#[ tapped out before I could even say 'wait hold on lemme finish this draft!!' ]

[spiderwarden]

i'm cold and my bed is calling me back but as I go just imagine this.

Minthara getting home in modern from a long day, it's 2am, she undoes the lady tie, pulling the bun on her head a little loose, as she starts to unbutton the front of her shirt. She turns to the counter and picks up a wine bottle and the filled wine glass in the other hand as she makes her way the living room. She HUFFS as she sits on the couch, knees spread to make room for the BDE, as she sips the wine from the glass. Leans forward to set the bottle on the glass table, and plucks the remote. Turns on the TV. What is she watching? Comedies. The Office maybe, something stupid. Maybe even those adultish cartoons like Family Guy, King of the Hill, Bob's Burger, etc. She has a tier list of favorite comedies, a top 20, where the top 5 are the go to and the other 15 are in case the first 5 are unavailable. She is not laughing, but every now and again there is a chuckle and a short smile as she drinks from the glass balanced on her knee.

#[ 🕷️ ] —— out of character #[ 🕷️ ] —— musings #[ this mental image has been haunting me for three days ] #[ so now you can have it ] #[ no but I TRIED to write and I was writing but its 9am and I have been up since 5am ] #[ I was watching the roast and now that tis done I can sleep again and it was like my brain said 'oh you can sleep? okay I'm done- IM DONE' #[ tapped out before I could even say 'wait hold on lemme finish this draft!!' ] #[ well.. my last reply I did a moonrise towers POV and it was the biggest reply I have ever made ] #[ i deserve some shitpost time ] #[ RIGHT ! more replies will come tomorrow ] #[ Merry Christmas to all and all a Goodnight! ]

[bestiesenpai]

Study buddy - Choso

Where oh where can I find a Choso-nii to help me with my studies? Where oh wherefore art thou? Femme reader, 2.1k words

Content warnings: incest, that’s it

“I don’t get it!” You whined loudly to yourself, almost to the point of tears as you sit at the dining table, frustration mounting the longer you stare at the screen of your laptop. There’s too many assignments that you need to finish, too many tests you need to study for - it’s all too much.

“What’s wrong?” As you throw your head into your hands, Choso comes around the corner, having heard your small shout. Looking over the table, swamped with textbooks and stacks of papers, his heart breaks a little for you.

“Go away, Choso-nii.” With your forehead pressed against the table, you don’t have the heart to sit up and look at your older brother.

“Not until you look at me, tell me what’s going on.” Smoothing a large hand across your back, he tried to nudge you to turn to him.

“You wouldn’t get it.” He’d never attended university, having gotten a job as soon as he could to help support the family. It wasn’t like you doubted his intellect, but this issue was out of his range.

He pushed and he pulled, but try as he might Choso couldn’t get you to look at him. He could see the angry scribbles on your notebook pages and the way your breathing was slightly laboured as if you were holding back tears. He didn’t want to push you too hard but he didn’t want you to wallow.

“Get up.” He was wrapping his arms around your middle before you could fully comprehend what it is he wanted, and soon you were forced out of your chair and sat back down onto his lap.

“Lemme go.” Your head still hung low, hands covering your face so you wouldn’t have to look at him and his pitying expression. Choso shook his head, resting his own forehead against your shoulder and squeezing you.

“Is it school? Do you want to take a break?”

“No.” You replied immediately, shrugging his head off and grabbing your pencil again. “I can’t, I have a lot to do.” Forcing yourself to scribble down some more words, you ignored the silence and the sigh that followed from Choso.

“But you’re upset, why don’t you-”

“Just stay out of it!” You snapped, clearly not in the mood to be coddled. Choso wasn’t used to you snapping at him like this and it showed in the shocked raise of his brows.

“Baby girl calm down.” Although he said it softly, there was an underlying edge to his tone. Choso shifted you on his lap, drawing you further up his legs and securing you more tightly in his arms.

“M’not a baby.” You mumbled back, instantly regretting how you spoke to him. All Choso ever did was try and help you, try and make your life just a bit easier; it wasn’t fair to him for you to act this way.

“You’re my baby.” Giving you a kiss on the back of your neck, Choso settled his chin on your shoulder. “Now, are you going to take a break?” He expected it when you shook your head no. “Will you let me help you then?”

“I don’t know, nii-chan...this kind of stuff might be too hard for you.” Handing him one of the pages of homework you had, you bit your lip as he read over it. Choso didn’t exactly have the best track record with schooling, often skipping classes to pick up odd jobs or just to sleep the day away.

“We can work on it together.” Putting it back on the table, Choso plucked the pencil out of your hands and started scribbling down what he thought was the right answer.

“Choso-nii, wait! Not like that!”

“Hm, no?” Cracking a smile, he began to tickle your sides as you snatched the pencil back. “Then how should I do it? Like this?”

“S-stop!” You shouted, giggles forcibly rising from your chest. Desperately trying to grab his fingers and hold them away from your sides, you had no choice but to laugh and squirm helplessly.

After a few minutes he relented, handing you back the pencil and letting you catch your breath. A soft smile stayed on his face as he noticed your mood had improved just from him tickling you, the hard crease in your brow and the frown tugging at your lips were gone now.

“Tell me what you’re working on here.” Gesturing toward your laptop, he saw an abundance of open tabs and a slideshow that was barely started.

“That’s one of my finals, I have to make a presentation.” Slumping against Choso’s chest, you huffed indignantly. Humming to himself, Choso clicked through a few of the tabs. He wasn’t familiar with the subject you were presenting on at all, but surely he could help a little bit?

“Let's work on this one first then, it seems to be giving you the most trouble.”

“They’re all giving me trouble.” Pushing your face into the side of his neck, you didn’t try to stop Choso from tidying up your workspace, tucking papers away into folders and pushing unneeded textbooks away.

Just having the table clear of all the daunting assignments was enough to make a slight weight lift off your shoulders. With no visual clutter, things in your mind slowly started to calm down. From your position leant against Choso, you explained the presentation as simply as possible. He flipped through more tabs as you spoke, reading and falling silent except for a few hums.

“I bet we could get a rough draft done by tonight.” He murmured.

“You think so?” His words gave you a little hope, and the reassuring hug he gave your middle even more.

“With a little sister as smart as you? I know so.” Pressing a kiss to the top of your head, he nodded confidently. He smiled when you smiled at the compliment, taking a hand and rubbing up and down your arm. “Let’s get started.”

As the two of you began to work, both diligently reading over the material, Choso’s hands started to wander. Both arms slid from around your waist, one going to rest around your hips as the other settled just under the hem of your shirt.

“What do you think about putting that quote here?” He whispered, pointing to the screen briefly before putting his hand back, letting his fingers creep up a little under your shirt.

“I could try it.” Unaffected by his hand, you typed away on the keyboard. As you breathed, Choso’s hand pushed up under your shirt entirely, hot palm resting on your stomach. Your hands faltered for a moment, but you didn’t say anything.

Silently typing, you tried to ignore Choso’s hand now fully resting just below your breasts. His hand was stopped by the bra you had on, but not for long. Pressing a kiss onto your cheek, he fully tugged down your bra.

“Nii-chan…” A whining protest was on the tip of your tongue, fingers beginning to curl around his wrist and pull his hand away.

“Sshh, don’t worry about what I’m doing. Focus on your work.” Gently twisting your nipple between his fingers, Choso flicked his chin toward the screen. Biting your lip and nodding your head, you did as he said. He was being nice enough to help you with your homework, it was only fair to let him have this.

Lightly massaging your breast, Choso still managed to be helpful and give critiques, aptly splitting his focus between fondling your chest and helping build the presentation. With soft fingers, he worked both nipples to full hardness and watched as they pebbled and peaked under the fabric of your shirt.

“Choso-nii, here too.” Spreading your legs for him, Choso lets you pull his hand from your shirt and down to your bottoms, past the waistband and over your panties. There’s a good amount of slick built up between your legs, seeping into the fabric of your panties and marking them with a large wet patch.

With his other hand taking the spot on your breast, Choso pushes his hand into your panties. Your legs are thrown open wide for him, body completely relaxed against his as you let him do whatever he wants.

Tapping your clit with his middle finger, Choso chuckles under his breath at the reflexive twitches in your legs. He can’t help but do it a few more times until you let out a whine and wiggle your hips for him.

Circling the swollen bud with the tip of his finger, the high moan that leaves your throat is music to his ears and when he presses down on it more firmly, your thighs immediately snap shut on his hand.

“Excited?” Choso teases in your ear, watching as you shamefully reopen your legs. Rubbing your clit with two fingers now, he can feel your hole clenching around nothing. With how much of your juices are on his fingers, it’s easy for them to slip down and press against it.

Steadily pumping his fingers in and out, Choso worked his fingers down to the knuckle, resting his palm snugly against your pelvis and grazing your clit. You’d fully given up on even pretending to still be working, fully laying on Choso as your hands gripped his sleeves.

Drawing his fingers out, Choso began to slowly thrust his fingers in and out, a soft clapping sound of his palm hitting you beginning to sound throughout the room.

