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shockinglysubmissive · 3 years

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Corruption Collab

A/n I am so excited to be a part of @ultimate-astridwriting and @bummie Valentine’s collab! I haven’t done much writing in years and I was inspired by both of them.

Word Count: 2.5k

WARNINGS: *ALL CHARACTERS ARE AGED UP* Edging, Overstimulation, Semi-public, slight degradation, master/pet play

You lay in bed, mind hazy and legs still shaking from the intense orgasms ripped from your body only a few minutes prior. Despite the dull ache in all your muscles, you can’t help but close your eyes in peace. You feel Tetsurou’s breathing slow as he drifts to sleep, and your mind begins to wander to how a new pair of panties led to the best Valentine’s day sex.

“Kitten… I don’t want to force you into this… I just thought… you know… it could be fun since you’ll be in class most of the day.” Your boyfriend hands you a small box. Taking it from him, you hesitate to open it. Tetsurou Kuroo is many things but being nervous around you is not one of them.

“Valentine’s Day isn’t until tomorrow master.” Your head cocks to the side as you untie the ribbon holding the box closed. Inside is a pair of black lace panties. At first glance, they seem to be a simple pair like you already owned. It wasn’t until you lifted them up that you heard the soft thud. A bullet vibrator falls into the box and suddenly it clicks. On his phone is an app that connects to the bullet, so he can not only turn it on or off, also but control the intensity and rhythm of it.

Being a scheming tease, this should not have come as a shock to you. You already knew your boyfriend loved to tease you to the point of tears, and you loved the power he held over you. You’re not even aware that you are smiling until you hear a low chuckle. “I take that adorable face you are making as a yes.”

Waking up to the sudden blasting of your alarm is not the ideal way to start your day, but the small note sitting on top of the panties brought a smile to your face. ‘I’ll be trusting you my kitten, don’t get caught, and more importantly, no cumming without permission. I can’t wait to see you. I love you.’

After getting dressed, a new sensation washes over you. The total uncertainty and suspense caused by never knowing if or when the small toy will kick on. The first class you attend you feel like you may explode from waiting. You feel it putting slight pressure on your already budding clit and a blush creeps over your face when you feel how wet you are without any stimulation. Focusing on your class is out of the question. Your mind is only thinking about your cunny and staying quiet if it were to turn on.

As if on cue, as you stand to walk to your second class an eruption of vibrations shoots through your whole body. The sudden feeling causes you to drop your books, and you have to bend over. The toy pushes further against your clit as a breathy moan escapes your lips. Gathering your books quickly from the floor, you hurry out of the room in case one of the few people left overheard you.

The walk to your next class only makes it worse as the intensity surges to extreme levels and getting you to the brink of orgasm, before dropping off completely. You’re not sure if you are glad or devastated when it shuts off completely. You squirm in your seat, fully aware that your poor cunny is dripping and leaving a wet spot on your chair.

The toy stays off for a bit and you are able to start focusing on the lecture, that is, until you are asked a question. Your usually wonderful boyfriend seems to know the worst times to kick it on because your mind goes blank when you feel a low but constant buzzing between your clenched thighs. You stammer out the best answer you can manage before grabbing your things and making up some lie about being sick.

The buzzing does not stop the whole walk home, and tears burn in your eyes as you hold back what you know could be such a nice orgasm. From the second the toy nuzzled itself against your clit, your whole body has been on edge with anticipation. Such a new and exciting feeling of being left in the dark and having to act as if your cunny isn’t dripping and aching for your master’s perfect dick.

“Home already my kitten? Did your slutty little cunt need daddy to take care of it?” He quips, seeing the way your legs shake at the strain to hold off from cumming. You nod and make your way over to him as he cuts off the vibrations. A small sob escapes your tightly pursed lips but is quickly muffled by his hand resting on your throat and his lips against yours. “I’ve never seen you this desperate that you’re crying already. Does my naughty kitten get off on the thought of someone finding out? Does she want others to see how much she loves her master?” He asks against your lips.

You nod, which makes his hand tighten just a touch. “Use your words kitten. The rule is all questions must be answered verbally. That way I know for sure.” He whispers against your lips.

“Yes master. I’m sorry for forgetting the rules… I just need you to fuck me.” You whine. He smirks a bit and takes a step back.

“So, all it takes to tame my bratty kitten is a little bit of discreet teasing? Or is it because it is Valentine’s day you want to try out being obedient?” His hands tug the bottom of your shirt slightly. “May I see my beautiful girl?” He asks.

You toss your shirt aside, growing frustrated as his large hands barely touch you as his hands trail from your collar bone to your hips. “A little bit of teasing? From the second I put those panties on it has been teasing me.” You whine, bottom lip sticking out slightly.

“That long? You must be soaked and sensitive. I’ll forgive that attitude then.” He laughs, smirking down at you. You swallow hard, knowing that look means you are about to be fucked in the most feral and passionate way imaginable.

You are unable to worry too much about his look since he quickly turns the bullet as high as possible and attaching his lips to your neck. Loud, unfiltered moans spill from your lips as you are backed against the wall and lifted off the ground. His teeth rake slightly against the sensitive skin while leaving deep marks. You feel yourself rapidly approaching your orgasm, hands tapping his shoulders as warning.

“Cum for me Kitten. I want these panties soaked before I even think about giving your desperate cunt my dick.” He growls against your neck, lowering his assault to your chest, unclasping your bra and letting his warm breath fan over your pert nipples.

Even if you wanted to, you would not be able to stop yourself. The panties target your overly sensitive clit, and his tongue swirls around one of your nipples. Your vision spots slightly as your cunny clenches around nothing. The sensation only intensifies when you feel him rutting against your clothed core. “You weren’t kidding when you said you were teased all day. You’ve soaked through the panties already.” He teases, guiding your hand to the wet patch that spread from your cunt to his pants.

Incoherent babbling is the closest thing to a response you can muster as the vibrations continue and force you through another powerful orgasm. Your hands claw desperately at your clothed cunt to try to move the bullet from your abused clit as the pleasure has your head spinning.

He grips your wrists in one of his much larger hands. “If you want something, you need to ask.” He says simply, his free hand reaching to unlock his phone.

“Fuck me. Please master. I need you to fill me up.” You beg, words breaking off as a third intense orgasm is ripped from your sopping cunt. “And turn it off! Please… it is too much… I can’t handle anymore.”

Taking pity on your trembling body, he shuts it off. But before you can relax, you are dropped on the ground, legs wobbling to support yourself. Tetsurou takes your hand and guides you gently to the bed, undressing you, leaving the just the panties before removing his shirt. Your eyes scan his slightly muscular build, smiling a bit seeing the half-faded love bites scattered along his skin.

“See something you like kitten?” He asks, pulling your gaze from his low hanging sweatpants up to his smirking face.

“I already told you, I want you to fuck me. Stop taking your time.” You whine, shivering at the feeling of the cold air on your exposed body. Your eyes go wide when you realize what you said, but it was too late.

In the blink of an eye, he is hovering over you, one hand around your throat and the other holding himself up. His lips lower until they are brushing yours. “I forgave you once for being a brat. And this is how you thank me? After all I have done. The new panties, allowing you to cum three times, and not punishing you when you broke the rules.” He lists, speaking softly against your mouth. His hand tightens briefly as he bites your bottom lip hard enough to draw a whimper from you. “You want me to fuck you? Beg for it, my pet.” He growls before letting go of your throat and pushing himself up to stand over the bed.

“Please. Master please. I’m sorry I broke the rules again. I’m just so desperate for your perfect dick. I need you to fuck me until I can’t walk.” You babble, sitting up and propping yourself up with your hands behind you. He crosses his arms and looks at you with an uninterested look.

“Is that all you got? Only begging to get that greedy pussy filled. Not a single care about my pleasure? I should have known that gifting you those panties would turn you into a selfish slut.” He says simply, his voice scarily calm despite the harsh words he spits at you.

Dropping onto your knees at his feet you look up at him. “Master… You’re right. I wasn’t thinking… Please use me however you want.” You set your hands on his thighs and gently trace your tongue over the tent in his sweatpants. To your delight, and smile spreads across his face and he grips your hair.

“There is my kitten. You just needed a reminder that this isn’t just about your greedy, naughty pussy. It is Valentine’s day for me as well.” He tugs your hair to guide you back to the bed. Once you are standing at the foot of the bed, he shoves your face into the plush blankets. His hand detangles itself from your hair as he moves away from you. You know better than to move from the position he put you in, only turning your head enough to breath. Your ears perk up as you hear a drawer close near the bed and slight crinkling as a condom is opened.

A low moan from the other side of the room nearly has you moving; however, you hold still, knowing your master would take good care of you for being patient. Sure enough, a few moments later your panties are moved aside, and with a quick snap of his hips he fills you all the way.

He laces his hand in your hair and gives you no time to adjust before setting a torturously slow but brutal pace. He pulls nearly all the way out before slamming back in, the tip hitting your cervix in a way that has you squirming beneath him. His pace quickens as you tighten around him.

Small whines slip from your lips as you tetter right on the edge of another orgasm, but the position youre in offers no stimulation to your clit.

“Isn’t this what you wanted? To be fucked. To be full.” He yanks you back against his chest and growls in your ear. He moves his hand to your throat, but he doesn’t even need to apply any pressure, as you are already gasping for air and babbling.

“C-can’t… I wanna… Please I need to cum.” You beg, hands struggling to rub your clit with the bullet still on top of it.

“Then cum. You have everything you were begging for. I won’t stop you from falling apart on your master dick.” He says simply, a harsh contrast in the way he is rearranging your insides. “You don’t need to touch your silly clit. You didn’t want that. In fact, you were begging for me to turn the toy off because it was too much.” You can feel his smirk against your neck as he alternates between gentle kisses and hard bites.

“I can’t cum without my clit! Just a little bit of contact. Anything. Please.” You beg, feeling his hips stutter as he nears his own release. You let out a small whine as you feel him cumming, leading to him to slow down and pull you away from the edge.

“You want your clit played with? Well, if you insist.” He says, reaching for the phone sitting on the bed.

You knew the mistake you made before he ever touched a button. The bullet shoots to life at its max setting. The most powerful orgasm you have ever experienced tears from your body. The edge of your vision goes fuzzy as you lose any control you had over your voice. Loud moans echo around the room of your apartment as every cell in your body feels like it was touched by heaven. You are barely aware of how tightly your pussy is clenching around him until you hear him groaning.

His hips rock against you as he cums again, feeling the vibrations traveling from your clit. Not wanting to hurt you, he turns it off and slowly pulls out. “Hot bath? Or just a warm rag and sleep?” He asks, kissing your temple in an attempt to gently bring you out of subspace.

“Sleep… please…” You say softly, trying to open your eyes to look at him after he lays you down against the pillows. Standing to get cleaned up, he places a soft kiss to your forehead.

“Can you stay awake for a few minutes? So I can get you clean and get you a cup of water?” He asks. A small pout forms on your lips but you nod, knowing he is right and you need water.

After a few long minutes, you are finally able to hold him close and reflect on the day.

#haikyuu smut #kuuro tetsuro #kuroo x reader #hq smut #haikyuu!!

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catharrington · 3 years

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More 1950 cat boy house husband Steve and milk man Billy for your reading pleasure! @cherrydreamer this is totally dedicated to your amazing tags on my original post!!! Thank you so so much 🖤🖤🖤

Part 2: Are you lonely tonight?

A week later, Steve stepped out to get his daily delivery as any other day. Billy’s familiar truck driven to a stop right at the edge of his lawn. Those thick-as-they-are-wide boots stomp through his yard to meet him at the bottom of the porch. Only stepping up to hand over the metal rack holding his 2 bottles of milk. They jingle together sweetly, so sweetly, Steve feels like a cat chasing after a toy. leaping though the air with a feral sort of look on his face and his claws extending out to find that magical jingling noise.

But his ears just flattened agains the top of his head in a humble thank you. His fingers soft to the touch and not a claw in sight as he took his one chance to feel across Billy’s rough skin.

They parted just as quickly as they met, far too soon. Steve longed to hold those hands up close to his face. To press them to the soft skin at the base of his neck and collar bones. To rub those fingers right there until his skin wore red from it and Billy’s skin kept the scent of Steve with him though the rest of the day.

But there was a man down the way walking to his car with suitcase in hand. And the old woman next door was watering her forget me not flowers. So Steve allows Billy to pull away quickly.

Until he turns around, suddenly and swiftly. It makes Steve’s whole tail lurch up in excitement at the thought. Billy comes back to the last step of the porch and pulls out from his uniforms back pocket a folded over stack of papers. Tied neatly and orderly with a thin rope of twine.

He holds out his hand again. And again Billy’s own engulf Steve’s hands utterly and completely.

“You’ve finished it then?” Steve asks breathlessly.

“Yeah,” Billy says back, his voice breaking with an innocent excitement. “It was really brilliant! Didn’t see that ending at all! I thought for sure the murderer was the gardener and not the husband until the very end.”

Steve pulled back the manuscript and used it to hide his joyous laughter. Pressing the warm pages to the petals of his lips. They were still heated from Billy’s hands, from the warmth of his body. If Steve breathed in, it was like Billy’s own red hot skin was pressed to his lips.

“It’s, just a simple trope of literature, really. Nothing brilliant—,” Steve stutters out.

“It was brilliant,” Billy insists. His eyes daggers made of blue gemstones unmoving from Steve’s quivering throat. “You are brilliant for writing such a thing.”

Steve’s breath stays caught. Stays captured. He almost misses in his white milky haze of praise that Billy’s tipping his hat and wishing him a good day. Steve waves after him with the manuscript in hand.

He spends the rest of the evening floating on a round little fluffy cloud. Hovering just above the floor as he bustles around the house. He cleans the grout from the kitchen tiles and irons perfect lines into every white dress shirt he can get his hands on.

Out of the shower, he spends a little extra time brushing softening oil though his damp tail so it drys smooth as silk.

He pets across the most sensitive part of his tail, at the base of his back, for an erotically long amount of time. His eyes fluttering shut and his toes curling as he day-dreams of Billy admiring the softness with rough hands on soft fur, and with whispered words right into his ear.

The words Billy left him with kept replaying over and over in his mind. He was brilliant, like a piano tune that turned into a violin and then became a whole symphony. He couldn’t ever grow tired of listening to it. He wishes he could hear more words from that perfectly husky and boyish voice of Billy’s.

Making his way to the kitchen, Steve spun around in a dance to the music in his head. He plucked his favorite apron from the pantry door and slipped it over his head. A peach and yellow thing that drove his husband mad with its brightness. Steve wrapped the long arms of the apron around the narrowest part of his waist. Covering his butt with a large bow he typically wouldn’t have taken the time to tie perfectly, but tonight was special.

This night called for something sweet, something sticky. Something that would linger on the back of Steve’s tongue all night even as he laid in bed to sleep.

He fished around their large kitchen until he finally found the perfect round pan for a pineapple upside down cake and set to work baking it. And had just had a cranked open a can of sliced pineapples, when the door unlocked.

“What are you so happy about?” A low and tried voice called from the archway to the kitchen, Mr. Smith’s voice after a long day at work.

Steve turned just to watch his husband unbutton his sleeves cuffs and pull them to his elbows. The music of Billy’s voice replaying in Steve’s head went quiet.

#harringrove #cat boy Steve #cat boy and milk man au #WARNING I’m not going to be nice to this sweet soft little cat boy #my fic

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kkulmoon · 4 years

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ROOM 2020 | knj ✦ m

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : It's finally graduation! You have just earned your master’s degree, but it's 2020 and onsite graduation and celebration isn't an option. However, Namjoon still wants to make sure you celebrate and scream at the top of your lungs. And what better way to celebrate plenty than in room 2020?

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 : Namjoon x Reader

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 : smut, fluff

𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 : 18+

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 5.5k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : brief mention of airborne disease similar our current situation, alcohol, biting, unprotected sex (you better wrap it up!) , blindfolding, breast play, pussy slapping, a lil spanking, groping, cunnilingus, fingering, mushy and sappy fluffy behaviour is present (I just couldn't contain myself OKAY), slight edging. I think that’s it, pls let me know if i forgot to add anything :))

𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐛𝐲 : three lovely people, Angie @scvkjin, Coralie @seakay05 (an editing queen!!!) and Bee @inkedxclouds (another editing queen!!!!!)

𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐲 : the talented Danica @dee-ehn

𝐚/𝐧: i want to preface this by saying this is the FIRST smut I have ever written, so lowkey don’t know how to feel about what I just wrote. Anyways,,,, I want to give a big thanks to the person who went completely feral with me once I saw Joon during the 2020 graduation commencement, she and Joon are the reason I felt the need to write this, Danica love u babes 🤧💞. I also want to thank Bee, @j-sope @bangtiddies and @jeonggukingdom, for being such amazing pillars of support, love u 💞. Other than that, enjoy I guess 💆‍♀️🤪

Namjoon has done it again. You are going into full overdrive, ears operating at their full capacity, in hopes of figuring out where exactly he's taking you. “Don’t wear any eye makeup.” That’s what he had requested through text the night before. A request that hasn’t manifested much in you, except for the sudden realisation that Namjoon usually does not care about your makeup habits. That should have been warning enough. But that was then and you’re here now.

The roughness of Namjoon’s tie massages your eyelids as your body registers the gravitational drag before the ding sounds. If the swooshing doors and the slick card in your hand aren’t evidence enough, the sound lets you know that you’re indeed currently at a hotel. You jump slightly at the touch of his hands at the back of your head where the knot lies.

“Just checking; wouldn’t want you to peep.” The voice is sweet and the thrill it arises in you even sweeter.

It’s summer time, graduation day and it would have been like any other day of celebration had it not been for the current state of the world. Everyone is faced with an airborne disease that threatens the livelihood of society and stifles everyone's plans for fun days lit by the never-ending golden rays. That’s your current reality and yet in the midst of all the uncertainty there are two sure facts: today, a Friday, you have just graduated and today, over 730 days since you let longing gazes turn infatuation into a relationship, Kim Namjoon loves you enough to have sat beside you to attend your streamed graduation ceremony.

You’re left to walk alone, Namjoon trusting you enough to do so. You have just earned your masters in engineering and with honours at that, walking straight should not be a problem. It wouldn’t be one did you not have his looming breath caress your bare shoulders every time he shifts closer to you as if he is some bloodhound able to smell your state. The clacking of your sandals and the soft thud of Namjoon’s steps fills the air to let you know that he is walking a few steps behind you.

The day had started with a heretic phone call from your mother screaming at you for oversleeping on your graduation day. The wifi had been funky and you had spent a whole thirty minutes trying to build a stand with a proper height where you could prop your laptop. In the middle of all the chaos you had managed to spill water on your dress that Namjoon had to blow dry. You were left with a scorching thigh and to say the least, you felt crispy. The morning was chaotic but you wouldn’t have had it any other way. Well, except for the stand. It’s wobbling had given you too much anxiety. The prospect of your laptop plummeting to the floor in the middle of the stream to reveal the mess in your room made it very hard to focus on the ceremony.

The only upside to the stream had been the fact it was much shorter than an usual graduation celebration. Before you knew it, you were required to give your speech as the class’s valedictorian. As creative as you consider yourself to be, you decided to not deviate from the usual template, starting with a sweet thank you, mentioning your countless hardships through ‘the most formative years of your life’, thanking your favourite professors and even managing to slip in a suggestive comment aimed at that man that has your heart, just to make him happy.

“I would also like to thank Namjoon for all of his nightly motivation. I truly could not have come all this way without him,” you had said with a wide smile, squeezing his palm into your hand, not because you wanted to be affectionate but because it was heading south of your thighs into the moist valley between your legs.

