbed tongue but regretting it just as quickly. He admires and loathes your feisty temper. You're his stubborn, brave little human that stands up to him when most demons wouldn't dare to try.

He plans his apology like a mantra and goes to your room; he knows if he's sincere, you'll give him a chance to make things right. You don't answer your door when he knocks, and he peeks his head inside to confirm that you're not there. He sends you a message with his D.D.D. and shuffles awkwardly in the hallway while he waits for a reply. He asks in the family group chat, but no one's seen you recently and he ignores the initial tendrils of icy fear that make his chest feel tight. Surely you wouldn't have stormed off in a sulk? But he checks the rest of the house and his brothers realize slowly that something is wrong—you wouldn't just leave. Lucifer searches for you himself, around the House of Lamentation and all around the Devildom, searching for anyone that might've seen you, or any hint of where you've gone. But in the early twilight hours, he pours a glass of Demonus that remains untouched while he stares absently into the fire of his private study. His heart freezes over in your absence. Your warmth thawed his icy demeanor, and the roaring fire crackling nearby can't stop the chills that wrack through him when he tells himself that you're gone and he has no one to blame but himself.

You rarely fight with Mammon these days, but when you do, it spirals out of control. He spits out scathing remarks about how he's sick of you trying to pry your nose into his business because he hates admitting that you're right. You try so desperately not to yell (or cry, or both) when you plead with him to forget about whatever risky scheme he's got planned. It's not worth risking Lucifer's wrath and whatever punishment lies in store when Mammon's plan inevitably fails to his own detriment. He stalks away and ignores the sound of your voice cracking in pain when you call his name one last time—and maybe if he were less incensed, he would stop and turn around and apologize. But today he feels particularly stubborn and he doesn't look back. He fully intends on leaping in his car and driving off into the night to burn off some steam, but he slumps against his bedroom door with his head in his hands and tries to remember why he was so angry with you to begin with. He can't pinpoint the reason and he knows you only have his best intentions at heart.

It feels like hours later when he ends up outside your door, head down and tail tucked firmly between his legs. He shouts through the wood when you don't answer and he swears he didn't mean it, that he'll do whatever it takes to make it up to you. You're too patient and kind and loving for your own good, and he tempts fate every time he takes your forgiveness for granted. He opens the door and scratches his head in confusion when he realizes you're not there. He spots one of his brothers at the end of the hall, and his confusion sours into something ashy on his tongue when he asks him where you are. I haven't seen them—we all thought they were with you!

Leviathan plays his game, tapping the buttons on his handheld with more force than necessary, as simmering anger from your fight earlier darkens his mood. He didn't mean to forget about your lunch date, so why did you get so mad? Maybe calling you a worse nag than Lucifer was over the top, but he planned on making it up to you later! He gets lost in his thoughts and plays his game until he realizes it's been a couple hours and his D.D.D. has been surprisingly silent. Sometimes you message him and invite him to talk things out in your room once you've both had time to calm down. He has no idea what it means that you've ignored him all this time and when he tries to message you first, they go unanswered. He shuffles to your room guiltily and hopes you'll be willing to talk face-to-face. It's almost dinner time, and maybe if you're feeling up to it, he can take you out for dinner. He even canceled his raid tonight so he can spend the evening curled with you on the sofa watching movies instead.

He doesn't expect to hear a commotion as he walks down the stairs to the first floor, and his brothers are crowded outside your room in various states of panic. Lucifer sees him and rushes to explain what's going on, but the words turn to radio static in Levi's head. He doesn't even notice that he drops his D.D.D. and it clatters to the ground, cracking the corner of the plastic case you gave him as a present not too long ago. Instead of cuddling with you on the sofa that night, he curls around his body pillow in the tub, his tail twitching noisily against the porcelain while he buries his head and deafens his whimpers in the tear-stained cotton. Come back, come back, please come back—

When the rage subsides, Satan glances wearily around his room and the terrible mess he's made. Some of his favourite books are ripped and torn to shreds across the floor, but the sight hurts less than the memory of your heartbroken face crumpling in pain as you fought back tears. He's done many terrible things in his life he's not proud of, but insinuating you don't care about him might be the lowest blow he could use during a fight. You've only wanted what's best for him, and you try so hard to show the world that he's more than the violent, angry creature that lurks deep inside him.

If only the world could see you the way I do.

Regret quickens his steps and he leaves the broken chaos in his room to find you because he shouldn't have even let you go. Why did it take him so long to apologize? He doesn't deserve it, but if you'll only give him a chance, he swears to himself he'll make it up to you. He hastily wipes away the tears pooling in the corner of his eyes when he notices his brothers lingering outside your room. They're too distraught to notice the sharp bite in his words when he demands to know what's going on and where you are. Nothing they say makes any sense—you wouldn't just leave, right? He’s the first to tear through the house in a panic to find you, ignoring his brothers’ nervous pleas for him to calm down. You're nowhere to be found and eventually he returns to his room in a trance. No one knows how long he stands there, trembling with regret and shame and fury that someone or something dared take you away from him. All his brothers know, judging by the noise echoing through the halls, is that his room is nearly destroyed as he unleashed his heartbreak in a maelstrom of destructive rage.

Asmodeus takes another selfie and posts it on Devilgram. He hopes the notification will pop up on your D.D.D. and you'll see him having the time of his life at The Fall. He wants you to see it—he hopes it fills you with regret for arguing with him earlier. He doesn't fight with you often, but your tongues are both sharp and laced with venom when you do face off against each other. He enjoyed the anxious gleam in your eye when he backed you into a wall and leaned down so you were nearly nose-to-nose, the sweet scent of his lip gloss lingering in the gap between you while he cooed about how pathetic you looked. But that was almost an hour ago, and he can only pretend for so long that he doesn't regret leaving you stunned and hurt in the front hall when he waltzed out the door and slammed it behind him. The pounding music can't drown out the wicked things he said to you, and the crowd can't distract him from your absence that weighs heavily in his heart. There are many demons nearby who'd kill for his attention, but he knows deep down that the only hands he wants roaming over his body are yours.

It's not long after that he pushes his way out of the club and into the cool night air, but he still hasn't heard from you. Surely you've seen his Devilgram posts by now? You're smart enough to recognize his desperate ploys for attention. Your attention. Are you ignoring him on purpose? Maybe he deserves it, but he's anxious to talk to you and sends you a message on his walk home anyway. Message could not be delivered. The red text pops up on his screen, and he frowns and tries again. Message could not be delivered. He quickens his pace as he taps your contact name and calls you instead. Is there something wrong with your D.D.D.? "The number you have dialed is not in service."

He breaks into a run until the House of Lamentation peeks into view ahead. He bursts through the door and ignores Lucifer's angry shouts behind him as he rushes down the hall to your room, but all he sees is one of your favourite club outfits laid out on your bed, as if you were getting ready to come see him after all. Where are you? His brothers hover behind him and he borrows one of their phones so he can try calling you again. He tells himself that it must be a problem with his D.D.D. because no other explanation makes sense. "The number you have dialed is—" Asmo whimpers pitifully while he listens to the robotic voice drone on speaker for everyone to hear, and his brothers finally realize that something is wrong and split up to search for you. He chokes out your name and slumps onto your bed, inhaling your familiar scent when he holds your shirt, one that he bought you, to his face and sobs. He can hear his brothers' heavy footfalls throughout the house while they look for you, but deep down, he already knows you're gone.

Beel glances at the stands and wipes sweat and dirt from his brow. He can spot his brothers easily enough—it's hard to miss them, with the way Asmo's waving the glittery handmade sign with his name in bold pink lettering—but he doesn't see you. There's an empty space between Mammon and Levi where you normally sit, and they've kept it free for when—if—you show up. You've never missed one of his games, not ever. Maybe the argument earlier upset you more than he realized. He knows you don't normally eat his food on purpose. He knows you meant it when you sputtered apologies when you realized your mistake. He knows how hurt you were when he shouted at you in a hungry rage. The rest of the game passes by in a blur. He moves on autopilot, his mood growing more and more despondent each time he checks the crowd and realizes you're still not there. He barely recognizes his team's happy cheers when the game ends in victory. He has a quick shower and makes his excuses to his teammates because he already has plans for dinner tonight, with you, hopefully. He stops by Hell's Kitchen and picks up your favourite takeaway order and heads home. It's a peace offering, one of many apologies he owes you.

By the time he knocks on your door, he's eager to see you. Silence. He knocks again and waits, and he hesitantly pushes the door open when his greeting goes unanswered. You're not in your room, and after a quick search of the house, he realizes you're not anywhere. He visits your room over and over again as if you'll finally pop out and tell him you were just teasing him, because you wouldn't ever leave him on purpose, right? His name on a handmade sign on your bed, and one of his old jerseys he gave you, are all that you left behind and he wonders if he would've been able to stop you leaving had he come home to you sooner. (Your takeaway dinner remains uneaten in the fridge in case you come back, and Beel refuses to eat it himself or let anyone else eat it either. One of his brothers has to throw it away when it eventually turns rancid—Beel can't bring himself to do it, because it means admitting you may never come back.)

Belphie doesn't like sleeping alone. Most nights if he sleeps alone, it's by choice—his choice. Tonight should've ended like most nights do: with the both of you sharing the bed in the attic. He sleeps better when you're close. You're a warm weight curled against him, and the smell of your shampoo and your minty breath are small comforts when he has bad dreams. Sometimes he wakes up in a panic, his shirt damp with cold sweat, and he listens for your quiet snores, proof that you're alive, that the nightmare of your windpipe crushed in his deadly grip isn't real. Belphie sleeps in the attic alone tonight because you decided you needed space. It's petty revenge for earlier when he woke up from a nap in a foul mood and snapped at you in his frustration. He fluffs his pillow and his bottom lip juts out in a pout. He can't get comfortable and it's your fault. The house grows quiet as his brothers retire to their rooms and fall asleep, and Belphie senses when you finally drift off to sleep too. If he wakes up before you tomorrow, he'll crawl into your bed and hope that you'll be more receptive to his apology when you wake up.