“Shit, Choso!” You gasp loudly when his thumb finds your clit, rubbing it in tandem with the motion of his fingers. Your thighs threaten to close in on his hand again, quivering on his lap and fighting to stay open.

Soon your hips are bucking up to meet his fingers, quiet pants falling from your mouth and landing on the side of his face. Clutching your breast tightly in his hand, Choso grinds his thumb on your clit, getting a wave of endorphins himself just from hearing you moan.

You quickly lose the battle of trying to keep your legs spread, nearly fully clamping down on his hand and rendering it immobile. Choso doesn’t mind though, he welcomes whatever reactions you have to him and his touch. All he wants to do is make his little sister happy.

“Are you going to cum?” Swallowing thickly around the words, he breaks out into a silly grin when you nod drunkenly. His wrist and hand are starting to cramp up and the muscles in his arm are beginning to burn, but Choso refuses to slow down even a fraction.

“N-nii-chan, please!” Screwing your eyes closed, you arch your back hard, breath coming out shorter and shorter as your orgasm approaches. It’s unclear to both of you what you’re asking for, but you both know it’s not to stop.

“That’s it baby girl, cum nice and hard for me.” Kissing any part of your face he can reach, Choso’s hand doesn’t stop when you let out a loud moan and your cunt spasms around him. He certainly doesn’t stop as your feet stamp against the floor, the pleasure overwashing your senses almost too much for you to handle. He almost can’t bring himself to stop when your body goes slack and you whine at him to stop, the pleasure turning into pain.

Slipping his hand from your bottoms, Choso stares at his fingers covered in your sticky release. There’s thin strands that spread and break when he pulls apart his fingers and the heady musk that comes from them tastes just as good as it smells.

Slowly fixing your clothes and straightening your back, you fully turn over your shoulder to Choso and kiss him as he pulls his fingers out of his mouth. You can smell and taste a hint of yourself on his lips, his tongue just barely darting out to swipe at yours.

“I think that was a good break, don’t you?” Choso whispers as he breaks the kiss, giving you a quick kiss on the nose before fully pulling away. He takes a mental picture of the blissed out look on your face and the way an easy, dopey smile spreads on your face.

“Yeah.” Nodding, you lean forward and kiss him on the cheek. “Thanks, nii-chan.”

“You’re welcome, baby.” Helping you readjust your position on his lap, Choso feels his heart swell at knowing he helped you relax, made you feel nice and happy as any good caring older brother should. Pulling your laptop closer, Choso reopened the presentation and skimmed the last few words you’d written. “Now, let’s get back to work, alright?”

#tw: incest #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen smut #choso #choso x reader #jujutsu kaisen scenarios #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jujutsu kaisen imagines

[a-table-of-fics]

Oddworld: Conar's Ambition, Chapter 4, Draft 1

In the meantime, he puffed on his Lungbuster some more, thinking about what they could do next. Once they were all in the scrapyard, and found a secure spot, that’d be a good time to see about that map Mark probably had. From there, he could hopefully find out where Zeb’s offices were, and from there he and Slim could take him down, and Conar could finally have a fortune of his own.

His happy daydreams were interrupted when he heard another vehicle come rumbling down the road, and the sound of screeching metal against concrete. He leaned to look past the wall, and he had to cover his earholes as he saw an ugly yellow truck coming to the garage, sparks flying behind it as it carelessly dragged an enormous three-pronged hook behind it on a thick metal cable. He leapt back, afraid the tow cable might swing his way and obliterate him. Thankfully, it was nowhere close, and the truck was slowing to turn into the parking space anyway.

A Slig wearing a work vest came out, putting a well-worn yellow cap onto his head. He slammed a fist on the bed of the truck, and three Scrubs sat up groaning, and climbed out of the back.

Conar turned to the sleeping Mudokons, and was quick to tap them both with his Blunderbuss. They stirred, slowly standing back up. Just in time, too; the Slig had looked their way. He nodded before walking over to the passenger side. The door opened, and Conar heard the tell-tale sound of a Glukkon’s cheap dress shoes rapidly clattering. He was smoking an even cheaper cigar, and oil-stained suspenders over a hideously yellow plaid shirt. He sneered as he looked over at Conar and the Mudokons under his care, but his face softened as he saw the cab they came in with.

He hummed, running a few mental tallies.

“Quite a wreck,” he finally said. “Almost wish I’d seen the accident!”

He laughed, and if there was one thing any Slig learned quickly, it’s that a Glukkon’s laughter is contagious… or else. The Mudokons had no such obligation; while Slim and Mark were trying to keep their heads down, the three Scrubs in yellow loincloths just unloaded the truck of its six toolboxes. They politely waited by the door, struggling to stand up under the weight they were carrying.

“I take it you’re Clunk?” Conar asked.

“You ain’t as stupid as you look,” the Gluk snorted. “Why do ya ask?”

“Your guard over there says we need a ticket from you to get this scrap into the yard.”

Clunk turned around, seeing a wide-awake Slig waving his way from his booth, his magazine hidden from view.

“He’s right, you will need one. We gotta make sure we can’t fix it first.”

Meanwhile, his assistant Slig was watching the overly encumbered Mudokons. He was taking great pleasure in slowly opening the doors, at a couple of points even “accidentally” letting the doors fall a little, chuckling as the Scrubs groaned. Finally, he let them in, and they were able to set their equipment on the workbench.

“Right,” Conar nodded. “So when can we get started, sir? I’m already running late…”

“250 Moolah,” the Glukkon replied, simply. “We also gotta get your name and everything for our records. If we start going a little late, maybe I can let your boss now. Who knows?”

He leaned forward, enough to breathe smoke into Conar’s face.

“He might be feeling lenient and just dock your pay.”

He chuckled to himself, while Conar reached into his bag. Having only around 1400 Moolah to his name, this was quite a bit, but what choice did he have?

The other Slig happily accepted his payment, and turned towards his workforce.

“All right, get ‘er in so we can take a look!”

Conar and company watched as the cab was taken in, and followed when Clunk beckoned them in. They were directed to a lobby that had two very greasy chairs in it, as well as half another chair that was haphazardly lying against the wall. Clunk moved behind the front desk, where his assistant was waiting.

“So, you got an ID, ‘valued’ customer?”

“39872-A,” Conar said, automatically.

“Right. Place of employment?”

“Slog Hut 1884.”

“Quite a ways from here. What happened?”

“Got caught in some crossfire around home, sir.”

Clunk nodded.

“Right, we’ll see what we can do. You have a seat.”

Conar nodded, keeping the seat on his Pants rather than anything he could actually feel. The Mudokons, after one glare from the owner, shared the half-seat, keeping their feet splayed so they didn’t tip it over.

Clunk chuckled at the sight, and so Conar did too.

“Which of these chumps was the driver?”

Mark shrunk a bit, knowing what was going to come next, but before anyone else, Slim piped up.

“I was driving, sir.”

Mark was about to say something, but Slim’s elbow made a point against that. Clunk looked, and nodded.

“Brave Mud to admit that,” he said, turning back to Conar. “Make sure to get his license. Should have a number you can call on this phone here. They’ll take care of ‘im for losing company property, I hope.”

With that, he waddled over through the doorway, to the noises of metal clanging and tools hissing and whirring.

As soon as he was gone, Slim looked at the shaken Mark, then turned to Conar.

“Can you… can you pretend to call?”

“You ain’t tellin’ me what to do!” Conar replied. “I gotta call, that’s what he said…”

Slim’s look said it all, but he added “You want everyone to know where we are?”

“…Yeah, why don’t I just… not call, then?”

“Clunk’s probably gonna pop in at any moment. You really want to blow your cover here?”

Conar thought about it for a moment, then nodded. He’d have to ask about how Slim knew about this kind of thing later, but for now, he had a “call” to make to the taxi company. He stood up, holding a hand out expectantly. Mark looked at it for a moment, then sighed and produced a card from a pouch on his loincloth.

Conar snatched it and took a look. So he was supposed to call the Durtminch Taxi Service, but he punched random keys on the phone in rapid succession. He got a busy signal, but he pressed on.

“Yeah, hi… I wanted to report a Mud who drove through a gunfight…Yeah…We’re at Clunk’s… His name’s Mark…”

Clunk walked back in, watching while Conar finished his conversation.

“…ID, uh, 5928-22555…And this was 39872-A… Yeah, thanks.”

He looked up at the Glukkon.

“They said they’d discipline correctly.”

“Good,” Clunk nodded. “It’s important that they… learn. Anyway, we got some fixes underway. It’ll be ten minutes, but if it still don’t work, we’ll take it off your hands and getcha a ride.”

“Gotcha,” Conar nodded, walking back to take a seat.

Unfortunately, Clunk was staying at the desk, watching a monitor. No chance of using this time to rest, then; despite Conar’s reason for being late, he could still get reported for sleeping during work hours. Being late to the Slog Hut was one thing, but using this as an excuse to sleep was a one-way path to being detained until a co-worker could arrive and perform disciplinary action. Talking to the Mudokons was out of the question, too. No Glukkon liked seeing security being buddy-buddy with the workforce. So, he waited, listening to the sounds of mechanics hollering and metal clanging for ten minutes until, finally, the other Slig came back into the lobby.