Namjoon’s hand lands on your shoulder bringing you back to the present and you feel heat in its placement, what you don’t know is whether it is his hand or your body. You can’t help but quiver at his unseen touch of your arm, fingers tracing their way to your loose fist where they snatch the damp keycard away.

The soft click of the electronic lock unlocks something in you. What in the heck did Namjoon have planned for you? Was this one of his few adventurous moments? You were the one who always suggested places to go and planned your activities not because he wouldn’t but because he couldn’t. Anytime he tried planning anything, something was missing. At first it was the picnic where he forgot the cutlery then it was the camping trip where he forgot to bring bug spray. So as excited as your body feels, your mind can’t help but be cautious.

You are kept waiting for something, anything. A soft push or maybe a calm order, but Namjoon gives you neither and yet you feel secure in continuing your walk. You are allowed a few steps forward before Namjoon makes you stop, once again. The door is shut with the same suspenseful click and all you can think is: Show time!

The room is quiet except for the soft whooshing of the ventilation. Only then do you take notice of the increased tempo of your breaths. You breathe in deeply, teeth munching on your bottom lip. The effects of your quiet calming ritual crumbles as soon as Namjoon closes the gap between the two of you, lips on your shoulders, hands holding on to yours as he engulfs you into a back hug.

“Oooh,” you shiver, coiling into his chest.

At first, there’s one kiss in the middle of your shoulder, followed by another at the crevice of your neck. Your stuttering breaths, encouraging him to give you a warm wet lick up your neck to your decorated earlobe. One that he bites as he grinds his hips into your clothed ass. “How are you feeling?” Namjoon asks fingers caressing your interlocked digits. All you can do is stretch your head back to come into contact with his shoulder and grind back onto his crotch in response. You feel great, better than great in fact, yet you know he is the only one able to make you feel you even better.

“Come on babe, you are a big girl and you just graduated. Use your words with me.” He says, composed as always as his kisses travel up the side of your face to stop at your temple where you sense the slow but evident stretch of his lips. “You know how I’m feeling,” you whine.

It’s the chuckle, it’s the small consecutive rumbles of his chest and it's your undeniable devotion to him that makes you squirm in place, head shifting side to side on his shoulders, waiting for him to continue. His hands spread across the expanse of your stomach as he kneads at the flesh making you inhale in hope that he would reach lower. And lower he goes, palms spreading to touch your heat.

“Yes, right there!” You hum in accordance with his action.

“Here?” he inquires. You nod, head still back as you curve it to the side once Namjoon’s soft warning bite scrapes at the skin of your ear. “What did I say? Words, babe, words.”

You reach your hand to place it on top of his, keeping it rooted in place, as you buck into the sweet roughness of the pad of his fingers. “Yes, Joon, right there.” You try to sound collected yet it all comes out in a pitched mewl. You bite down on your lips, the rhythmic stimulation of his hands inducing a steady rocking of your hips, small gasps rooting themselves at the top of your throat, mouth running dry from Namjoon’s sporadic choice to delve deeper between your thighs.

”Hmmm, Joon. Please stop teasing,” you whine, inching your mouth with your tongue out towards him. Anything would do, you would take anything he wanted to give. His pulsating neck, his parted lips, his cool fingers, or his throbbing dick.

”I am just giving you some motivation,” he smirks alluding to your graduation speech. Your cringing expression humours him and you gasp, body growing tenser by the minute. You now know that it was all planned. He had been touchy all day, slipping a couple of stolen kisses and sneaky squeezes throughout the ceremony. You couldn’t manage to act right, your leg almost kicking the stand down. Your eyes should have been wet, not your pussy. His own innuendos didn’t go unnoticed. You were quite frankly overwhelmed. Namjoon was nasty but never that public about it and certainly not during a live online graduation. You’re brought back to the present with a stinging slap to your sex.

At this point, your wriggling is at its max and you can feel the burn of his suit jacket at the back of your neck. You try your luck with a tentative turn to your right and to your surprise he lets you take over. Your nose is now buried into his chest and you can hear the thumping of his frantic heart and it’s your turn to smile. The faint smell of your lemon scented detergent fills your senses. You give his torso a small kiss, arms locking themselves around his upper body. The pressure of the firm protrusion in his pants makes itself known on your body and it takes everything in you not to beg. You just need to be more patient. That’s what Namjoon has taught you; good things come to those who wait.

And good things do come once he palms your ass cheeks, gripping hard at the soft flesh. A small squeak leaves you as he scoops you up, legs encircling his hips. “What do you want babe?” It’s a simple question, really. Yet the answers are endless. You more than want, you need him to give in to your advances and lose himself in you the way you are losing yourself in him even when he has barely touched you. Through all of that and the other thousand scenarios that flash by in your mind your lips settle for something they can themself profit from.

“Kiss me.”

Still blindfolded, your mouth gapes at the air hoping to catch his full lips once they are close enough. His hot breath fans your face as you exchange panting breaths that have your head inching forward, an action that earns you a pinch to your behind. Namjoon seems to take pity in your eager behaviour and finally closes the distance. The instant your lips touch, you exhale deeply, sinking further into the vicious grip of his hands and he manages to increase the span of his exploration. Hungry for more, you overtake the kiss, hands cradling his face as your tongue floods the warmth of his mouth, legs squeezing him closer evoking a soft croak from him. Your movements are frantic. Long gone is your attempt at being collected as you let it be known, let it be felt that you needed him glued to you in all places imaginable.

Your noses bump in the middle of your furious exploration of his lips. You taste the champagne you had after you officially graduated in your tiny one room apartment and you hope that there will be more times like this where you would get to celebrate with him and be able to close your eyes and still taste those memories on the tip of his tongue. Along the way as you keep devouring his now wet lips, your makeshift blindfold, Namjoon’s tie, unravels itself to fall between your faces. In that moment, he opens his eyes, “Hi,” he says, lids half away open but enough for you to feel the warmth from his deep brown eyes.

“Hi!” you giggle, forehead falling down to touch his.

A few instances ago you felt ready to unleash your ferocity on him and force him to pick up the tempo and find his rightful place inside of you. Yet, here you are, now somewhat calmer.

“God, how are you so cute?” Namjoon questions, nose scrunching up. Despite the cuteness overload your body craves to be handled in a way that’s nothing short of passionate and all consuming.

The two of you are now slightly more composed, your desires still itching deep within you but your actions have now taken a calmer route as he puts you down. Your tunnel vision for Namjoon subsists and you’re able to take in the dimly lit room. If the invigorating makeout session wasn’t enough to let you know that the celebration is still going, the ice filled bucket with champagne does just that. You walk past the inviting cream coloured bed to reach the side table with the champagne. Your heated hands touch the perspiring green glass bottle, holding it out to Joon while you raise your brow at him.

“That’s for after the ceremony,” he makes it known.

You let out a mellow ‘oh’, “I see.”

You place the bottle back where you had found it and walk to the end of the bed, where you sit down, kicking off your heels and reaching up to take off your graduation cap.

“Well then, we better get started,” you say enthusiastically. Namjoon who had found his way to stand in front of it lets his soft palm weigh down your wrist, stilling you. “Wow, you really have a way of killing the mood, huh? And I think you should keep this on. Isn’t the cap usually removed after the ceremony?”

With grinning lips you lean back on hands, the cool and slick sheets sliding under your hot palms. You shift your gaze to Namjoon’s feet, for once he decided to ditch his sneakers, which he had swore he would wear to your graduation, probably just to annoy you. You let your naked foot trail against the leather of his shoe, sliding it up his cream slacks all the way to his right calf. Your eyes lift up to his, calm and attentive.

He had already discarded his suit jacket to be left with a white shirt, one you had advised him not to wear, Namjoon had a habit of managing to dirty his clothes even in the cleanest of environments. Staring right at him, you push forward behind his knee hoping he will get where you want him, need him. For a second you’re hopeful as his knees slightly give in. But Namjoon shakes his head, side to side, with a soft smile, “Not yet, we wouldn’t want your dress to get ruined now would we?”

You looked down at your attire. Yeah, you think, maybe he's right. Your mom had made the ivory white lace and tulle knee length dress and she would definitely ask to keep and store it. You don’t exactly want her to guard and treasure a sweat and cum covered dress. You take a deep breath as you let his warm hand guide your body back up, tugging harshly at your wrist to draw you closer to his body.

Namjoon hunches down and his fingers dance on your thighs, the anticipation making them stutter. He reaches the hem and softly ruffles the material. “You looked really cute today, by the way.”

You’re left cheesing, hard, hands covering your face as you give a muffled ‘stop it’ before you huff and add a faint ‘thanks’.

He heaves the rustling material all the way up to take it off, humming softly at the result as you try to figure out what to do with your hands. Being shy around Namjoon isn’t a regular occurrence, yet today, when his eyes have made it their job to observe your every movement, chasing your reactions to his light hearted teasing, you feel more bashful than ever. Now they look content, they sparkle, happy to be able to see what they had been imagining all day. The view is just as enticing as any of the other times he has the pleasure to undress you and have you standing barren ready to be clothed with his fervent skin.

With two steady fingers, he presses against your sternum to push you back down onto the bed. He approaches the space between your widened legs to stroke your chin, tightening his grip as he dives back into your mouth. You let your spine extend to its fullest length, pushing back against his wet hot appendage. Your grip on his slacks deepens, scrunching the textured material as you continuously tug on it, hopeful that it will let him know his advances are too calm for your liking.

Namjoon doesn’t seem to agree, slapping your hands away the moment his reddened lips leave yours. As furrowed brows adorn your face and puffed breaths do their best to recuperate the oxygen the kiss stole from you, you clench your fists thumping your legs. You need to do something with your hands, and therefore you let your arm span across the little space between your face and his crotch. Despite the lack of full light in the room, you can see the outline, the impatient longing of his cock, as it strains against his pants. You really want to touch it. And touch, you try. But no matter how much you push, Namjoon doesn’t let you through.

“No, no, no, no. It’s your graduation, not mine. I got you.” With a small wink his head is now levelled with your chest as he plants the same smouldering pecks that are only reserved for you on your eager hands.

The drag of his palms against your thighs burns sweetly, the sensation etching itself within your most private area to drag a needy call for him to ravage you. The pecks keep travelling from your hands down your pulsating chest and to your thighs, which are tense with unattended lust. You have the time to take a couple of full breaths before the next is trapped within your pressed lips, anticipation stilling your fidgety state.

It’s the hot and electrifying breath of his focused body hitting your drenched panties that compulses a sudden wave of rapture through your anticipating physique. Now it’s too much. You can’t help but reach for the short deep brown strands of his head to smash his face against your wet centre. The humming resurfaces to ripple through needy walls as you shove him even closer to your throbbing heat, as impossible as it may sound. Namjoon rewards you with a firm lick to your clothed slit coating the drenched cloth ever more.

He licks again only to leave you needy as the cool air hits the scalding area. Fingers hooking around the thin material that covers your lower half, Namjoon calmly removes the barrier, contrasting with the quick shimmy of your legs. He throws the ruined piece of clothing onto his discarded jacket.

Now, this is it. You’re impatient, somehow managing to spread your legs further apart as to flaunt your unprotected dripping center. Namjoon has a history of losing it once he saw the state he put you in. You’ve noticed the slow blinking of his eyes once his knees have scooted closer to the edge of the bed.

His head migrates forward towards where you need him most as his hand pushes against your jitter filled stomach, prompting your head to bounce against the plush pillows as it settles down ready to be ravished. Namjoon’s affirmative arms lift your legs onto his shoulders as they hook you in place. He continues to fan his flaming breath over your shivering thighs, lips occasionally bumping against the goosebumps printed on your skin.

“Joon pleaseeeee...”

You scramble for his head, the wait agonising. Your hands never reach their intended destination as they spread against your hip bones whilst he dives in. Just like the past moments, he comes in soft. Gentle licks from his tongue, as his slurps at your dripping pussy lips. Lips that meet his in a slow and torturous game of push and pull. To hear you moan and swear is the kind of motivation Namjoon needs to let his tongue snake its way into your tight pussy. “Oh shit,” your pleasure ridden fingers curl around his tight forearms. Your hips move on their own accord meeting the deep plunges of his strong muscle. Namjoon responds with a rougher approach, nose burying itself in your pubic bone as he reaches his hands to wrap them around your neglected breasts.

His own ferocious pace sets you off, the lewd wet sounds of sucking and slurping mixing with your combined needy moans in the naked air to create a melodic sound that drives the both of you deeper into your pleasure. The increased intensity of your tugging and scratching at his scalp tells Namjoon that you’re close, close to where he wants you to be, in that place where he believes he gets to experience your most enticing beauty. With that in mind, he licks his lips coating himself with your arousal and letting those same lips circle themselves around your clit. He’s met with a sudden jerk of your hips, hands pressing against your stomach to keep you in place, letting his enjoyment of your current state encourage him to spiral his tongue around the sweetest spot.

Once your strained moans manifest themselves, he brings one of his hands to your gaping hole. Warm thick fingers, plunge into your sloppy heat, slowly delving in and out determined to bring you over the edge. “Look who’s so wet for me.” You respond with an uncontrolled tug of his hair. Namjoon continues the sluggish pumping of his hand as his tongue flicks at your sensitive clit. His fingers curl inside of you, teeth scraping against your lips before hollowing his mouth around your seeping slit. His coated fingers whirl around your sensitive bud, palms kneading at the tender tissue, squeezing and releasing to the rhythm of his laps at your soaked lips, engorging himself on your sweet juices.

“Come for me, babe,” he says as the palms of his strong hands stroke your stuttering legs. His tongue takes one last plunge, muscle tense, probing in and out of your pulsating warm pussy. All it takes is the harsh supporting pumps and curls of his fingers to make you writhe and shake as the knot in your stomach winds itself tighter and tighter. Your sweet lips keep inviting him, sucking his tongue and fingers in and Namjoon lets it all go, a satisfied groan rippling through his lips and into your agitated form.

Even in the increasing darkness of the room, you do not dare to keep your eyes open as your body convulses into a twisting mess once you can’t handle the curling of his fingers and the gentle biting of his hungry teeth. The scream comes before the reactions as you let it all out, feet kicking out, thighs trapping Namjoon’s smiling face as you ride out the wave of pleasure that just hit you. The distinct yet tenuous swing of calming hips encourages Namjoon to lay down affectionate pecks across the expanse of your slit migrating to the top crease of your leg to lay small pinching bites. Bites that tell you to get ready, there’s more to come.

The mattress sinks deeper into the supporting structure of the bed as Namjoon slides you farther up the bed to hover over your panting chest.

“Can you please let me see your pretty eyes?”

All you need him to do is request and you shall give. You promptly remove the arm that is laced above your eyes to give a lopsided smile. A smile that stretches as you notice the way Namjoon’s expression mimics your own, small valleys probing his cheeks. The calm staring of his eyes has your tongue dancing around your mouth, arms extending themselves to unbutton his damp shirt. Despite your haste you manage to undo the buttons at such a painfully slow paste that his hand has to lay itself on top of yours to guide you slowly and steadily down the row of small round obstacles shielding your palms from his radiating and glistening chest.

The undoing goes by slowly, yet it feels as if it was done in a flash. Even now you seem to forget Namjoon’s ability to distort time for you. Knowing hands travel to find their rightful place on his taut chest, moving beyond the watering views to scratch at the deprived skin of his clenched back. The deep rumbling that leaves his throat leaves you rapt, your ass responding as it has you bucking into his hard member. The innocent movement starts a string of hisses, hisses that echo in the air, leaving you even more entranced with his reactions to your craving heat.

Impatient, and unwilling to obey, your feet scramble to undress his loose slacks. Namjoon’s still perched over you, the strong stance of his arms wavering with every swipe of your wet pussy over his clothed cock. Your toes hook onto the sides of his pants pushing down to reveal his tight grey underwear, the front part decorated with small darkened spots that have you biting your lips.

Mimicking your previous movement, he is left bare, his dick bobbing up as it’s released. It’s common procedure now for you to reach, with excited hands, for what is rightfully yours but this night happens to be filled with reminders. His ordering hand wraps around yours, bringing them to his drenched lips, “Tonight’s about you.” You get that he wants to treasure you, but you like giving and not being able to deplore all of your current ecstasy on every inch of his body has you whining, shoulder shimming side to side.

Yet Namjoon decides to turn a blind eye to your outcry, instead focusing on letting your tight entrance know that its favourite guest is waiting eagerly to get it in. Hooking a forceful hand on your right leg, he slides the blood rushed tip of his pre-cum coated member up and down your slit, letting the tip slip so as to let the entire length of his warm member bask in the wetness of your needy pussy. A wetness that he created, made for him to plunge into.

The squirming ends of your hands wind themselves around your exposed hair and ankles doing their best to prevent him from prolonging your burning torment by forcing him into you. Namjoon takes pity in your jolting hips as he hits his throbbing member against your tender nether lips, leaving your legs shaky. And for once you welcome the furrowed eyebrows on his concentrated face as he slides his pulsating dick, progressively stretching your needy walls, the thick member delving deeper into your slit. “Ahhh,” you sigh, content and full, walls clenching and dripping at the well-known stretch.

The minute Namjoon bottoms out, two simultaneously exhales rest in the ventilated atmosphere. Using the little force that you have left you lift yourself up, you let your abused lips catch his. You latch onto them, hands cradling his head to bring him even closer, as if that is possible. It’s your hungry exploration of a place already so familiar to your tongue that has him moaning into you whilst he delivers measured strokes into your oozing center. Despite his need to drag himself back to catch air, you don’t let go, mumbling into his clenched teeth, “Fuck me harder, Joon.”

The lapping kisses resume alongside the quick strenuous pounding of Namjoon’s hips. All together they have you breathless and dizzy basking in the overpowering musk of his body. You mewl, biting his saliva slobbered mouth to relieve the staggering friction from his rolling hips.

“Shit, they were right to give you that award. This honour roll pussy really is something else,” Namjoon huffs out and you let out a chuckle that morphs into squealing moans as he continues to lay down pointed strokes that keep pushing you closer and closer to the bed’s headrest. Your folds are reaching their limit, pussy clamming around the slamming thrust of his cock. Namjoon chews the inside of his cheek, letting the intimidating protrusion of his clenched jaw set you back in place. In place being pointed nipples lazily grazing his chest, arms grounding the last of your sanity on his steady form and panting mouth finding refuge in the deep crevice of his neck.

“Babe, come on,” he warns.

“Whattttt,” you whine. It’s not your fault your body can’t control itself.

He gulps a good chunk of your breast and bites it harshly. It has the adverse effect, what should have been a warning only has you more heated. A big slap sounds and your legs clench tighter around his ass cheeks as Namjoon completely bottoms out only to stop. His hands find purchase in your ruffled exposed hair, elbows trapping your head, as he mutters into your boiling ear, “Be still.” You can do nothing but whine and pout trying your best to be obedient giving him small nods despite your restricted head. Namjoon doesn’t flatter, he remains still as your composure wavers every few seconds. It all results in teasing bites along your ear and the sides of your face.

You feel like you’re dying, of bliss that is. He still won’t move and you have managed to not let your involuntary needs take over your motor skills. It’s the tender stroking of his hand on your cap covered head that lets you know you have done well. Yet Namjoon’s slight chuckling whisper confirms your beliefs, “Let’s graduate baby.”

