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sunflowersteves · 2 years

Note

both eddie and steve fucking you

author's note || im so sorry this took me so long to do, but i hope you enjoy it!

pairing || eddie munson x steve harrington x fem!reader

warnings || angst, fluff, mean!eddie, soft!steve, edging, fingering, dom x sub, degradation, unprotected sex, creampie, punishment (light bdsm), mention of drinking, polyamorous relationship

The car seemed almost still. The only sound that punctured the air was the worn tires against the road. You looked out the window and watched the trees pass; light from the lampposts occasionally illuminated your face.

You were trying to find anything that could distract you from the burrowing shame that rushed through your chest. Although, you still found the silence too unbearable.

“Steve?”

As soon as his name leaves your mouth, Steve’s grip on the steering wheel seems insufferably tighter. He didn’t respond, leaving the two of you in the ether of silence. The absence of his voice sends chills down your spine.

Shit, yeah, you were in major trouble.

You could almost cut the tension in the air with a dull blade, and you try to sink further into the plush leather seats. Steve’s eyes fixed on the dark road in front of him, a firm and hard look caressed his face.

Your stomach twisted with guilt and sorrow—tears almost pricking your eyes.

You knew exactly why he was angry with you, and you have no doubt that Eddie is, too, back at home. You could picture the metalhead’s furrowed eyebrows and clenched fists as he circled the living room.

You had gone out with your friends, and what was supposed to be a meaningless hangout turned into going to three different bars and a club. That was all fun and games until your location was completely unknown to the entire town of Hawkins, Indiana. When Steve called to pick you up, and no one had answered, a hollow pit sunk in his stomach.

He and Eddie had thought of the worst, especially since it’s only been five months since the events of the Upside Down. What if Vecna somehow came back? What if it was something else from the Upside Down? What if you were kidnapped? What if you were hurt?

Much more gruesome scenarios ran through both of their heads as the clock continued to tick off each passing minute of your absence. They knew you were probably fine, but the swarthy depths of the unknown sunk within their darkest fears of something happening to you.

There was one rule that you, Eddie, and Steve made sure that you all had to follow, that you agreed to follow. Tell everyone where you are. Just in case another Vecna or turn of events appears, then someone can get to you—someone can be there.

Eddie's experience of being alone during Chrissy’s death had twisted inside him and left a broken shell of himself. When you, him, and Steve finally got together, the light at the end of the tunnel was finally visible. If anything had happened to you or Steve, Eddie would never forgive himself.

Eddie had finally got a hold of one of your friends, graciously telling them where you were, and man, they were pissed. You hadn’t heard Eddie or Steve that mad before, ever. You heard Eddie yelling profanities in the background while Steve growled that you needed to stay where you were, and it made you stutter into the wall phone at the wine bar.

You waited—frightened—for what was to come and how your boys would react. When Steve arrived, he never said a word. Your head hung low as you opened the car door—his nostrils flared at your friend giggling. If you weren’t leaving, you might have thought Steve was going to rip them a new one.

The car pulled up to Eddie’s driveway, Steve shifting the gear to park. He starts to aggressively open the door—a rush of frustrations clouding his mind. If you could follow the one simple fucking rule of letting your boyfriends know where you were at all times, things could be just peachy.

“Steve—” He shook his head, already opening your own door for you. As pissed as he is, he still loves you. In fact, that’s why he’s filled with such ire, to begin with.

You trail into the house behind Steve like a lost puppy who was kicked to the curb. As you walk into the living room, Eddie is standing there with a menacing stature. His face looks red, chest heaving, and shoulder muscles tense.

“I cannot believe you.” He spits—eyes engrossed in flames. Steve has a hand on his hip, but his eyes are glued to the floor. “You can’t do that to us, do you understand?”

Your head hung low for the second time tonight, nodding immediately. Your heart ached for the two boys in front of you as guilt swirled through your chest.

For hours on end, Steve and Eddie were utterly disquiet as they called around Hawkins, and no one seemed to know where you were.

Steve scoffed, “No, she doesn’t. You-you can’t just scare us like that. What if Vecna or-or another monster from the upside down had-had—” He bit his tongue before he could say killed you because he couldn’t. He couldn’t utter those two words. “Look at me.”

You stayed still and squeezed your eyes shut. You hear footsteps coming closer, amber wood, and a hint of vanilla wafted into your nose. He’s forcing you to look at him with his hand on your jaw. “Look at me, baby.”