It takes longer than usual but he finally falls asleep and feels content. Even when he's unconscious, he instinctively reaches for your presence and it calms him. Your dreamscape is like a little pond, and he watches from his own nearby shore as your thoughts pass by in a blur, like slick oil paintings skimming over a watery surface. He doesn't like to intrude on your dreams if he can help it—he only interferes when he senses them slipping into nightmares instead. He tells himself it's not selfish to erase them for you, but the truth is that he's not sure he can stomach seeing his own face reflected in your dreams anymore, not with its wicked sneer and bloodstained teeth. He's not sure he forgives himself for what he did to you, and he wonders if you've truly forgiven him too.

Something odd in your dreamscape shifts suddenly and it catches Belphie's attention. The images in your subconscious grow murky and twisted, like they're being sucked down into some unseen void. Your presence is like sand falling through his fingertips, and it's harder and harder for him to feel you. He reaches out to your mind to wake you up because he doesn't know what's wrong, but something about this scares him. He jolts awake in the attic, chest heaving with the final memory of something snapping in his mind, like the cord that tethered you to him was suddenly cut. Eventually his brothers get up too and he can hear the commotion coming from down the stairs. He makes his way to your room in a trance before they can come find him. He already knows what his brothers are struggling to understand, the truth that no one can explain. You're gone somewhere far away, impossibly out of his reach, and he dreads falling asleep and feeling the void your absence left behind.

Sleep evades him until he forces himself to try and rest, and he finds himself in your bed instead of his own. He curls himself around your pillow underneath your sheets, clinging to the last whiffs of your scent, and he hopes you'll wake him up and tell him this was nothing but a bad dream. (Your scent fades away long before the nightmare ends, and he stops sleeping in your room after that.)

read more: obey me masterlist

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pseudowho · 1 month

Text

Red

Nanami Kento, the infamous Curse User, is finally captured and sentenced to death after years on the run. The reader feels her grasp on morality quickly unravel, when her ex-boyfriend breaks down any inhibitions she thought she still had.

Warnings: 18+, smut, MDNI, Bad!Nanami, really a reprehensible man, rough sex, bondage, forced orgasm, multiple sessions, coercion, dubcon, tw: gaslighting, tw: abuse, reader is obsessed and hopelessly in love, and Nanami Kento takes full advantage of that.

*I absolutely do not endorse a relationship like this, and I must insist that anyone who reads this sees it as the red flag it is...ANYWAY...*

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You felt sick to your stomach.

"They caught him. Did you hear?"

You stumbled through the rain, barely composed, your heart in your mouth. Anxious desperation clawed up your spine, on your way to get the fix that you had been withdrawing from for so long.

"Yeah, Gojo got him, obviously. No, no, he's alive, for now."

Mud spattered up the backs of your legs, tripping through puddles, passing under rain-hush willows, Torii gates, and so many graves filled by his hand. His hands that you knew. His hands that knew you, so intimately, a body and soul so untouched by anyone else ever since and ever again.

"Nanami Kento. The Nanami Kento...scheduled for execution. Finally."

You reached corridors, a caretaker shouting in indignation as you tracked mud all over his freshly polished floorboards. You gained speed, running, ready for his face his hands his smell his eyes his body his heart and yours that was always his forever his still his--

"You shouldn't go in there." Your hand retracted so briefly over the handle of the door to the execution chambers. Feeling cold drip down your spine, not knowing if it was rainwater, sweat, or Gojo's voice behind you, you shivered. You felt him approach. A long hand on your shoulder; protective, apologetic, grieving.

"I...I'm sorry. I didn't want it to be this way. But you shouldn't go down there. He's...bad for you." You sniffed, straightening yourself, steeling against him. Gojo was so insignificant to you in this moment. "Are you keeping watch? Is there anyone else?" Gojo sighed, knowing better than to argue with you, feeling dread creep through him regardless. He leaned back on the wall, hands in his pockets, eyes downcast. You heard your own heartbeat, amplified hummingbird's wings. You heard the rain, cleansing on the leaves, but weighing you down with your sin. You felt the thread on your finger, trapped beneath that door and running down the stairs.

"No. No, it's just me. I...understand. Whatever you want to do, I...I understand." You felt the ghosts in this corridor. You felt the footsteps long since gone. You felt the shadows of the other half of Gojo's soul. Ah, yes, you thought, raindrops running down your cheeks, you would understand, of course.

"There will be a gap in the guard. At midnight. Just five minutes. Ten, if you're lucky." Gojo turned, facing down the corridor. You could smell the regret. The weight of his own failures haunted him. He sensed your fingers grip the handle, squeezing down, taking your life into your own hands.

He would give you this, what he had prevented you from taking five years ago. He would not see another whole broken into halves. He would not regret, for a moment now or for years to come. Behind him, your other hand, cold and damp, reached out and squeezed Gojo's. He felt the farewell upon your skin. "Thank you, Satoru. I love you." "I love you, too. Be good." You wracked with need, trembling down those spiraled steps. They took you so deeply underground, that you could feel the earthen chill of ages past upon your skin, and you welcomed the death and rebirth, shedding the life you had left at the surface.

You knew Nanami Kento would, inevitably, be your downfall. And yet...you had shared a room with death so many times, now, that you would not fear him reaching for your hand. You paused near the bottom of the stairs, soaked in the soft orange glow of ten thousand illuminated paper charms. You felt him. He beat you to it. "I can smell you." Your knees almost buckled; that voice. It ran through you, spitting hot oil in cold blood. You flurried down the rest of the steps with numb feet, rounding the corner. The breath rushed out of you, into him, and he smiled at you, so much wider than he used to, all canines and white.

Nanami Kento was bound to a small chair, barely enough to hold the sheer width of him. In this short (long too long so long) five years, he had grown from a man, to a beast, his shoulders hulking and mountainous, scars littered across his forearms and collarbones.

His white shirt was bloodstained-- mostly someone else's, you assumed, but some from Kento himself. Kento was scuffed, bruised, red at the corner of his lip. His parting remained, disheveled from his capture. His harness, the brown leather soft and aged, strained against his chest and shoulders. His blunt blade rested, leant against the wall in a dingy corner of the room.

The only thing holding back what you knew would be Kento's enormous, overwhelming power, were the ropes that restrained him. You fingered at the blade of the Cursed tool in your pocket. He was...ethereally beautiful. You felt the last vestiges of yourself pass to him, blissfully unaware he would take so much more from you yet. His smile grew, eyes full of searingly cold ice, sneering at you as tears built in your eyes.

"You're crying for me?" He cooed, soft and mocking, "Why is that? You made your choice, all those years ago." "You were the one who left." "You were the one who stayed," he growled, lurching forwards against his bonds, chest heaving and straining, snarling. Expecting you to step backwards, instead, he felt the sick satisfaction of you stepping closer instead-- drawn in by his gravity. "You didn't give me a choice, Kento," you begged, shameless, "You didn't come for me. I couldn't find you." Kento huffed, scoffing, twisting against his restraints. "Fuck off," he scorned, spitting a wad of blood to the floor, "I came for you. The night I found you in Gojo's bed, of all people." You frowned, remembering the night Kento snapped and executed two dozen colleagues in his offices, years after leaving Jujutsu High. Remembering the news reaching you third-hand, through whispers in the corridors, as you had headed to Jujutsu High to see if anyone had heard from him. Remembering Gojo's grim confirmation, how you had collapsed in his arms, carved in two. Remembering how he had taken you home with him, tucked you into his bed, where you slept fitfully, alcohol-soaked to numb the nightmares. Your stomach filled with ice water. "You were-- you were there?" You choked, tears spilling over, "At Gojo's? You were there?" "Tell me," Kento commanded, his lip curled, "how many hours it was, after you heard? How many hours before you let Gojo Satoru fuck you like some desperate little whore? How many hours it was before I found you in his bed." You shook your head, brutally injured by his venom, punctuating him with sobs and denial as his voice rose.

"Three? Four? So devastated, it took another man fucking his seed into you before you could get over the loss of your lover? And you have the fucking audacity to come in here and cry over me?" Kento strained forwards, teeth bared as he sniffed deeply, breathing out with a satisfied smirk, a laugh, deep and smoky. "Can't smell him on you now, though," he mocked, filthy and merciless, "I thought he liked pathetic little scraps like you, but I suppose one fuck was enough to tell him you belonged to someone else, just as much as he did."

Kento already knew, of course, that Satoru would not have taken you even once. Kento felt his cock swelling against his thigh with your anguished begging. "Is that what he told you? To make you leave?" Your head swam with the revelation that Kento had come back for you, the rage that Satoru had lied and sent Kento away. You shook your head, dropping to your knees before him; desperate for his approval, full of dreadful fear of rejection.

"Nobody else," you pressed, crawling forwards and squeezing his thighs with cold little hands as he scoffed again, looking away, "ever. Kento. Ever, ever, for years. There won't ever be--" Kento suppressed his smirk, reeling you in after you bit so willingly. He leaned down to you, his cock twitching at the memory of the last time you knelt between his legs, looking up at him with wide wet eyes. He allowed his breath to ghost over your neck, seeing your skin prickle. He softened his face, nectar and promise in his eyes. "...you and Gojo...you didn't...?" His voice was soft, gentle, hopeful. Your head shot up, fingers digging deeper into his thighs as your eyes brimmed over again, thrilled by his belief, his trust in you. His lips were so close to yours, that you felt his hot ashen breath upon your tongue, dragon's fire, those whiskey-soaked eyes flicking across your face. God, if I'd known it would be this easy, Kento thought, maliciously possessive, I'd have let you find me years ago. His cock twitched at the feel of your hands clawing his thighs. He imagined fucking you down into the bed while you clawed at him, struggling, gasping and crying.

"Never," you promised, chasing his face with yours, while Kento withdrew just enough to maintain a teasing closeness, "he lied. He lied to you." Kento's cock twitched again, thirsty for your desperation.

Kento smiled again, that beautiful, cloud-parting smile, and you preened into him. He hummed, leaning forwards so briefly to brush his nose against yours. Your breath left you in a shudder as his voice passed over your lips;

"That's good...good girl. I couldn't bear to think of anyone else's hands on my beautiful girlfriend."

You sunk into his sudden warmth, your hands stroking up his thighs, his hips, up his ribs and shoulders. He allowed you to embrace him like this, for just a moment. Prickling with fear, you felt the frost form over him once more. Kento sneered again.

"...she's gone though, I think. Rotting here, festering with the dregs of Jujutsu Society. Willing to live and die a pawn. Scum. Less than scum."