The languid thrusts turn into audible pounding, squelching sounds feeling your ears as your multiple tries at breathing fail, the air stopping in your throat resulting in inaudible gasps. The rupture of your orgasm manifests itself in your bones, your arms and legs trembling, eager to let Namjoon’s own edged body know how the blistering attack his thick cock on your craving walls is an all-consuming experience that you welcome with a wall piercing moan, “AHHH… fuck.., Joon hmmm.”

The thrusts have now turned frantic, as they miss their intended aim. He’s almost there. You engulf him into your chest, placing soft encouraging bites along his uptight shoulder as his nails anchor themselves on your slippery back.

“Congratulations, baby, you deserve it.” Those are the words he uses to invigorate the warm spurt of his cum, coating your squeezing pussy as your hands, placing on the warm globes of his ass, press him closer to your bucking center. You want it all, to be filled to the brink and claiming what is rightfully yours. For sure, the best graduation gift you’ve ever received. You let the remaining ripples make their way through his body, caressing his arms as your faces drag against each other.

Namjoon opens his mouth only to let his slack body fall on top of yours, drained but content. You’re left to snicker as you thread your fingers through his sweat drenched hair strands. “Hmm, now would be a great time to have some champagne.” You point towards the bucket bottle. He shifts his head to have his chin right on your chest looking up at you.

He looks at you for a short while as if he was imprinting the sight of your makeup smeared and sweaty face on the back of his mind. His hand reaches to take hold of the visor of your graduation cap, with a firm hold on the leather covered material he tugs the cap off and throws it into the air. “Oh!” you exclaim laughing as you clap.

“Happy graduation, Y/N, you did it,” Namjoon says with a kiss between your cooling boobs. You place a chaste kiss to his forehead before pushing him off of you with the little remaining force you could conjure up.

Apprehensive steps take you to the chilled metal bucket. Before you can snatch the bottle into your hands, ready to allow your mind to become hazy enough to have another round filled with even more erratic cries, Namjoon reaches for the bottle from behind you. Knowledgeable joints fiddle with the metal string, thumb pressuring the cork top into the air. You twiddle with your tired hands to hold the two champagne glasses, however still swimming in your ecstatic mood you manage to spill some champagne onto the ground.

You take a big swig of the champagne, somehow behaving drunk even without the alcohol. Another one of Namjoon’s admirable characteristics. To put you in such a euphoric state that overwhelms your senses and solidifies his place in your heart. It could have been the champagne, your undeniable infatuation with the sweet man in front of you, or the gaze that he gave you as if he was seeing you for the first time once again, as if there’s still details for him to catch and memorise. Whatever it is, it doesn’t matter, not as you stand on the tips of your toes to plant a few pecks on his lips. And for good measure, in case the message isn’t clear, you slip in a couple of ‘thank yous’ and ‘love yous’, all while hoping your future reserves a whole array of ‘Room 2020s’.

Posted: June 18 2020 a/n: Hope you liked it, feel free to let me know your thoughts 🥺

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max-is-tired · 4 years

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In which Logan says fuck (Kid Sides AU part 6)

Characters: Character Thomas, Joan, Virgil Sanders, Remus Sanders, Logan Sanders, the others are mentioned

Words: 1.065

Warnings: swearing, sympathetic Remus, mentions of heart attack in reference to getting spooked, some anxiety

Notes: okay first of all, sorry it took me so long to finish this y’all. Second of all, I’ve written this with “Don’t Stop Me Now” on loop in the background and that’s all I’m gonna say about this ksdjcnsdjkcn

Remember to follow @tiny-feral-bois if you want to ask further questions about the AU or just watch me and Logan ( @romansleftshoulderpad) lose our collective shit about the chaotic mess that is this fic sajkcnsjkdnc

ch.1 ch.2 ch.3 ch.4 ch.5 ch.6 (you’re here!!)

Commission me!! Buy me a coffee!! Join my Discord server!!

Joan buried their face in their hands, collapsing on one of the free seats at the table with a long, drawn-out groan.

“Fudge,” they muttered, much eloquently, peeking out of their fingers enough to peek at the cluster of children -and a snake- sitting all around the living room.

“So what you’re saying-” Joan said slowly, taking in a deep breath- “is that you saw Virgil slip out of the back door almost two hours ago, and didn’t think it might be good to maybe tell literally anyone about it?”

Remus shrugged, reaching into the pocket of his costume -that thing had pockets???- to bring out a small, neon orange tube.

“He gave me slime!!” he chirped proudly, popping the tube open to show everyone else the wiggling, slimy green substance present inside.

In response, Joan went back to holding their head in their hands, muttering under their breath.

“Well,” Logan sighed, closing his book, “looks like we are, as the young say, fucked.”

“Language!” Joan immediately shot up, looking at the kid with wide, scandalized eyes.

“I’m almost 30 I do what I want!” the seven years old immediately shot back, jumping up on the couch in all of his tiny, righteous fury.

Joan groaned, hitting their forehead on the table. They just hoped Virgil hadn’t gone too far.

+++

Virgil hadn’t exactly had a plan when he’d slipped out of the house and into the back of Thomas’ house. He had been angry, irritated, and all he wanted was to get some fresh air before he ended up doing something he might regret later, like snap at Patton or something.

Then though, after having moved just to the side so he could keep his eyes on the front door -he may be a very angry preteen right now, but he was still Anxiety- he’d seen Thomas step out of the door, using his keys to click the car open before turning back around to say something to someone in the house -Joan, probably.

It had been a split-second decision. One moment, he’d been crouching just behind the corner, and the next Virgil was bolting towards the now unlocked car, trying to be as silent as he could. Quickly, he slipped inside, slotting his scrawny, gangly body between the back and front seats, and waited.

Virgil kept his mouth firmly shut as Thomas entered the car and sat on the driver’s seat, forcing his breath to remain as steady as possible as they drove out of the driveway into the street.

Well, this was prospecting to be a long car drive for him

+++

Thomas kept biting his bottom lip as he drove, occasionally tapping his fingers on the steering wheel.

Gosh, was he nervous. Lily had agreed immediately to meet up, sounding all too pleased to hear from him. He hadn’t explained the situation yet, one, because it didn’t seem like something that should be told by phone, and two, he wouldn’t even know where to start in the first place.

He still didn’t to be honest, and if Lily were to end up kicking him out of her hotel room while calling him crazy, well, there wasn’t much he could do to dispute such a claim. In all honesty, Thomas was still somewhat wondering if he really hadn’t gone mad and just started seeing things. Maybe he’d even imagined Joan’s call and their coming over, who knew.

Thomas let out a tired sigh, stopping in front of a red light and resting his forehead on the top of the steering wheel. He really was not looking forward to the incoming conversation, it didn’t matter how happy and excited he felt about seeing his friend again after so long.

“Oi, stop daydreaming, it just turned green,” an all-too-familiar voice rumbled from behind Thomas.

The man let out a startled shriek, jumping on his seat before whirling his head around. Virgil gave him his usual two-fingered salute from the backseat, his car belt put on in exactly the right way, of course.

“What the heck are you doing here, Virge?” Thomas asked, one hand raising to rest on his chest, just above his heart -Virgil’s sudden decision to speak had almost given him a heart attack, what the fuck.

Virgil arched a single eyebrow, looking immensely amused. Almost as if on cue, people started honking furiously from behind him, bringing Thomas’ attention to the now very green stoplight. Quickly, he pushed on the accelerator, driving away from the stoplight and near a random street before guiding the car to the side and turning the engine off.

Then, the man turned back around towards his Side.

“So?” he asked, obviously waiting for an explanation.

Virgil gave a nonchalant shrug, looking down at his hand. “Thought you might need some company. Also, you know I don’t like being left behind. I’m anxiety, dude, I gotta make sure you don’t crash or something.”

Thomas sighed, giving Virgil an unamused look.

“You know I’m a careful driver, Virge,” he commented, “and you could have always let me know you were in the car with me, geez.”

Virgil looked back up at him, looking downright skeptical. “Would you have let me tag along if I did?”

“... okay, fair point,” Thomas finally conceded, albeit reluctantly. “Still, was the attempt at giving me a heart attack necessary?”

“Yup,” Virgil nodded, a shit-eating grin tugging at his lips.

Thomas didn’t say anything, just turned around and dropped his head back onto the steering wheel with a muffled thud.

“You’re a little minx, kid,” he muttered, tiredly pushing himself up to stare out of the windshield.

“You can call me a little shit, you know that right? I may look like a 12-years-old right now, but technically I’m still a fucking adult.”

“Language,” Thomas chided, looking already done with everything as he turned the car back on.

“Come on, let’s just get to Lily’s. Hopefully, she’ll be able to help us.”

“Oh, I really hope so,” Virgi groaned from the backseat, “if I have to go through puberty one more fucking time I swear I will yeet myself out of the nearest window.”

“And risk making Patton cry?”

“... I hate that you know my weakness, you know that right?”

Thomas snorted, guiding the car back into the street. Maybe having Virgil in the car with him would not be such a bad thing, after all.

#sanders sides #remus sanders #logan sanders #joan #joan stokes #virgil sanders #character thomas #sympathetic remus #kid sides au #ts fanfiction #sanders sides fanfiction #maxiswriting

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inriguing · 5 years

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Prompt #4: Shifting Blame

Siblings were a weird concept to Inri; she never had one growing up. No brother to fight and rough house with. No sister to steal clothes from. There weren’t any cousins, no neighbours had children her age. It’s not like Inri was spoiled at all, she just never had to share the attention. There was no one to step on her tail so to speak, not until:

“Rakona!” Inri called out as she stomped towards the feral Xaela’s room slash cupboard. Gods how she missed the day they were both cautious of one another. Personal space was something that existed and she could guarantee her things would be left undisturbed. Inri reached the closed door to find it locked and started slapping it with her palm.

“Rakona stop touching my stuff, I know it was you!” she insisted as she slapped the door wildy. She paused. “Hey! Are you even there?”

Inri chewed her lip softly as she contemplated kicking down the door, running in and fighting Rakona with her bare hands. Despite knowing about Rakona’s cage fighting past, Inri would take her on any day if there was the chance it secured some privacy. She didn’t even know how to fight, that’s how upset Inri was right now. “You know what?” she huffed, fists balled up tight as she began to back away from the door. “You’re gonna give it back to me right now!” With that, Inri ran full force and shoulder first into the door. There was the softest crack, and Inri wasn’t sure what made it. She rubbed the rising pain in her arm as she looked at the damage she had just done; a splintering crack from the top to almost halfway down the door. Clamping a hand over her mouth to stifle a curse, she stood frozen in terror of Rakona coming out and having to actually fight anyway.

It felt like forever before she saw the door knob rattle, unlock, and turn to open the door. Rakona’s face was unreadable, blankly staring back at Inri. “I did not take any of your stupid rocks, I got all these in here,” she stepped back to show the small room behind her filled with a mass of assorted items. Rakona looked on smugly, knowing she had taken something else other than a rock, but Inri gave no reaction. “What?”

Rakona’s eyes followed what Inri had been staring at, noticing the sizable crack in her door. Her smug face left and was replaced by confusion. “How did you manage t-” she was cut off as Inri stepped forward, wrenched the door handle and pulled as hard as she could, the slamming noise echoing down the stairs. Surely someone had heard that.

“Rakona just slammed the door in my face and now it’s-” “No I did not, Inri ran into-” “The door has a crack!” “She broke it, now I am going to break her fingers.”

Both girls raced down the stairs, shoving and slapping at each other to get ahead. Inri was fast but Rakona was cunning, jumping over the railing to the bottom floor. Taking a dive, Inri jumped for Rakona’s legs and clawed at her ankles to bring her down. Both girls writhed in a mess of bites and kicks until they could break apart. Laughing, Rakona gave Inri the head start just so she could chase her again.

@sea-wolf-coast-to-coast Feat: @iron-scales

#FFxivWrite2019 #ic #writing #Adventures of Inri!

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franklyshipping · 5 years

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The Cutest Arrogance (Part 4) ~ A Markiplier and Jacksepticeye Ego Fanfic

Hoooo this is going to be Anti's most formidable target....but when Antisepticeye wants revenge, he gets it! LEEET'S DO IT!

TAGGING: @anti-switch-glitch and @yandere-ipli-ler

The only sounds were the slashes of a blade, a sharp blade moving through the air and making contact. Anti followed the noise. He was smirking with excitement as he ambled through the darkened training room, eyes fixed upon the shadowy figure who, for the moment, had their back to him. At certain moments, there would be flashes of crimson from their hair and skirt as they maneuvered themselves expertly amidst their attack training. This just cemented how much of a formidable foe Yandere was going to be for Anti. As he got closer, he noticed that Yandere was surrounded by limbs and torsos and heads of dismembered mannequins, and Anti couldn't help but chuckle as Yandere cleanly decapitated another.

'Ouch, what did he do?'

Yandere paused, before giggling sweetly and turning round to face Anti, her crimson eyes gleaming as she crooned.

'He looked at me funny.'

Anti folded his arms as he paced around Yandere a little, before reaching the newly decapitated head and nudging it with his foot. He teased.

'A tad excessive and dramatic wouldn't ya say?'

Yan raised one of her eyebrows, pursing her lips in amusement at the utter irony of Anti's comment. Anti judging drama was like Dark judging darkness. Yandere leant against a vaulting bench as she inspected her blade, her crimson lips spreading into a smile.

'I live by the expression go big or go home.....like with my weapon. I feel like the bigger the blade the better you are really....it's hard to be intimidating when all you have is a letter opener.'

Yandere pointedly met Anti's gaze....and the glitch blushed darkly. Yandere's smirk confirmed it....she had the fucking nerve to belittle his knives. First of all, it took a lot of skill to fight at close proximity thank you very much! Plus, Anti could use more than one at the same time! They weren't small....well, they weren't THAT small-anyway that wasn't the point! A small growl left Anti's throat as Yan chuckled to herself smugly. Yandere prided themselves on the subtlety of her wording, it meant she could unload insults and cheekiness practically whenever she wanted, and it provided Yandere with a great deal of amusement. Anti however, was NOT amused.

'....you take that back.'

Yandere froze....then licked her lips, still smiling. She carefully put her katana back in its padded case, closing it carefully and safely, then she turned back to Anti. She hands were on her hips and her teeth were bared as she purred.

'Make me.'

Anti fucking lunged....and chaos ensued. And by chaos I mean that they both now engaged in a long, laughter-filled wrestling match that also included instances of them hitting one another with mannequin limbs. It was all in wonderful fun, especially since they both kept trying to out-growl and out-snarl each other. Eventually however, Anti just had to cheat with a little teleportation, thus allowing him to pin the thrashing Yandere down on her front; Anti snickered as he straddled the small of her back, panting as he got his breath back.

'Wohow....you....are a...tough little thihing....'

Yandere snarled through gritted teeth and crimson lips as she thrashed and tried to wiggle her body out, but it was impossible, Anti was too well planted. The fiery red-head glowered and growled.

'Let me up you cheating, wheezy old man!'

She grunted as her struggling continued, to which Anti merely narrowed eyes as he looked Yan's body up and down. He found it amazing that they had so much energy and defiance within them....but in a way, that was going to be Yandere's doom. The more strength there was, the more there was for Anti to chip away at, and the more there was to chip away at....the longer and more intense the torture was going to be. Anti lay on top of Yandere, his lips brushing her ear as he whispered.

'Not until I've tickled the sassy brat out of you....'

Yandere was doing a good job of hiding how nervous she was, but I assure you, she was VERY nervous. Anti didn't know it yet, but Yandere was probably in the most vulnerable position that it was possible for her to be in....especially when it came to being tickled. Yandere snarled, and was about to make a comeback, until creeping fingers at her sides made the defiance cower back down her throat.

'N-no....y-y-you....fuck o-off g-glihitch....fuckfuckfuhuck....'

Yandere clamped down on her bottom lip as hard as she could, pressing her forehead against the floor as Anti's fingers curled and uncurled in the dips of her sides. Anti's teeth were bared in a feral, smug grin as he crooned with true malevolence.

'Awww, would ya look at that....the oh so fearsome Yandere is faltering....'

Yandere tried to growl, and squirmed relentlessly from side to side in a bid to try and get some kind of relief from Anti's evil goddamn fingers; Anti was far too skilled to allow for even a fraction of relief of course. As a result, those growls were diminishing and becoming something far sweeter and cuter.

'Shuhut the f-f-fuhuhuck UP!'

Yandere's giggles were soft and giddy, and had this trilling musical edge to them that just made Yandere all the sweeter and more adorable. They didn't stop either, because Anti's teasy, scratchy fingers didn't stop. Anti had only just started, and he was already filled with glee with what he had unlocked from the Iplier's darling psychopath so far.

'Naaaahhhh, teasing you is fun!'

Anti snickered as he allowed his fingers to scratch more haphazardly, alternating between Yan's sides as well as her bottommost ribs; this made her far more frantic, to Anti's delight.

'S-Stahahahappit stahappitstappitstahahappit!'

Internally, Yandere was cursing Antisepticeye's name and soul and form and fucking devil fingers! Nothing embarrassed her more than being made vulnerable and fucking soft, and she swore that she tried everything possible to evade such devastatingly humiliating scenarios. And yet, here she was, slowly being tickled out of her mind by a tyrannical tease out for revenge. If Yandere hadn't been on the receiving end, she would have been highly impressed by his tenacity; right now though, Anti had more than enough pride and satisfaction in himself to last him a good while.

'Y'know surprisingly, hearing you repeating the word doesn't make me wanna stop....'

He crooned unsympathetically, humming as he decided to see what poking and prodding Yandere's sides would do. He was happy with the squeaks and yelps he received. Yandere was NOT HAPPY WITH THOSE! Squeaks were so damn demeaning....despite Silver and Hosty always saying she sound so endearing and beautiful when she squeaked was COMPLETELY besides the point! That was them, she could accept it when they said it or caused it....but goddamn Anti? It was just too flustering and evil to handle. Especially since Yan thought her squeaks sounded like the squeaks of something metallic being polished.

'C-C'mohohohooon s-stohohOP POHOKING THEHEHERE!'

Yandere's giggles had gotten far louder, thus turning her words into giddy half-yells, which made Anti giggle at how she was trying oh so hard to sound pissed off. Anti hummed and relented for the moment, and upon hearing Yandere's soft gasp of relief....he smirked. Awww, how adorable....she thought she was getting a break.

'Oh I'm sorry, is here better?'

Yan's eyes widened as she let out a short and sudden yell, before descending into wild cackles as Anti unleashed his damned poking at the back of her knees. Her vulnerable, bare, and supremely ticklish backs of her knees. Sometimes I wonder why someone so ticklish there would willingly wear clothing that would keep it exposed all the time, I mean, exposing your ticklish spots on purpose?! What a notion....ahem, anyway.

'AAHH-NOHOHO IHIT IS NOHOT!'

Yandere's cackling was loud for sure....but it wasn't what Anti focused on. Oh no. What Anti focused on was the utter magnificence that were....Yandere's precious snorts.

'Oooohhh snorty spot snorty spot!'

Yandere's face went a fiery red at Anti's crooning, and just as she was about to spit out some wonderful and detailed expletive....Anti's pokes turned to scratches. As you can imagine with a tickle spot such as that, Yandere's planned insult had to be shortened in order to account for the increased amount of laughing, and wailing, that she ended up doing. Still, it was a classic comeback for those who are flustered....only....perhaps more eloquent.

'GOHOHO SUHUHUCK AHA MEHEMBER!!'

Needless to say, Anti's laughter joined Yan's as his eyes widened along with his mirth. His jaw somewhat dropped too because who the hell even used the term 'member' anymore unless you were creating a special club for your subscribers on YouTube? Hearing Anti laugh like that only served to embarrass Yandere even more, especially with what Anti ended up saying as he maintained his scratchy tickling.