“W-well,” he said, uneasily, “Got as fixed as we could, boss.”

The three Scrub mechanics walked in, covered in considerably more oil, soot, and burn marks than the Slig was.

“Well,” Clunk smiled, “Why don’t you have your driver friend there get the thing started, and we’ll see you off?”

Slim felt many eyes on him, and he slowly stood up. Mark followed suit, letting their half-chair slide and collapse onto the floor. He and Slim scrambled to get that back onto the wall, and then moved to follow the other Slig, with Conar following after.

He swallowed, climbing into the driver’s seat while Mark and Conar made it into the backseat.

“Hold up,” the head mechanic asked, raising a hand, “What’s the deal with the other Scrub?”

“You know better than to ask questions like that!” Clunk scolded, causing his Slig to wince. “It’s like you know nothing about keeping customers!”

He coughed, nearly dropping his cigar.

“Right then,” he continued, turning his attention to Conar through the window, “Explain why you’re commutin’ with a Mudokon!”

“Ah, y’see, er…”

“’M a student,” Slim meekly offered. “Y’see, he’s my instructor, isn’t that right, ‘Slim’?”

“I—” Mark started, before having his toe pressed by Conar’s metal foot. “Y-yeah, I am. L-lemme give ya a… refresher on how t’start this thing… yeah…”

He reached over, adjusting the levers to get the thing started. A rumble and whining noise, but nothing happened.

“Try again,” Clunk said.

“O-okay,” Mark nodded, having another go. Same result.

“Oy,” Clunk muttered, shaking his head. “All right, my boys’ll ger this into the scrapyard and we’ll getcha a new ride.”

“Actually,” Conar piped up. “I got two perfectly good Scrubs here. Betcha they could do with a bit of exercise, y’know what I’m saying?”

“Not gonna happen,” Clunk laughed. “Can’t have your Muds diving under a hunk of metal and escapin’, can we?”

“No sir,” Conar said, nodding a little too hastily. “Can’t have ‘em fleeing.”

He lifted his gun up meaningfully.

“I’m sure Tess and I could keep an eye on ‘em, though… heh heh…”

Clunk looked at him, and laughed.

“Ah, you really wanna teach ‘em a lesson, huh? Can’t blame ya for that; even a Mudokon should know not to drive into a firefight.”

He turned to his assistant.

“You focus on keeping our boys in line. Let our friend here take care of scrappin’ that piece of crap.”

“Er, all right, sir…”

It was hard to see with his own visor and the other Slig’s pilot-like goggles, but Conar could swear he was getting a side-eye from the guy as he turned to gather his mechanics.

Conar, for his part, simply shrugged, grabbing a ticket as it printed before giving a somewhat forceful jab to Slim’s back with the barrel of his gun.

“Get movin’, you two! I wanna see that cab in the scrap heap, and I wanna see it there now!”

He gave a bit of a chuckle to keep appearances, and the three of them moved the cab out. Well, Slim and Mark did, while Conar kept pace behind them, cradling “Tess” in his arms, still keeping it quite visible in the tried-and-true “Slig At Work” pose.

“Some escape,” Slim muttered under his breath. “Make me wish I was back shoveling Slog poo.”

“Wait, we’re escapin’?” Mark asked, perking up. “I can quit driving Sligs around? No more chokin’ on smoke?”

Before Mark could get too excited, though, he had to flinch as two shots rang out from behind him. Both he and Slim immediately put their hands over their heads, resting their faces onto the car’s trunk. They were just able to turn their heads enough to see Conar looking at them, his smoking gun pointed straight up in the air.

“Enough yapping!” he barked. “You’re slowin’ down when you do that!”

Mark was shaking a little, but Slim just sighed before beginning to push the cab again. On the plus side, the guard had woken up from that, and was already watching them pull up. Conar was already waving the ticket up for him, so he pulled the lever on the left of the control panel.

The three of them watched as the gate shook, groaning and creaking as it dragged along the ground. In the twenty-two seconds it took for it to open, Slim and Mark were able to take a breather, which they gratefully took. They almost didn’t notice when Conar shouted for them to start pushing again, but self-preservation kicked in regardless, and the cab was shoved through the gate again.

It soon became clear that they were not moving past multiple piles of discarded metal, but instead walking on one enormous heap. There was enough rust to pass as dirt if you weren’t walking on it, and they could hear metal creak not just under their feet, but everywhere. In the distance, a stack collapsed onto itself. A crane with an enormous magnet lifted junk into a new pile, and a bulldozer shoved more onto it.

As Conar looked around, the two Mudokons took note of the red eyes floating around. They didn’t seem to be taking any interest in the trio, instead panning over the various machines.

“Now, let’s get this thing outta the way,” Conar said. “I think I see some room over there.”

He gestured over to a place between an old FeeCo train car and a pile of refrigerators. It was a tight fit, but nothing a bit of elbow grease and Slig threats couldn’t take care of.

“Right,” Conar said, “We should find a place to lay low, then. We can figure things out from there.”

He looked either way, and found the door was taken off the train car. That was as good an option as any to look, but Slim put a hand on his shoulder, stopping him from going into it.

“There’s a hideout in the fridges already,” he said. “Might wanna check that first.”

Conar paused to look at the pile on the other side, but outside of various graffiti tags, he didn’t see anything of interest. Besides, the train car was right here.

“I don’t know what you’re tryin’,” he said, pulling his shoulder away from the Mudokon, “but if you think you can pull one over me, you’ve got another thing coming!”

“I’m not—”

“Get in the train!” Conar shouted. “That’s an order!”

“Fine,” Slim sighed, clambering in. It was dark and cold down there, and the air had a metallic scent that was just powerful enough to be uncomfortable. Mark and Conar followed, landing next to him.

“It ain’t much,” Conar admitted, “but at least we should be hidden pretty well here.”

“I guess,” Slim shrugged, while Mark just nodded.

“It’s been a long night, so we oughta rest for a bit. We’ll work on getting started later.”

Conar watched as the Mudokons found a darker corner, huddling together for warmth. Despite the conditions, they found sleep far more easily than Conar did. The Expresso had long since lost its kick, but this was a far cry from the bed he was used to. What was worse, he was watching over recently-freed Scrubs. He could manage one, but what if the two were to gang up on him? Hell, Slim was already giving him orders! He was already getting a lot of nerve!

#oddworld fic #oddworld conar's ambition #Oddworld #draft 1 #chapter 4 #oddworld conars ambition full chapter

[thiswasinevitableid]

For the meet ugly prompts: #27? I feel like it has a lot of potential to be really funny for the OT4 :)

27: we have one night stands with roommates and sneak out of the house at the same time.

I interpreted “sneak out” kinda broadly. This is right on the line between SFW and NSFW: No sex, but it gets hot and heavy at the end.

Duck wakes up under moth-patterned covers, rubs his forehead as he grabs his phone from his pants on the floor. Shit, he didn’t mean to sleep this late, that could make things awkward if the guy from last night wanted him gone.

The bedroom door open and closes and Indrid, his hookup, enters in a yellow and pink bathrobe, holding a silver packet. 

“Good morning.”

“Mornin’. Uh, sorry, guess I was real tired.”

“We did do rather a lot last night.” Indrid grins, sitting down on the bed next to him, “here, my roommate is making breakfast sandwiches. I had him make you one. Do not take the pack as a sign you must leave, I just asked him to wrap it in case you were in a hurry.”

“Thanks. I should be gettin goin’, Winnie’s probably missin’ breakfast.” 

“One musn’t keep such a noble creature waiting.” Indrid hands him the sandwich. He’d shown the taller man photos of his cat last night both because he dotes on the flufflball and because it got Indrid to scoot closer to him. 

“Yeah, she can get in a mood....uh, you seen my underwear?”

Indrid scans the room, red glasses sitting on his forehead and giving Duck a perfect look at his brown eyes. 

“Ah, here we are.” He reaches under the small desk covered in art supplies, “my, those got some distance.”

“You were naked, I was in a hurry.” Duck mumbles, making Indrid bark a laugh as he brings him the rest of his clothes. 

When he steps out of the bedroom, he spots a tall man with a short, coppery beard standing at the kitchen stove. That must be the roommate, but Duck’s eye is drawn to the man exiting the other bedroom. His short black hair is mussed, there’s a pillowmark beneath his high cheekbone on one side, and his dress shirt is rumpled. 

The other man does not seem pleased to be seeing three people in front of him instead of one.

“Oh hey babe, you’re up.” The roommate turns, beaming, “made you breakfast, do you want some coffee? I can put it in a to-go up if, uh, if you need to leave.”

“Yes, thank you. I, um, I should be going.” 

The roommate smiles, quickly puts together a sandwich and coffee cup, complete with cream and sugar. The other man sips it and sighs, “you remembered.”

“‘How do you like your coffee’ isn’t just a cheesy line for me, babe. Gotta make sure you enjoy yourself start to finish.”

“Damn, that was smooth” Duck whispers as Indrid walks him to the door.

“Agreed. Though I rather enjoyed your one about pollination last night. By far the most creative response to these I’ve received” he points to the tattooed moth just visible on his shoulder. His wide grin goes shy, “I did really have a wonderful time, Duck.”