Kento sighed, withdrawing from you fully, his back against the chair, turning his head as you tried to cup his jaw in your hands. He shook you off, face twisted with disgust. He was thrilled to watch a part of you shrivel and recoil, before reaching out harder, begging in fractured whispers, clawing for dry land.

"You had your chance. You're too wet for my life. You couldn't do what I do, live how I live. You couldn't lie, cheat, extort, torture, murder. You're too soft." Kento's lip curled in disgust as you pressed yourself between his legs, begging, beseeching, "To think of all the cum I wasted by fucking it into you." He hoped you couldn't feel him, hard and throbbing against your belly.

"--anything you want-- I'll do anything you want-- please--"

"Please what?" Kento shot, shaking the ropes around him with thick, scarred arms, "I'll be dead before dawn. And I want some peace and quiet. You're nothing to me now."

A part of you died, shattered by his rejection. Clapping a hand over your mouth, your shivers threatening vomit, you sat back on the floor, pressing your face into your knees, sobbing and abandoned for a second time.

"It's a shame," Kento scorned, tutting, "we were beautiful, once. But I'd rather die than have you be my only fucking option."

Kento felt you break, and it was delicious.

You shook within, panicking at his imminent second abandonment...but you were more determined than ever to prove yourself to him. You would sell your soul. You would sell the lives of your fellow sorcerers. You would sell your dignity, your self-respect, your whole being. Having Kento in any form, even this cold-hearted killer, was better than the agony of his death, where you would surely die with him.

From your pocket, hands shaking, you withdrew a blade; a special grade cursed weapon, stolen, illicit. You reached around Kento, breathing deeply of the sweat, sandalwood and copper tang on his skin. You pressed the blade into the hands bound behind his chair. You turned, hesitated...and walked away.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

You could not bear to return to your apartment. You had staggered past Gojo, reeling from Kento's biting rebuttal. You had wiled away the evening in some backwater ditch of a bar, sinking into spirits and self-loathing.

You waited to be found...by him, or by your colleagues, for execution as an accomplice to his escape. You didn't care anymore. You would die at his hands, or theirs, and cling onto that final shivering bliss of his bound body against yours. Even as a good man, he had always possessed you, more than you possessed yourself.

Walking to your door just after midnight, fumbling with the keys, you let yourself in, to spend a final night alone before your inevitable execution.

The alcohol numbed your senses, the darkness close around you. You did not feel his approach, this killer in the shadows.

All at once, you felt an enormous hand clasp over your mouth, and another pinning your wrists behind your back, tugging you backwards against a body, such an immovable chilly presence. A whisper, a tongue grazing against the side of your throat.

"I want you screaming...but not yet." You arched back into Kento's body, seeking a warmth he didn't have any more. The man you knew was long-since dead.

You felt his hand loosen, drifting slowly from your mouth, to your throat, squeezing just tightly enough to make your breath hitch, examining the length of your throat from the outside with a hum. You smelled the cigarettes and whiskey on his breath.

"I'm so proud of you," Kento purred, stepping you slowly through your apartment, pushing you towards your bedroom, "such a good girl...I knew you'd pass the test." Your heart swelled with his praise, but a lingering doubt soured the edges of your tongue.

"--how did you-- s'too early, Kento-- the guard--"

"Guard?" Kento laughed, booming with genuine mirth, "Some scrap of a boy in a beanie? Please. They'll find what's left of him in the morning."

"Oh--Ino--" you felt tears prickle on your lash line, your breath leaving you with a gasp as Kento tossed you face down on your bed. You tried to turn back to look at him, but felt his hand grip the back of your neck, shoving you roughly into the sheets. You shivered, fingers clenching as you heard the telltale clink of his belt undoing, the soft shhhk-shhhk-shhhk of Kento unthreading it from his waist.

"Oh, Ino!" Kento mocked, "Shut the fuck up, before I make you shut up," his voice pitched and ruthless. His face twisted as you trembled, noting smears of blood left by his hands on your wrists. You smelled the copper tang over his sweat and stale cologne. You knew you would never reject him, already wet with the promise of him coming back for you.

Kento softened momentarily, knowing he would struggle to fit inside you if you were scared and trembling. The faintest ghost of him wanted to pull you into his arms. The ice over his old soul knew he'd break if it cracked.

Kento crawled over you, his black trousers unzipped, cock straining against the tight fabric of his boxers. He clasped your hands, binding them with his tie to the head of the bed. You were so ready for him to take back what was his, that you didn't hear his next words, rumbling and gravelly on the back of your neck.".

"Keep still, and do as you're told. I'm sure you remember the old safe word...if I care to listen."

You felt your skirt forced up to bunch around your waist, heard a fabric rrriiip of your tights and underwear being shredded away from your core. Kento breathed heavily as he knelt above you, hooking his cock and heavy balls out, stroking himself with one thick hand as his fingers jabbed between your legs, sinking between your folds with little to no regard for your pleasure.

You jolted, squeaking against the sudden intrusion. Kento letting out another rich, smoky laugh as he sunk two thick fingers into your entrance.

"...ahhh, lovely. Can you warm my fingers up for me?" Kento laughed again, drawing out into a stilted growl as he jerked his cock eagerly to your tight wet walls around his digits. You panted into the sheets, Kento releasing his cock you squeeze your arse as he fucked you with his fingers, leaving bruising fingerprints before slapping the skin harshly, groaning as your fat jiggled, flushing with the abuse.

"-- better than some common whore...shit. Such a good girl...getting me out of there. Maybe I'll keep you around...just to fuck, my sweet little cocksleeve. Or are you better than that?"

"--anything, I'll be anything you want-- Kento-- please please take me with you please--" Pleasure burned in your belly as you heard the wet slaps of his hand, masturbating himself again to the sight of his fingers moulding you to the shape of him.

You filled with a burning need to be what he wanted you to be, so exhausted by life, so bitter and ready for someone else to take control. Kento did so, gladly, withdrawing his fingers to your disappointed groan. He slapped your backside again in punishment, once, twice, three times until you learned your lesson, biting your lip against your cries.

"You'll come on my cock, or not at all," he snapped at you, impatient, with his pre-cum dripping down your folds as his cock grazed at the entrance to your prone, bound body. He rammed his fingers into your mouth, forcing you to lick him clean, low voice husky with need at the feeling of your tongue swiping over him.

Pressing one hand down on the back of your neck, before raising it to yank sharply on your hair, Kento fucked into you without warning, pressing hard, to bottom out immediately. Your scream was choked, your neck hyperextended back at the insistent pull of your hair. Your body ached and strained against his use of you, and you revelled in it, in too deep to care about how wrong it was. You stung with the size of him, always big, and so much bigger without preparation.

"--haaaah fuck-- good girl...fuck you through it-- fuck you through it-- scream all you like-- been waiting for this for so long--" Kento crushed your body flush under his, so heavy that he forced the air out of you, making you lightheaded against the raw pleasure of his cock pounding into you without mercy, simply chasing his own orgasm.

Kento's skin electrified with the sinful joy of stealing pleasure from you, ripping his shirt and harness off over his head with a fractured growl. He gripped your bound hands, slipping a hand under you to squeeze your throat, his hips slapping into you with agonising bliss. He cursed and spat against the pleasure, demeaning you and praising you in equal measure.

Breathing hard and fast, Kento saw a bead of his sweat fall to the back of your neck, and leaned down to bite you there, hard, mounting you like an animal as he fucked you harder, faster. Your clit throbbed, untouched, but you lost yourself in the deep primal ecstasy coiling in your belly. You felt the telltale twitches of his thighs and abs against your legs and back, knowing from his frantic jagged moans that Kento was about to cum, before remembering--

"Ken--Kento--oooh--ooh, Ken," you cried, whimpering as his cock bullied against your cervix, "...'m not-- not on-- pull out Ken--"

Kento jerked and groaned, grinning that wide sharp-canined grin again, his laugh leaving him in ragged breaths as his balls drew up close, ready to spill; "--fuck...pull-out? Not a--haaah-- fucking chance, without the safe word, sweetheart." Kento fucked you faster, challenging you as your cock-addled brain clasped at straws, trying desperately to remember, fuck what was it--

Kento gasped, his orgasm starting to wash over him, "Too late," he jeered, and came with a broken hushed roar, rutting his cock inside you so his seed would spurt, coating you, thick and sticky, all over your deepest walls. Kento didn't give a shit that you hadn't come-- and neither did you, trembling and mewling as his length jerked thick heavy ropes inside you.

As Kento pulled out, breathing hard, pumping his length a few more times to spill his last drops of seed across your back, he huffed out a humourless laugh, running his hand back through his hair; "'Pull out'...you'll take what I give you, and be grateful." Kento scooped up some seed, dripping from your cunt, shoving it roughly back inside you.

"What fucking use are you," he spat, ramming his fingers in you until you sobbed, squirming around him, "if you can't even keep my cum inside you? Pathetic." Your breath hitched, tears spilling over at his brutal mockery. Seeing your tears, hearing the lump in your throat, Kento cooed at you, clasping your jaw in one thick hand.

"Oh darling...don't be sad...just be better." He slapped at your cheek a few times, too stinging to be tender, pressing a hot wet kiss just beneath your eye. He stood up, stretching, padding over towards the door.

"I need a drink." Kento mused aloud. You pulled yourself up the bed, still tightly bound, clamping your legs together to keep his cum inside and win his approval. You almost wept with the bitter ache in your shoulders and arms, how your pussy stung, how worthless he thought you were. You heard the clink of bottles and glass in the kitchen.

Kento returned, sitting in the chair at the end of your bed, naked, legs crossed, as he poured himself a full glass of whiskey. You could not see him, your face pressed into the pillow. You couldn't see the cold, impassive gaze upon your bound, shivering form. You couldn't see the way he idly played with his cock, slowly stroking life back into it as his cum glistened on your folds.

"Let's play a game," Kento proposed finally, as sleep began to creep across you, "and if you win, I'll take you with me. If you lose, I'll leave you here for the dogs." Kento took a long drink, draining his glass with a satisfied hum, his cock now half-erect against his thigh.

Your determination peaked again, so certain you could make things right, and make Kento love you like he used to. You were a void, yearning to be filled.