Your eyes lock with his, and it crushes every piece inside of you. You almost couldn’t hear him from your heart pounding in your ears. “You scared the shit out of us, you know that?” His voice is soft, barely above a whisper. “I know you wanna have your fun, baby, but you need to let us know where you’re going. We–We need to know you’re safe.”

He’s looking at you so intensely that your lip starts to tremble. “I-I’m sorry, Stevie. I’m so sorry.”

Eddie frowns and stalks over to the two of you. “Sorry?” He can’t help but laugh, “Sorry doesn’t fucking cut it—”

“Eddie—” Steve tries and grabs his shoulder, but Eddie brushes it off. “No, Steve. She left us to think of the absolute worst for hours. You can’t just say you’re sorry and think it’s all okay.” He huffs.

Steve’s slightly concerned at Eddie’s outburst but quickly becomes intrigued as Eddie goes to shove you against the couch. Your mouth is slightly agape and shocked at your boyfriend’s actions. Eddie grits his teeth, “if you can’t follow some simple fucking rules, then I’m going to remind you.”

Eddie rips open your skirt, a desperate plea escaping your lips. He aggressively pulls your pink lace down your legs. Steve gasps at Eddie’s force before stalking over to the couch and taking a look at the guilt and arousal that’s written all over your face. “Oh, Eddie, She likes it.” And you did. You really did. Your body did too.

“F-Fuck, pretty girl, you’re wet? Huh?” He mocks, dipping a thick finger into your folds. You gasp, “Eddie!” You roll your head back as your hands grip the fluffy couch.

“C’mere, Steve. I need you to hold her.” Steve complies and pries open your legs, holding them in place as Eddie continues his attack. His cock felt strained in his jeans at the sight. Steve’s eyes were dark hues—watching Eddie’s fingers scissor your open. “Look at this desperate little pussy, Steve. Look at her clenchin’ around my fingers.”

You moan at the feeling of his fingers curling—reaching further through your wet spongy walls. “You’re so pretty, baby.” Steve presses kisses on your shoulder, continuing to whisper more praises into your ear. You weren’t listening, though, not when Eddie goes to slap your clit.

He gruffs, “You, pretty girl, need to fucking learn—”

You hiccup, head leaned back further against the cushions. “Eddie, please—”

“You little slut, look at you. Our baby likes to be fucked like this, huh? You like when Steve and I are mad?” You try to respond, but Steve takes your nipple into his mouth and makes your begging fall off your lips.

His tongue swirls against the bud and groans at the soft feeling of your skin. He lets go, a harsh popping noise leaving your lips. “F-Fuck, baby—”

Your brain is absolute mush, and the only thing you could even think of was Steve and Eddie. They were both talking to you—degrading you, but you could barely even hear them.

Eddie becomes almost harsher, curling his fingers as he adds a third. You whimper at the sensation, it’s almost painful, but that feeling of pleasure seems like it’s about to burst as you clench. “You gonna cum, baby? You gonna cum all over my fingers?”

You nod at Eddie, desperate to chase out your high. He’s fucking into you fast—his fingers relentless with each stroke. You feel Steve move to lick your wet slick near your thigh, your body shuttering at the sensation.

“Well, that’s too fucking bad.” Just as you feel the coil snap, Eddie releases his fingers. You whine, hips bucking into the air, and Steve almost couldn’t hold you down. You were desperate—so desperate—that it looked pitiful from you grinding into the air. “Fuckin’ look at you, pretty girl. Such a desperate little slut, aren’t you? But you can’t seem to follow a simple rule.”

Eddie makes Steve flip you over so your ass is hanging up into the air, face planted into the couch. You squirm as you watch, Eddie’s enraged eyes looking at your leaking pussy. “Only good girls get to fucking cum.”

He unbuckles his belt, making you loudly whine as his thick throbbing cock releases from his boxers. “Fuck her, Steve. Need to watch you fuck our girl.” Without warning, Steve’s cock rams into you, prompting a scream to leave your lips. “S-Steve!”

You hear him moan behind you, your arms limp and body at their full control. Steve’s cock is big—ramming into walls over and over. “S-Shit, sweet girl, you feel so fucking tight.”

“Yeah, Stevie? She feels good against your cock?” Eddie was closer now, watching Steve’s cock disappear in your dripping pussy. He whimpered as his own fingers swiped over the head of his cock. “Y-Yeah, Eddie—She—She huggin’ my cock and–and–”

Steve moans as thick ropes of his sticky cum fill your hole, and it makes you mewl. You’re close—so close as your walls clench around Steve. Eddie fakes a pout as he makes you look at him. “Awe, baby, are you gonna cum? Huh? You think you deserve it this time?”