“Me too. Lemme, uh, lemme know if you wanna meet up again?”

Indrid nods, waves goodbye as Duck heads off the porch and down onto the sidewalk. He eats as he walks, decides Indrid has good taste in roommates because that one makes a mean breakfast sandwich. 

He gets to the bus stop, late September morning still crisp with the coming fall. Pulling out his phone, he discovers it’s dead. He did use it a lot last night, on their date, but only because Indrid was so clearly interested in what he had to show him. Why a guy who does tattoos for a living thinks a fella who’s a nerd for plants is interesting, Duck will never know. He’s just glad he does. 

Music out of reach, he sits and listens to the cardinals and kinglets calling in the trees. Someone sits down next to him, aluminum foil reflecting the sun off their hand and into his face. 

It’s the guy. The one from Indrid’s apartment. 

Should Duck tell him he has a big bruise on his neck? He probably knows, right? Then again, he was in a hurry?

“Hey, uh, don’t mean to be weird or nothin’, but you got a little uh-” He taps his neck and the man whacks his hand over the mark. 

“Shit” 

“Someone you’re worried’ll notice?”

“What exactly are you implying?” The man glares at him, blues eyes going from charmingly flustered to suspicious in an instant.

“Nothin, just seem real worried for somethin that happens to almost everyone some time or another.”

“I like keeping my private life private. I don’t want random people knowing what I like in bed.” He snaps

“Okay, okay, jeez man, sorry I mentioned it.”

They fall silent as Duck’s bus approaches, and both stand to board it. Just his luck, this is route to the capitol square with the massive farmer’s market, so he and the mister touchy end up squished in next to each other. 

Two stops in, the man murmurs, “ I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have been so rude. I’m, uh, I don’t usually do things like, well, like hooking up with someone I meet on Grindr.”

Something about the way he says it, like he’s afraid he’ll get in trouble, brushes away Duck’s annoyance.

“No shame in havin a good time with someone. Wait, shit, was it a good time? Did somethin happen?”

“Oh no, nono,” the man hurriedly shakes his head, “it was just what I needed. Barclay is a great guy. I just feel like it was too easy, that getting that lucky on my first try is a sign something will go wrong.” He gives Duck a resigned smile, “in case you havent noticed, I’m an overthinker. Are you, damn it what’s his name, Indrid’s boyfriend?”

“Nah. He comes to draw in the arboretum where I work, we been kinda flirtin the last few weeks, and yesterday I finally said fuck it and asked if he wanted to get a drink later.”

“He’s certainly...distinct looking. In a good way, I mean.”

“Yeah, he is.” Duck smiles, thoughts drifting off to the memory kissing him gently as they finally fell asleep, his face captivating in the dim of the room, “probably see him again. Assumin’ he wants to see me, I guess.”

-------------------------------------

“I am supposed to wait until he arrives home to text him, correct?” Indrid pushes his phone as far away as possible to remove temptation.

“Maybe? I dunno man, all those rules about texting and shit are designed to sell books and bad youtube channels.”

“But I don’t want to come off as possessive or clingy.”

“Believe me bud, I know.” Barclay turns his phone around so Indrid can see the two lines sitting in the “draft” section, “I’ve been writing and re-writing this for five minutes because I want Joseph to know I’d for sure be down to see him again but there’s no pressure.” He sets Indrid’s refilled coffee down on the table. They trade a look, then burst out laughing. 

“Fuck, guess we both had a good time last night huh?”

“Very. Duck remains as wonderful as I hoped and I have not enjoyed sex that much since, hmmm, well, since the last time you and I were together.”

“That poor desk.”

“May it rest in peace.” Indrid sips from his mug, “Joseph is quite charming. You have excellent taste in men.”

“That a compliment to him or to you?” Barclay fluffs Indrid’s hair as he passes by him. 

“Mostly him.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, little moth.” A kiss on the head this time before Barclay heads to the shower. Indrid gets his sketchbook, turns on some mindless cooking show and settles on the couch.

Eventually Barclay calls from his room, “Indrid? Been about forty-five minutes, bet he’s home by now.” 

Indrid springs up, grinning, and grabs his phone. 

-------------------------------

Duck was out downtown when the rain started, which is why he’s now hunkered down in the cafe by the capitol in hopes of waiting out the storm. He’s not the only one with this idea, and he’s made sure to make the chair across from him obviously empty in case someone needs a spot. 

“Hello again. Do you mind?” It’s the blued-eyed guy again, dressed for work in a suit and dress shoes. Duck hasn’t seen him since that first morning, in spite of going back to Indrid’s place multiple times over the last three weeks. 

“Go for it.” Duck scoots his coffee to the side so the man can set his mug down. He pulls out his phone, but can’t quite focus; he keeps wanting to look across the table. 

“How are things going with Indrid?”

“Real good--wait, how did you know he an I were still-”

“Barclay’s mentioned you once or twice. And your name is pretty memorable.”

‘It’s a nickname.” 

“That makes a bit more sense. Mines on the other end of things; there are a lot of Josephs in the world.” He sips his cinnamon-scented drink, sets it down again, “so, what do you do?”

“I’m a ranger over in the arboretum. You?”

“I work for an organization that checks up on businesses to be sure they’re meeting worker health and safety laws.”

Duck watches the rain out the windows, wondering if Joseph wants to keep talking or is just being polite. 

“Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

“Did Indrid tell you about him and Barclay?”

“Yeah, ‘bout a week ago. He said he was hopin’ he and I could get more serious, but that he wanted me to know the two of them had a sorta, uh, fuckbuddies thing goin’ so I could make an informed choice.”

“That’s more or less where Barclay and I are at. Um, how do you feel about it?”

“I’m okay with it. I ain’t interested in anyone else right now, but when I thought about it, Indrid havin a thing with Barclay ain’t stopped him from bein’ amazin’ to me and I’m fallin’ hard for him. I don’t feel like some kind of side piece or whatever. I just feel like I’m headin for somethin good with a guy who has a casual partner. Did it bug you?”

“No” Joseph shakes his head, “which confuses me. I, um, I have trouble releasing control in much of my life. I assumed it would freak me out to learn I wasn’t the only partner in someone’s life. But when Barclay told me it didn’t really bother me. He even offered to talk to Indrid about being only friends if that was what I needed. It’s been awhile since someone was so quick to think about my wants and feelings when dropping unexpected news on me. Plus, I’ve spent a little time with Indrid when we’ve been over there, and I like him. He clearly cares about Barclay, just like I do, and in some way that makes me happy. Is that weird?”

“Not really an expert on weird. But I think you’re overthinkin’ things again.”

A small laugh, “True. Help me think about something else. Tell me...tell me what your favorite part of work is.”

Duck’s surprised at the interest, but gets glimpse of pleading hope, og someone a little hungrier for connection than he’s letting on, and finds no desire to refuse.

“Prairie restoration, it’s fascinatin….”

-------------------------------

Duck’s not surprised to see Joe’s name come up on screen; the two of them have been hanging out more, both as friends and on double dates with Barclay and Indrid. He’s learned that his friend is a stealth-nerd beneath his professional veneer, that he likes game nights as much as Duck does, and that he makes a certain sound when he cums (that last one he learned on accident; he was snuggled up with an under-the-weather Indrid in the living room when Joe and Barclay got home from a date).

Joe: Are you busy tonight?

Duck: Nope. 

Joe: Do you want to go to the “Adult Swim” at the children’s science museum? I got tickets a week ago, but Barclay got called in to work tonight.

Duck: Sure, sounds lie a good time. 

Joe: See you at the museum at 7?

Duck replies in the affirmative, goes to pick out something less grubby than his crossfit clothes to wear. Maybe the short-sleeve button up with the whales; Joe mentioned he like it. 

His phone buzzes.

Sugar: Busy tonight?

Duck: Yeah, going to the museum with Joe since Barclay has to work. 

He realizes how this might sound, begins rapidly typing several explanations or offers to not if Indrid doesn’t want him too, but his boyfriend beats him to it. 

Sugar: Oh yes, I remember him mentioning that. Good, I’m glad the tickets won’t go to waste. Have fun, my sweet, please take picture of any interesting bugs for me if there is an entomology section <3

Duck: Will do, sugar.

He signs with a kissy face, gets two black hearts and a kissy face back. 

The Adult Swim is wonderful; the museum is artfully lit, there’s snacks everywhere, and even a fancy cocktail included with admission. He and Joe clink glasses, wander through the exhibits, laughing and playing with the interactive exhibits. There are no bugs, but Duck takes pictures of the light exhibit, which feature interesting color patterns he might like for tattoo inspiration. 

They’ve just finished fucking around in the paleontology exhibit, and Joe is looking through a viewfinder that shows him how a triceratops saw the world. Duck sneaks up behind him, growls in his ear, “didn’t spot the t-rex in time.” 

“If you plan on eating me, we should at least head into the bathroom.” Joe winks as he turns, heading out onto the balcony to look out on the city. Duck knows that if he follows him out there right now, he’ll kiss him. 

“Be right out, gonna go grab some more of those mini-pies.”