"Yes, I-- I can do it-- anything," you pressed, voice strong and bold now, eager to shed the shell he had left you in. Kento refilled his glass, almost to the brim, grinning wolfishly. He reached into your bedside drawer, tipping his head and raising his eyebrows at you with a smirk, withdrawing a vibrator, and a dildo.

"So confident," Kento teased, a shadow of the way he used to play with you when he was softer, more restrained. He couldn't deny the flicker of joy he had felt at the old you, briefly rearing her head.

Kento emptied his hands for long enough to flip you to your back, binding your arms to the bed again, ripping your shirt and bra open at the middle, exposing your breasts and belly. Kento grabbed your nipple roughly, yanking it until you squealed, slapping it hard with a gravelly chuckle.

"Don't spill my drink." Kento ordered, picking his glass up, placing it on your chest, between your breasts. You faltered, stock still, staring up at him, uncertain.

"...I-- what?" Kento's slim brown eyes burned down at you, teasing the dildo against your sloppy cunt, before ramming it into you. You instinctively moved to squirm away with a cry, understanding almost a moment too late, the meniscus of the whiskey kissing the lip of the glass. You stilled completely, shuddering at the cold rubber filling your cunt to the belly, squelching with Kento's cum.

Kento hissed between his teeth, face twisted with nasty glee. He looked so animated, so alive with this hedonistic torture, such a far cry from who he once was.

"Close," he taunted, leaning down to brush his lips over yours, pulling away as you moved to kiss him, satisfied to hear you swear under your breath as he denied you. Kento flipped the wand vibrator in his hand deftly, switching it on and clicking to max out the vibration.

"Don't...spill my drink." Kento repeated slowly, pressing the brutally vibrating wand directly against your clit.

You saw stars, your body moving to convulse reflexively, and you gritted your teeth, eyes fixed on the wobbling glass on your sternum. Your legs shook, the pleasure too harsh to be enjoyable, feeling yourself being unwillingly dragged towards a bone-wracking orgasm.

"Kento please-- please stop please please-- I can't do it I can't keep still I can't--" You babbled at Kento, tears streaming, certain he may not acknowledge your safe word even if you did squeeze it out. Only your desperation to win him back stopped you from even trying.

"Then die here." Kento shrugged, stroking himself again as he pressed the wand harder against your clit, thrilled to hear you scream in anguish. Your orgasm hit you with stunning force, harsh wracks of pleasure pounding through you as your body remained rigid. Still, the whiskey did not spill.

Your teeth gritted around your cries, and you met Kento's eyes with a ferocity that used to make him hard in seconds. His cock twitched in his hand in memory, pre-cum dripping down to wet his fingers. Baring his teeth in a snarl now, Kento knelt between your legs, grabbing the dildo and fucking it into you with harsh strokes, pressing harder with the punishing vibrations of the wand.

Your body was on fire, every part of you burning, from bruised bound wrists, to your feet, crackling with electric overstimulation. You cursed, spitting out tearful bile at Kento.

"--Kento-- stop it-- you fucking monster-- I hate you-- you fucking left me and I hate you so just stop it--"

Kento grinned, growling out as he continued his messy overstimulation of you; "There! There she is! That's my girl...make me proud!...shit, you're a mess. Don't spill it now." As another orgasm hit you, a primal hideous landslide, you screamed with your head thrown back, woefully unable to dissipate the pleasure through movement.

Suddenly full of unbridled rage, the years of grief and abandonment pouring out of you, you snapped, certain you wanted to hurt him as he had hurt you.

The glinting madness in Kento's eyes, the way his hand worked his rigid cock harder as he released his grasp on the dildo, now ramming it back into you with his knee...he wanted this. He wanted you pouring with spite. With rage. He wanted the venom and the hatred. He wanted the raw unbridled loyalty that you promised him through this humid obsession.

"--let me go-- KENTO. I'm warning you--"

Kento laughed, rich and earthy, as he gripped you by the throat, pinning you to the bed. Your body was exhausted, groaning, all bone-deep and guttural aches. By the time your third orgasm hit, you were floppy, the whiskey glass tilting on you just too sharply--

--before being snatched up by Kento, who drained it in one thirsty gulp. Pulling the sex toys out of you and tossing them aside, Kento moved to line his cock up with your entrance. Full of tearful anger, you kicked, hard, fighting back against him as he laughed, encouraging you-- "Fight me-- come on girl, COME ON--"

Kicking out again, spitting acid at Kento, berating him for leaving you, berating him for the twisted hatred you had endured alone for the miserable job you did, you cried, all bitter spite and loneliness. Kento caught your legs, forcing them open, pressing himself between them. He jabbed his cock between your folds as you squirmed, struggling up the bed, until Kento folded over you, grasping you by the back of the neck, and pulling you up for a searing kiss-- the first time you had tasted him in years.

Kento took advantage of your gasp, and invaded you with his tongue and cock, fucking sloppily between your legs, cursing into your mouth, until he met your entrance, slamming himself in to the hilt. Kento gripped you by the hips, thrusting into you while he slammed your pussy against him. He immediately set a feral pace, intent on claiming the last scraps of you, if he couldn't get you out of Jujutsu society alive. "--not gonna-- haaah-- let you die here-- fuck, good girl, good fucking girl, take it-- FIGHT ME--"

Every time you tried to buck and kick, and throw him out of you, Kento cupped your jaw, kissing you just like he used to, disarming you as you bit into his forearm planted beside your cheek. Kento kept up his punishing pace, reaching up to release the belt as he groaned into your throat, biting the delicate skin there. The briefest flicker of warmth passed over him, to feel your hands clutch at his chest, still trying weakly to push him off you. Kento reveled in your fight, your incessant struggling beneath him making his need to cum, to fill you again and make you his, urgent. You felt this in him, in his trembling arms and sloppy thrusts, all at once splitting you in two and completing you. Relenting, you allowed him to claim your mouth again, lips smooth and supple against yours, whiskey on his breath. Kento couldn't last any longer, and didn't want to; he finished with a broken rumble, all groans and whispered curses in your hair. Crushing you to the bed beneath his hulking body, you whimpered to feel his cock twitch and bound inside you, filling you again with sweet ache and seed. Kento rested on you, ignoring your gasping little breaths as you saw stars, buried beneath him. Swallowing away the lump in your throat, your mind swam with your fates; killed in battle or executed or on the run or hiding with filthy curse users or begging the higher-ups for mercy but all alone every one of them alone-- "...come with me." You blinked. Kento's back still heaved with exertion, his face buried in your neck. You felt a twinge, a prickle down your spine-- Cursed energy, approaching from a distance. "You have to decide...there's no time. I lie. I steal, and extort. I blackmail. I murder. I live in...in absolute luxury. You will never want for anything, while you're with me-- but you must be with me." You smiled. Another door had opened. Kento was the easiest decision you ever made.

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acapelladitty · 13 days

Text

Strike A Bargain, Light A Match

Pairing: The Ghoul/Female Reader

AO3 Link

Fic Masterlist

Summary: Stuck in the desert and desperate for water, you find yourself captured by a ghoul who makes you an offer that you simply cannot refuse. (2.8k words)

(tw for: blowjobs, mildly dubious consent, cum marking, ropes/restraints, dirty talk, mild force, throat fucking)

As with most things in life, if something seemed too good to be true then it always was.

A canister, clear and blue and brimming with water, would always stand out against the desert background like a sore thumb and you knew that something wasn’t right. But, needs must, and the thirst which clawed at your senses made you stupid.

Christ, your fingers had barely brushed the lid of the canister when you were attacked.

You hadn't seen the rope arching towards you but you had felt the effect as it looped around your legs, quick as a bullet, and pulled them out from under you - slamming your body to the ground as a thick plume of dirt kicked up around your stunned frame to block out the darkening sky.

Voice hoarse due to the lack of moisture in your body, the sound that you made was almost like that of an animal, keening and rough, as you writhed on the ground. Hands flying to the rope which is encasing your legs, your fingers freeze in place as the unmistakable click of a gun echoes in your ear.

"Don't be touching that rope, darlin'. You trying to steal from me just got you a one-way ticket to a shakedown."

Accented words, smooth and deliberate, force you to look up and you wince in place at the horrific sight which blocked out the sky above as your would-be captor loomed over you.

Reddened skin, pocked and marked by radiation, with a gaping hole where the nose should have been gazed back down at you - marred features twisted into vague amusement as the skilled hunter took in your shocked expression.

A ghoul.

"Let me go." You croak out, throat feeling red and raw - a natural feeling given that it had now been over twelve hours since you'd had any water. "Let me up!" You cry, kicking out at the dirt.

"Not going to happen." The ghoul answers back without pause, his body shifting around so that he was standing tactfully to the side of your kicking legs. "Not even if you ask nicely, which you didn't."

"I didn't know it belonged to anyone." You try to say but the words burn and die out as a vicious cough wracks your upper body. The last week had been rough. A run in with raiders had robbed you of your latest haul and that included the meagre amounts of water that you had been able to gather in this vast, dusted part of the wasteland.

Watching you cough with a blank expression, the ghouls fingers disappear into his ratty coat as he pulls free a small, metallic flask from one of the inner pockets.

"Ain't listening to that shit."

Dropping to his haunches, his free hand grips your chin roughly, calloused fingers giving you no room to move as he carefully tilts the mouth of the flask between your lips. Fear spiralling in your chest as your breath comes in shallow pants, you purse your lips tight as you attempt to avoid whatever the hell he was trying to slip you. It's for nothing though as he forces you mouth open enough to allow some liquid to slip through.

Water.

Unable to help yourself, you gasp in shock, and instinct overtakes sense as you greedily sip down the few thankful gulps that you can. It soothes in an instant. The warm, slightly stale water may as well be liquid gold as it coats your throat, banishing away the drought which had lay before it.

Eyes watering as you choke a little on the liquid, the hand on your chin elevates your mouth enough to ensure that everything goes where it should before the flask is pulled away with a clinical precision.

"There." The ghoul grunts, his brow narrowed into a mild scowl as he observes you with a passive look. "Want to try that again, croaky."

"Didn't-didn't know it was yours. The water." You explain, meeting his eyes with your own. "I only needed a little bit. Haven't had any in-"

You cut yourself off, anxiety making you want to ramble but knowing that such a thing was stupid as hell when outside the safety of a group. Or even when around someone you didn’t have full trust in.

He takes your words for what they are as he stands to his full height once more.