Steve’s still riding his high, relentlessly rutting into you with his endless cum filling you up. You nod at Eddie, practically pleading to the ends of the earth for some type of release. “You can’t.” You almost scream at your boyfriends. “I told you that good girls cum, yeah?”

“Eddie, I-I can’t—”

He laughs, and if Steve wasn’t still fucking you silly, you might have snapped back. “Hold it. Fucking hold it, or I’m not gonna let you get fucked for a month.” Your mouth shuts almost immediately because you knew Eddie wasn’t joking. The fierce look in his eyes as he’s fisting his cock in his hands tells you everything.

He’s really not joking.

“Good girl.” You hold it as long as you can, you really do. Your walls are at a constant clench as Steve’s sticky cock floods your senses. “Eddie, Please!” You try again, hoping for him to let you just this once, but he’s shaking his head.

His own release is creeping up on him, pre-cum covering his head in full. He growls, “S-Steve, my pretty girl, look at you two. You’re mine.” Steve finally pulls out of you, his cum leaking against your thighs. He’s panting and mumbling absolute nonsense from his sensitive cock being completely fucked out.

Eddie bursts out a moan, the pure sight before him has his cock leaking out in thick ropes. You’re whining against the couch as you watch his cum drip down his thighs—you wished that was inside of you. He’s whispering your and Steve’s name over and over again while Steve goes to lick the cum off of Eddie’s thighs.

It was sure a sight to see, and you squirmed. “Pretty girl, ‘M sorry, but you had to be punished.”

You whimpered at Eddie’s soft voice, his anger subsiding to a low ache. “I know, Eds.”

They then join you on the couch, you being the middle of the Eddie and Steve sandwich. Things seem to have become much calmer, hazy eyes looking at one another with such adoration it was going to make your heart explode.

Steve rubbed small circles onto your forearm, and Eddie’s pinky linked with yours. Eddie isn’t sure if he could handle not being around your presence right now, and it was something that made his heart hurt.

The calm moment turned sullen as you heard a sniffle. You whip your head over toward Eddie, “Eddie, baby—” He shakes his head at you, frizzy hair tickling his cheeks. He’s then intertwining your fingers into his. “You just—you just really scared us. You really scared me.”

You squeeze his hand, reaching over to your right and intertwining Steve’s hand into yours. “If-If anything happens to you or s-steve, I-I don’t know what I’d do.” A tear falls down Eddie’s cheek, and you untie your hands with him to wipe it away. You’re so gentle with him, and it makes his heart preen to be closer toward you.

“I’m so sorry, Eddie. I really am. I didn’t know we were going out to different bars, and I know that’s no excuse.” You swipe your finger on his cheek. “I just–I'm so sorry. I love you both so much.”

Steve nods, “Next time, please tell us where you’re going, even if plans change.” Eddie hums in agreement as he presses his lips against yours. It’s a soft kiss. It's one that has your brain fuzz and your heart palpitating.

“Go give Stevie one.”

You turn, reaching over to grab Steve’s face in a gentle kiss. “I promise. I promise I’ll be better.”

For the first time tonight, your boyfriends smiled. “We love you too, sweet girl.” Steve presses a kiss to your shoulder, “We love you very much.”

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viridescent-din · 1 year

Text

Hope

Joel x reader. Smut, 18+ only Fingering, age gap.

There’s no hope for you.

You don’t take it personally. There’s no hope for anyone anymore. But it still stings, knowing it will probably never get better. Knowing that in spite of everything, even though you and everyone else that’s left has been given the worst hand fate could have dealt, you can’t ever have what you want. What’s right in front of you.

Joel, leaving you for weeks on end to smuggle God knows what. Angry when you come, angry when you don’t. Short tempered and mean, hurting under all those layers of pain and experience and grime. When you met Joel, you promised yourself you would dig into him, make your way through those layers and burrow under them. Warm him from the inside out. You wanted to know him.

Now you do, and it hurts more than ever. It’s a nicer pain than feeling nothing at all, but it’s still heavy. The lingering glances Joel gives you make you feel truly alive, but they make you ache too. The wandering eyes, the brushes of his arm, the death grip he holds you in on the runs when you stumble across infected. You know Joel well enough to understand they mean something. To you and him. He doesn’t touch other people like that. He doesn’t care for them. Protect them.

If he’s felt the way he does for you this long and hasn’t done anything about it, he’s never going to.