Joe nods to show he heard him as he pushes open the door. Duck hopes he doesn’t see him take several deep breaths to get his imagination under control before he goes off in search of an edible distraction. 

-------------------------------

“Doors open!”

“Oh, hey man, Indrid home yet?”

“No, it’s Thursday the 12th, so the studio is prepping like crazy for tomorrow.”

“Shit, that’s right.”

“Cookie? I just made them.”

“Thanks--holy shit that’s good.”

“Thanks, I’ve been trying to nail the chocolate chip and potatoe chip recipe.”

“Think you might--aw fuck, ‘Drid just texted, he’s gonna be another hour.”

“You can chill here if you want. Uh, I’ve got Super-Smash Bros, if you wanna play.”

“Aw hell yeah.”

-------------------------------------

“Good morning, Joseph.”

“Gahoh, hi Indrid. I’ll be out of your way in a few minutes.”

“There’s no rush. I certainly don’t mind your company. I believe there are left over cinnamon rolls in the fridge, if you would like.”

Joseph gathers a coffee cup and a roll on a plate, sits down on the couch, and finds his pocket buzzing. 

“Here” Indrid takes the plate.

“Thank you. Looks like it’s my sister...oh, she got a new dog, do you want..” He stops as Indrid holds out a piece of the cinnamon roll on the fork. Hesitates, then opens his mouth and lets Indrid feed him. He starts showing him pictures as he does, Indrid commenting and laughing and, every so often, murmuring, “good boy” when he takes a bite.

--------------------------------------

“Ohfuck, shit, sorry!” Duck covers his eyes as Indrid quickly closes the front door. 

“Nono, fuck, sorry, that’s on us, thought you guys weren’t home until later.” Barclay’s apology is underscored by the sound of a zipper closing. 

“It’s quite alright, no harm done, Joseph you look very nice like that, carry on.” Indrid pulls Duck into his room, both of them snickering and blushing as Duck pushes him down onto the bed.

“My my, someone’s wound up.”

“Makes two of us.” Duck grinds down on him, Indrid gasping and grinning as he arches his back. 

“Indeed. Now get that handsome face down here. I have some things I wish to do to it.”

---------------------------------

The giant stop motion monster continues rampaging on the screen as Duck loops his arm over Indrid’s shoulder. The first snowstorm of the year has come early, so they opted to switch their double date to a monster movie double feature (curated by Joe) in the apartment. Beneath their shared blanket, Indrid’s hand strokes his belly, skating down to the front of his jeans in teasing bursts. 

On the other side of the couch, Barclay has started kissing Joe’s cheek, the blue-eyed man sighing and turning to kiss him back. 

This is not a new situation for them. The last few weeks they’ve gotten more comfortable cuddling and making out in the same space as each other. Duck’s not complaining; hearing both Indrid and Joe gasping and sighing near him makes him hotter than a July afternoon. 

Indrid bumps his cheek with his nose, and Duck turns for a kiss. He gets one, but he also gets a firmer stroke down his cock, making him moan. Indrid smirks into the kiss, does it again, then a third time, Duck gripping the front of his white tank top with a groan. 

“Maybe we, uh, should dip out on the movie.” He murmurs. 

“We can” Indrid purrs, kissing him again, “but Joseph seems to be enjoying the show.”

Duck whips his head around; Joe is looking at the two of them as he leans against Barclay’s chest, between his legs, expression moving from desire to surprise to hope over and over again. Barclay, unbothered, continues kissing his neck and murmuring in his ear, the blush on his cheeks rising each time the larger man does so. 

“Or perhaps he’s envious?” Indrid cocks his head, “would you like your hand to be here instead of mine, Joseph?”

Joe’s normal eloquence is nowhere to be found, his eyes flicking between the three other men so quickly Duck worries he’ll sprain something. 

“I asked you a question, pet.” Indrid sharpens his tone on the last word and Joe whimpers. Duck has zero interest in Indrid ever calling him that name; but hearing it in his lilting, gently demanding tone directed at Joe sends desire zinging through him. 

“C’mon, babe, be a good boy and answer.” Barclay nips his boyfriend’s ear.

“Yes. Or, or, more accurately, I’d trade places with either of you. If that’s, would it be, do either of you?” He looks back at Barclay, who smiles tenderly and runs a thumb up his cheek. 

“Okay with me if it’s okay with them.”

“Do you want it as well, my sweet?” Indrid tilts up his glasses so he can look Duck in the eye. The affection in those brown eyes makes the T.V, the moon, the stars look dim. 

“Hell yeah.”

Indrid crooks his finger and Joe clambers the short distance on the couch to kneel by Duck.

“How shouldMMmmmmm!”

Duck gets a whiff of aftershave as Indrid yanks Joe forward by his shirt, kissing him and squishing Duck between them. The angle is awful but he doesn’t give fuck, buries his face into Joe’s neck, kissing the point where he feels his pulse moving like mothwings, mouthing and nipping at the skin as he slides one hand up the front of his shirt and the other down the back of his pants. When he squeezes his ass Joe squeaks and Indrid breaks the kissing, laughing. 

“I didn’t know you had such noises in you, pet. It’s quite endearing.”

“Indrid, Duck, please, I want, I want to, oh fuck it.” He pulls back just enough to not jab his knee into Duck’s belly as he falls on him, kissing him so hard and so long Duck’s chest tightens and his vision narrows. The taller pulls away long enough to breathily moan his name before feasting on his mouth again. 

“Yes, he does elicit such feelings, oh, hello.” Indrid giggles, and Duck can just see that Barclay is now on the floor, kneeling before the pale-haired man, kissing the skin exposed by his shirt before rubbing his beard across it, making Indrid laugh harder. 

“Can’t let you have all the fun, little moth.” Barclay rumbles

“I can think of many things you can let me haveAH, oh, oh goodness, I forgot how much you like to bite.” 

Barclay growls, reminding Duck of something important. He pushes Joe backwards, clambering atop him and pulling his shirt up as he does, stuffing the hem of it between those perfect lips. 

“Christ lookit you” he runs his palms up Joe’s body, the man arching and writhing beneath him, “you look like a goddamn fuckin centerfold, you’re so fuckin perfect.”

Joe’s moan is loud even through the shirt, and much needier than before. He grins, crawling onto him , “guess I ain’t the only one who likes praise in bed.”

Joe shakes his head, whining eagerly through the make-shift gag. Duck growls again, attacks his chest with bites, leaving an especially hard one when Indrid grabs his ass without warning. 

While Joe clearly enjoys the increase in pain, his responding thrash is sudden enough to send him and Duck rolling off the couch in a jumble. Someone’s foot catches Barclay in the shoulder, knocking him back onto the rug. 

“Whoops.” Duck says to the ceiling, laugh bubbling up from his chest and bounding about the room. 

“Sorry.” Joe says to the floor, chuckling as he sits up.

“That was very graceful.” Indrid teases from his spot on the couch, only for Barclay to rear up and pull him down on top of him, the thinner man squawking indignantly. As they all disentangle and sit up, Duck looks around their little circle of flushed skin and mussed clothes.

“So, uh, that happened.”

“Indeed.” Indrid scoots next to him, resting his head on his shoulder. 

“Is everyone, like, okay that it did? I mean, we seemed okay and said yes and shit but is okay in like a bigger sense?” Barclay holds out his hand and Joe takes it. 

“Yeah.”

“Yes.”

“Yep.”

“Do we, uh, wanna talk about what this is gonna look like?”

They all nod, and spend the next two hours hashing out the details of their newly forming polycule. Duck and Barclay agree they’d rather be metamours, everyone else will be partners, and that everyone should probably get some sleep before diving into the do’s and don’ts of what they each want from sex. 

Barclay and Indrid build a makeshift bed on the floor by the T.V, Joe and Duck on the inside with Barclay and Indrid on the outside. 

Duck drifts off to sleep with his head on Joe’s chest and Indrid’s arms around him. He knows they still have things to work out, that there will be hiccups. But for now, he’s happy to lay here, safe and loved, with his boyfriends. 

#indrid cold/duck newton #indruck #OT4: Government Men and Their Cryptid Boyfriends #agent stern/barclay/indrid cold/Duck newton #agent stern/barclay #sternclay #agent stern/duck newton #Indrid cold/Barclay #meet ugly

[sylvanfreckles]

My Way or the Highway (Whumptober 2020)

Day Three!

(season 2 fic) A group of rogue hunters capture the Winchesters in hope of forcing Sam to use his psychic abilities for their benefit, and they’re not afraid to use Dean as leverage.

“So...rumor has it you got some kind of second sight, Sam,” Travis commented. He was tall and wiry, though not as tall as Sam. Years spent as a hunter had left his skin tanned and course, though his dark eyes were still bright with intelligence.

Sam froze for just a second too long and Dean kicked his ankle under the table. “What makes you say that?” he finally asked, trying to hide his nervousness with a sip of beer.

Travis and his two friends had pulled into town a few hours ago, to handle the salt-and-burn Sam and Dean had finished earlier in the day. They didn't all know each other but they all knew Bobby, which had seemed like a good enough reason to get acquainted over drinks. Now Sam was wishing they had left town after the job instead of waiting until morning.