'Woooowww, your Hosty would be so proud to hear such eloquence!'

Yandere was damn fast to cry out to that.

'SHUHUHUT IHIHIT!!!'

Anti relented with the tickling, not just to give Yan a small break but also just to give himself the chance to wipe the joyful tears of mirth from his eyes. This was just too good, this whole goddamn thing was a masterpiece.

'Fuhuck....ohoho Yahan you're killin' mehe....ohhh jeez....'

Anti's residual giggles and soft laughs made Yandere feel a multitude of things. First and foremost, embarrassment, although to be honest Yan couldn't remember the last time she HADN'T been embarrassed during this scenario. Second of all, she felt....happy. Hearing Anti just laughing like that and being so happy whilst tickling her just made her feel all warm and giddy inside; knowing that he was enjoying tickling her just gave her joy. Now, thirdly, Yandere was feeling rather nervous. After Anti had wiped away his tears, he'd started absently tapping his fingertips at the backs of Yandere's knees....and thighs. Thighs....equal oh dear. Big oh dear. The biggest oh dear. Yandere decided to try and stay quiet, for the sake of her own sanity.

'Do Hosty and Silver know how sensitive you are-?'

'Yes th-they know f-full well!'

Oh he just HAD TO ASK HER A QUESTION well fuck being silent then....yes, Yandere liked to yell things inside her own brain, hush. Meanwhile, Anti giggled. His eyes were glittering with truly dangerous mischief as he walked his fingertips from the backs of Yan's knees, to the backs of her thighs properly. When he felt the muscles tense at his touch, he knew he had hit gold. He mused arrogantly.

'Mmm, even so, I think I'll tell them about our tickly time together. I'm sure they'd love to know exactly what teases caused their bratty baby girl to crumble....'

Yandere.....whimpered. She was truly breaking down now. This was her kryptonite, she had NOTHING to fight back with. Begging was all she had.

'N-Nohoho....A-A-AhantipleheasenohoI'lldohoanything....'

Anti grinned. He knew that begging was all Yandere had....but it wasn't going to save her. Not from him. He chuckled at her trembling as his traces morphed into something much faster.

'I imagine they'd probably THANK me for taking you down a peg or two...'

Yandere was laughing in an instant, and crying out too since Anti had the goddamn audacity to mention her boyfriends and TEASE her with them no less! He was an ass. A poopy ass. A poopy pile of MOSS ASS!

'NOHOHOHO NOHOHO THEHEHEY WOHOULDN'T THEHEHEY WOHOHOULDN'T!!!'

Yandere shook her head frantically as her face screwed up amidst her truly insane mirth...and Anti just kept talking as he scratched and scratched like her thighs were the tummies of two adorable puppies.

'I bet Silver would be so sweet with his gratitude...''Oh Anti, I beg of you to tickle torture Yan more often! She's such a cheeky little darling and deserves the most evil tickle torture!'' Hehehe...'

Yan was absolutely shrieking with embarrassment, her body thrashing and her hands hitting the floor as intense bolts of ticklishness shot up and down her legs. This was not fair, this was just not fair, she couldn't believe she was going down like this! Alas, the fight in her was gone, and all she could do was struggle and wail with her desperation and flusteredness consuming her. Anti was smug-central.

'SIHIHIHLVY WOHOHOULD NEHEHEHEVEERR!!! OHOHO GOHOHOD THIHIHIS IHIHIS TOHOHORTUHUHURE OHOHO PLEHEHEASE!!!'

Anti giggled and mused, playfully giving Yan's thighs a little experimental squish.

'Ooooohhh I wonder how many pizzas Hosty would narrate into existence for me if I got you to scream-'

'AHHHHAHAHAHAMERCYNAHHAHAHAEHEHEHEHAHAHAHAHAAAAA!!!'

....let's just say that Anti was taken aback by that particularly insane reaction. It was a scream...to put it mildly. Anti decided that now was probably the right time to engage in mercy for the long term, and carefully slid himself off Yandere whilst leaning down to peek at her, trying to see if she was okay. He was nervous, granted, but relaxed when Yan turned her head to him with a flustered smile and a half-growl.

'Hohow....d-d-dahare you....uhuse m-m-my lohoves against mehe....fihiend....'

Yan panted and giggled residually, and narrowed her eyes at Anti when he giggled and winked at her playfully.

'It's your fault for all being cutesy saps and in luuurrrve!'

Yandere pouted softly, before sitting up and running her hands through her red hair with a few gasps and mini shudders....but soon grinned when she caught sight of the hand that Anti was offering to help her up. She accepted it, and purred softly as she dusted down and straightened her mini-skirt.

'Well when you find your love, I'll come for my revenge.'

Anti rolled his eyes and shook his head, and ended up sticking his tongue out at Yandere as they collected their blade and started sauntering away from him.

'Whateeeever! Whoever it is will probably help me take ya down before you can get CLOSE!'

Yandere let out a soft, echoing laugh before she vacated the training room, and Anti snickered at her lasting words. The glitch spent a little bit of time playfully kicking about and doing keepie-uppies with one of the mannequin heads, before leaving the room with his smug heart set on a nap. However, as he left the room, he didn't walk into a corridor...but into someone's chest. Anti looked up....and his eyes widened......

To Be Continued.

HOOOOPE YA GUYS LIKE THIS PLEASE DON'T KILL ME FOR THE CLIFFHANGER, IF YA DOOOO LIKE THE FIC LEMME KNOW AAAAND YE! LUV YOUS XX

#markiplier #markiplier egos #yandereiplier #yandere #jacksepticeye #jacksepticeye egos #antisepticeye #anti #sfw #platonic #ego fic #ego fanfic #tickle fic #tickle fanfic #tickle #tickles #tickling #ticklish #cutie beans

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shirk-raya · 5 years

Text

Castle of Glass [ One-Shot ]

Characters: Shirk, Vinny ( @vinnydoesbad ), Disaster ( @disaster-doll ), Ace ( @acesinadeck ), Vulpe (mentioned, mine.), Dr. Majesty (mentioned, @ a-wanderin-whirlybird ) Rating: T for language, graphic descriptions of violence and heavy topics Warnings: Heavy amounts of blood, graphic descriptions of violence, mentioned kidnapping, mentioned torture, hurt/comfort, angst, allusions of self harm, needles, self care of injuries, head injuries, character going nonverbal, panic attacks, sign language Word Count: 4,036 Words Relationships: Shirk/Ace/Disaster/Vinny (The New Gods) Summary: Prompt fill: "You can't expect me to believe nothing happened, not when you flinch every time something touches you." A/N: So, uh, remember that fluffy drabble I posted not long ago? Yeah, this is the complete fucking opposite. Sorry that I’m not sorry. This was written in one night, without sleep, and not proofread, so if there are any mistakes, welp. This is rather heavy, so read at your own risk. I like making my boy suffer ;3c

The clouds rolled low over the tops of the buildings, hung heavy with bellies full of the promise of rain, threatening to break their hold at a moment's notice. They completely covered the sky in a thick blanket, blotting out the moon and stars which twinkled high above without a second thought about what occurred below their light. The only illumination that lit up the dingy streets were the flickering street lights, old and unkempt, which lined the black asphalt in mirrored, uniform lines. A dark, hulking shape shuffled itself through their pockets of light, hunched in on them and sending darting glances to every shadow like the world itself was readying to pounce on them. Their left leg dragged uselessly behind them with a quiet, and all too loud, scuffing noise. A long, jagged metal pipe was held in a white-knuckled grip in their left hand, a serrated knife hanging loosely from their right. Both had rivers of blood and ichor falling away in a rhythmic drip, drip, drip as the person slowly made their way through the streets, leaving a bloody trail that mingled with the person's own blood.

Bright red, disheveled hair was lit up underneath a street light, calling focus to the gore and unsavory grime that caused the ruby strands to clump disgustingly together, staining their head and neck an ugly shade of red. A flash of lighting followed shortly by a sharp crack of thunder caused the figure to seize up, hands clenching impossibly tighter around the weapons held within. When no one jumped out from the darkness, no glint of a gun meeting their eye from within the creeping shadows, they let their shoulders slump and began their trekk once again. Another flash of lighting and another sharp CRACK thundering through the sky caused the person to jump and glance upwards in an unsteady squint, green eyes weary and unfocused. A fat drop of rain, bone-chilling and foreboding, fell between their eyes, causing them to flinch away from the freezing touch and pick up their slow shuffle to a slightly faster amble.

As the clouds finally broke under their pressure and the rain began to pelt down painful bullets of ice-cold water in earnest, soaking everything their chill-inducing hands grasped, including the lone figure in the street. A familiar building rose out from the darkness like a beacon of hope. The abandoned mall. A painful smile cracked across the person's face despite the way they flinched violently against every thunderous wave, splitting a previously unseen cut across their bottom lip open again and spilling fresh blood down their chin, rough with unshaven stubble. Their amble picked up speed once again, and they forced weight on their injured leg, sending sharp spikes of agony up their spine into their chest with every step. Each excruciating step brought them closer and closer to safety.

They finally, and quite literally, stumbled into the building, water cascading off of them in waves and mixing with the bloody footprints left behind after every step as they made their way to the single elevator in the middle of the main entrance area. They stepped into the elevator and hit the floor they wanted to go to. As soon as the doors slid shut, they collapsed heavily onto the railing, weapons clattering heavily to the carpeted floor with a series of dull thuds. The mantra that was being chanted in their head like a song on repeat thudded painfully loud within their skull. I am Shirk Raya, the Dragon of Los Santos. I will not betray my family. I will not give in. I am Shirk Raya, the Dragon-

The doors opened with a cheerful chime and he stooped down to pick up the abandoned weapons before stepping off the elevator, watching dully as the doors slid closed once again. He then slowly turned, head and leg throbbing painfully with every beat of his heart, and shambled down the short hallway to the room he knew was his. He fished out his keys-the only thing left on his person after his captors destroyed everything else-from his jacket pocket, unlocking his door with a cuh-chunk and taking a single step into the dark threshold. The door shut with a soft click behind him and he finally allowed himself to relax, beaten and battered body nearly giving out where he stood.

Shirk was exhausted, wanted nothing more than to sleep, but he knew that it was highly unlikely he would get any amount of rest for a while, what little sleep he would manage to capture would almost surely be plagued with nightmares. Plus, he was getting nowhere near any of his furniture being covered in slick blood as he was. First thing: shower. Tend to his wounds. Eat or drink whatever he could stomach without throwing it back up. A flash of lightning alighting the room through the single window to his left caused the normally fearless man to startle so violently he nearly passed out, a vice-like grip crushing his lungs and causing his heart to pound painfully against his ribs. He quickly scurried like a frightened cat to the bathroom, closing the door tightly and locking it before allowing himself to breathe. He kept the lights off, didn't want to see himself in the mirror until he was at least somewhat presentable, and turned the shower on as hot as it could get. He had enough cold water to last a lifetime-

A quick shake of his head dislodged the memory, and he quickly shucked off his clothes and climbed into the shower, not for the first time glad it had a seat-like slab in it as his busted leg finally gave out on him and he fell heavily onto it. He let the blistering water pour over his skin, washing away the physical reminders of what had happened barely hours ago. He felt more than saw the blood wash down the drain, no doubt coloring the water a horrid red as it swirled around. He quickly cleaned himself, taking extra time and special care on his hair, making sure it was completely clean and snarl free before moving onto his injured body. He washed himself down the best he could, mindful of every fresh wound and abrasion, some still dribbling blood even as he cleaned them. He attempted to move his left leg to give some attention to it, but it spasming sharply at the smallest movement caused him to forgo cleaning the limb entirely.

He shut the water off and clambered out of the shower ungracefully, left leg refusing to bear anymore weight. He grabbed one of the towels off the rack- leaning most of his weight onto the bathroom counter- and patted himself dry, ignoring the white linen turning red in spots as he did so. Once suitably dried off, he wrapped the towel around his waist and turned the light on, ducking his head at the bright assault to his eyes. Once his eyes adjusted to the change in light, he opened them and glanced at himself in the mirror. The man staring back was hollow-cheeked, with sunken eyes and cuts and scrapes littering his face. The beginnings of a beard colored his chin and cheeks, below the dark hair his skin was pale and sickly. The man's eyes lacked any emotion in them, being closed off and mistrusting of everything.

The only thing that told Shirk it was him and not some stranger were the all too familiar scars brandished across his face. This wasn't the man Shirk had left as three weeks ago, this wasn't who he remembered. He didn't have the beard, or the nearly feral look in his eyes for starters. Unfamiliarity stung as his brain and he tore his eyes away from his face, to take inventory on the rest of his body. Numerous new wounds- some already scarred, others fresh- littered what unmarred skin he once had. Some were sticky and hot with infection, and yet others were scabbed over uncomfortably. A plethora of different wounds in different states of healing; most intentional, torturous wounds meant to hurt, not kill, though a few were gained in his escape-

He once again shook his thoughts away, moving to crouch in front of the sink and rummage through the cabinets. Shirk pulled out his first aid supplies, including a needle and stitches, and began to patch himself up. He'd maybe go to Doc Majesty, but probably not. Never does seek out her aid, lady makes him nervous, only when forced to go or on death's door would he find himself at her lair. He found he had zoned out, deft fingers working on auto pilot as he sewed and bandaged himself up. His torso and arms were done, all that was left was his leg.

Which, unfortunately, had the head of a crossbow bolt stuck in his calf. Not one of the small ones, one meant for hunting large game, broad and triangular. He kneeled down so all his weight was on his right leg, moving his left to a position where he could reach the wound. Prodding gently, not without sharp pain radiating out from each touch, he located the foreign object. Holding his left hand over top it from the outside, he grit his teeth and took a deep breath. Positioning his right hand, he dug his finger into the wound, biting his tongue to keep from making a noise. He breathed heavily through his nose, the stench of blood and antiseptic clogging up his senses. He fished around and his finger finally brushed over the hard edge of the arrowhead, and he quickly yanked it out, pressing in with his left hand to staunch the fresh blood flow from the wound. He couldn't help the pained grunt- too loud- from escaping his lips, and he stilled, holding his breath.

Shirk thought he heard movement from outside the bathroom, so he waited, daring not to breathe, listening for anything further. When no other sounds greeted his ears, he turned back to his leg, grabbing the stitches with a hand he refused to acknowledge was shaking. He quickly stitched the offending limb back up, wrapped a tight bandage around the rushed job, and stood up, still bearing most of his weight on his right leg. He washed his hands, ignoring the one injury he refused to touch-they re-carved BEAST just below the brand.

He couldn't help the way his eyes drifted down to the age-old brand, phantom pain of the hot metal biting into his skin causing the muscle underneath to twitch and jolt as if it were being branded all over again. He swallowed, throat dry, and remembered step three of his plan. Get something to drink. Easy. The nausea suddenly rolling in his gut promised he'd be unable to eat anything, but he's gone this long without food, what's a few more hours? Shirk pointedly ignored his ribs poking out from under his skin, and turned to the door. He hesitated, glancing back at the mess he left; a pool of blood, used bandages and towels, other medical supplies strewn about… He'd clean up later, he decided. He really needed water. He hesitated again, before praising the Gods he kept a spare change of clothes in bathroom for times like this. He quickly threw on the sweatpants and t-shirt, not bothering to tie up his hair.

He swung open the door without second guessing again, turning out the bathroom light as he did so. Another grumble of thunder caused him to jump. Shit, he fucking forgot it was storming. What a damn coward. Jumping at a little thunder. He let out a quiet, humorless laugh, limping his way towards the kitchen. The knife and the broken pipe he had brought home with him sat on the wooden table, neatly placed. Strange, he didn't remember putting them there. He could've sworn he had dropped them somewhere by the door…

The hairs on the back of his neck rose, and that was his only warning before footsteps approached behind him. His hand reflexively reached out and wrapped around the handle of the knife, and he ducked into a crouch, springing away from the person behind him. They gasped. He whirled around and bared his teeth, pushing the pain away. Brandishing the knife like a sword, he narrowed his eyes, just seeing the outline of the person standing before him. Their hands were raised, hands empty. Shirk didn't trust them-

The light turned on and he violently flinched, backing up on instinct. His foot hit the counter, his bad leg, and sent a shock of pure agony up. He groaned, resisting the urge to grab his leg, and opened his eyes into a glare. As the people in front of him came into focus, he froze, knife clattering to the floor. Disaster was the one who came up behind him, in a nightgown, eyes flashing with worry and confusion. Ace stood behind her, slowly putting down the book they had grabbed. Vinny was over by the door, looking ready to bolt but trusting Shirk enough not to hurt any of them. All the fight in him left in a rush and he suddenly felt light-headed, headache back double-fold and leg angrily pulsing in pain with every heartbeat. He slowly lowered himself so he was sitting on the floor and hung his head, focused on drawing in breaths that didn't cause his chest to shudder.

The rush of blood in his ears receded, and a voice right in front of him- too close, too close- replaced it. "-irk! Shirk, answer me!" His head snapped up and he attempted to scoot away, panic seizing his body again, but his back was to the counters so he had nowhere to go. He was trapped. His hand reached for the knife again against his own accord- "Woah, shhh, it's okay." Disaster was crouched in front of him, trying to calm him down, hands held out once again. He hand gripped around the blade of the knife, serrated edge slicing easily into his palm. "Please put down the knife," she told him in a calm, soothing tone. She was too close. He hand reached out to touch his arm, his vision swam, and he curled away from her outstretched palm.

He heard Ace- or was it Vinny?- ask something in a scared voice, but all he could focus on was how close Disaster was and how he wanted her to back up. "Nnn," he tried, mouth unable to form the words his brain was screaming.

"Shirk?" Disaster asked, attention back on him.

"Bhhh," he tried again, frustration mounting the fear. His eyebrows furrowed, and his hand clenched further around the knife. The bite of the blade didn't register in his mind. "Bhhk," he ground out, chest heaving-in anger? In fear? He wasn't sure-and heart somewhere in his stomach.

"I don't understand, sweety," Disaster told him, and he nearly brought his head back to connect with the cabinets behind him, but barely restrained himself.

A sudden thought came to him, and his hand slowly uncurled around the knife. He brought his hands to his chest, shaking like a leaf. He refused to look at Disaster or Vinny, instead meeting Ace's eyes. 'Back up,' he signed at them. Again and again, repeating himself. 'Back up. Back up. Back up back up back up-'

It took a few tries, Shirk's movements jerky and sloppy, but Ace's eyes soon lit up in recognition. "He wants you to back up, I think?" When Shirk nodded, too desperately in his opinion, Disaster's mouth turned to a deep frown, but she moved away a couple of feet, finally giving Shirk room to breath.

"Shirk," Vinny piped up, moving to sit next to Disaster. Now that Shirk didn't look like he would shank one of them or hurt himself out of fear, they felt more confident to approach, in slow, deliberate movements like one would do around a frightened dog. That's what he was, huh? A fucking scared animal. "What happened?" Vinny's word stopped Shirk's train of thought, face shuttering over.

He wanted to tell them, he really did. But something held him back, something screaming about not trusting anyone, something scared and broken from weeks of torture and abuse. His hands moved of their own accord.

"'I'm fine, nothing happened,'" Ace translated, settling near the other two.

"Bullshit," both Vinny and Disaster said at the same time.

"You can't expect me to believe nothing happened, not when you flinch every time something touches you," Disaster told him. Her tone rose as she spoke, clearly upset, and Shirk had to fight back the instinct to curl away from her volume. He wouldn't give her the satisfaction of proving her words.