It’s possible that Joel doesn’t want to make the first move - doesn’t want to be the one that really changes the comfortable (almost, almost domestic) closeness you two have. There’s lots of reasons he wouldn’t: he’s older than you, for one. There’s also FEDRA and the Fireflies and anyone else who keeps an eye on Joel, looking for a weakness. The lack of confirmation between the two of you as to just what you are bleeds over to anyone who watches you interact. If something changes, if Joel really admits this is real, it won’t stay between the two of you no matter how much he might try. They’ll notice. Joel can’t afford to lose anyone else.

It’s hopeless, you and Joel. So you try not to think about it, and you never, ever push him.

Joel can’t take this much longer. Can’t take you.

It’s killing him. Everything is: his job, his age, his sorrow. Everything is wearing Joel down, making him drag his feet and look for the nearest somewhat safe spot so he can collapse and finally rest. For just one fucking minute.

He only feels rested when he’s with you. And Joel hates himself for that. Hates putting that amount of responsibility on you - to burden you with him. You’ve never asked for that.

Of course, you’ve never asked because you’re scared that if you do, Joel will leave. He doesn’t blame you. He’s not entirely sure that he wouldn’t.

You’re so good. It blinds him sometimes, your goodness. Sometimes it’s like the sun, shining down on Joel as he overlooks the ruins of whatever given city he’s in. But sometimes it’s like the light on the soldier’s gun twenty years ago, forcing Joel to realize everything he holds dear is devastatingly fragile.

If Joel let you give yourself to him the way he knows you want to, all he would do is take. He would envelope you, trap you in his chest. He’s cold and gruff and he would expect you to just deal with it. More than you already do.

“Should be an easy run,” you finish telling Joel late one night. You try not to notice how nice he looks in red, even if the shirt he’s wearing is dusty and beat up. “I’ll be back before morning.”

“I’m coming with you.” Joel responds gruffly. You purse your lips.

“I know you had something planned with Tess,” you say. “It’s just the mall. I’m not even leaving the QZ.”

“It’s boarded up for a reason.”

“I trust the people that say it’s safe -”

“Tess can handle herself. Ain’t no thing for me to go with you.” You still.

You don’t mean to be upset with Joel, but stings anyway, the lack of faith he has in you. It’s times like this that make you feel young. Stupid and incapable.

Needy.

“Tess can leave the QZ on her own but I can’t even make a quick trip to the mall?” You manage to keep the accusation out of your tone, but it’s still implied. Joel knows.

“Hey,” he says, short. “That’s not what I’m sayin’.” You swallow.

“I know, Joel, I just -”

“Tess has experience. She’s been doing this shit practically since it all started.” You nod as you look away, nails digging into your palms as you clench them. Your heart jumps when you feel Joel take your hand, prying it open. “Quit doin’ that.” He murmurs. Joel’s hand is warm, spreading waves of heat throughout your body. You unclench your fist, and Joel rubs his thumb over the lines of barely broken skin. “It’s different with you,” he says, barely audible. “You know it is.”

For a second, you think this is it. The walls are coming down, and Joel is admitting. Confessing, even. You look at him, eyes wide and hopeful.

He drops your hand and walks away.

“I’ll be back tomorrow night. Be ready.” He says. The door slams shut behind him.

“What are we even here for?” Joel only thinks to ask once you’ve led him into some sort of breaker room. You shine your flashlight at all the light switches and levers, looking for the right one. Joel frowns at himself. He should have pressed you for more information about this. It’s not like him to… not. “If I’m just here to take you shopping, we can leave now.”

“Yeah, Joel, you’re here to take me shopping. Prom is right around the corner.” You say. Smart ass, Joel thinks. He lets himself smile while you aren’t looking.

“Think you’re a little old for that.” Joel shines his own flashlight overheard, looking at all the decay. Water drips onto his face, and he wipes it off.

“I’m not that much older, you know. I am twenty f-”

“Don’t finish that sentence.” Joel stops you. You grin at him before lifting a lever. Machinery whirrs around you both, and the lights slowly flicker on.

“Whatever you say, old man.” Joel rolls his eyes, but secretly, he’s relieved to have you teasing him again. Joel doesn’t like how he left your place last night, how real it felt. How for a moment, he was the cause of the hurt that flickered over your face. “This way.” You tell him, leading him down the maintenance hallway and into the actual mall.

Even Joel can’t help but marvel at it, even in ruin. It’s massive, and all the stores are reminding him of brands he had forgotten existed. His chest clenches at the sight of some of them, the models that would have Sarah’s age.

The last time he went to a mall was with her.