"You're a pretty little thing to be out here all alone. This part of the desert isn't meant for pretty little things.” He grunts, hands on his hips. “There’s people out here that’ll do things to you that’d make your skin crawl right off if you knew.”

And he was right.

The sun beat down harshly during the day, making any menial task seem twice as difficult as scavenging became a race against overheating as much as it did the dangers which lurked around every corner. The nights were not much better as roving gangs sought to take everything they could from anything they found, living or dead.

The lucky ones would be killed and the unlucky would face the same fate.

Eventually.

Speaking of luck, the fact that your captor hadn't immediately caved your skull with a rock or used that gun to decorate the dust with your blood was something to be exploited.

"I'm sorry.” You offer up, palms flat in a show of non-aggression. “Let me up and we can talk about a trade for some of that water."

In a lawless land, bartering was king, and you prided yourself on your ability to talk yourself into getting what you needed. Raiders. Ghouls. Lunatics. Everyone wanted something, and your mental inventory of your stash flashed through your mind as your eyes trailed across your captor, seeking out some possible options which he may be interested in.

Covered mostly by dark leather, a bullet holster sits across his chest, looping over his shoulder and visibly containing several bullets which were no doubt comfortable in that gun of his. His leather coat is worn and frayed, the edges looking rough as hell and caked in dust and grime. What visible skin lay open to the slowly darkening sun was as red and mottled as the rest, the flesh of a ghoul impossible to hide or shy away from.

The eyes though.

His eyes appeared to be a hazel colour, the whites of his irises seeming even more stark due to the red skin surrounding them, but what caught your attention was how expressive they were. Sunken in their sockets, the darkness which encased them did little to hide their revelations. Even now, as he stared you down with an intensity equal to your own, you could see the appraisal of curiosity and interest which lurked behind the vague, mean-spirited amusement he fixed you with.

Taking a seat on the water canister, his gun remaining in hand as it casually hung from his fingers, he allowed you to pull the rope from your legs and right yourself until you were standing once more. His other hand remained on the opposite end of the rope, ready to lash out like a viper at a moment’s provocation.

"Water's rare round these parts.” The ghoul grumbled. “I don't want to be wasting it on needless shit. So why don't we see if we can come to some arrangement?"

The golden words.

Smirking at the potential of a deal, the fear which tickles at your chest disappears in a brief moment as you rock onto your heels and place your hands on your hips.

"I don't have anything with me today. I'll need to go and gath-"

"You've got them pretty lips." He countered, cutting off your words and widening his knees as he patted his thigh with the butt of his gun. "I'm sure you can think of something to do with them."

Shocked by the utter brazenness, your mouth drops open and you splutter out something incomprehensible as a low chuckle slips free of his twisted lips.

"Don't look so shocked. Oldest barternin' tool in the business. Ten minutes of work and you might live to see another day. Five minutes if you're a pro.” He grunts again. “Fuck, it's been so long, it might even be two. Take the chance, darling?"

"I'm not a whore." A harsh denial as heat spread across your cheeks.

You had seen them before, both the unwilling and the willing, as they walked alongside raiders and heroes alike in an effort to use their skills to ensure survival. Everyone did what they had to do and it wasn’t like you hadn’t used charm before to get what you wanted.

But still.

This was different.

In a way-

"Didn't say you were." The ghoul shrugs, interrupting your mental debate. "But a deal’s a deal. Ain't got no infection that I know of and it's the best offer you'll get out here. Closest raiders to here are the McSharkies and they’ll have you fucking their dogs for a single droplet.”

Shuddering at the thought, your lips move of their own accord.

"Okay."

Surprising yourself even as you say the word, a trickle of shame weaves itself down your spine.

You had done a hell of a lot worse for a hell of a lot less in this shithole of a world.

What was a quick blowjob in the scheme of things.

Visibly pleased at your agreement, he palms his cock through his slacks for a moment before jumping to his feet in a smooth motion which catches you off-guard.

"Turn and get those hands out behind your back."

"Why?"

"Got to tie your hands, little lady. You might be sweet, but a pretty snake is still rattlin’ full of venom. You understand me?"

Unable to argue as a sense that you might as well play his game since you had no other choice plucks at your thoughts, you nod your consent and slowly shuffle around.

Turning in place, he loops the ends of the rope around your wrists in quick movements, quietly ensuring his own safety as he pins your hands behind your back and spins you around to face him once more.

"Kneel." He commands, clicking his fingers and pointing to the ground as he commands you like a dog.

You drop to your knees before him and the harsh desert feels uncomfortable against your skin through the fabric of your jumpsuit. Even in the rapidly cooling air of the approaching evening, not a soul to be made out as far as the eye could see, heat danced along your skin as a dirty shame made your shiver and roll your shoulders.

You had seen his kind before, knew what to expect, but even prior knowledge couldn't prepare you for just how thick he was as he snatched his cock free of his slacks - the pinstripe design fluttering in the breeze as he unlatched the waistband. His cock jutted from his slacks with pride, its girth making you bite at your lower lip as you wonder how the hell you're going to fit that in your mouth.

As livid in colour as the rest of him, his cockhead was slightly darker as it flared from the end of his length, and there was a prominent vein which ran along the underside of the shaft.

Despite yourself, your mouth watered at the prospect of tasting it.

Unable to wrap either of your hands around his cock, you dip your head forward to catch the tip of his cockhead within your lips. Immediately you feel the heat of him, his textured skin feeling odd against your tongue as a slightly acrid taste floods your mouth. He's heavy and thick, even just the tip of his cock making your mouth feel full and you carefully breathe around him as your tongue presses against his shaft.

“It’s been a long time, sweetie. That or you're a born cocksucker.”

A heavy hand pressing on the back of your head draws a sharp gasp from your lips as he pushes you down further on his cock. Forced into accepting more of him, you hollow your cheeks and allow him to guide himself roughly within your mouth, every part of his mottled skin adding a new sensation to your lips as they roll across his length.

Sucking him gently, something traitorous and arousing sparks in your cunt as he unleashes a low grunt at the stimulation.

At the vicious arousal in his tone, you feel a fresh flood of lust slither across your skin even as you groan out an unspoken denial of his words around his cock. However, you attempt to free yourself of him in a moment of surprise as his fingers drop low enough to cup around your temple, essentially keeping you in place as his other hand tightens almost painfully around your hair.

He's building pace, allowing enough time for you to catch your breath as you focus on the task - your own hands remaining pinned behind your back as you bob your head messily.

"Yeah. Fuck your mouth on my cock, little miss." He grunts, hand like a vice around your head as he casually thrusts himself into your mouth with only a little mercy. "Show me how much you want it."

Keeping your eyes staunchly closed, shame and humiliation creep along your heated skin but with it comes an undeniable arousal which makes your cunt feel wet against your panties.

"None of that. Eyes open now."

Displeased with the lack of eye-contact, his cock pulls free of your mouth long enough for his hand to strike across your cheek. Not in an overly aggressive or painful manner, but enough to force your eyes open as you glare up at him.

"Ooh, feisty little mare. I like it. Makes me hard as a nail."

To emphasise his words, he drives his cock a little further back, the tip now just threatening your throat as you choke in surprise - eyes watering in an instant as you fight the urge to bite down. You watch him as he chuckles, enjoying the way your throat is spasming around you cock as he holds you there.

He lets up after a moment, resuming his more forceful pace. Wanting him to finish, you pull back enough to swirl your tongue along the sensitive ridge where his shaft meets his cockhead before swallowing him down in one quick motion.

It's enough, and the sharp, pleasurable pants which slip free of his mouth seem to increase slightly in pitch as he pulls his cock free of your mouth. Without warning, his release splashes across your mouth and chin; a few errant drops falling between your lips as he jerks his cock off to wring every last droplet out.

Pissed by the mess despite the slight ache which sits in your cunt as it feels woefully neglected, you growl at him - a scowl marring your forehead as your jaw clicks, the bone there pleased to no longer be under such stress. Left in the dirt with your hands bound and you face coated in mess, a fresh sense of heated embarrassment floods your cheeks and you cough in discomfort as he tucks his softening cock away.

You inhale sharply as you find your body being pulled away from his as his strong hands remove you from your kneeling position and place you back on your feet.

"Made a mess of you there, darling." The ghoul smirks, teeth flashing against his reddened skin. "Make sure and clean yourself up before anyone else sees you. They might get the wrong idea."

Rubbing your hands together as he releases then from their bindings, you immediately wipe off his release with the back of your hand and ignore the taste of him as the droplets in your mouth coat your tongue.

"My water?" You ask, dusting your knees off as you mentally make a note to treat your clit to some attention the minute you were back in the safety of your hideout. Attention that no doubt would feature hazel eyes and some very irritated movements as you took your frustrations out on your traitorous sex.

"Sure. Deal's a deal, little miss. Name's Cooper, by the way." He, Cooper, grunted as he slowly filled one of the spare empty bottles which littered the ground around the canister. "You can call me Cooper."

Huh.

Watching silently as he continued to live up to his end of the bargain, you tasted his name against your lips as eagerly as his cum you consider what he might give to hear you cry it out with some well-earned enthusiasm.

"Cooper."

His eyes meet you own and you can tell, in that moment, that he's imagining the very same.

#amazon fallout #fallout #cooper howard #the ghoul #cooper howard x reader #the ghoul x reader #cooper howard x you #the ghoul x you #fallout smut #ghoul smut #cooper howard smut #fallout tv show #walton goggins #fallout prime

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nomazee · 1 month

Text

close to your heart and that bed of yours too

you've been having the same weird dream about dan heng, over and over, and it just so happens that he's had the same dream, too.

dan heng x gn reader — 2.4k — super suggestive content but definitely nothing serious or graphic, some guilt abt attraction, dreams, romantic fantasies but not weird ones, kissing and closeness and physical touch, literal sleeping together

notes: forgive me and my debaucherous writing... this is nowhere near smut but it's definitely suggestive they get touchy and feely but it's very emotions-focused...oh my god what did i write this is so

—°+..｡*ﾟ｡*ﾟ+.*.｡.—

It’s probably not possible to get cabin fever on a constantly-running space train, but that’s the only reasonable explanation for the weird, weird recurring dream you’ve been having about Dan Heng. It’s not— not that weird, not weird enough that you feel like a complete deviant, but enough for you to realize that it’s a complete reflection of your innermost thoughts and desires, and that scares you more than anything.