“You been watching too much late-night TV,” Dean teased with a hearty laugh. It was too hearty to Sam's ears, but hopefully Travis and his friends wouldn't notice. “What kind of moron fed you a story like that?”

“Word gets around,” Travis shrugged. He leaned back in his chair and studied the brothers with a critical eye. “Trouble is, nobody knows what's true and what's just a fairy tale.”

“Yeah, well, a little advice?” Dean had already dug out his wallet and dropped a few bills on the table to cover the last round. “Don't believe everything you hear. C'mon Sam.”

Sam was all too eager to abandon his half-drunk beer and follow Dean out of the bar. He heard Travis and his friends burst out into laughter as soon as the Winchester were near the door, but tried to ignore them and just move on. It wouldn't take long to pack up and they could be back on the road.

They stepped out into the washed-out light from the bar's neon sight, the night air crisp and bracing. There weren't too many people out and about right now, thanks to the haunting they'd taken care of earlier, so it wasn't too surprising that the parking lot was practically empty.

Then someone struck. Sam was barely aware of movement in his peripheral vision before a burlap sack was shoved over his head and strong hands fisted in the back of his jacket to spin him off-balance and slam him against the wall of the bar. Judging by the muted curses he imagined Dean had received the same treatment. He tried to fight back, but someone was wrenched on the ties at the mouth of the bag, half-strangling Sam in the process. He flailed up feebly and tried to twist his fingers in the ties, but it was no good.

His captor drove a knee into his stomach, which doubled him over, then kicked his feet out from under him. Sam tried to fight against the attacker but his hands were wrenched behind him and bound up with a piece of twine that cut into his skin viciously.

“Good work.” It was muffled by the bag, but Sam was pretty sure that was Travis's voice.

“We just need the tall one, right?” Sam's captor asked. He'd planted a knee against the small of Sam's back to keep him down, one hand on the back of Sam's neck to force his head to be still.

“You never just take one Winchester,” Travis argued. “Connie learned the hard way, back when this one was still working with the old man.” There was the sound of an impact and a soft grunt—Travis had probably kicked Dean. “Put 'em in the van.”

Rough hands hauled Sam to his feet and he struggled against them, though it was futile as a vehicle roared up and he was shoved into a rough cargo space. Dean landed beside him a second later, one elbow hitting Sam's belly right where his kidnapper had kneed him. It hurt like hell, but he'd take it over his brother facing an uncertain fate. Judging by the way these guys were talking...it didn't seem like they'd leave a witness behind.

The growl of the engine filled the space around them as their captors took off to parts unknown. Sam tried to keep track of the number of turns the van made, but between the recklessness of the driver and the bag over his head muffling his perspective Sam lost track.

They screeched to a halt after maybe twenty minutes of driving, and Sam heard the doors slam open before he was gripped under the shoulders and hauled unceremoniously to his feet. He was propelled forward a few steps, then forced to his knees before the bag was torn from his head.

Travis was looking down at them, a smug grin splitting his face. “Just thought this might be a more private place to talk.”

Beside Sam, Dean let out a growl. “Listen here, you son of a bitch-”

“No, you listen,” Travis snapped. “We don't have time for throwing threats and promises back and forth, so I'm gonna give it to you straight, Sammy.” Travis pulled a gun out of the back of his pants and leveled it at Dean's head. “You're gonna work with us, or we're gonna see what's in big brother's empty head.”

Cold horror filled Sam's gut. They hadn't taken Dean because they wanted both Winchesters for something...they'd taken him to force Sam's hand.

“Well?” Travis demanded when Sam didn't answer. He took the few steps over to Dean and twisted his free hand in Dean's collar, dragging him around to face Sam with the gun pressed to his temple. “Whaddya say, Sammy?”

Dean was subtly trying to shake his head, and when Travis noticed he clocked Dean on the temple with the grip of the revolver he was holding. “I'm counting to three, Sam.”

“Wait, wait, please,” Sam tried to edge forward, but one of Travis's partners was behind him with a firm hand on his shoulder. “Just...just give me a second. What do you need me for?”

“I'm not hearing a yes,” Travis warned. He shifted his grip so that the gun was pressed to the base of Dean's skull. “Exit wounds aren't pretty, Sammy. Is this how you want to remember you brother?”

“I don't even know what you want!” Sam pleaded. “I can't...I can't agree to something if I don't know what it is!”

“One...”

“Travis, come on,” Sam tried to pull himself free, but the grip on his shoulders tightened.

“Two...”

“Yes!” Sam shuddered, closing his eyes so he wouldn't have to see his brother's expression. “Whatever...whatever you want. Just don't hurt him.” They only had each other left. He just couldn't handle it if something happened to Dean after everything they'd lost.

“Was that so hard?” Travis sneered. He released Dean and shoved him forward, into Sam. Sam leaned into his brother, nearly shaking with relief. “Now, lemme show you what we have planned.”

There were some crates in a pile a few feet away, with what looked like an old drafting table covered in a dust cloth. Travis whipped the cloth away with a flourish and gestured to the plans that were tacked up on the table.

Sam stared at them. It was a set of blueprints and a section of the city map, but it made no sense. Why would hunters need their help like this? Why take them at gunpoint and threaten Dean to get Sam's cooperation? They'd asked about his psychic powers...was that connected?

“You've got to be kidding me,” Dean groaned. “A bank? You kidnap us at gunpoint, drag us all the way out here...to help you knock over a bank?”

“He doesn't need to talk,” Travis said over his shoulder.

Sam tried to protest but he was shoved to the side as one of Travis's men caught Dean by the shoulder and laid him out with a punch. While Dean was dazed from the blow, a rough gag was shoved between his teeth and tied behind his head.

“We have our plans,” Travis continued as soon as his goons were finished. “We just don't know which ones will work.” He beckoned with his head and the man behind Sam hoisted him to his feet to drag him over to the drafting table. Now Sam could see different routes highlighted on the map and the notations on the blueprints.

“I don't understand,” he said. What did they want him to do? Help them plan a bank heist?

Travis rolled his eyes. “We want to know which plans will work.”

Sam looked over at him, mouth working as he tried to come up with an answer. “I...I still don't understand.”

Practically growling, Travis forced his head back around to look at the plans. “You're the psychic, boy. We want to know which of these plans will work the best.”

It was like a pit had opened beneath his feet. Not only had Travis and his men somehow found out about Sam's gift...they wanted him to use it for something impossible. As far as they could figure, the only visions he got were connected to the other psychic kids, or at least similar phenomenon. No way was it so specific that he could look at a map and a bank blueprint to direct an armed robbery. “It...it doesn't work that way,” he tried to explain in a small voice.

Travis sighed theatrically. “Boys?”

“No!” Sam twisted around in time to see one of Travis's men kick Dean in the gut. Two others joined him, stomping at his legs and back.

“Sam,” Travis tapped the papers on the table. “The sooner you give us what we want the sooner I call them off.”

Sam stared at the wiry man in front of him, then risked a glance over at Dean. Dean had managed to curl up to protect himself as best as he could, but with the hits he'd already taken and his hands tied behind his back he was at their mercy. Sam swallowed and forced himself to study the plans. Maybe he could at least pick out the one that had the least chance for collateral damage and go from there.

“There, your second plan,” he said, gesturing at the papers with his chin. “On the map the blue route...the one that goes through the construction zone.”

“Hmm...” Travis leaned around to look at the map, as though his men weren't beating Dean just a few feet away. “But the green route is much more direct.”

Sam's mind was whirling, his mouth moving almost on instinct. “But it goes through a school zone. If you plan to hit the bank at two pm it should be easiest to get in and out, and your getaway would take you past the elementary school right when it lets out. If you go by the construction zone you can avoid the slower traffic, and since they're replacing street lights the traffic cameras will be down at a few of the intersections, you can plant a replacement car there and swap out in a dead area.”

Travis grinned and clapped Sam on the back. “Was that so hard?”

“Make them stop,” Sam pleaded. “I did what you asked, make them stop.”

Shaking his head, Travis raised one hand. The men beating on Dean all retreated, leaving the older Winchester a bloodied mess on the floor.

“We still need to go through the bank plans, Sam,” Travis warned as Sam tried to stand up to go to his brother. “Don't make me call them back.”

Sam swallowed and turned back to the drafting table. He had to do this...had to fix this somehow so that his brother wasn't in danger. He just didn't know how.

                                                          * * *

“Time to load up!” Travis announced. Sam nearly crumpled in relief. His legs were asleep from being on his knees for so long as he and Travis had pored over the bank plans, and he still hadn't gotten to check on his brother (though he'd heard Dean groaning through his gag so at least the older Winchester was still alive).

The plan was just complicated enough that maybe Travis wouldn't notice the holes in it until he was inside the bank. Sam had never talked so fast in his life, spinning out a long, complicated description of bank procedures and guards on duty. But it had been enough to convince Travis, and now Sam was being shoved back into the back of the cargo van as the other men loaded up the gear they'd need. He almost protested, but then Dean was heaved in beside him.