He glared back at her. 'I'm fine,' he stressed, ignoring the blood dripping down his arm. 'Nothing happened. Got a little banged up, that's all.'

"Shirk," Ace said quietly, after translating. "Why are you lying to us?"

'I'm not-'

"You are," Vinny told him. Shirk raised his hands to sign something back when they stood up a little too quickly. Shirk shifted before he realized, back in a crouch and fingers brushing the knife again. "You wouldn't look 10 seconds from slitting one of us if something didn't happen."

Shirk curled his lip at that, averting his eyes. Damn Roach was too perceptive for their own good. He startled when he looked back and saw Vinny closer than they had been. Not within touching distance, but closer. Shirk's breath caught in his throat.

"What happened?"

Shirk wanted to use words, his voice, for this. He forced his mouth to work, frowning at its reluctance to do what he wanted. It had been over a week since he spoke. "I-its nnnothing you neeed to con-concernn yourselvess about," he started, slowly and haltingly. His words came out slurred, and for the first time he worried about brain damage. Maybe that's why his head hurt so much.

"Shirk, we just want to help you," Disaster piped up, having moved closer too. Ace wasn't far behind her, in the process of crab-walking over beside her.

It was like a dam broke, and something that had been misplaced clicked in his brain, mouth suddenly spouting words he didn't want to be spoken aloud. "What do you want me to say?" he nearly shouted, voice wavering and cracking from lack of use. "I fucked up, okay? I got caught, I was stupid, I fucked up." His breaths were coming out in gasps, but he couldn't stop the words anymore. "I was caught, and tortured for three fucking weeks, and I didn't think you were coming-" his voice cracked harshly, but he barreled on, "and to top the shit pie, it was the fucking Burgundy Beasts who got me. I was in their grasp again and I was alone and I didn't know what to do-" His voice broke completely, and his legs gave out below him. He gripped his hair, finally allowing his head to connect with the surface behind him with a CRACK. "He's coming, he's coming, and we're all fucking screwed because he's on his way," he said, quieter. A shudder passed through him, and he whispered, "I thought you weren't coming for me."

"Shirk," Ace started, but Shirk cut them off with a frantic shake of his head.

"You know how fucking scary it is, to be tortured for three weeks, and you try, oh you try to hold on hope that help is coming. They have the best damn hacker in Los Santos minutes away, of fucking course they're on their way. But the days pass and the torture gets worse, you go fucking insane trying not to say anything, and then you realize the ones you love aren't coming. If they were, they'd be there by now. You start to doubt they ever loved you at all," he told them, tears welling up in his eyes. God he was so fucking weak, crying like a bitch over this. "Do you know how that feels?"

A spur-of-the-moment thought made him lift his shirt up and off, showing the bandages hiding new and old wounds he would normally never show anyone. He almost unwound the white linen, but just stopped short of doing so. Brain damage was likely. He gestured to the scars, peeking from beneath the bandages, across his chest in anger, staring at Disaster and Ace who didn't know what the Beasts were capable of. "Do you know how it feels to be ripped to pieces, day in and day out? To have old wounds-" he gestured with his bloody hand to the re-carved words under the brand- "reopened with the intent of breaking you?" He ended with strained breaths, entire body shaking.

"Shit dude," Ace whispered, getting elbowed in the side by Disaster. No one knew what to say for a moment, the only sound being Shirk's ragged breathing, too fast to be healthy.

Vinny moved first, breaking the tension that had fallen over them. They moved forward, slowly and deliberately, knowing that when Shirk got like this a hug was the best thing to do. They got within a couple of inches and paused. "Can I touch you?"

Shirk started to shake his head no, but changed his mind and nodded a quick yes. His eyes were screwed up against the tears that still threatened to spill. When Vinny's arms wrapped around his body, he jumped, inhaling sharply. But he quickly melted into the hug, arms coming up to clutch at Vinny's back. "I thought-I thought-" he blabbered, barely suppressed sobs shaking his frame. "I-I thought y-you-" he hiccuped, pressing his face into Vinny's chest.

They had never actually seen Shirk break down like this, but the two had some close moments when talking about their shared experiences within the Burgundy Beasts, and they simply ran their hand through Shirk's hair, shushing him whenever the babbling got to incomprehensible. Disaster and Ace soon joined them, wrapping their own arms around Shirk's frame- which was much thinner than they remembered-and giving him soothing words and touches. They avoided any and all fresh wounds, sticking to his head, his neck, his arms.

His sobs quieted, exhaustion settling over his body, and he pulled away from them, eyes glassy. He crossed his arms across his bare chest, frowning at himself. In a fit of anger towards his actions and words over the past… however long, scooped the knife up off the floor and stood. The others gave him questioning, almost doubtful looks as he turned the blade in his hand. He stabbed it behind him into the counter top before he mumbled something and stomped away to the living room and collapsing face-down onto the couch. He felt someone gently grab his hand in their own and had to force himself to not snatch it back. They wrapped something around the cut down his palm, and he signed 'thank you' from the side of his head, unwilling to move his face from the pillow.

He heard Ace mumble something about how he "had mood swings so violent it'd must hurt," from behind him, and then heard what sounded like a smack followed Ace whining.

Shirk realized dully that he never got the water he was originally after, and he fought with himself whether or not to get up and get it. One the one hand, laying down for the first time in weeks felt so good, and the sleep was pulling at his body. On the other, he was unwilling to sleep as he knew what would happen if he did. Mind made up, he went to push himself up when a comforting weight settled onto his back. Hands started carding through his hair, and Shirk sighed in bliss, pressing his head back into the hands. He could… lay here for a little longer. At least, until whoever was on top of him moved. The hands didn't still and he found his thoughts slowing and his consciousness being pulled away from him. He would get up… he would. Just after... he took a small nap. -- A/N: There are some questions left unanswered, which aren’t spoilers for a maybe story about what happened before, so I’ll put them here: Q: What prevented Enigma and the others from finding Shirk for so long? Also how was he not found during a sweep of Los Santos if he was missing for so long? Were they under the pretense that he’d be out of communications for a while? A: Shirk had been out on a job, gather intel and spy on a group that was claiming a little too much land within the city, and while told not to engage, followed them back to their base in the mt Chilliad region. The group happened to be a subset of the Beasts, and Vulpe themself was personally visiting the crew to make sure things were running smoothly. There was a shootout and Shirk was overwhelmed and captured. No one thought anything was wrong until too many missed calls, and bu that time it was too late. Vulpe is a Specialist, not only an expert with strange weapons (ahem, the crossbow) , they're also rather good when it comes to covering tracks, whether physical or digital. They wiped all the cameras before the Freaks realized shirk was MIA. Their base is underground, like one of the bunkers in-game, and hidden, its no wonder they didn't find him. Q: How far did he walk from where he was being held to the mall? He’d have to be pretty close, right, or did he walk for over 24 hours? Wouldn’t they have found him then? A: He didn’t walk far, but where he was being held was not near the city at all. Opposite side of the island, in fact. The final fight actually happened quite close to the city. They were transporting him to the docks to send him to the main land, to Fabian, and he broke out of the van, killed the men who were driving and fought Vulpe again, this time getting away (was it purposeful on Vulpe's part to let him flee? yes. Did they let him leave unscathed? The arrowhead in his calf says otherwise.) Q: Was he tortured the entire three weeks or would it alternate between days of torture and days of isolation? Because would’t he die if it was three weeks of consecutive torture? A: It did alternate between torture and isolation. Vulpe did want information, yes, but the intent of everything was to make Shirk hurt and weak, before Fabian could fully break him. Vulpe never forgave Shirk for what he did to their beautiful Leader’s face.

Q: Why is everyone in Shirk’s apartment, anyway? Don’t they all have rooms/apartments within the Mall? Why weren’t they out looking for him? A: Well, yes, they do. But you know when someone misses their s/o who’s on a trip or smth, so they wear their clothes and sleep on their side of the bed and stuff? It’s a comfort thing. They all missed Shirk, and the easiest place to regroup without feeling so hopeless was his apartment. They broke in, of course, but Shirk doesn’t need to know that. And the reason they weren’t all out is because they were getting rest and regrouping. They had been looking all day, and when this happens it’s really late at night/early in the morning. Like, 2-3 AM. People need their rest, whether or not any of them were actually sleeping. Q: Who the fuck is Vulpe? Why are they important? Why are they after Shirk? A: Oh! They’re someone we haven’t properly met yet! One of the Fox Twins, and one of the two Third-in-Command, Fabian’s most trusted crew members. They take turns with their sibling, Corsac, running the Los-Santos branch of the Burgundy Beasts, and all the smaller crews owned affiliated with them. You’ll learn more about them later, as well as the Beasts as a whole.

#mine #freak fam #vinny #ace #disaster #The New Gods #long post

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winterblues · 7 years

Text

prompt response to: andreil trapped in a small space scenario

As much as all these late night practices aided Neil in strengthening his form, some nights he felt so incredibly drained of energy that by the end of them he almost cursed his own resolve.

Neil let out an exasperated breath as he tucked his helmet under his aching arm and trudged; zombie-like into the empty locker room. Kevin followed, taking long, agitated strides and muttering something unintelligible under his breath as he disappeared into the showers without sparing Neil a second’s glance. Neil didn't have the energy left to satiate Kevin’s relentless appetite for grief. Not in the moment, anyway.

Neil’s body felt like cotton candy, soft; pliable, limbs worn pink and sore. Neil was halfway to his locker when he heard Andrew moving behind him. Neil peeled his gear off carefully and stuffed the majority of it into his giant locker before slamming it shut and turning on his heel to look at Andrew, who was slumped against the lockers on the other side, hands shoved deep in his pockets, pale hair wild and eyes bleary from a crucial lack of sleep.

“Go and shower. You fucking reek.” Andrew prompted. It had been a long day for them all, Neil could sense Andrew mirroring his own exhaustion.

“Yeah. I’ll make it quick,” Neil promised, before breaking into the slightest smirk. “I mean, unless you want to help me out.”

“Help yourself,” Andrew replied, dully.

Neil knew better than to take offense to that as he merely shrugged and made a beeline for the showers.

“Offer’s on the table if you change your mind. I’ll keep the stall unlocked.”

Neil showered as hurriedly as he could, knowing that Andrew would be waiting. The hot steam from the shower abated the stinging pain that reverberated through his sore bones and he felt himself tilting his head back towards where the force of the water was most concentrated. Newfangled bruises bloomed along the back of his elbows, the bottom of his left knee, across his inner wrist. He didn’t pay them much heed. Every injury he garnered on the court was a testament to how far he had come, how far he would go. They hurt less when he thought about them that way.

They reminded him he was alive.

Neil dried his hair off with a towel before pulling his clothes back on, rather clumsy-handedly. By the sounds of it, Kevin was still in the shower. Neil headed straight for the lockers. He frowned when Andrew wasn’t within his direct line of sight. He could hear shuffling coming from the storage room towards his left.

He wandered in to find Andrew attempting to keep a stack of old exy racquets from toppling over each other in what could have turned into one completely unfortunate domino effect.

“Scavenging for scraps?”

“Your helmet,” Andrew muttered. “You ruptured your chin guard. I was checking if they had any replacement parts collecting dust here.”

“Any luck?”

“No.”

“I’m just going to put it on Kevin’s tablet,” Neil replied. “He aimed that last shot at my jaw on purpose.”

“MAYBE YOU SHOULD LEARN TO DODGE LIKE ANY COMPETENT STRIKER WOULD!” snapped an irked, disembodied voice from the distance.

Sometimes Neil forgot how thin the walls here really were… Maybe Kevin just had the ears of a vampire bat, to have been able to hear them over the gushing of the water.

“MAYBE YOU SHOULD MIND YOUR OWN FUCKING BUSINESS!” Neil roared back, scathingly, before rolling his eyes and slamming the door closed behind him. Andrew stared at him, dead-eyed. “What are you doing?”

“What? I want to relish in dissing Kevin in relative privacy.”

“You’ll lock us in, idiot.”

“I didn’t—“

“These hinges haven’t been oiled in years. They’re flimsy.” There was a sudden, unspoken urgency in Andrew’s voice at that final word that made Neil’s insides twist. “Okay,” Neil said, hand curling around the door knob.

He turned at it and—shit. Was Andrew about to be proven right? He gave it a hard yank and then another, and then a couple more for good measure. At this point, Andrew took a step forward, nudging Neil hard enough from waist to shoulder that he stumbled and felt his spine meet the cold expanse of wall.

Andrew then maneuvered to inspect the door himself.

Neil’s insides caved in on themselves. The storage room was tiny. Smaller even, than an average walk-in closet. Not to mention it was brimming with a maw-full of junk. It was also crowded and dark and smelled like an abundance of dust.

There was a dull bulb that flickered like an eighties horror film in the top right corner of the closet and Neil was half convinced he could hear something skittering behind the shelves. It wasn’t exactly the most pleasant of ambiances, but he knew better than anyone that there were worse places to get trapped in.

Andrew had now taken to straight up kicking at the door and pounding his fists against it hard enough that Neil could feel the vibrations in his teeth.

“It’s no big deal,” Neil said, gently. “Kevin will get us out.”

“Kevin—“ Andrew snapped, his pupils blown wide as he turned to meet Neil’s gaze. “Probably thinks we’re hooking up.”

Neil wanted to say that Kevin wouldn’t abandon them, but then again, he wouldn’t put that kind of an assumption past Kevin, especially when he was feeling frustrated.

Andrew’s head snapped back up. “Do you have your phone on you?”

“It's in my bag,” Neil pinched the top of his nose. “Outside.”

“Shit.”

Neil watched Andrew for a quiet moment. His heart beginning to pound in alarm. He took in the wild, emancipated flicker in Andrew’s eyes, the calamity in his tone of voice. His gaze was capering everywhere like cat’s eyes to lasers. He looked as if he was imagining every wall in the room closing in on them all at once. “Andrew,” Neil’s voice was the barest suggestion of a whisper.

Andrew’s eyes flickered up to meet his, he was attempting to keep his lips tightly pressed together but there was a prominent strain to the curve of his mouth. His expression feral and bottomless; a consequence of the fear that was threatening to take over.

“What.”

“Are you claustrophobic?”

Andrew said nothing, but the torrent in his gaze was confirmation enough.

They had to give up after fifteen solid minutes of incessant banging against the unrepentant door and every cry for Kevin falling on deaf ears.

Andrew was beginning to look very pale and his breathing had grown ragged.

There was a tremor of misery rising up Neil’s throat as Andrew slumped against the door with his knees pressed into his heaving chest.

Neil was not used to Andrew making himself so small, it set something alight within him. Andrew compensated for the inconvenience of his height by having an overwhelming presence—the sort you’d do better facing head on rather than just flat out ignoring. If it was even humanly possible to ignore.

This… This was terrible and new.

Neil could taste iron at the back of his mouth, thinking back on one of his worst memories of Andrew.

Even back then, lying defeated on bloodstained sheets, Andrew hadn’t tried to make himself scarce. His nonchalance, his disdain, his fear for what might’ve happened to Aaron… It had been an ugly cocktail of emotions (or a brittle lack there of) but it’d been larger than life. Neil could still feel the sheer animosity rolling off of Andrew, stiff and defensive and horrible.

His laughter had been a warning.

It had been so loud it had taken up the entire room.

Neil looked to Andrew again.

He remembered Andrew facing his fear of heights on their rooftop: Andrew’s knuckles, whitened from a hindered blood flow, the slumped ridges of his shoulders, the way he stared down at the ground, as if the ground would erupt from beneath him, extend its jaws and swallow him whole.

“You know,” Neil began, crouching down next to Andrew. Neil felt the need to keep talking. “When my mother and I were on the run, I spent a lot of time in compact spaces. In closets, airport bathroom stalls, beneath motel beds. Mom would ask me to stay extremely still and close my eyes as tightly as I could. She wasn’t very good at consoling me, I don’t think she even knew how to begin with; but she would ask me to turn the world off, like it was that easy to just wield my brain like a switchboard. To hone in on a single, conquerable thing.” Something nauseous crawled its way up his windpipe, something he’d once mistaken for fondness. “See, she said when it comes to entrapment, helpless animals thrive in the little victories.”

“You are a study in helplessness,” Andrew sucked in another strangled breath.

Neil continued. “She demanded I find something to clutch onto. It could be anything. The rancid smell of a cigarette, the sound of her voice, or something physical that I could touch,” Neil’s eyes met Andrew’s with intent, awaiting certain affirmation. Andrew picked up his gaze instantly.

But only if you let me...

Andrew managed a small nod.

At this, Neil let out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding to begin with and wrapped his hands over Andrew’s, which were busy digging into the soft material of his track pants over his knees. Andrew’s fingers were cold, limp. Neil brought their entwined hands towards his mouth and blew at them, gently. His breath warmer than the temperature of the confined room. “It’s not about finding your happy place or some unhelpful bullshit like that. I think it has more to do with cognitive response, we breathe subconsciously, right? So if you just find something else to focus on, your body naturally complies.”

“Shut up.”

Andrew’s breaths sounded sharper now, shorter. His fingers dug into the skin of Neil’s palm before clutching for the back of Neil’s head. He dug his fists into his hair and pulled, every gasp hissed in between clenched teeth. It hurt, but watching Andrew crumble in this way hurt more.

“It’s okay,” Neil insisted, pressing slow, breathy kisses to every single one of Andrew’s knuckles. “Just focus on me. Look at me. Everything else is just everything else. Andrew,” Neil said. “Look at me. Nothing else.”

“I thought you were nothing.”

“That’s right. I’m nothing. It’s easier to concentrate on my nothing, right?”

“God. Stop talking—“

“Tell me what’s happening. How difficult is it to breathe? Can you feel your heart rate escalating? Do you feel clammy?”

“I’m going to kill Kevin Fucking Day.”

“I’ll help you dispose of the body,” Neil replied, approvingly, before resting his forehead against Andrew’s and closing his eyes for a brief moment. He could feel Andrew shaking against him.

“My fourth home,” Andrew said then, in between harsh, heavy breaths. “It was a game.”

“What—?”

“Get locked in a dark broom closet and search for the key.”

The words were distorted by a familiarly casual lack of concern. The sort that drove Neil to his wit’s end.

Neil felt a sudden pang of unbidden rage whorl up inside his chest. Now he was imagining a young Andrew. Probably no older than ten, locked within the dark confines of some asshole’s dusty old broom closet, utterly afraid and completely alone. Another onset of pain, the kind of pain that was more than just physical and Neil could feel clogging up his brain. It was beginning to get volcanic. Neil felt his nostrils flare as his grip on Andrew’s hands tightened, just slightly. Their fingers were now slick with sweat but Neil couldn’t care less.

“They should pay,” Neil’s voice was hoarse, throaty. It was as if a knife was growing within his stomach, large and serrated. “For what they did to you. They should all pay. I want to tear—“

“It doesn’t matter,” Andrew’s voice was still ringed with panic, but strangely enough, his gaze had become more solid; rapt on Neil’s own.

As if reminding Neil of the reach of his own apathy mattered more than the fear rapidly possessing him, voice a faultless escaped breath.

“I don’t care.”

“You never do,” Neil replied, tone still frantic despite half-assed attempts to throttle the fury. “I’ll just have to amp up my own contempt tenfold—for the both of us.”

“Fucking junkie.”

“What can I say? I’m hooked,” Neil said, the corner of his lip tugging up to form a grin that left him rather surprised by himself. So hopelessly hooked. Andrew didn’t look too amused, Neil could feel his pulse racing at his wrists, beneath the press of Neil’s fingers. “Hey, hey. Stay with me now. We’ll get out of here. It’ll be okay. Breathe, okay? Try to breathe.”