The dream— it goes like this:

You wake up—not in real life, but in the dream world, which freaked you out the first time because you didn't realize you were dreaming at all so you thought everything was entirely real—and it’s usually because of the noise of your door sliding open. The instinct to look and see who it is doesn’t hit you. You lay there, gaze fixed distantly on the steel surface of your ceiling until the feeling of your bedsheets moving next to you pushes you to full awareness.

You still don’t move your gaze until you feel a body—warm, breathing, real real real?—lift up your blankets and slide underneath them, pressing next to you, curling into your side as if seeking out your life source. Your breath catches in your throat every single time as you turn to see that it’s Dan Heng, still dressed in his work clothes because he doesn’t understand the concept of pajamas, and his arm reaches around you and curls around your shoulder and he rests his head on your collarbone, gently, and you can feel his breath fan against the fabric of your shirt and your skin.

Dan Heng says your name with reverence, with something like desire, and it makes your stomach clench and he turns his body into you more. He tucks his leg between yours—not moving, just sitting there, a reminder of him, his warmth—and he’s so, so warm, it amazes you that he’s like a furnace, and that he’s so unbothered by laying so close to you under all of your blankets.

And he says your name again, each and every time, and it spurs something in you and you bring your arms around him each and every time, and pull him close, and feel the way he shudders, like a cold breeze wracking his body, like he’s never been this close to anyone before, and it dawns on you that he probably hasn’t—and that thought alone spirals into the realization that Dan Heng would never do this—

And then you wake up. Each time.

The first time it happened, you didn't realize it was a dream, and you were so overwhelmed with thought after thought and feeling after feeling and sensation after sensation. When you finally woke up, it felt like you were grieving a loss. You felt too cold, and too empty, and curled into yourself and laid in your bed for an hour taking in shaky breaths until you finally got over yourself.

You couldn't face Dan Heng for that entire day. Which was fine, because he spent his whole day in his room shuffling through the archives, so he was easy to dodge. But then you dreamt of him again. And again, and again, and then it just became a part of your nighttime routine to dream of your own friend so intimately and then wake up and pretend like nothing matters and nothing changed. Pretend like you didn't feel anything, and pretend like these dreams didn't flood you with guilt about your sick sick feelings and your sick sick fantasies.

You tried to rationalize it, make yourself feel less awful. The dreams never went past him laying beside you, for the most part, and you preferred it that way. If they got any more intimate than they already were, you would’ve thrown yourself off the Express the next morning.

Regardless, the Dan Heng in your dream and the Dan Heng that you saw every morning were different people, because the Dan Heng you saw every morning would never get so close to you. Would never lay in your bed and breathe on your neck like that.

Never. That distinction is the only thing that convinces you to let yourself dream. You indulge, and it’s sickening, but you let your dreams happen over and over, and each time you hold Dan Heng tighter and tighter and tighter, and let him breathe against your neck, and feel the rush of his blood circulating through his body.

One night, in one iteration of this dream, Dan Heng kisses you. It feels so real that it makes you nauseous. His lips were warm and damp and clumsy against the corner of your mouth, and he let out anxious breaths until you tangled your hands in his hair and tugged him closer and kissed him back.

You woke up sick, running to your bathroom to puke in the sink as your hands shook in guilt. Somehow, you could still talk to Dan Heng normally that day, stomach twisting only the slightest bit whenever your gaze lingered on him for too long.

Welt might have noticed how weird you were acting. There was a nagging furrow in his brow and he caught your gaze more than once and each time, you felt waves of humiliation crash into you, flooding you in heat and guilt and vertigo. He looked like he wanted to pry in that odd, awkward, old-man-paternal way of his, but you just shook your head and looked away and begged, hoped, wished upon a star that you would have a normal dream tonight.

The night— it goes like this:

You lay in your bed, staring at your ceiling, leftover remnants of guilt swimming in your lungs and nightly congestion forcing you to take shallow breaths through your mouth. Thoughts run through your mind and slam into your skull at rapid speed. Has Dan Heng noticed how weird you’ve been acting? He hasn’t treated you any differently, but maybe it’s out of pity. Maybe you haven’t been paying enough attention, because you’re so busy replaying that dream over and over and over, obsessive, wondering if you should just let go of the rope you’re suspended on and slam into the water and drown in your wants and your needs.

So you close your eyes, and you let yourself drift off and wake back up in your dream. You’re on your side now, instead of on your back, and the door is on the far wall behind you. You still hear it slide open, as it always does in this dream, and the footsteps get closer until you hear the shuffling of someone kneeling behind you. And then there’s nothing.

Your blankets don’t get lifted up. There’s no warm body tucking itself next to you. But there’s— a voice, Dan Heng’s voice, and your heart sinks into your stomach as you hear the pitch of his voice, the vibrations of sound.

“Are you awake?”

Your brow furrows, and you clench and unclench your fists twice before parting your dry, trembling lips. He’s never spoken in a dream before, not like this. He’s only ever said your name. Your fingers twitch with the instinct to pinch yourself.

“Yes,” you respond, hoping that the confusion isn’t clear in the timbre of your voice. “What’s— is something wrong?”

“No,” he says immediately. Clothes rustle as he adjusts himself. You’re scared to turn around and face him. You don’t know what you’d see. “You…” and he pauses, thinking of his words. Dan Heng would rather take a full minute to think about what to say, what words to pick, instead of stumbling over syllables, and it’s so unlike your own habits and as you think of this, your fingers twitch again. This time with the desire to hold his hand, because that’s what you’re supposed to do in this dream, but everything feels too real now and you don’t know where you are.

Finally, he finds his words. You’re patient with him. “I can’t sleep alone,” he whispers, as if embarrassed to admit it, “not tonight. I trust you.”

God. He can’t say that. He shouldn’t say that, because your head is spinning and you’re going to throw up. Your hand finds the strength to pick itself up and pinch the skin of your forearm. You’re not dreaming.

“Yeah,” you cough out, sniffling afterwards to cover up your budding anxiety as you finally sit up and turn to face him. “Yeah, you can, um. Sleep here.”

When he finally enters your field of vision, he looks the same as he always does—both in your dreams and in real life. It makes you sick. The guilt that you feel now comes more from the fact that he’s still in his typical outfit instead of pajamas.

“Dan Heng,” you start as you shuffle back on your bed to make space for him. He follows your motion, kneeling on the edge of your mattress before adjusting the sheets around you to tuck himself underneath and lay down. “We need to get you pajamas. I don’t know how you sleep like that.”

“I don’t sleep,” he admits, “not usually. I don’t need a lot of sleep.”

“You do. You might not think so, but you probably do. I wish I had a spare set of pajamas, but— they’re all, um, in the wash right now.”

“It’s okay. Your blankets are nice.”

Words tingle against your gums, syllables of confessions lighting up in your mouth. You want to tell him that a dream-version of him has slept under a copy of these blankets multiple times before, that you’ve dreamed for weeks about him curled into you and sleeping, and saying your name, and kissing the corner of your mouth. Right now, you’re just laid side-by-side, shoulder-to-shoulder, but you can feel how warm he is and his hand is so close to yours and you just want to hold it. You want him to say your name and look at you and hold your hand.

“Good,” you say instead of everything else that you could say, because you have a sense of self control at times.

Then Dan Heng says your name, rolling onto his side to face you, hands tucked underneath the side of his face in a stupidly endearing sleeping position. You follow suit, because your self control isn’t that strong. He doesn’t say anything else. Just your name, once. With reverence and desire. Maybe you’re dreaming it, but you pinch your knuckles again and yet you’re still in the same room with the same man in front of you.

One of your arms is bent between you two, hand resting on the pillow that separates you two. Dan Heng’s own hand—warm, and breathing, and real— comes up to rest on top of yours, and you cannot believe any of this is happening. You want to pinch yourself again but his hand is curling around yours and he’s inching forward and you hope that your deer-in-headlights expression doesn’t scare him off.

“Dan Heng,” you whisper, voice cracking with an embarrassing desperation. It’s a warning for him, before he does whatever he’s about to do. But he says your name, again, and his face is so close to yours that you can feel every breath fan against your face, and your entire body is warmed and your hand flips over to hold his, fingers slipping between his and tightening around it.

“Have you had these odd dreams these last few nights,” he asks, a leading tone in his voice, “because I have. About you,” and he’s too honest, and you have to swallow your saliva before it turns into sweat and blood, and you feel his hand squeeze back around yours. His is shaking, and you find some kind of comfort in knowing that you’re not the only one.

“Yeah,” you answer, because you can’t get more than one syllable out at a time tonight. Could anyone blame you? Would Dan Heng blame you for that, afterwards, even though his face is so close and his hand is so warm and it’s tight around you, and he’s shuffling around again, constantly fidgeting, and he takes his other arm and slides it around you, hand between your shoulder blades. He hooks a leg between yours, tugging you closer and closer and closer. You’re blinking at him, heart caught in your throat and eyes landing on his lips so that maybe he’ll finally take the hint.

He does. He does, and as cliche as it is, it’s better than your dream. He kisses you, desperate, and right before your eyes flutter shut you catch the contemplative furrow in his brow. His mouth is—warm, damp, but you feel the crack in the skin in the center of his bottom lip. It scrapes against you and you can’t help the shaky sigh you release at the feeling, and the hand on your back curls into the fabric of your sleep shirt.

Your eyes are closed, tight, scared that if you open them, you’ll just wake up back in your room, alone and cold again with your empty steel ceiling. Dan Heng’s mouth is moving against yours with a practiced proficiency that you’re almost jealous of. You let your tongue trace the edges of his teeth, carnal in your desires, before you bite down on his lip hard enough to leave a temporary dent. He shudders, hand trembling against yours and lips pulling back from yours as he tucks his head into your neck and lets out shaky breaths lines with addictive sounds. You’re going crazy. He’s driving you crazy.

The hard, carved metal parts of his clothes dig into you. Your hand goes around him to rest on the back of his head, threading through his hair as his breathing slows against you. “We can go shopping somewhere tomorrow,” you tell him, already thinking of how you’d convince Pom-Pom to land at some shopping district of some planet. “You need pajamas.”

“There’s no need for me to have that,” he says, stubborn and set in his ways, even with something as mundane as sleep clothes. “My normal clothes are fine.”