He looked terrible. One side of Dean's eyes was swollen shut, the gag had been pulled so tight it cut into the corners of his mouth, and his nose was definitely broken. He slumped against Sam with a low moan and Sam shifted around to take as much of his brother's weight as he could. Tears stung his eyes and he fought to blink them away—no use giving Travis or his goons any more ammunition.

Travis hopped into the back of the van with the brothers and two of his goons, the other two in the front to drive and navigate with a grill separating them from the cargo compartment.

“Piece of cake, right?” Travis said, laughing to himself. He sat at the back, against the rear doors, while the two goons sat against the grate at the front.

Sam stared at Travis over Dean's head. His only hope would be that the men botched the robbery so badly that they were all arrested. Even if the cops found Dean's warrant instead of treating them like kidnapping victims, he'd at least get medical treatment at the prison. There was a catch in his brother's breathing that made Sam think some of his ribs were broken, and he was worried that Travis would find something else to take out on Dean.

“So. Sammy. How are we doing?” Travis asked.

“Huh?” Sam blinked at him. “What...uh, what do you mean?”

Travis let out a sigh. “The plan, Sam. How's the plan?”

“It's, uh...it's good?”

“Yes, but did you see it?”

Shit. Sam froze for just a second too long, feeling his pulse pound in his ears. “Of-of course,” he stammered. “Yeah, it's great. Great plan.”

Travis was climbing to his feet, though he couldn't stand up straight in the van. “Sammy, what have we learned about lying?”

“What? No!” Sam twisted up to his knees, fighting to put himself between Travis and Dean. “I'm not lying. The future...the future is too fluid to predict accurately, but this plan has the best chance of working!”

“I'm not asking for the best chance,” Travis sneered. He shoved Sam away with a brutal kick, sending the younger Winchester crashing into the two goons at the front of the cargo compartment. “I'm asking for victory.”

“I can't guarantee that!” Sam protested, though he knew it was useless. They were never going to get out of this alive. “Travis...no one could guarantee absolute success! This plan...this plan is the best one I could come up with, and it's good! It will work.”

“I don't believe you,” Travis called over his shoulder. He had Dean by the front of his shirt now, dragging him to the rear doors of the van. He shoved one of the doors open, wind snatching at their hair and clothes and stirring up loose papers inside the van. “I warned you what could happen to big brother, Sam.”

“No, don't do this,” Sam pleaded. The goons were holding him back now as Travis hauled Dean in front of the door, both hands twisted in Dean's jacket to hold him in place in the open door. For an instant Sam and Dean's eyes met, and Sam felt like his guts were being twisted in on themselves. Not like this. Not over some stupid bank heist.

“Say good-bye, Sammy!” Travis taunted.

“Dammit, Jake, hit the brakes!”

The sharp cry from the front of the van startled them all for just a second, then the van screamed to a halt with the shriek of metal-on-metal and the jarring impact as they ran into something. Sam was slammed into the grate separating the cargo from the driver, and Travis and Dean were sent flying into the cargo compartment.

Dean crashed into Sam, and even though his brother's shoulder his hit sternum hard enough leave one hell of a bruise Sam could have sobbed with relief. He'd knocked his head against the grating and was sure there was blood in his hair, they were still helpless in the hands of their enemies, but Dean was here and alive and that was all that mattered.

Then the door of the van was being torn open and rough hands were pulling Travis and his men out.

“Travis Jones, I oughta skin you alive. What the hell were you thinking?”

Sam blinked over Dean's head, seeing a very familiar face framed in the open door of the van. “Ellen?”

She already had a knife in her hands and was gently cutting the gag away from Dean's face. “Bobby called. Said this idiot had been asking the wrong questions and giving him a bad feeling. Max and I were on business in the area anyway, so he asked us to check on you.”

Behind Ellen was another woman, this one with short-cropped bright red hair sticking up in spikes, and more jewelry on her face than most people wore on their entire bodies. Ellen saw his look and rolled her eyes. “Baby shower. You boys okay?”

“You're my hero,” Dean muttered into Sam's shoulder as Ellen cut away the twine that bound his wrists. “I was almost road chow.”

Ellen finished sawing through the twine, but instead of helping Dean out of the van she coaxed him away from Sam just enough to lie down before turning to free the younger Winchester's hands. “Been looking for you two for a couple hours, didn't think we'd make it in time. Luckily Max's wife drives a tank, don't think this piece of junk even scratched the paint on her monster.”

“Travis...” Sam began.

“We'll take care of him,” Ellen said reassuringly. “I'll help Max and Julie pack them up to haul them to the city limits, then we'll go take care of the two of you.”

Sam hesitated. The twine binding his wrists finally broke and he brought his hands around to gently rub the life back into the bruised skin. He didn't want to kill ordinary humans, but the thought of someone like Travis out there who could hurt them again didn't sit right either.

“Hey,” Ellen had a hand on his shoulder, gently bringing him around to look at her. “Your daddy had a lot of pull in the community. Once word gets around what Travis did to you boys, they won't be able to get a decent job again.”

He let her guide him back to sit against the grating, shifting Dean over enough to put his head on Sam's leg. “I'll be back in a second, honey,” Ellen promised. “Soon as I get Max and Julie on their way.”

Sam nodded, the adrenaline fading to leave exhaustion in its wake. He didn't want to close his eyes, for fear that his usual nightmares would be replaced by the image of Travis threatening to throw Dean's battered body out of the back of the van.

“I'm okay, Sammy,” Dean whispered, reaching up to rest a hand on Sam's arm.

“Yeah, I know,” Sam replied. He finally did close his eyes, one hand on Dean's chest, just over his heart. “I know.”

#whumptober2020 #no 3 #My Way or the Highway #held at gunpoint #supernatural #fic #fanfic #kidnapping #dean whump

[savnofilter]

Hi can i get awase x reader Nsfw where he ends up saving her from a nomu?

 Awase x Reader

warnings: angst, loss of virginity.

a/n: i turned this into some angsty stuff i hope you dont mind anon. thank you anon! unedited.

You were scared out of your mind. You didn’t know what the hell happened but it happened fast.

Your lungs were on fire and your body felt heavy. You wanted to give up but didn’t want to let your own cowardliness jeopardize your classmate, not minding if it affected you in anyway shape or form.

You just wanted to go home.

You just wanted to run back and never come back again.

You bite your lip in attempt to hold back the tears that are choking up, too worked up to notice any threats. Your eyes desperately searched for anyone nearby, not noticing the impending danger about to claw at you.

A sharp gasp leave your throat, eyes clenching already accepting your fate as dead. Until you didn’t feel anything.

You still felt your classmate knocked out on your shoulders, your heated body, your feet anchored onto the ground.

“(L/N), what are you doing, let’s get a move on!” You snap your eyes open to your classmate and Momo standing in front of you and nod your head vigorously not skipping a heartbeat in following them back to base.

You couldn’t focus or didn’t pay attention to when you got back. The sirens are blocking out your senses, not like you cared you just wanted to go home. You didn’t say any words as you got into your parents vehicle, demanding that they take you home under their own circumstances. You felt yourself warm up a bit from the loving support from your family but decided to just go to your room anyways and call it a night.

You felt serene laying in bed, staring up at your ceiling like it was the most interesting thing you’ve ever seen. You jolt hearing someone knock at your door and sit up on your elbows looking curiously to whoever was knocking at your door.

Your mum peeks her head in with a soft smile as another head pops into view making your heart hammer against your chest.

‘Awase’

“A classmate wanted to check up on you.” Your mum says as he waves to you and you nod your head, never breaking eye contact with him. Your mum nods her head looking at the both of you and leaving space for him to enter on his own. “Well I’ll leave you guys alone.” She says disappearing down the hallway. The teen thanks your mum as she leaves and closes the door behind him.

“What are you doing here Awase?” You ask sitting up on your body, patting the spot next to your spot. He sat down with a plop and you smile softly at his somewhat playfulness he never really had, even after that night’s events.

“I got worried,” He pauses calculating about his next words. “about you.” He finishes looking up at your shocked face. He sighs, looking around your room then down at his hands. “I was planning on asking you out at the end of the scare thing but you already know…” He trails off and you manage to nod your head in understanding. You feel yourself get nervous as you realize he just basically confessed his feelings towards you.

“I-I… Awase…” You stumble over your words, not really sure what to say. 

“It’s fine, you don’t have to say anything yet-”

“Stay the night?” You timidly ask, looking down at the floor way to scared to look up at him. His face frozen as his eyes flash with so many emotions that you couldn’t place.

“Y-Yeah, yeah sure. Lemme just tell my parents.” He says pulling out his phone quick, tapping a few times then throwing his phone on a soft chair in your room and lying down in bed and pulling you close to his body. You grin widely, covering your face from his as they were extremely close already. 

“Don’t be shy~” He teases, laughing at your flustered state. He gives you a peck on the lips making you blush even darker. It’s silent a few seconds after until you give him a shy kiss on the corner of his mouth. He kisses you back, cupping your face in his hands. The kiss was slow, his body eventually getting on top you between your legs. You feel a draft on your bare legs snake up under shirt, making you shiver as his contrasting warm hands trail up your stomach and softly grips your breasts.