Andrew did so, all the while staring Neil down begrudgingly.

“I hate you.”

“You really outdid yourself with that. I mean groundbreaking revelation.”

“You’ll break my percentage meter.”

“Before you take another shot at breaking me? Sounds unfair.”

There was a look in Andrew’s eyes at that, one Neil couldn’t exactly place. It was something conflicted; at war with itself. It sank into Neil’s skin.

Andrew’s grip on Neil’s hair finally loosened as he untangled one of his hands from Neil’s in favor of fastening it around the nape of Neil’s neck and reeling him towards him. “Yes or no?”

“It will never be no,” Neil waited for Andrew’s lips to engulf his own. He watched Andrew inhale (his breath still wary but less labored than before), watched his eyelashes flutter shut and then the unparalleled heat of Andrew’s mouth.

The kiss was a hard, steadying press like a paperweight. An affirmation of trust. Andrew was letting Neil knead the tension out of him. Neil kept his movements gentle even as Andrew’s tongue hungrily scaled his throat. Andrew’s other hand left Neil’s to venture underneath his shirt and Andrew pressed a hand flat against Neil’s stomach, where the scarring was at its coarsest. Neil sucked in a shivering breath at the destabilizing touch. When they pried their lips apart, Neil brought Andrew close until their chests were pressed flush against one another. He could feel Andrew’s heart beating against his own, every cataclysmic breath. Andrew’s pupils were wide and there was almost a certain brimming exhilaration within them. Neil netted his fingers in the soft expanse of Andrew’s hair and pressed a kiss to his temple.

“Block out all those rotten memories. Burn them. We’ll make new ones.”

“Oh?” Andrew said, dryly. “Is that your attempt at an assurance?”

“That’s a promise.”

“Careful,” Andrew drawled. “That’s still foreign dialect for a pathetic little runaway.”

“It’s your language,” Neil replied. “So I’ll learn it.”

At this, Andrew blanched.

Only this time, Neil had a feeling it had nothing to do with panic.

Neil awoke to a jolting pain riding up his left ankle, Andrew’s face pressed into his neck and Coach Wymack looming over him with an incredibly dangerous look on his face.

“I swear I will kick the shit out of you until you whimper,” Wymack imposed.

“Coach!” Neil cried.

“I know I said I don’t care what you maggots do off court but bedrooms exist for a reason,” Wymack grumbled. “Next time, use them. Now, would you care to explain to me what the fuck you two were doing cooped up in here? Keep it PG, yeah?”

“It isn’t what it looks like,” Neil snapped, cheeks flaring. “I shut the door too hard and locked us in.”

Wymack’s expression changed, albeit marginally as his gaze dropped to Andrew. “Is he—?”

“He’ll be fine.” Neil reassured, with a small sigh. When Wymack shot him a doubtful glare, Neil immediately remedied his phrase. “Not my flimsy definition of fine—Genuinely fine.”

For a moment, Wymack said nothing, before clearing his throat and looking Neil square in the eye, expression hardening once more. “Wake him up, get yourselves freshened up and get the fuck out of my sight.” He said, pointing at Andrew, who was still curled up against Neil like a cat.

“Yes, Coach.”

He turned on his heel to leave, before halting abruptly. “And Neil?”

“Yes?”

“Thank fuck you were with him.”

Neil felt a prickle of something sad stab at his throat, but he nodded.

“Get plenty of water and some grub in your systems. Don’t think I’m letting you off easy. It’s gonna be a grueling day ahead.”

“Yes, Coach.”

“Don’t ‘yes, coach’ me.”

“Yes, Coach. Er— Alright?”

Wymack groaned audibly, stared up at the ceiling like what-will-I-ever-do-with-this-good-for-nothing-little-shit before skulking off. Next to him, Andrew stirred.

“You’re awake,” Neil said, softly.

“Keen observation,” he responded, voice still groggy like early morning honey.

“Wanna get the fuck out of here?” Neil asked.

“Wanna get the fuck off of you,” Andrew said, pushing himself up and off of Neil. He was a little wobbly as he rose to his feet and had to extend an arm up against the wall to keep himself upright.

He stared at the door blown wide open and the barcodes of light pooling in from outside. Stray voices floated up from the foyer. Neil pulled himself to his feet and stretched to work out a kink in his neck.

Andrew was out the door before he could finish.

Neil followed him out, equally eager to be free of the dry smell of mold exposure and cardboard boxes.

Andrew turned to him, expression unreadable. Neil halted just in time to keep himself from walking straight into his back.

“I will say this once and once only so listen closely if you care to hear it.”

“Hm?”

“You know I don’t care for useless sentiments,” Andrew said. “What you did, I won’t forget it.”

Neil felt something warm and unnamable bloom behind his ribs. Neil didn’t think Andrew understood, or maybe he understood perfectly and just didn’t want to admit it. Knowing Andrew, it was probably the latter. Either way, Neil didn’t require an acknowledgement or a worthless show of gratitude. He hadn’t done it out of courtesy, he’d done it because he couldn’t bear the thought of what might’ve happened otherwise. Couldn’t bear the thought of watching Andrew fall victim to the weight of his past. Time upon time again.

“It was nothing.” Neil replied quietly, but he hoped Andrew heard the underlying notion within his words.

It was everything.

Andrew’s face was a blank canvas while Neil’s was a mosaic of abstracts.

“You don’t have to say it like that.”

“I know.”

1K notes · View notes

raendown · 7 years

Link

I finally finished the sequel to The Autocorrect Way To Say It!

Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word Count: 4686 Summary: Madara benefits from Tobirama’s typo.

Shameless smut if you follow the link or read it under the cut!

The Capitulation of Uchiha Madara

It wasn’t all that surprising to find the door unlocked. Tobirama was expecting him after all. Madara made sure that it did lock behind him though.

He’d almost driven off the road several times on the way here. The insistent erection between his legs had convinced him to run two red lights and travel at speeds he would not normally condone. Luckily it was late enough that the roads were mostly empty and by some miracle he hadn’t passed a single police car. Even if he had, the odds that he would have been pulled over by a member of his own family were unfairly high.

None of the downstairs lights were on as he walked slowly in to the Senju household. He supposed that made sense since it was deep in to evening and Tobirama was, ostensibly, already in bed. Madara tip toed carefully up the stairs and down the hall to where he knew the younger man’s bedroom was. He spared a moment to wonder where Hashirama was but the thought was fleeting, unimportant. What mattered was that he wasn’t here, which left Madara free to catch his breath at the sight of a bedroom door left ajar, the light inside spilling out in to the hallway invitingly.

Swallowing thickly and taking hold of his courage with a white-knuckled grip, Madara gave the door a light push and watched it swing open to slowly reveal the scene inside. Then his jaw dropped even as his heart leaped up in to his throat. From the bed, Tobirama smirked at his reaction.

His long pale body was spread out along the length of the bed, feet facing the door and covers kicked down. He had one leg stretched out and the other bent to place his foot on the mattress. One arm reached up to tuck behind his head casually as the other reached towards his groin to palm his cock, wrapping long fingers around it for a slow pull before dipping lower to roll his sacs. His eyes were half lidded and dangerously hot as they drilled in to Madara with the sexiest come hither look he’d ever been on the receiving end of.

“My my, you got here fairly quickly didn’t you?” His voice rumbled like thunder, husky with arousal, and Madara’s cock jumped just at the sound of it. “Eager.”

“Fuck you,” Madara murmured distractedly, eyes fixated on the motion of Tobirama’s hand. The younger man gave a dark chuckle.

“I’d rather fuck you.”

Madara did his best to contain the shiver and look offended. It didn’t work but he made the effort anyway. Tobirama crooked his finger and Madara stepped toward the bed, already tugging at the buttons on his shirt. By the time his knees hit the mattress he was already half out of it with his belt undone, sliding teasingly through each belt loop. He bit his lip when pale hands tugged him over top of a naked lap, slipping his pants button open for him and tracing the shape of the bulge contained inside.

“You’re the one who invited me here,” he pointed out. “Do you always sext your brother’s friends for booty calls?”

“Just you. You must be special.” Tobirama’s grin had the slightest edge to it that reminded Madara of a wild beast about to pounce on its prey. As the fly of his jeans slid down and a thumb traced the lines of his abdomen he reflected that he was very up for being captured by the animal beneath him. Tobirama could eat him alive if he wanted and Madara wouldn’t say a word of protest.

Any reply he might have made was stolen from him by the roll of the hips he was straddling and the fingers that tugged his jeans down just far enough for the head of his erection to show above the waistline. He dropped his head back with a quiet noise as the pad of one finger gently caressed his tip, dipping in to the slit to spread the droplets of clear liquid already gathered there. He wanted to babble out every single one of his fantasies for the younger man to hear and beg him for even just one but pride held his tongue. Most of the dirty things thrumming through his mind right then required a degree of trust and familiarity between partners – and he had no idea if this was a onetime thing or not.

Tobirama’s free hand slid softly up the inside of his thigh. Then he dug in his nails and scratched his way back down, teasing Madara with the barriers of clothing he was still wearing. The older man growled a little and wriggled.

“I can hardly undress when you’ve got me draped across you like this,” he grumbled.

“Nonsense,” Tobirama said. “I don’t need you naked to make you cum.”

“Don’t you dare! I did not drive all the way here in the middle of the night just to cum in your hands like a teenager. I was promised fucking Senju and I will be extremely unhappy if you don’t deliver.”

The man under him laughed and Madara couldn’t help but notice the way it lit up his entire face. He didn’t laugh enough.

“Why can’t we have both, hm? I’ve been at my limit for ages already so what’s the harm in taking the edge off now? We’ll both last longer afterwards.”

He had this way of making everything he said sound perfectly logical while at the same time employing an annoyingly snarky tone that always set Madara off. It made him scowl now, even more so because he agreed, and it left him with nothing to do but huff and nudge his hips forward in to the teasing touches. His scowl deepened when Tobirama smirked, then slid away as a pale hand worked its way inside his boxers to grip his erection firmly.

The breath that left his chest was unsteady, as shaken as the rest of him by the dragging pressure on his cock. Tobirama’s hand was slick with his own pre-cum and Madara made an embarrassing noise he pretended to ignore when he realized why the other’s hand was gliding so easily, hips bucking in to the touch even though he was trying not to. Their eyes locked and held, passing fire back and forth and heating the air between them. Madara tugged the front of his trousers down just a little bit more, frantically trying to give Tobirama as much space to move as possible.

A sigh of relief escaped him when his sacs slid free, cushioned on a bed of bunched silk and pushed up in an obscene display when the material rode up again. Clever fingers traced the edges of them and tickling his inner thighs before suddenly all touches stopped. Madara growled, snapping one hand out out to grab Tobirama’s wrist and baring his teeth at the man below him.

“What are you stopping for?” he demanded, choosing not to concentrate on the suspicious high note of desperation in his voice. Tobirama laughed again, reaching up to cup the back of his neck and pull him down in to a feral, messy kiss. Teeth bit and tongues tangles, his heart racing at speeds that had to be unhealthy, and Madara had never enjoyed a kiss more.

“So impatient,” Tobirama murmured against his mouth. “If you could shut your blasted mouth for two damn seconds, Uchiha, then I could give you what you want. What you need.”

Whatever retort he might have given was halted in its tracks, pushed out by a low keen when Tobirama took himself in hand, positioning his cock to line up against Madara’s and adjusting his grip to encompass the two of them. His long fingers gave just the right amount of pressure as he stroked them at the same time, dragging out a hiss of pleasure from them both. Madara wasn’t sure if it was him that shuddered or if it was Tobirama but his entire body was left quaking and wouldn’t stop. He’d been hard since Tobirama invited him over and the mere sight of what greeted him had brought him much too close to the edge. It felt as though he were only moments away from exploding.

Luckily it was a sentiment his partner appeared to share. The younger man’s entire body was tensed and shivering under the strain, his face twisting in to a grimace of ecstasy. Just knowing that he had finally been the one to put that look there was all it took to push him over the edge.

Madara cried out shamelessly as he shattered, letting his head drop down on to Tobirama’s shoulder and rutting in to the hand still pulling at him frantically. He panted in to his partner’s ear, a strangled mewl escaping him. Only a moment later he felt a second surge of wetness and Tobirama moaned underneath him, hand twitching and shaking as he finally fell still, fingers curled around their sticky lengths even after they stopped moving.

“Fuck.” Madara peeled his lips back and bit down on the shoulder he was using to prop himself up. The entire body under him jolted.

“We’ll get to that. Don’t be impatient.”

“You don’t be facetious,” Madara grumbled back. He felt languid, relieved of a tension he’d never admitted to but had been there between them for years. Half the fights he picked with this man were born of misplaced aggression from wanting him so much and feeling so inadequate when that wanting wasn’t returned.

Now he felt almost as though he might drift away from the sudden weightlessness. His skin sang under the random patterns drawn by thin fingers, tracing his sides and his hips before dipping around to cup his bottom. He twitched when he felt something prodding at his entrance, not trying to dip inside but rather softly brushing against him, tapping and stroking in a languid manner. Madara hummed and nudged backwards in to the touches, trying without words to encourage more.

It was a little disappointing when his companion didn’t take the hint, the fingers pulling away only moments later. Madara grumbled pointedly and resisting as he felt his weight being pushed aside, increasing the volume when the only reaction was a quiet chuckle. He didn’t want Tobirama to laugh at him, he wanted the other man to fuck him. Was that so much to ask?

A surprised yelp escaped him when, instead of gently falling sideways, he found himself being flipped. The world rushed by him in a blur of color until suddenly he was facing the sheets, braced on his knees with a hand between his shoulder blades pushing him down. Madara followed the movement on instinct more than anything else, almost overwhelmingly curious as to what Tobirama had in store for him. He squirmed under the caress of a hand on his back, gliding down the length of his spine to finger the shape of his entrance again.

“O-open me,” he said, trying not to sound as desperate as he felt. He wasn’t even hard again yet and still his lungs weren’t drawing air properly, his heartbeat picking up and thundering a rhythm against his ribs which threatened to crack them outwards.

“You need to relax, Madara,” Tobirama’s sultry voice told him from somewhere behind. He barely had the wherewithal to snarl menacingly.

“I am relaxed. Just – shit!”

His entire body gave a violent jerk and a rippling shudder at the first pass of a tongue against his hole. A second chuckle barely reached his ears before that clever tongue touched him again, laving his entrance to wet it before stiffening and prodding. A heavy moan rumbled out of his throat as he pressed back, eager for more. Tobirama’s sigh of pleasure when he passed the first ring of muscle only increased his arousal.

The first, apparently, was only the opening of the floodgates. Moans dripped from his lips like sweet wine from a bottle afterwards, Tobirama’s tongue relentless in dragging them from him again and again as he worked his way slowly inside. The slick muscle wasn’t nearly as large as what he truly wanted but the sensation of it! Madara felt as though he were melting from the inside out and could only pant in anticipation of the more that was sure to come.

Strong hands held his hips in place when he tried to shove himself back on to the tongue pleasuring him, not giving an inch no matter how hard Madara tried to squirm or growl. His forehead dug in to the pillow it rested against, scraping his skin against soft cotton as the smooth appendage pressed inside him yet again as deep as it could go. The sound that tore up from his throat was almost broken and caused the fingers on his hips to tighten briefly before the other man pulled away, leaving him bereft.

“More,” he breathed, missing even that slight fullness the second that it left him. A glancing kiss graced him on the base of his spine, then the bedsprings ground down and the mattress dipped in a way that told him Tobirama was leaning away somewhere. His partner was gone only for a few seconds. When he shifted back in to place he soothed Madara with quiet noises and a light touch tracing his wet, wanting hole.

“You’ll get more,” he murmured quietly. “You’ll get all of me, Madara, don’t you worry.”

A popping sound split the air, followed by a wet squelch. Moments later the older man cried out softly as cold liquid touched him, the tip of one finger pressing just inside his relaxed muscles. The whine about to leave him became a string of expletives, cracked and wavering. His hips bucked up, trying to get more of that finger inside him. He wanted to be filled, split open by the other.

Despite all the perfect fantasies he’d had about this moment, he’d always thought Tobirama would actually be the type to tease him to the brink of madness no matter how he begged. It was more of a relief than he could say that tonight, at least, that didn’t seem to be the case. Probably it was because they were both impatient despite the edge of freneticism being gone. He’d only just cum and yet his entire body thrummed with the need for more, for Tobirama inside him, around him, filling his every sense until their coupling was all he knew.

Still, it was the somehow the laziest rushing he had ever experienced. Tobirama wasted no time working his long digit deep inside Madara’s hole, stroking his slick walls and dragging helpless mewls from him, but it never felt like enough. The second finger that stretched him was glorious and not enough, not even as he felt himself being scissored open.

“God damn it, more!” He just made out the sound of Tobirama’s amusement over the roaring of blood in his ears. “I’m not made of china, I won’t break if you just hurry the hell up! Come on you prat, we both know you want to!”

A quiet huff was his only response. Then suddenly Madara was arching and dropping his head down to bite the pillow, holding in a scream as the two fingers inside of him found his prostate for the first time, striking it hard and making his whole body spasm violently. His teeth bit down harder until the cotton between them threatened to tear as Tobirama kept the angle, grinding in to his sweet spot over and over until he slipped a third finger in almost as an afterthought.

Though it hadn’t even been that long, Madara could feel how his cock already hung heavy and full between his legs again, twitching against his thighs and aching to grind down against something. He couldn’t think of a single previous partner who had excited him half this much or half this fast. The mere thought of Tobirama inside him was more intoxicating than any liquor could hope to be, setting his world to spinning and making him feel drunk as his throat worked around another aborted scream.

When a fourth finger prodded his entrance it was accompanied by teeth biting at the swell of his cheeks, nipping a line up towards the base of his spine. Warm lips stopped to suck at his skin and he knew he would bear the mark from it for days. His skin had always bruised so easily. By morning his body would be writ large with the story of their first time together – a story he hoped would continue for many more times in the future. He could hardly worry about that, though, when long fingers slid inside him yet again with just enough force to strike his prostate one more time. The thought had only just crossed his mind that surely he must be stretched enough by now when suddenly he was empty, those glorious fingers leaving him still unfulfilled.

“T-Tobirama,” he breathed helplessly, arching his spine just a little bit more, displaying himself shamelessly. Whatever worked to get the other man inside him faster.

“God you look…”

Madara had just enough brainpower left to turn his head, releasing his grip on the pillow in favor of peeking over his shoulder to see why Tobirama’s sentence had stopped halfway through. He was treated to the sight of the younger man with his bottom lip caught between his teeth, a dazed and reverent expression on his face. Were it any other time he might have taken a few moments to appreciate that look. Right then he simply couldn’t

“Come on,” he growled. Tobirama’s eyes met his, his hand lifting up to circle Madara’s hole one more time, tracing just inside his stretched entrance.

“You look like I always pictured you would,” he said huskily. “Only better. Much better.”

He took himself in hand, reaching for the lube to slick himself up, and Madara marveled that he was already hard again as well. He hadn’t even been touched! Then his head dropped back to the pillows and his pelvis canted backwards at the first touch of something thick and blunt.

“Please, please!” Pride which normally seemed so important flew straight out the window now that the thing he’d been waiting for was finally about to happen. Behind him he heard a strangled noise just before the cock at his entrance pushed in, the head breaching him then pausing while they both swore heatedly.

“Fuck, Madara!” It was gratifying to hear Tobirama sounding just as desperate as him. A helpless twitch of the hips sank him deeper and Madara felt his body clenching around the invading hardness, closing his eyes and clawing at the sheets for how good it felt. He squeezed his eyes closed harder and forced his body to relax, to open up and allow the other entry. Clamping down around him felt good but it would feel better when he was full.