“Not if you’ll be sleeping in my bed.”

And that makes him succumb to your whims, much too easy for your own good, and you laugh when he lets out a weary sigh at your reciprocal stubbornness. Your fingers keep combing through his hair, soft and meaningful, until he falls asleep. You think you'll get him a blue plaid pajama set. He'd look nice in it.

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trtlebuns · 10 months

Text

Ghost realizing you’re a wild sleeper

Synopsis: Ghost and yours first night together and you’re worried that you might do something weird while you sleep…

Sfw 😝

Uh…I was going to do a bunch of other cod men but I got lazy :)

First fic on tumblr, whoop whoop

Simon Riley <Ghost>

The first night of sleeping together with ghost as a newly established couple was nerve wracking not because you’re scared of sleeping with this fine piece of ass, no no no it’s because your friends have mentioned that you’re a “wild sleeper” whatever that means, right?

“You alright” Simon breaks you out of your deep thoughts of you socking him in the mouth as you’re dead asleep

“Hm? Oh! No, I’m just a bit nervous because what if I say something weird in my sleep?” You shyly respond, knowing really that you’re either 1) scared you’re going to WWE fight this man in sleep or 2) fart….let’s go with the latter.

Simon chuckles and responds as you both get comfortable in bed “I’ll let you know, because I’m quite the light sleeper in case something happens through the night”

Shit

was your true response but you quickly respond with an “oh, that’s a bummer, I got some melatonin if you need it.” You turn away to pretend look for some melatonin as your thoughts race:

This man is a LIGHT SLEEPER?! Oh Jesus please watch over me and not let me knock this man unconscious so he can really experience a deep sleep

“It’s no problem at all, in fact I like that fact that I’m a light sleeper, so please don’t put yourself in a hassle and get some sleep” Simon said

Hehe get it??

“Oh alright, justsoyouknowimawildsleeper” you quickly said as you laid down and quickly shut your eyes fake snoring

4am

Simon Riley POV

It’s been 3 hours since the torture has begun.

Y/n was moving around at 1am, slob coving their pillow and mouth and hair a mess, deep sleeper, kinda jealous but nevertheless I left it alone

Normal sleep movements

I felt a hand movement but it quickly connected with my face, I jolted up thinking it was an intruder but it was just y/n and I on the bed.

I look to my right and see y/n’s hand on my cheek and they smacked their lips and turned their head, still fully asleep

I gently move their hand back to a relaxing position and laid back down

Not even an hour passes by and I have y/ns HANDS AND FEET on me trying to push me out of the bed?????

Moving on to them laying on top of me in full starfish mode???

Next to y/n hogging the covers and moving me to the edge of the bed and spiraling out on 3/4 of the bed

“Okay” I say as I push y/n into the middle of the bed and put both of us in the spoon position

Me being the big spoon ofc (😝)

Damn near putting them in a soft headlock, as 30 minutes pass, I slowly sleep into slumber realizing that y/n hasn’t moved but is still snoring softly

TIME SKIP!

Y/n comes down the steps into the kitchen where ghost is there making breakfast

“Yooo, that was the best sleep I’ve ever had my goodness” y/n stated while yawning and searching their head

Simon turned his head looking at y/n get something out of the fridge

“I’m glad” he said while thinking this is something he could get used to.

#cod #simon riley imagine #ghost mw2 #sfw little post #yn #fluff #simon riley #ghost cod #first draft #ghost posts #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #comedy #idk lmao #so uhhh

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adnauseum11 · 2 months

Text

Joint Task Force (John Price x Reader)

You're harbouring guilt and John makes you feel better.

It's still Valentine's Day here, and thus it seems like the correct time to post this. It is mostly smut, heavy dose of fluff.

longer than normal 2.3k words

CW: swearing, explicit sex

feedback welcome!

You aren’t proud of it, but John’s illness the other night scared you. You’re not as quick to needle him and more annoyed than usual when your friends have a go at him during Trivia night. John has a thick skin and manages to laugh it off better than you do, but your touchiness doesn’t go unnoticed. You have to work in the morning and John’s promised to drive you if you want to spend the night. You do, but you’re realizing now it was a trap.

“What was going on with you and your girls tonight? They do something to piss you off?” He’s asking you, blocking the only exit from the bathroom as he casually leans against the doorjamb. You turn wide eyes at him, slowing your brushing motions to spit into the sink. John has got you pinned with his deadly blue eyes, watching for clues.

“What do you mean?” You feign cluelessness.

“Love, you can pull that innocent and clueless bit on just about anybody else. What’s really going on? You don’t normally row with those two.”

You drop the act and pout for a moment before rinsing your mouth. When you’re finished you turn to face him, fisting your hands on your hips.

“I just didn’t like the way they were talking to you. You’re not an idiot just because you don’t have a Masters’ degree. They were being catty bitches.” You sniff, trying to be flip about it but anger bleeding into your tone all the same.

“Try again.” John extends an arm, catching your wrist and using it to reel you in to him, using his bigger body to keep you corralled in the bathroom. He’s clearly not buying what you are selling and knows you too well to turn you loose.

“Well, fine, maybe I should be a little nicer to you, too.” You snap and then press your lips together in frustration, knowing you’ve given yourself away and contradicted yourself with your delivery all in the same breath. Brilliant.

“This about the migraine the other night? I told you, I’m alright, love.” John’s soothing, but you’re still guilt wracked. You feel like an idiot, constantly figuring things out too late. The realization he’s been suffering alone was like ice water to your consciousness. Saying that out loud means admitting to being a shit friend, which means John deserves better. You’ve been spiralling internally for days.

John’s massaging up your arm, having worked out the quickest way to defuse you is to override your nervous system. It’s hard to stay anxious when your methodically being turned into jelly. His sharp blue eyes stay on your face though. It’s like he can sense there’s something else circling underneath your bluster and concern. When he gets to your shoulder he steps back, steering you out of the bathroom and over to bed. You let him, his warm, mollifying touch turning your energy from frenetic to something more malleable.

He's got you spread out on your belly on his bed before you can think of a reason to resist him, his big hands smoothing under the tank top you wear to bed, pressing into tight muscles with practised swipes. There’s an epic battle going on between the anxious tension locked into your muscles and John’s determination to figure out what you’re stewing over.

If there’s one thing John knows how to do, it’s extract answers from people that aren’t eager to give them up. He complains gently about your tank top getting in the way, that he could do this better if he could move more freely. You’re just on this side of ‘too relaxed to care’ by now and oblige him, letting him help you remove it over your head. He doubles down, long slow strokes pressing you into the mattress firmly, forcing little groans out of your lungs. You can vaguely hear him hum in satisfaction; your mind completely focused on his hands.

“Why do you think you need to be nicer to me? I think you’re pretty nice as it is darling.” John presses the issue, not stopping in his work, using the heels of his palms over your lower back. You can hear the smile in his voice and know instantly he’s thinking of the times you’ve put your mouth and hands all over him. You wonder if the flush that’s taking over your face and chest extends to your back and if John can see.

“Do you get migraines often?” You ask instead of answering and John is quiet for a moment. Your brain drifts as his hands seek out the knots along your spine.

“My nerves get confused sometimes. Been around a lot of explosions and gunfire, must have rattled something loose. Not usually as bad as it was the other day.” He jokes gently but he’s being truthful, giving you the answer you’re actually looking for.

“I hate that I didn’t... I didn’t even consider that, John.” You admit to the mattress, completely unable to even partially face him while you force the words past your lips. John’s silent but his hands continue to move, sparking hope that maybe he doesn’t agree with your internal assessment that you are, in fact, an awful selfish person.

You don’t even think when he hooks his fingers in the thick elastic of your sleep shorts, lifting your hips for him automatically as he shimmies them down. His strong hands grip your thigh, running his thumbs up the middle of your hamstring. You’re moaning before you can stop yourself, loud in the quiet of the room. The sensation of his thumbs pressing down firmly on the big muscle enough to make you weep.

“Like that, do you?” You can hear the smile in John’s voice again and he repeats the motion to the same effect.

“My god, that should be illegal.” You manage to slur out and John chuckles, switching to your other thigh. He makes his way down to your ankles and then back up before responding to you. He’s got handfuls of your ass before you know what’s happening.

“This should be illegal. I want a medal for managing to hold a conversation with this to contend with.”

You finally laugh, letting him break your sour mood. Your muscles are so relaxed they feel weighted but you feel lighter inside somehow, your affection for the man pinning you to the mattress only ever growing. When he rolls you onto your back, you’re too suffused with relaxed pleasure to feel self-conscious about being naked with the exception of a pair of panties.

You can see the warm smile stretched across John’s face, making his blue eyes twinkle. It’s reassuring, his solid warmth pinning you down. He leans over you, balancing his weight on an elbow by your head, bracketing you under him before he kisses you. The taste of him is familiar to you now, and a thread of desire begins to spool tighter, low in your belly. You suck on his tongue when he swipes it between your lips, garnering a groan from somewhere deep in his chest. His teeth rasp lightly over your bottom lip, making sparks fly at the back of your scalp and behind your eyelids. He breaks the kiss but only to continue to press kisses over your jaw, nuzzling at your sensitive earlobe before sucking on it gently.

John’s lips are hot, anchoring you in place as he explores down the sweep of your neck. His whiskers drag across your delicate skin, sending shivers down your spine and directly to your pussy. It makes all thought impossible, words nearly beyond your reach. Your fingers find his biceps, the hot press of his mouth dizzying.

John misreads your grip on his arms and pauses, looking down at you.

“Want me to stop?”

“What? No, don’t you dare.” Your breathy voice has a pleading quality that galvanises him, teeth rasping over your pulse point before swirling his hot tongue over the same spot. He’s shifting overtop of you, resting more of his weight on you. His hips snug against yours, his erection slotting against you like a hot brand. You’re suddenly desperate for movement, friction, and hook a leg over his hip, arching against his solid body. John won’t be rushed but knows what you want, and rolls his hips against yours in appeasement. The flash of pleasure stutters your mind and you moan, your leg tightening around his hip.

John’s palm settles on your breast, squeezing the soft flesh with tenderness, the hunger on his face at odds with his touch. Your fingers curl into his shirt, tugging it up and he obeys immediately, leaning back to tug it up between his shoulder blades and toss it. His hand resumes its exploration, his thumb circling your nipple as his hips rock, grinding against you. You’re certain he must be able to feel how wet he’s making you, the fabric trapped between your bodies damp beyond measure.