“Holy shit,” you breathe, eyes wandering. “Look how big it is, Joel! Everything is -”

“Are we gonna be here all night?” Joel demands, suddenly gruff and impatient. Your face falls. “Let’s get what you want and leave, alright?”

“Right,” you say, excitement gone. “It’s um - I just remember my mom going to the mall whenever one of us got sick. I know there’s… there are like, pharmacies or whatever. I thought it would be good to stock up on medicine.”

Joel pinches the bridge of his nose, angry at himself for taking his shit out on you. It’s not your fault he insisted on coming.

It’s a good plan, too. Joel is surprised he or Tess didn’t think of it.

“That’s good. Smart.” He tells you, trying to ease the tension. “Do you remember how to find your way around a mall?” You shake your head. “It’s called a directory. It’s a map, usually on the first floor.” Joel spots an escalator a few feet in front of you. “Let’s go look at one, yeah? Better than wandering around the entire night.”

“Okay.” You agree. “Lead the way.”

The pharmacy is on the second floor, so you and Joel head back the way you came after looking at the directory. You start rambling about how there might not even be anything, how a mall probably doesn’t have as much as a CVS or a Walgreens. Joel stops you.

“Even one bottle of antibiotics is better than none,” he tells you. “This was smart. Good job.” You give Joel a small smile.

“Thanks,” you say.

The pharmacy turns out to be well stocked - you and Joel jump over the counter and find practically everything full. Joel watches you look at the labels of everything a few times before you take to dumping things in your backpack. Joel is more careful, on the lookout for penicillin and any other helpful meds he can remember. He falters when he grabs one prescription and reads it: cryselle, low ogestrel. Birth control. Before he even realizes what he’s doing, Joel glances at you.

“You ready?” You ask. You’re standing on the counter, looking down. Joel shoves the pills in pocket.

“Yeah,” he says, swinging his backpack over his shoulder. “Let’s -” Joel doesn’t even hear the growling until it’s too late, until a rotted hand grabs your ankle and pulls, the crack of your ribs on the counter bouncing off the walls and the look of surprise on your face permanently searing itself onto Joel’s brain.

“Joel!” You scream, the infected chomping at you, practically ripping the skin of its neck to reach you. Bite you. You let out another scream, one pure terror and pain. Your torso is throbbing, a blinding pain that’s making it harder and harder to keep the infected off you. You thrash, kicking its legs in an attempt to get it off, but you only make its knees collapse so its weight falls on you even more. You let out a frustrated sob.

This is it, you think to yourself. Even if I get out of this, Joel is never letting me do a run again. Your arms start to weaken at the thought, subconsciously giving in.

The shot fires so close to you it makes your ears ring. The infected stops growling, slumping on top of you. You push it off, dazed.

Joel is on you in an instant, hands running over every inch of bare skin you have. Hands, wrists. Neck. He hooks his fingers under your chin and forces you to look at him, distress written all over his face. You cough, wincing as it rattles your ribs.

“Good,” you manage. “I’m clean.” Joel sags with relief, his forehead pressed against yours. He smells scared, stressed and acrid. You close your eyes and breathe it in.

“C’mon,” Joel says, standing. “There could be more. There’s always more.”

He takes you to his apartment. His, not yours. You drop your bags at the door, kicking off your shoes. Joel leads you to his bedroom, and you sit on his sheets, wincing. When you pull up your shirt, your skin is raised and bruised. You tug it back down.

“Does it feel like a clean break?” Joel asks. You shrug, not knowing what he expects you to say. He leaves, coming back with a bottle of pills and a glass of water. “Ibuprofen.” He explains. “Nothing fancy for a few broken bones.” You thank him.

“Should we wrap it?” You ask.

“Don’t know. Might make sleeping on ‘em the first night easier.” Joel watches you. “Can I see?”

You swallow as Joel stands over you. Slowly, you lift your shirt.

To Joel’s credit, he doesn’t freak out. It dawns on you that he might be thinking you’re making a big deal out of nothing. You don’t know what Joel’s life was like before you were in it, but you know it was worse than a few cracked bones. Embarrassment creeps up your face.

“It’s nothing.” You dismiss it. Joel nods.

“Nothing.” He agrees. He doesn’t sound convincing, though.

It’s not even that bad. Joel knows that.

He watches people die every day. He’s seen the worst of death and then some. He’s seen people stumble into the QZ holding their innards in their hands. He’s watched people rip their tongues out as the virus infects them, trying to rid themselves of the spores they can feel invading their bodies.

You have a few cracked ribs. You’re strong. You can handle it.