Which didn’t take long. Tobirama forged deeper with short rhythmic thrusts, just a bit at a time, until at last he bottomed out with their skin flush together, his entire length buried inside the older man. He didn’t wait then, pulling out immediately and sliding back in with one smooth motion. Madara felt his body rocked forward and gasped, demanding his partner do it again. Incredibly, Tobirama listened without argument for probably the first time in his life. He pulled away until barely the tip of him remained inside then slammed back in, nearly pitching them both forward with the force of it.

Right away they fell in to a rhythm, a frantic pace as though they were making up for lost time. Both were thankful for the empty house around them as the bed slammed in to the wall with every thrust, nearly drowned out by the way Madara swore viciously when Tobirama found his prostate again. Once he’d found the correct angle the Senju abused it mercilessly, driving in hard until Madara’s eyes were crossed under his lids and his throat was sore from screaming.

The entire world seemed to fall away for Madara until nothing existed but the man behind him, the cock filling his ass, the steadying pressure of hands on his hips. Strong fingers kept their grip on him, using it to pull him back to meet each thrust, and he surrendered himself to the other’s will, allowing his body to be moved as he barely managed to cling to reality through the haze of sensation. He could barely even hear the sounds he was making anymore but he picked up Tobirama’s voice crystal clear every time he moaned, each time he swore and murmured some absent praise for how good the older man felt.

It could have been only a couple minutes or it could have been hours; Madara had no idea how long it was before he felt the familiar heat in his belly. A shiver ran through him and his voice broke on another sharp cry when Tobirama impacted his prostate again, winding him higher and higher. His thighs shook and he couldn’t concentrate enough to turn his head, tucking his chin down farther instead until he was speaking to his own belly.

“Faster you lazy ass,” he breathed. “I’m so close…”

A hand wound itself in to the tangles of his hair, tugging roughly and pulling his head back up. Madara groaned, entirely too far gone to care about the exposed position of his neck.

“Bossy bottom.” Fingers tightened both in his hair and around his hip, cock driving in to his ass hard enough to jolt his body forward. “Shit!”

Distantly, through the all-consuming heat of his approaching orgasm, Madara felt a small surge of triumph when Tobirama cried out. It was amazing to listen to him slowly break down, delicious sounds escaping him more and more as they both neared the end of their limit.

“I’m almost – hah! – I just need – T-Tobirama!” His entire body slowly stiffened, his muscles tensing as he teetered on an edge he could seem to fall over. His partner was panting and gasping for air, the rhythm of his thrusts breaking down in to frantic rutting. “Touch me you–!”

He didn’t even have time to finish the sentence before Tobirama’s hand was suddenly there, wrapping around his swollen cock with just the perfect amount of pressure. The first stroke send a wave of mind-numbing relieve through him, the warmth and friction just what he needed. It took only four more before his gut contracted and he came with a wordless howl.

Light exploded behind his eyes. His hands twisted in the sheets beneath him. His legs locked and his hole clenched and Madara didn’t feel any of it. His mind was taken entirely by the waves of sheer ecstasy washing through him, unceasing while Tobirama fucked him straight through his high.

When he came to he could not have said how long he had blanked out but he tuned back in to the world just in time for his partner to spill himself inside Madara’s passage, hips falling still as a violent shudder wracked his body.

“Madara…” The way the other man breathed his name sounded like a prayer.

Without the sound of the headboard slamming enthusiastically in to the wall or both of their voice filling the air with lewd exclamations, the room was almost startlingly quiet. It remained unbroken until there came the sound of cotton rasping. Tobirama shifting again, not pulling out yet but bending forward to rest his face in his lover’s back. Madara hummed and squirmed, trying not to smile when he felt tender kisses tickling down his spine.

“I didn’t peg you for the romantic afterglow sort,” he muttered, voice hoarse and words slurring. The other man nipped his skin slightly in rebuke.

“Hmph. If you don’t like it feel free to tell me to stop.” A marked silence stretched for several second before Tobirama grunted in satisfaction and smirked against the skin underneath him. “As I thought.”

“Shut up you. Would you get off me? I can’t feel my legs.”

Tobirama was laughing as he sat up again, though the sound choked to a halt when he gently pulled his softened cock from Madara’s entrance. Thick strings of cum dribbled out after him and he hurried to help clean the area, chuckling each time Madara tried to twitch away from any touch against the now overly-sensitized area.

When he was done he shuffled to the side to make room and helped Madara slide his legs out from underneath himself. The older man huffed through the feeling of pins and needles; apparently he’d cut off the blood flow by curling too tight.

He was still grumbling about it when Tobirama collapsed down on to the mattress next to him, head hitting the pillow with an explosive sigh of contentment. From the corner of his eye Madara saw something fly through the air – possibly a book, though he wasn’t sure. Whatever it was it made a loud thud as it impacted the light switch, flicking it off and leaving them with the streetlamps outside the open curtains their only source of light. The easy accuracy of the throw left him wondering how often Tobirama went to sleep in this manner.

“Not what I expected to end my day with,” the pale man said. “Though I can’t say I have any complaints.”

“I have a complaint.”

“Of course you do.” He didn’t have to look to know Tobirama was rolling his eyes. “What’s your complaint?”

“Why the hell didn’t we do this sooner? I could have saved myself a lot of frustration if you had just said something you reticent bastard.”

Laughter sent a puff of warm air spilling across his bare shoulder, the only warning he had before Tobirama rolled over to tuck himself up against Madara’s side, kissing the top of his arm and winding fingers in to his hair again.

“I am not reticent,” he protested. “I’m reserved. There’s a difference.” Madara snorted in to the pillow he was resting on, flexing the muscles of his legs and noting that the pins and needles sensation was almost gone.

“You’re a jerk is what you are.” Despite the words he hummed happily under the rain of kisses, squirming. Tobirama didn’t deign to answer him, only continued to card his fingers through dark tangled locks.

For a while neither of them said anything else. Madara drifted in and out, feeling sleep creeping up like a blanket slowly covering him. When he realized that the attention his partner had been giving him had stopped, he finally dredged up the energy to lift his head and look back. His heart clenched at how soft Tobirama’s face looked in sleep, the slack lips twitching and the absolute lack of any signs of frowning. He was somehow even more beautiful than usual.

It took a bit of fighting with his hair but Madara managed to get himself turned around, shoving Tobirama’s sleeping form until he rolled mostly on to his back. The younger man snuffled adorably in his sleep, unconsciously reaching out for the warmth he’d just had in his grasp. Madara went back in to his embrace happily, resting his head underneath a sharp chin and curling his body around the one he’d been dreaming about for a long time now. With the feeling having returned to his toes, he was able to use them to dig around for the edge of the blanket, kicking it up so he could pull it over them both. His eyes closed again and his hand rested over Tobirama’s heart, feeling the steady beat against his palm.

No one was around to see the small smile that stole across his face, the quiet happiness as Madara settled himself against Tobirama’s body and gave in to slumber.

Nor was anyone around to hear him as he fell asleep murmuring quietly, “But you’re my jerk.”

#rae writes #madatobi #madara #tobirama #fanfiction #naruto shippuden

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speckledspout · 7 years

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Abandon your Saints, Accept your Sins

ship: wincest ↳characters: soulless!sam and demon!dean rating: explicit ao3 link tags: semi-public sex, blow jobs, dirty talk, church sex, underage sex, pedophilia, non-graphic rape/non-con elements, mentioned rape, wall sex, mirror sex, switching, nipple play, violence, graphic death summary: “They don't do it out of the goodness of their heart. They're not even sure if they have anything left inside of them that's good. They do it because they need to do it. Sam needs blood and Dean needs his brother. So if they have to travel around the country, slicing a few throats, they would be more than happy to. I mean, it's not any different than what they used to do. The blood spill is the same. The only thing that might have changed is the fact that there is a lot more sex.” word count: 6,669 a/n: so this is the first thing that i’ve written in a while and it is dark as fuck. seriously, heed the warnings. thoughts, comments, and opinions are always welcomed. tagging: @wetsammywinchester, @clearlylostmymind, @kittenofdoomage, @ilostmyshoe-79, @im-a-winchester-in-hell-1967, @brosinlove, @oh-jesus-sammy, @masterlynovak, @loveitsallineed (so these are pretty much the only wincest shippers I know. If you don’t or do want to be tagged, let me know.)

They decided to meet up at a bar somewhere just outside of Montana. It was a little over a week ago that they agreed to split up, take care of some business that they both had to attend to. Dean wasn’t really sure what Sam needed to clear up and Sam wasn’t sure what Dean needed to clear up and they both knew that neither one of them would find out and they were perfectly okay with that. They were grown ass adults and they could take care of things that they needed to take care of without the other following them like a lost little puppy dog.

Dean was sitting at the bar, that red shirt hanging off his body almost sinfully as he chatted up a pretty little blonde. Her name was Susie and she was going to school to be a school teacher and Dean would have totally fucked her in the bathroom if it weren’t for Sam that walked up behind him, his hands sliding down Dean’s chest, completely laying claim to him.

Susie stumbled over her feet as she rose from her bar seat, looking between the two men. “Oh… I am so sorry. I… I didn’t realize that he was… that you were…”

But Sam cut her off with one of his award winning smiles. “You’re fine, sweetheart.” His mouth was right next to Dean’s ear. “Dean likes to get me jealous by flirting with pretty girls like you. He likes how possessive I get when we get back to the motel room.”

Susie blushed even harder if that was even possible and excused herself from the boys. Dean threw Sam’s hands off his body. “Get off of me, bitch.” He grumbled and Sam laughed as he say down in the same seat that Susie was just in. It was still warm from her. “You couldn’t have just waited three minutes. She would have totally let me take her back to the bathroom.”

“It’s good to see you too, Dean.” Sam replied, signaling to the barkeep to give him the same thing that his brother was having. “I suppose you took care of what you needed to take care of?”

Dean nodded into the glass of whiskey that he rose to his lips. He wasn’t sure how long it would take the police to find the bodies and then he wasn’t sure how long it was going to take them to reconstruct their face, but at some point in the near future, in the local newspaper, a picture of Roy and Walt would appear along side with a paragraph of sympathy and the fact that they were beat beyond death.

But quite, frankly, they deserved it. It had been long enough since they shot him and his brother. Dean didn’t often hold grudges but they killed his brother and that was something that he just couldn’t allow.

“Yeah, I did what I had to do. And you? You took care of your business?”

Yeah, Sam’s business was completely different than Dean’s. He could still practically smell the perfume on his skin. Sam’s smile was the only answer that Dean needed.

Somehow they made it back to the motel room that Dean had rented for the next couple of days, Dean pressed up against the red door, Sam pressing in on him, kissing, licking, sucking on every piece of exposed skin that he could find. Dean threw his head back, moaning like some back alley whore because he was some back alley whore when it came to his brother.

Dean slipped his hand past the waistband of Sam’s jeans and groaned at the realization that Sam wasn’t wearing anything underneath those jeans that hung dangerously low on his hips.

“Shit, Dean…” Sam mumbled, dropping his head to rest against Dean’s collarbone. “Can’t wait to get inside?”

“No, I was thinking that you could just fuck me out here.” Dean replied and Sam raised his head to look at Dean but Dean was looking off the the side, that smirk set in permanent on his lips.

Sam turned his head and saw what had captured his brother’s attention. Two girls who looked like they would be a ton of fun to get alone, were standing next to their car, seemingly completely frozen as they looked at Sam and Dean pressed up against each other against that red motel door. Sam laughed. A good hearty sound that Dean would never tire of.

“You kinky son of a bitch.” Sam said, going back to attacking Dean’s neck. Those bruises that he had left last week were already starting to fade.

“Don’t act like you don’t get off on it. It feeds your superiority complex.”

“I think it’s you that gets off on it more than I do. You would love to preform in front of an entire audience if you could.” Sam pulled the keys to the room out of Dean’s pocket and fumbled, trying to get them into the door to unlock it.

Sam never stayed in one spot for long and they finally had to break away when the door opened behind Dean, making him stumble backwards. Dean was grabbing at Sam again, hands in his hair, pushing back his jacket.

The door clicked shut and Dean was suddenly spun around, his hands pinned above his head as Sam crowded up against him again.

“Someone’s a little handsy, isn’t he?” Sam taunted, his hot breath fanning across Dean’s face. He pulled back just far enough that he could see the entirety of Dean, his hands still pinned above his head. “Never gonna get tired of the shape of my mouth on your neck.”

“Shut up and just fuck me.” Dean demanded and Sam was more than happy to oblige.

He yanked Dean from the door, pushing Dean backwards until his knees hit the edge of the bed and with another small push, Dean sat down. He was all the more willing to let Sam shove him around. At least right now. His turn would come later.

The room smelled strongly of bleach and Sam and that was a smell that was nearly like home to Dean.

Sam dropped to his knees, never breaking eye contact with Dean, couldn’t even if he tried. Chills ran up Dean’s spine as Sam roughly shoved his legs open so Sam could position himself in between them. Just where he was supposed to be. His hands landed on Dean’s thighs, running up the expanse of his legs, hovering so close to where Dean wanted him.

“I should have you doing this to me.” Sam said as he palmed Dean through his jeans. Dean had been hard ever since Sam had run his hands down him in that bar. Except Sam made no move to change positions, to have Dean on his knees for him.

Sam stood back up, hovering over Dean, the pads of his fingers spread wide on Dean’s chest and pushed him down on the bed, laying on his back. Sam climbed up on the bed, trapping Dean with his body, laying claim to his mouth once more as he pushed the red shirt off his shoulders. Dean shimmied out of it, dropping it to the ground beside them.

Then Sam was pushing Dean’s shirt up his stomach, his lips following the hem of it, sucking and biting the soft flesh there. Dean wiggled underneath Sam, wanting so much more than Sam was willing to give at the moment. Annoyed with the slow progress, Dean grabbed the bottom of the shirt and pulled it off. That earned him a strong bite to the meatiest part of his stomach. Yeah, the motherfucker was going to leave some permanent marks, not that Dean really minded to begin with.

Sam’s pauses briefly, just hovering over Dean’s exposed flesh. He was going to make Dean beg, not that Dean begging was below Dean. “Please.” Dean moaned. “Go ahead. It’s yours.”

“All mine.” Sam mimicked as a feral grunt, animalistic and hungry ripped through Sam’s chest as he wrapped his arms around Dean’s body, pulling him up towards his mouth as opposed to ducking down.

There was a gasp of surprise that escaped from Dean that turned into a low moan as his entire body turned rigid. Dean arched up off the bed even more, wrapping his leg around Sam’s waist to bring Sam down on top of him.

Dean whined. The man that had turned into a demon and didn’t take shit from anyone fucking whined as Sam continued to suck on him, his fingers playing with the other one.

“Too pretty to be beggin’.” Sam muttered as he ran his tongue in a firm circle over and over the raised bud before biting into his raw, wet, spit slippery nipple, tugging it hard, pulling it away from Dean’s body before letting it go only to do it all over again until Dean was nearing crying out.

“Fuck… Sam… Sam… oh, shit…” Dean moaned.

Sam bites on it until he’s sure that it’s got to hurt from the abuse, half bitten through and Sam can taste blood. Dean’s blood and he’ll lick it up, wanting more, wanting more of that sweet, coppery taste. Dean’s literally shaking underneath him, hands fisted in Sam’s hair as he tries to keep Sam as close to him as possible. His heart was jack-rabbiting underneath Sam’s mouth.

“Sam, please… The other one… Please…”

“You gonna come like this, Dean? Just like this? Only by me biting your nipples raw?” Sam taunted as he sucked hard on the one that he was just working on to start the whole process over on the other one.

Dean’s staring down at him, eyes wide, pupils blown with pleasure. He’s trembling, half broken sentences falling past Dean’s lips and he really could come like with. He’s done it before and it was probably one of the most beautiful things that Sam had ever laid witness too.

But he doesn’t want that now. Instead he pulls off with a wet pop, his nipples red, and swollen and raw and Dean is still a writhing mess.

When Sam looked back up Dean’s body, looking at his face, his breathing hitched, just like it always did when he saw Dean like this. He hated to admit it but Dean looked fucking irresistible when his eyes changed from candle apple green to black.

“Fuck, Dean…” Sam groaned, his voice choked off as he grabbed Dean by his shoulder and pulled him up to his feet, kissing him hard.

“Well, Sammy, I tried to keep it under control.” Dean said smirking, knowing that his black eyes were such a turn on for sweet, little, innocent Sammy. “But Sam, a man’s only got so much self control when he’s got a mouth like yours latched onto their chest. You make a man go crazy, sweetheart.”

While Dean was talking, Sam had started to kiss up Dean’s throat, the underside of his jaw and Dean worked Sam’s jacket off those shoulders of his, pulling up his shirt. Sam pulled Dean by the shoulders again, moving to position him in front of the full length mirror that was placed on the wall. Dean looked at the reflection of his brother, smiling.

“And you call me kinky.”

“Shut up.” He muttered, stepping out of his boots and jeans and then got rid of Dean’s, being sure to sure about as much nail as he could so that he would leave his wake on Dean’s strong thighs. He would mark him up as much as he could.

Sam stood back up behind Dean, resting his head on Dean’s shoulder, nipping at his ear as he wrapped his hands around Dean’s body, for the first time grabbing a hold of his hard cock. Dean’s eyes, which had gone back to their original color, flashed black again as Sam stroked him. They never broke eye contact.

Dean pushed back against Sam, feeling his erection pressing against his ass and with every stroke of Sam’s wrist, Dean pushed himself backwards, nudging at Sam’s cock.

“I need your cock, Sammy.” Dean mumbled, eye contact never faltering and Sam bit down hard into Dean’s shoulder, drawing a little bit of blood before licking at the wound that he made. There were plenty of times that Sam had tongued Dean’s wounds.

“Yeah?” Sam questioned. “You want me? You want me bare?”

“Make it hurt.” Dean answered and in response Sam slammed Dean up against that mirror, Dean’s breath fogging up the glass.

Sam spit into the palm of his hand, running his hand up and down the shaft of his cock, slicking it up just the barest bit. He held Dean open, exposing his pretty little hole as Sam pushed inside, hard and a single thrust all the way up to the base of his cock. Dean let out a small cry, half from pain and half from pleasure.

It was all too quick and so little preparation and Dean loved every second of it.

“Fuck, Dean. You’re so fucking tight around my cock.” Sam groaned into Dean’s ear, fingers digging into Dean’s hips so tight that they were going to leave bruises. His teeth settled into the flesh of his shoulder once again. “Always so fucking tight.”

Little white puffs of breaths appeared on the mirror before briefly disappearing only to reappear with every thrust of Sam’s hips.

“You know that I don’t like it when you flirt with other people. Big brother needs to be punished for that.”

Dean groaned weakly against Sam, fingers bracing against the walls, nails scraping at nothing in particular.

Sam pulled just about all the way out, going as slow as he could possibly manage before slamming back into him hard, their hips snapping together.

“Gonna wreck this pretty little hole,” Sam muttered, hands grabbing at the flesh of Dean’s ass, grabbing handfuls of it, holding him open wider. Dean was so warm and so tight and there was that delicious dragging of flesh against flesh. “Gonna make sure that you feel it tomorrow. Gonna mark you up, make you mine.”

“I’m already yours, Sammy.” Dean reminded.

“Shut up.” He punctuated with another hard thrust of his hips.