He bends, wrapping his mouth around the tight bud of your nipple, making you arch, desperate to get closer to the pull of his lips. Your fingers find their way to his hair, gripping the short strands as he groans his approval.

John’s hand has slid down your body and is tugging your panties down, leaning back to guide your leg down off his hip while he strips the last stitch of clothing from your body. You have to release him to let him work and you do so with a whimper, dropping your hands down over the hard planes of his body. You can only wonder at what John sees – flushed cheeks and wild hair, legs spread and eyes glassy with desire in the semi-darkness.

“Alright, love?” John asks, leaning over you to plant another searing kiss on your lips, returning to his place between your legs. You can feel him leaning, hear his bedside drawer and realize he’s getting a condom.

“Can I?” You ask breathlessly and if John’s surprised, he hides it well, the expression on his face pure mischievousness.

“Not if you want this to last more than a minute.”

Leave it to John to be sarcastic while he’s hard as a rock, with your legs wrapped around him.

He’s propped himself up on an elbow, the other hand wrapped around the base of his cock to guide himself into your body. The blunt head of his cock sinks in and you can’t help the answering moan that sounds suspiciously like his name. John curses, his hips flexing as he slides home, your head tossing on his pillows.

“Fuck me, you are gorgeous.” John groans, pressing his face into your throat, setting a steady pace with his hips as he moves over top you. Your fingers dig into the back of his shoulders, gripping his big muscles as he strokes into you, again and again. You can feel the coil of tension tightening in your belly, each rocking thrust just grazing your clit.

“John” You gasp, and you want to tell him to move just slightly, want to tell him where you need his touch but when his blue eyes meet yours a wave of emotion closes off your throat, leaving you panting helplessly. He hitches your thigh over his hip, grinding into you, understanding somehow anyways, making you moan wantonly. The sounds of your pleasure only drive him on, the slap of skin a counterpoint. Your hands slip off his shoulders, the heat between you making you both sweaty. Your nails rake down his side, tearing a groan out of his chest.

He shifts again, leaning back to slip his arm under your leg that isn’t hitched over his hip. The back of your knee slides into the crook of his elbow and the change in angle is enough to nudge you to the edge of orgasm. Your eyes go wide as you feel your body respond to John’s thrusts, your inner muscles low in your abdomen fluttering on the precipice. You can’t help but call his name again, needy and high pitched. You slip your hand between your bodies, stroking your clit and drawing John’s gaze. It doesn’t take long for you to fall apart.

He hunches over you, his rhythm breaking as your entire body clenches around him, a wailing cry rattling out of your throat. John’s hips stutter as your body clutches at him, his thrusts turning shallow as his orgasm slams through him.

You spend the next few moments panting, John's forehead resting on your shoulder as he tries to catch his breath.

“Sorry sweetheart –“

His voice is ragged, rumbling against you.

“god John, why are you sorry for making me cum like that?” Your eyes are drifting shut, every muscle in your body feeling like lead after the massage and then orgasm. You are certain your brain is partially liquified.

“mm, was going to make it last longer.” He murmurs into your ear, making your back arch and your nipples tighten all over again. You force your eyes open to look at him and the tenderness on his face makes your throat close again.

You make a small noise and grip at the thick muscles of his shoulders, which he seems to understand and kisses you repeatedly. He pulls out, disposing of the condom and brings you a water on his way back to the bed.

You haven’t found the energy to move an inch so John rolls you onto your side, spooning you tightly. You clutch at the arm he slings around you. Sleep drags you under, still tightly gripping John’s hand.

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#fanfic #call of duty #captain john price #john price x reader #john price cod #john price x f!reader #john price x female reader #captain price #fluff and smut #this work has smut #guilty conscience #safe sex #sex positive

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jinnie-ret · 17 days

Text

silent cry

seo changbin x female!reader

genre: descriptive angst that turns into sickeningly sweet fluff at the end

content warnings: depressive tendencies implied, dependency

word count: 1.2k

summary: she hid her thoughts and struggles to not burden her boyfriend, but he catches her in tears

requested: 🕷️anon

this may have veered off slightly off of what the original request was but I hope you still enjoy! I loved writing this one, feel rly proud of it :)

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It was a hard thing to navigate sometimes, emotions. Often she felt as if something was wrong with her. Why couldn't she embrace and confront those sadder, darker feelings, when the love of her life was someone who championed every little thing she did?

Changbin was smart, intuitive, and incredibly aware of how those around him felt. His empathy, pureness and generosity was something many couldn't comprehend, so it was no surprise he had many idol friends. The level of extraordinary observation he carried only increased tenfold when he was with her.

But being without him, it was a different story. To be without him, cast a darkness over the sun that was coming out of hiding, and bringing warmth to her days. To be without him, was to snuggle up into bed, alone, and wrap herself tightly in crumpled blankets to try and imagine his arms encompassing her safely as she entered a dreamlike state. To be without him, was a nightmare that rattled her bones as cries wracked through her body in the early hours of the morning.

To be without him, was to live a life where she couldn't be.

Some may say it's dramatic. How could someone solely depend on another so much that they felt as if they had lost a part of them when they were not together? The answer wasn't simple. Anyone could have their own interpretation of the situation, but what really mattered was the way that their souls had intertwined and formed a love so strong and unbreakable.

That love would stretch a lot of the time. The distance that existed when she was apart from Changbin taunted her, tugging her heart towards where it belonged. Yes, maybe her heart didn't belong in a Stray Kids fanmeeting, or a tour around the world, but it was meant to be with him. Changbin knew it too. He just didn't know the extent of how bad things were getting because his partner had mastered the skill of presenting a facade through texts, video calls... you name it.

There were other things going on in her life, there always were, and he had helped her understand what was happening and how she could healthily support herself. She was struggling to wrap her brain around everything however, when she didn't have her lifeline next to her. Instead, she was holed up in their shared bedroom, aimlessly scrolling through her phone in attempt to divert and distract her mind. So much so, that when Changbin had arrived home early to surprise her, she didn't really believe it.

Perhaps it was a fever dream?

"Hey honey," Changbin cooed gently as he entered the dark room, weakly lit by the brightness of her phone and the dying bulb of the salt lamp they had. Damn, he needed to replace that soon. There were other things he needed to worry over first though.

She didn't respond. Her spiraling that had occured with his absence was clear to see. Curtains and blinds shut. Dirty dishes. Clothes strewn across the floor where, hey, at least she had been able to change into something different.

"Jagi?" Changbin whispered lightly, now crouched down next to her by the bed as he knelt on the floor, not quite touching her yet as he didn't want to overwhelm her. He was good like that, knowing exactly how she worked.

Again, no response. In truth, she felt that tug on her heart and knew he was there, but something within her, like a subconscious turning of cogs, fueled a robotic motion of continuing to fixate onto her phone.

"I'm here now," Changbin whispered, thick fingers delicately smoothing across her knee as he waited patiently for her to be ready.

And just like that, her phone was now beside her as she gazed ahead of her, no eye contact made yet but the twitches of her thumbs without nothing to hold, and the way her lips pursed together to stop anything from escaping her gave away some telltale signs to Changbin that she really had been going through it.

"That's it, I'm here," Changbin's deep, husky voice unleashed the floodgates as tears streamed down her face, chest stuttering with it's normal rhythm as she refused to let any sobs echo between the walls. His hands connected with hers, squeezing gently.

"I hate how much I miss you," she attempted to whisper, but with the lump in her throat rising the turmoil she had been facing revealed itself.

"Oh honey," Changbin felt himself tearing up but he calmed himself in order to remain stable for her. That's just what he was. A reliable pillar for her weight to rest against as he pulled her against him, joining her in bed and cradling her tenderly.

"I don't know why-" she cried, hands resting at his lower back and she desperately clutched onto him, squeezing the soft fabric of his black hoodie to tell herself he was here. She was safe. She was ok. And with him, all of the stress would alleviate and float away. With him, the fogginess that clouded her judgement would leave. With him, her silent cries that were cruelly locked away, could be unleashed and heard.

"I've got you, it's ok, I'm with you, and I'm here now, ok?" Changbin's lips pressed a kiss into her hairline, as he relished this moment of having her with him too.

"I wish I wasn't like this. I just... I need you. Always. Some days it's just harder," she sniffled, bravely shifting into his arms to climb over the walls she had built around her and finally stare into his eyes. The very ones that made her putty.

"Those days will get better. When you let go, when you can let everything out, it feels better, right?" Changbin rested his head against her, searching, scanning for anything she'd try to hide. He found comfort that there were no signs of caged thoughts being left unsaid.

"It does. You're right. You always are," she nodded ever so slightly, as not to break this close intimacy she was receiving, what she had craved for these past two weeks.

"Mm, aren't you lucky?" Changbin smirked but without any trace of joking or performative arrogance.

"I am, I'm so lucky. Sometimes it doesn't feel real that you're here with me, because I can't even comprehend that, like... That I'm with you," she said with utmost sincerity lacing her words.

"Aigoo, this is why I like to hear what's on your mind. My honey is so good with her words," Changbin chuckled, nuzzling his nose against hers, smiling brightly when he heard a giggle that came straight after his.

"I'm not," she protested, looking down.

"No, don't do that, I need your pretty eyes in my sights," he tilted her head up.

"Gonna cost you," she joked. There it was, the warmth was back. The light was back, despite the cave like lighting in the room. He could so easily bring out that side of her, and help her to forget about her struggles and simply exist around him, being her true authentic self. He helped her to be.

"Yah! I shouldn't have to pay!"

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tagged: @skz-streamer @kiraisastay @hannahhbahng @kpopmenace143 @sakufilms @kailee08 @arloo00 @dunno-wut-to-do @splat00z @cheesemonky @his-angell @turtledove824 @2minstan @royal-shinigami @yangbbokari @skzoologist @crabrangoongirl25 @atinyniki @writingforstraykids @minholing @lilmisssona @astraysimp @lixie-phoria

#🕷️ anon #seo changbin x reader #changbin x reader #changbin fluff #changbin angst #changbin x female reader #seo changbin fluff #seo changbin angst #skz fluff #stray kids angst #skz angst #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #stray kids fluff #changbin imagines #skz #stray kids #stray kids imagines

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