But the thing is, Joel can’t. He’s worn down, he’s exhausted and scared he just can’t keep himself from caring so much.

He’s making this a bigger deal than it is. Joel thinks you feel the same - you’re waving him off, saying you’re fine. Saying it’s nothing. The wound is, sure. But the terror Joel felt when he saw you disappear behind the counter in less than a second? That isn’t nothing. It’s everything. You’re everything.

“You wanna stay here for the night?” Joel asks you. Splashes of black and blue spread over your torso, painting your skin. It makes Joel feel sick. He shouldn’t have let this happen.

“Yeah,” you say. “If it’s okay.” Joel shrugs in response, hunching his shoulders to ward his paranoia away. You give him a small smile, tugging your shirt down. Joel turns around, walking over to the small dresser near the door and digging out one of his flannels. He knows you like them, and you know Joel likes seeing you in them just as much. He tosses it to you on the bed. You catch it smoothly, laying it next to you. Joel faces the wall, letting you change your shirt.

And then he hears it.

It’s a small noise that you make. It probably isn’t even one of pain, you’ve been through worse than this, it’s just a hiss of discomfort as you raise your arms above your head to take your shirt off.

And Joel is rushing towards you, brow furrowed, hands outstretched and mind telling him no, no, no, just like it has for years.

Joel’s been silently telling himself no to you since he met you. He’s older now.

He can’t bring himself to listen anymore.

Joel kneels in front of you, grunting as his knees protest. Your eyes are wide, and you’ve frozen. Your hands are gripping the hem of your shirt, holding it just above your navel. You watch as Joel’s eyes flick towards the bareness of your stomach, and even though he just saw it so he could look at your ribs, Joel can tell you know he’s looking in a different way now. He swallows, leaning forward.

“Let me help you, baby.” Joel says. You draw in a breath.

“Are you sure?” You whisper. You know what this means, what Joel’s thinly veiled statement implies. Joel returns your gaze.

Joel reaches forward, grabbing the hem of your shirt and lifting it carefully over your head. A small ‘good job’ tumbles off his lips when you raise your arms without making another sound of discomfort again, and Joel sees what his praise does to you.

He leans back on his heels, looking at you sitting with your breasts exposed on his bed, bones cracked and in need of repair. He watches you wait for him to really promise something, to show you that this is finally happening.

You’ve been so patient. Joel can’t make you wait any longer.

“Joel,” Joel’s name comes out a gasp as he lays you down,

Joel props himself on the wall, sitting on the pillows. He pulls your back against his chest, arm over your collarbone while his other hand dangles between your legs. He massages your thighs and your eyes slide shut. You grip his forearm, nails biting into his skin.

When Joel’s fingers have finally worked their way up and are tracing your slick entrance, you whimper.

“I know, baby. I’ve got you.” Joel licks the shell of your ear as he murmurs, and you feel so safe. He’s capable and willing and wanting, you can feel his hardness against the small of your back.

If it were anyone else, this would feel sudden. But it’s Joel. You’ve been waiting so long. You’d be lying if you said you understood why it was now that he finally decided to do something, but you don’t care. You don’t care why this brush with death was the one that made the walls come down. You just care that it did.

Joel kisses your neck, sinking his teeth into the muscle of where your shoulder meets your neck, and you gasp, keening against him.

Teeth marks on your shoulder. Bruises on your hips. Joel is trying to make up for the fact you’re battered from today’s supply run. You’re about to say something about it when his fingertip pushes into your cunt. Your mouth drops open, and you moan so loud you almost slap your hand over your mouth instinctively.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” you hear Joel say as he slides his finger further in. Your thighs tremble, and Joel stills. “Hey,” Joel says your name, serious. “How long has it been?” He asks in a whisper. He runs his thumb up painfully slow over your clit, the same way you would to someone’s back or shoulder if you were trying to comfort them. It makes your head spin. “I gotta know how slow you need it.” He explains. You open your eyes, and Joel is staring at you.

“I,” you feel your cheeks burn. “I haven’t ever…” excuses build on your tongue before you even finish your sentence. I haven’t had time. I was the only survivor I knew of for years. I was only a kid when this all started. I can’t trust anyone around here. I’m younger than you. You don’t say any of them. You can’t bring yourself to.

“Oh, baby -”

“Please don’t stop,” you plead. Joel doesn’t move, his finger still inside you, gaze piercing. “Please, Joel. It’s not - it doesn’t have to be a big deal. I need this.” You can’t reach Joel’s lips from here, not with the way he’s holding you, so you drop your head and drag your lips across his forearms instead. “I need you.”