Yeah, Sam was going to make him feel it tomorrow. He was going to make him feel it the next day too and probably the next day and those marks that he was biting into his skin would be there for days which would be a bitch when he tried to pick someone up at a bar. So yeah, he wasn’t worried about not being able to feel it in the morning.

However right now all he wanted was to be touched. His cock hung in between his legs, hard and aching and all he wanted was to be touched. He needed some kind of friction on it. He needed something.

He dropped his hand from the wall and tried to slide it between his body and the mirror but Sam wrapped his fingers around Dean’s wrist, locking it in an iron grip and then pinned both of Dean’s hands above his head.

Now Dean was pressed flesh up against the mirror, trapped between glass and muscle.

“Sam…” Dean groaned and bucked back against Sam. “Please.”

“You’re not gonna touch yourself, Dean.” Sam growled in his ear, still holding his hands above his head, hips still relentless against Dean’s. “I’ve already touched you, Dean. Don’t you think that is enough?”

It was never enough and Sam knew it. He chuckled against Dean’s neck when Dean still fought against him, desperately trying to break free of his hold. He could do it. Break free. If he really wanted to except he kept up the act and never really followed through with it. There were times when Dean just wanted to be controlled by his little brother.

“Please Sammy.” Dean was reduced to begging now, his voice completely wrecked. Sweat coated both of their bodies. “Please.”

God, he just wanted to be touched.

And Sam couldn’t deny Dean when he got to this point, when he was doing nothing more than just begging for it. Pleas were coming out of his mouth about just as fast as he could say them, just as fast as Sam was pounding into him. He bucked wildly against Sam, pushing up against him and yet Sam never faltered in his pace.

“Why don’t cha beg a little more, Dean?” Sam whispered. “Beg for your little baby brother to touch you.”

“Please, Sammy. Please touch me, little brother.” He was starved for it. Starved for the feeling of Sam’s hand wrapped around him. “I want you to touch me. I need you to touch me. I fucking need it. Please.”

This time Sam didn’t deny the simple pleasure of touching his older brother. Sam wrapped his long fingers around Dean’s cock and Dean fell silent, his mouth hung open in a silent moan.

“Yeah, you like that, Dean, don’t cha? Gonna come in my hand for me, Dean? Are you gonna do that?”

God yes and so many more things.

It didn’t take long. One, two, three more passes of his fist and Dean shouted out Sam’s name as he came.

There was a pause before Sam stepped away from Dean and Dean followed him backwards, still starved for touch but Sam clicked his tongue, looking down at his hand that he had wrapped around Dean. “Now, big brother, look at the mess you made…” Faux pity laced his voice. “You know that I don’t appreciate it when you make messes.”

Dean turned around, his chest still heaving. Sam didn’t even have to say anything to Dean, being that he already wrapped his fingers around Sam’s wrist, pulling his hand towards his mouth, tongue snaking past his lips to clean Sam’s hand clean. Sam didn’t take his eyes off of Dean as he licked his own come from the palm of his hand.

“You’re such a good boy, Dean.” Sam purred. “Always willing to do as I say.” Then Sam placed his hands on Dean’s shoulders and pushed him down to his knees to where he was now kneeling in front of him, Sam’s cock right in front of his mouth, hard and leaking. “Go ahead, suck. I wanna come in your mouth.”

Dean didn’t have to be told twice. He closed the short distance between his mouth and his brother, wrapping his lips around him. Sam groaned at the feeling of having Dean’s lips on him. The wet heat of his mouth was one thing that he would never grow tired of.

“Such a pretty little cock slut, aren’t you, Dean?” Sam ran a loving hand through Dean’s hair and that little motherfucker purred against Sam, making him shudder at the vibrations that were sent through his body. “Always so eager to suck your brother off, aren’t you?

A Knight of Hell was kneeling for the man without a soul. It didn’t get more poetic as that.

Dean did everything that he knew that Sam liked, running his tongue along the bottom of him, hallowing his cheeks and taking him as deep as he could. Sam had stopped running his hand through Dean’s hair, opting to grab the short strands, keeping him as close as he could.

Sam came down Dean’s throat with a loud shout, his whole body shuddering as Dean swallowed everything that Sam gave him.

Dean pulled off of Sam only when he had softened a little in his mouth and his breathing had returned to a somewhat normal pace. Dean kissed up Sam’s body, occasionally biting into the muscles until he was standing up straight again.

“You had your fun, baby brother, and now it’s mine.” Dean smirked as he pulled Sam down to his lips by his hair.

~~~

Demons and people without souls don’t sleep however it was something that their humans bodies had grown so accustomed to (and they would never admit to anyone that they liked to get tangled up in each others limbs, happy and content with each other) that they did it anyway. Got a few unneeded hours of sleep.

Sam woke Dean up, kissing him hard and needy, naked against Dean’s body. When Sam noticed that Dean was awake, he started kissing down his body, this time soft, not trying to mark him up again (that would come later) but just wanted to map out Dean’s body.

His tongue darted out past his lips and traced the dark lines of Dean’s tattoo that couldn’t prevent his blood from changing into the one thing that it was supposed to keep out before moving further down Dean’s body.

Sam brushed his lips across Dean’s thigh, his tongue snaking out to light lick a line up his inner thigh, ghosting his lips over his wet skin before finally tracing a line up his now throbbing erection.

There was no urgency between the two boys, neither of them really in a hurry to speed things up. Even though they were here on business didn’t mean that they needed to hurry up in the bedroom.

Sam closed his eyes, letting the sensations that were racing through his body take over and he sucked, one hand gripped tight on Dean’s thigh, the other on those fingerprint shaped bruises that he left behind the day before. Dean started to move in and out of Sam’s mouth, hitting the back of Sam’s throat until his eyes watered and pulled back out. Sam hummed around Dean, the vibrations thrumming through Dean, causing Dean to jerk forward, his hand tangled in his hair.

Sam moved one hand away from Dean’s body and started to jerk himself off in rhythm of Dean’s movements and it honestly didn’t take long for either boy to completely fall apart.

Dean stared up at the ceiling, feeling Sam crawl back up the bed to lay beside him, a sated smile on his face.

“Well, good morning to you.” Dean said, too blissed out to even care that he sounded like he did when he was human and Sam was so young and horny and nearly woke Dean up like this every morning.

The morning ritual wasn’t anything to make note of. They both took a shower (together. Why waste water?), Dean fucked Sam into the yellow tiles in the bathroom for good measure, then they went for breakfast, Dean got something greasy and fattening while Sam had a smoothie. Dean read off the address of where they were going and then they got into the Impala, mind set on work now and not each other.

The church loomed above them, white and pure and promising salvation to those who entered through those doors however both brothers knew otherwise. They knew where the preachers loyalty laid and it wasn’t with God.

Sam picked out one of the machetes that were laying on top of all the weapons in the trunk while Dean decided to go simple and stick with the gun that he had tucked into his waistband. Besides, it was Sam that liked to get bloody. He liked to get messy.

Their footsteps echoed off the polished floor as they stepped into the church and as they predicted, the man that they were looking for was at the front of the church, standing in front of that alter, flipping through some book. He looked up when he heard the heavy oak doors close behind the two brothers.

“I’m sorry, gentlemen, but I’m afraid that you just missed the sermon. They’ll be another one later this afternoon if you would like to come back.” He said, his voice booming through the room, sounding more powerful than he should sound and then he looked back down at what he was flipping through.

“Actually, Father, we were looking for you.” Dean said and the Father jumped when he looked up because Dean was standing right in front of him, right in front of the alter. He had just been at the back of the church.

“For me?” The Father’s voice was a pitch higher now than it was just a moment ago. “Now, what could two gentlemen like yourselves need me for?”

“Well, you see, Sammy and I will be your personal escort to hell.” Dean replied with such nonchalance, sounding almost bored. Sam continued to walk towards them, still human just without a soul and he didn’t move as fast as Dean now could.

The Father furrowed his brow, he fumbled for something behind him. “I’m afraid I don’t understand you, son. Escort me to hell? I have a ticket upstairs to walk through those pearly gates and to sit on the right hand of God.”

Dean turned back to face Sam who was now standing next to his brother. “Do we have the wrong guy?” He asked, trying to sound like there was an honest mistake. Like they were looking for a different preacher.

Sam looked the guy up and down before answering, shaking his head. “No, this is the guy. Grade A sleaze ball who likes to take little boys behind the church pews and touch them.”

The man gasped before biting down on his jaw. “I am going to give you two once chance to leave my church.” He pointed towards the doors and yet neither brother moved. “Get out!”

“What are you going to do, Father?” Dean questioned, taking a step closer to the man who was shrinking underneath Dean’s gaze. “You gonna call the police? Go ahead. You’ll be dead before they get here.” Then Dean laughed. “Oh! I know. You’re going to condemn me and my brother to hell, aren’t you?” A beat of silence. “Well, sorry to inform you, old man, but we’ve already been.” And with that Dean smirked and his eyes turned black.

The Father gasped, whatever he was going to say suddenly caught in in throat as he realized just what was standing in his church.

Finally, he found what he was looking for. He tightened his fingers around the bottle of holy water and flung it towards Dean, the water hitting both him and Sam. And while it didn’t affect Sam, Dean hissed, his skin steaming just ever so slightly as the bless water settled on his exposed skin.

Dean snarled.

“That wasn’t very nice, old man. I thought that everyone was welcomed in the House of God. At least… that’s what you preach when your hand is shoved down the pants of someone who is a fraction of your age.”

“Your… your kind isn’t welcomed here.” He spewed.

“My kind?” Dean asked, faux concussion lacing his voice as he purposely talked in a higher pitch tone. This was always the fun part. The part when the guy realized that there was no way out, no matter what he said. Dean was just playing with his food, seeing how far they would run until their heart gave out.

“Demons.” The preacher spit. “Demons aren’t welcomed in the House of God.”

“Old man, I’m just as welcome here as you are. Hell, I’m more than welcomed. Even Lucifer downstairs doesn’t take too kindly to men who lead their ‘flock’ astray and he certainly isn’t tolerant to men to touch little boys. You’re even more evil than I am.” Dean lunged after the man, puling him into a headlock, cutting off his air supply, rendering him unable to speak. “Sammy, sweetheart, you mind getting me a chair for our next client?”

Sam, always the pliant and willing brother, grabbed the nearest chair that he could find and set it down in front of Dean who then pushed the Father to sit down in it. True and honest to god fear settled on the man’s face and he tried to get up, tried to make a run for it but Dean easily caught him, pushing him back down.

“I don’t think that I said that you could stand up. Sammy… you wanna come over here?” There was no question in his voice.

No matter how many places they went to and rid the world of true evil, the game was always the same. Sam would have his fun, he would get his craving for blood and Dean would get his craving for his brother.

With the machete hanging loose by Sam’s side, he walked towards Dean, the tip of the blade lightly scraping over the tile and he stood up tall next to Dean. Dean reached out and grabbed the back of Sam’s head, pulling him for a short kiss and the preachers eyes widen.

Brothers. He had said they were brothers, right?

“Go ahead, Sammy. Go have your fun.” Dean muttered.

Sam dropped the machete by his feet. The sound of metal on tile echoed all throughout the church as Sam walked closer to the man. Why bind someone to a chair with rope when they were literally paralyzed with fear?

He watched as Sam moved until Sam was towering over him. He braced his hands on his shoulders as Sam lowered himself into the lap of the man, straddling him in the chair. The Father kept glancing between him and Dean who was now sitting in the nearest church pew, watching just how beautiful this whole image was.

“I want to know why you did it.” Sam whispered sweetly into the preachers ear, all boy innocent. “I want to know why you wanted to take their innocence at such a young age.”

The man didn’t answer, choosing to look else where now.

Sam sighed as he grabbed his chin in between his forefinger and thumb, forcing him to look at Sam in the eyes.

“Did you do it to feel powerful?” There was a fire behind Sam’s eyes. “Did you do it because you knew that no one would ever catch you? I mean, no one would suspect that a preacher would do this to children.”

Still the preacher didn’t say anything.

“I’m going to kill you, you know.” Sam said so matter of factly and the man’s eyes widen. “So, it doesn’t really matter if you tell me now because the truth will be told and those boys will finally have some peace.”

“You… you wouldn’t kill me…” But he didn’t sound too sure. Not anymore. “You wouldn’t kill a preacher.”

“No, you’re right.” And the man sagged just a little underneath Sam in false relief. “I only kill monsters.”

He shifted under Sam, breathing suddenly labored.

“I think I know why you did it.” Sam turned to face Dean, a childish smile on his face. “I think I know why he did it, Dean.” Sam looked back at the preacher. “It’s because you liked they way they felt, huh? Because they were soft and…”

“They weren’t underaged!” The preacher suddenly blurted out. “They weren’t little boys. They were not children. They were of age. And I did it to protect them! To protect them from the sins that happen out there.” He nearly cried out, pointing to outside of the church. “These children are willing to give it up to anyone, not caring of what happens afterwards, I’m just doing it to keep them pure.”

“Oh, and that makes it so much better?” Sam asked, unable to keep himself from laughing. He wasn’t sure where Dean found these fucked up people but he was so glad to see that there were people crazier than him and his brother.

The preacher swallowed.

“But you know what, I can almost guarantee you that they didn’t beg for it. Not like I would.” Sam grabbed the preachers hand and let it rest of his mid-thigh.

The preacher licked his lips, looking down at his hand before looking back up at Sam. He seemed torn. So fucking torn and it was sad honestly. He wanted to enjoy this but he knew that it was wrong, so fucking wrong but what did he care?

“It’s okay, Father. You can touch me. You did just say that you did it to protect them. Protect me from the evils of the outside world.” Sam sounded so pretty when he begged.

But the preacher shook his head. “You can’t be… I won’t…”

Sam hadn’t realized that Dean had moved from his spot on the church pew until Sam felt the heavy weight of his hands on his shoulders.

“You’re acting like you don’t know what to do, old man. Like you’re scared to touch someone who is offering themselves to you. And let me tell you one thing, you don’t deny my brother when he offering his body.” Dean slid his hands down Sam’s body, teasing at the skin above his jeans briefly before unbuttoning his jeans to slip his hand into his underwear.

“Please…” The preacher begged. “Please don’t do this.”

Dean cupped Sam in his hand and Sam moaned, resting his head against Dean’s chest, letting Dean do what he wanted.

“You might say that you did what you did out of love but, old man, listen to him. This is what love sounds like.” Dean whispered, his voice hardly louder than Sam’s moans. The preacher tried to look everywhere but at the two boys in front of him but he couldn’t resist looking at Sam, at how beautiful he is.

Dean left him hard and wanting, pulling away when Sam leaned into him just a little bit too much and moved to stand up, buttoning himself up. He bent down and picked up the machete that laid on the ground.

“Please… I’m sorry.” The preacher begged. “Please. I won’t do it again.”

“I’m afraid that you missed the off ramp to apologize a long time ago, old man.” Dean said.

“I’m gonna cut everything that sticks out.” Sam warned and Dean smiled where he had taken seat on the church pew away, arm thrown over the back of it, looking completely happy with wait he was doing. Just watching.

“Torture.” Dean hummed, his breathtaking features turning into a highly amused smile. “I do love some good, old fashioned torture. Have at it, Sammy. Just… put on a good show, sweetheart.”

Sam ran his tongue slowly over his lips, nearly swaying as he approached the shaking man. He was now muttering prayers, begging for forgiveness, begging for Sam not to do this. Please, just don’t do this. It was wrong. It was bad. I know that but please. Let me live.

The Winchesters did not give second chances.

But he didn’t do what he said that he was going to do either. He didn’t cut off everything that stuck out. He didn’t start with the toes and then moved to the fingers. He didn’t start below the belt. Instead, Sam raised the blade over his head, bringing it down into the man’s leg. Hard. He howled at the machete became lodged into his thigh.

Sam yanked the blade from his leg, hearing another howl escape him.

The Father continued to scream as he bled and Sam panted, twisting the machete in his hand and feeling all of that pent up rage just festering beneath his skin that he kept hidden for this moment. Sam looked over at Dean, who was still just watching with his arms hanging lazily on the back of the pew. He flashed Sam a grin and Sam smiled softly back before turning back to the preacher, who was beginning to shake and whimper.

"Pathetic," Dean murmured as he cocked his head to the side. "Already going into shock," he paused. "This wasn't as exciting as I wanted it to be."

Sam didn't stop though, he waited too long for this; he raised the blade again and swung it down, this time landing in his shoulder. He wailed and shook his head violently. When Sam jerked the machete out and more blood poured to the floor around the two of them, the momentum pulled his chair forward. He landed on the floor face first, shaking and coughing, blood pouring out of him.

Sam licked his lips and wiped his forearm across his face, feeling a wetness trailing behind on his skin. Sam ground his teeth as he raised the blade above his head again, letting it tremble in the air for a long moment. It went down heavy, slicing clear through his skull and embedding itself into the floor.

The preachers cries ceased and his body went slack, leaving only Sam’s heavy pants to fill the air. Sam’s hands slipped from the handle, eyes watching it dip slightly in the air but it didn't fall.

Sam jumped when thick arms draped around his waist, pulling him back against a hard chest and hot breath wafted over his throat. "Now that's what I'm talkin' about, baby boy.” He murmured and pressed a sloppy kiss against Sam’s jaw. "Real justice…"

Sam let out a thick breath and relaxed against him, his eyes watched the blood slowly stretching out over the smooth marble.

“Now…” Dean brushed his nose up Sam’s temple, making Sam’s breath hitch as he cupped a hand between his legs. "Where should we start? On the pew? How about the floor? See how long we can rut it out before the blood reaches us?"

“Dean…” Sam breathed and hunched his hips forward, aching for…everything. For him. He was so high on everything that was coursing through his body.

“Church pew it is.” Dean said, holding onto Sam as he walked backwards, settling down on the pew. Sam was clawing at him, desperate to get Dean’s clothes off. Murder always did make Sam horny.

Dean’s eyes turned black.

Then nothing else was said. It was all hands and lips and teeth as the two of them grabbed and pulled at each other, trying to rid one another of clothes, almost making it a race to see who could get the other naked the fastest.

“Take what you want, Sammy.” Dean muttered when they were both finally naked.

Sam was still stretched from that morning when Dean had fucked him yet again into the mattress for good measure (because the shower wasn’t enough. It never was) and they both groaned when Sam lowered himself on to Dean’s cock, taking it slowly until Dean was all the way seated inside Sam.

This was going to kill Dean one day. Just how dirty, filthy, wrong it was. It was surely going to kill him but he was going to relish in it every day that he could.

Sam tightened his thighs around Dean’s hips, clenching him tighter and Dean groaned.

Sam fucked himself on Dean’s cock, straddling him on that church pew as that man bleed out just a few feet away. There was still blood on Sam’s skin and it mixed with the sweat that coated Dean’s body.

“Come on, Sammy. Come for me.” Dean urged, now rocking up into Sam.

And Sam did just because Dean had asked him to do it, bucking and whimpering, signing his name like a gospel that is sung every Sunday morning. Sam was only vaguely aware of the fact that Dean had grabbed his hips tighter, digging his fingers into his hips as he came himself.

They stayed like that for a while. They stayed like that until Dean got soft and they were forced to move for fear that someone would walk in and find them (not that it would be a problem but it would just be another body that they would have to drop and goddamnit, Dean just had to get out of that church before God himself literally cast him back to hell).

They left the preacher like that, bleeding and all cut up for the choir group to find and it wouldn’t be until the boys were halfway across the country that the truth would come out about the preacher and everyone would be singing a silent hallelujah to whatever angel was watching over their children.

#wincest #mywincest #yeah #comments would be wonderful #just your thoughts and opinionson this hella dark piece

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