A shallow gasp leaves your lips as he kneads your mounds while your moved to his pants to let him spring free, feeling more and more needy by the moment. It’s his turn to shiver as he feels the air caress his skin. He chuckles, using his hands to leave your breasts, using one to hold him up and the other to get your underwear off, watching you shiver in anticipation.

“Eager are we?” He jokes, thumbing your slick and watching how your slick stains his fingers. You nod your head, hips bucking into his cautious touches. He uses your slick as lube, rubbing his tip on your slit for extra measures. “O-Okay, I’m going in.” You nod, wrapping your arms around his shoulders lovingly, pulling him close. He slowly guides himself into you. You tremble against him, feeling a weird shock of pain run through your body. Your nose burns with feeling of tears hitting strong in your eyes. Awase gives soft kisses to the side of your neck, waiting for you to give him the go.

“Y-You can go now.” You mutter, heart fluttering waiting for the new feeling to now fill you. To say it was new, it was new. You felt so oddly fully but you couldn’t get enough of it. Especially from someone you’ve liked for so long.

“Ah please Yosetsu.” You moan into his ear as he picks up the pace, slow but hard at the same time. Your quiet moans were mixed together as both of you knew you weren’t going to last long, this being your first time in having intercourse. “I’m so close Yosetsu.” You explain, gripping him tighter. He pulls away from the spot of your neck to give you a searing kiss as he made sure you climaxed before him. He manages to pull away, feeling himself following in your foot steps and pulling out from you. He pumps himself a few times cumming on your panting form. He gives you a quick peck on the cheek before laying next to you. You shyly wrap your arms around his waist and yawn.

“I’m tired.” You say as he wraps you guys up in your blanket and pulls you close. He kisses your forehead and smiles.

“Goodnight, angel.”

“Goodnight -- I love you.” It leaves your mouth before you could stop it. He feels you tense up and gives you a reassuring laugh before drifting off into unconsciousness.

“I love you too.” 

#bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #boku no hero academy #my hero academia #my hero acadamy #bnha awase #bnha yosetsu #bnha class b #bnha class 1b #smut #angst #fluff

[lairde-lampblack]

La Doncella

Chapter 1

Acción en Vivo

Within the depths of the long-abandoned Joey Drew Studios, an inkblot roamed the vents.  Despite being relatively deep in the studio, around level 5 or so, the air hung thick and silent with tension and the choking smell of rubber, waiting to pounce with the promise of danger.  The little inkblot failed to heed the weighty air’s warning as he trundled along the ducts with purpose.  He stared down into a nearby grate and, spotting something of interest despite his ink covered eyes, popped the grate off of the vent and clambered out into the abandoned office.

The room was dusty and comparatively  untouched in contrast to the rest of the ink-drenched studio, the drawers in the desk opened haphazardly and overturned onto the floor.  Discarded objects lay scattered on the floor and debris cluttered the corners.  It almost looked like there had been a fight in here.  The little inkblot pittered deeper into the room, picking up a snapped pen or shattered piece of inkwell every now and then before discarding the refuse to the side and continuing to explore the room.  Ignoring his growing discomfort and his second mental voice telling him to leave, he kept exploring the room he’d subconsciously avoided. He kicked a small stone pendant under the bookcase, the noise and sudden sensation catching his attention.  

The tiny, drippy toon squeezed his mitten hand under the dresser to reach the pendant, downcast horn and round white face squishing against the wood as his ever-present necktie brushed against the floor.  The nameless devil gave a staticky chirp in triumph once he managed to grab the leather strap of the pendant and fish it out.  The stone of the pendant was an inky black, carved and painted with a weird-looking rune in red.  The thing was oddly warm to the touch, and the childish cartoon took an instant liking to it.  He wrapped the leather cord around his hand despite the voice in his head protesting the action and stood back up to look around some more.

He finished exploring the room with the necklace in hand and was about to leave when he noticed the door.  It was a fairly standard door, a cracked glass panel taking up much of the upper half with faded reversed lettering displaying a name everyone in the studio knew with the remains of a bronzed doorknob dangling from where it should have been affixed with a dark stain splatter he knew instinctively wasn’t ink.  The inkblot tried to swallow past the lump now present in his nonexistent throat as he realized where he was and why exactly the voice in his head told him to leave.

It was an unspoken rule to never enter Joey Drew’s office.

He scrambled to the vent, finally understanding his own apprehension, and he closed up the grate as tightly as he could.  After being sure the vent had been closed securely and leaving a quick warning marking on the floor of the vent with his tail, he made a mad dash to Level 2 where some commotion was going on.  At least there was safer than Joey Drew’s old office.  Anywhere was safer for any of them than there. That’s what their instincts cried, as they’d been poor souls tricked into being sold to demons for their inky forms.  

It’s only natural to hide from a man that deals with devils.

Buddy skittered down the corridor after Bendy, having paused to examine his weird rune pendant again.  Every time he got close to the larger toon, the pendant would warm up, it seemed. The pendant itself doesn't really change despite its temperature fluctuating.

“Buddy?”

The smaller of the two inkblots jumped at his name, looking up at the sweaterclad demon up ahead.  “You alright there?” Bendy asked, concerned but concealing it as aloofness.  Buddy answered with a pop of static and a nod, dashing forward a bit to nab the hem of Buddy’s hoodie.  Before the two could continue on, Buddy tugged a bit on the bit of sweater he was grabbing, showing off the runed pendant in his other hand before he could think twice about it.  “What do you have there?” Bendy puzzled aloud, gingerly taking the pendant and inspecting it for himself. “What is it?”  Buddy shrugged in answer, and the two demons wore the same baffled expression.  After examining the stone for a few moments more, Bendy handed it back to Buddy, who wrapped it around his hand again as Bendy climbed the staircase to the projector room again.

The day had started normally, she supposed.  A partially overcast sky, bustling sidewalks of a small city, fairly standard where she lived.  She stared out the bedroom window into space, ensnared in her musings and attempts to recall the bizarre dream she’d had the night before, something about living cartoons with Splatoon physics.  She was glad to have gotten a good night of rest for once since her job called for late nights, even if she’ll fall back into her late night habits by the end of the week.  Some wispy drafts were all that remained of her dream from the night before and she lamented the loss cause it had been awesome if a bit weird.

She snapped out of her weird spacey session and rolled off of her bed, straightening herself out and pulling on her heavy blue sweater with faux fur trim in the hood. Even if it wasn’t snowing yet, the December air would still have its cold bite. Making sure her bedroom door was closed, she tapped her way down the stairs and pulled on her boots.  Her hand purse yoinked out of its drawer and she was ready to go to the store.   She’d started to run low on food, so she has to leave her house for once.

Before long, she’d left the house for the store.  When she got there, she did her shopping.  Nothing to write home about.  It was on the way back home did anything letterworthy happen.

She was going down the street at around 30, the speed limit for this part of town, when a small black figure darted into the road. “Holy shit!” she blurted out, swerving panickedly to avoid hitting the cat(?) and pulling over to make sure she hadn’t hit whatever that small black thing was.  She practically exploded out of the car and sprinted over to where the small black thing sat on the sidewalk, trembling in shock as three other black and white figures appeared to comfort it.  As she got closer, she slowed down in confoundment.

The four figures were almost mind boggling, looking like toons that had jumped straight off the animation reels from the 30’s.  The smallest of them, the one she’d almost run over and confused for a cat -- drippy and tiny, almost half-formed compared to the other three -- was staring at the palms of his mitteny hands. She shook away the shock of living cartoons (part of her was thrilled at the prospect, animation was her life’s dream and she adored cartoons) briefly and sped up to a power walk over to the small group.  “Are you alright?!  I’m so sorry I almost hitcha, I should-should-should-should’a been payin’ more attention!” she apologized rapidfire, stumbling over herself a bit with how fast the words came out.

The little inky one nodded his head, smiling shakily in her direction though still clearly shaken by almost dying.  The toony creature tries to speak to her, static coming out.  He gets visibly annoyed at his own unintelligibleness and the young adult holds up a finger. “Hang on a sec, lemme grab you a notepad or somethin’ from my car.” she offers, and she briskly walked over her car, waving the toons over with her.  Quickly snatching a pen and lightly used notepad from the glovebox, she offers the implements to the staticky inkblot after testing the pen with a quick scribble on the corner of a used page covered with messy doodles.  With a chirp in thanks, he writes down what he was trying to say.

We need your help, miss.

While the short sentence ran her blood a bit cold with the implications (what did they need help with and what the hell are there living toons doing roaming around on the streets), she still suppressed her burning curiosity and protective instinct and gave the tiny toon a warm smile.  “Of course I’ll help you guys out,” she said.  “I was jus’ on my way home from the store, actually, so if ya get into my car we can work things out there.  It’s gettin’ chilly this time’a year, and only one’a you’s wearin’ a coat.”

The toons all clambered into the car.  The tall doglike one sitting in the front with her while the angel, the one in the coat, and the smallest of them all sitting in the back.  After ensuring they were all buckled in, she resumed her drive back home with toons in tow, humming along to the radio as her affection grew for these lost souls.

#la doncella au #batim #batim oc #the maiden ladonc #bendy #buddy #bendy and buddy #hatim au #fanfic