Joel closes his eyes, screwing them shut like he’s upset. But when he opens them, there’s no trace of anger. Just affection.

“I’m not gonna stop,” he promises you. You nod, relieved. “I’m taking care of you, darlin.’”

When Joel pushes another thick finger inside you to prove his point, he chases away any doubt you had remaining.

“I’m not going to use my cock on you tonight,” Joel tells you after what feels like hours of him working you open.Your disappointment is obvious. Insecurity begins to set in on you, but Joel won’t let it. “Not tonight,” he repeats. “Another time.” It takes a second for you to believe him, but eventually you murmur a quick ‘okay.’ “For now, I want you to finish with my fingers. Think you can do that for me, baby?” You nod, and Joel rewards you by curling his finger. “Good girl,” he says, and you clench around him. Joel smirks, amused, and rubs the thumb he has on your shoulder up and down soothingly. “Relax,” he tells you. “I’ve got you. Let me in.”

You try to wrap your head around the fact that this is happening, that after years of pining after Joel, he’s finally here. He’s sturdy and strong and present - you can feel all of him, his heartbeat against your back, his breath on your neck, his fingers so deep it’s like you can feel him in your stomach. His smell grounds you, filling your senses. You’re so full, so full of Joel. You have been for a long time now.

You take a deep breath, letting yourself inhale Joel’s scent. Your exhale is shakier as Joel presses in deeper. Your gaze flickers down to where his fingers disappear, and you whimper at the sight. You’re never seen yourself like this, swollen and puffy. You’re transfixed by Joel’s fingers pumping in and out of you, shiny with your slick. He suddenly finds a spot you’ve never had touched before. You moan as he massages the spongy place, trying to find your breath. When Joel keeps at that and rubs at your clit again, your vision starts to blur.

“Joel,” you gasp, the feeling foreign and overwhelming. “Joel. Joeljoeljoel -”

“Shh. You’re okay. I’m here,” Joel slows. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No!” You exclaim. Your mind is spinning as the corners of your eyes begin to go white.

“Okay. Alright,” Joel soothes you. “I know, darlin’, I know. Feels so good it’s almost scary, isn’t it?” You screw your eyes shut, your chest heaving as you pant. Joel presses on, his confident voice pushing you close to the edge. “But you don’t need to be scared. You can let yourself have this,” Joel takes a breath in, his voice getting distant. “You deserve this, alright? Let me give this to you.” Joel almost sounds like he’s begging. “Please let me do this for you.”

All you can do is clench around him in response.

Joel knows, Joel knows he shouldn’t be doing this. You’re better than him. You should have someone more handsome, someone younger, someone kinder.

Someone with less blood on their hands.

But Joel is selfish. He’s a selfish man, he has been since he lost Sarah, and he wants this. Wants you. He wants to give you something, make you feel good for just one second in the shitty world you have to live in. He needs this. He needs to know you’re getting some type of pleasure.

He hesitates when you say this is your first time.

It shouldn’t surprise him - you don’t have the resources people before the virus did. No internet, no sex ed, no parents or older siblings to ask.

You don’t like new things. Joel knows you don’t like being inexperienced. You’re too good at what you do, it makes your tolerance for being out of depth very, very low. And this is so much more personal than anything else. He can feel your embarrassment when you confess to him, unable to even finish your sentence.

“Oh, baby,” he murmurs, and it isn’t because you have anything to be ashamed about, it’s because Joel is pretty sure you’ve barely even touched yourself and you still find it in you to trust him to do it. To beg. Joel is a sick man, because it goes straight to his dick, your trust and desperation.

He wants to give this to you, and he doesn’t care if it also feels like taking.

When you cum, sweating and writhing in his arms, you clench tighter around Joel’s fingers than he knew was possible. He can feel your fucking heartbeat, and his hand isn’t even on your chest.

You’re far away when Joel eases his fingers out of you. He manages to lay you down on the bed, cautious of your ribs. He starts to stand to get a washcloth to clean you up, but you grip his hand.

“Please don’t go,” you tell him, vulnerable. “Please, Joel.”

Joel hates himself. Hates that he’s ever acted in some type of way that would make you think he would leave you when you need someone.

When you need him.

“I’m just grabbing something to clean us up,” he promises, rubbing your knee. “We made a mess, darlin’.” You sag, relieved.

Joel caves once he’s in the bathroom and out of your sight. He presses his fingers to his tongue, savoring your taste. He sucks his fingers off like a starved man, and can’t wait until he gets it straight from the source.

There is hope after all. For you and Joel. You can tell because of the dull throb in your core. Joel’s half hard cock against your hip. The medicine in your packs by the door, the softness of Joel’s lips over the skin of your ribs.

There is hope - always was. Even though you had to wait for it.

#joel miller #joel miller imagine #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel #joel imagine #joel x reader #joel smut #joel x you #the last of us #the last of us imagine

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pooks · 3 months

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Percy headcanon time! by Pooks!

everyone be like "post-second war, Percy moves back to the burrow"

but CONSIDER

he doesn't do that. he doesn't wanna go back, but he wants a good, healthy and stable relationship with his family. he even connects the old fireplace in his flat to the floo network, so they can travel with ease.

now you wonder, why doesn't he come back? for the better part, they assumed that Percy thought it was too cramped at the Burrow or that he wanted some adult independance, learning to grow into his adult role.

trust me, it's none of those reasons. his reason is something entirely different.

Percy got a TV.

no, he doesn't want to share it. no, he isn't giving up his TV with good reception and dozens of channels (headcanon; he's a sucker for tv dramas).

the most hilarious thing is when he and Molly argues about why that TV is so much better than her radio ("You can't see the visuals, Mother! And if I have to listen to Celestina Warbeck 24/7 again, I might throw myself into the Thames!") and when Arthur is so interested in the TV ("No, Dad. You can't experiment on my TV! It costed me so much Muggle money, please don't do that!")

and just as he expected and lowkey feared, his siblings starts to mooch on the TV. the younger ones, at least. Bill's busy being husband and father and Charlie hightailed back to Romania cause he misses his baby dragons.

and since this is end of 1990s and early 2000s, there is a slight civil war between his siblings about which channel is the best and yes, they're all cartoon-related.

Ron and Ginny likes Nickelodeon while Fred and George favors Cartoon Network.

Percy likes Disney Channel (and he's a big sucker for spanish telenovelas), tho, and successfully ropes in the others cause there's some good content.

of course, he comes home from work and always finds one or more of his siblings watching TV and he's annoyed at this point because damn it, he can't have ANYTHING for himself (true sibling energy, right there).

#hp headcanon #percy weasley #percy weasley headcanon #arthur weasley #molly weasley #bill weasley #charlie weasley #fred weasley #george weasley #ron weasley #ginny weasley #percy weasley and the tv #2000s nostalgia #1990s nostalgia #pooks rambles

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sourholland · 1 year

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based off of taylor swift’s song style

a/n → welcome to the first part of style!! if you guys enjoy this i can for sure come up with a more permanent updating schedule. like i said, i came up with this idea pretty suddenly. let me know to be added to the taglist, interaction is always encouraged if you like!!! it lets me know you guys want more parts

summary → he’s the quarterback of the cincinnati bengals, a worldwide heartthrob with an ego the size of lake erie—but does he have the heart to match it? you’re the bengals newest cheerleader, desperate to prove how much you deserve your spot on the team. it doesn’t take much to catch the eye of joe burrow, however that isn’t necessarily a good thing when you’re told that any romantic relations between cheerleaders and players is strictly prohibited.

warnings → strong language, alcohol use, mention of injury, nsfw content

word count → 4.1k

reblog and leave some comments if you enjoy!!!

SERIES MASTERLIST

Chapter 1

After a rigorous auditioning process with over a thousand girls trying to earn their spot on the Bengal’s Cheerleading Squad, only forty made the cut. Most returners, some new like yourself. You’d watched girls break bones, continuing to audition on them to have a shot on the squad. Many left in tears, cut and sent home with hardly any reason why.

There was a little bit of metaphorical survivor’s guilt after you’d made the team, knowing this wasn’t your dream like it was for some others. This was only a season or two commitment for you while you finished up your last year of college. Then you’d become a teacher, something you’d had a passion for over the years. Cheerleading was more so a hobby, you’d danced all of your life and had cheered in high school. This wasn’t going to be your livelihood, nor did it offer you the funds to live off of for more than a short while.

There were plenty of rules to follow, many of which had you questioning if this was truly what you wanted. The handbook they’d given you was thick, although some of the girls had told you that they’d lessened up on the requirements over the years after a lawsuit had been filed. In the end, it wasn’t so bad. Tedious, but still a very surreal experience.

From about April to the middle of July, it was practice twice a week from 7:30 at night to about 11. There was a separate facility used to work and condition through the colder months, just following the Super Bowl. Once pre-season truly began, the whole team moved practice facilities. This put you in the same place as the Bengals practiced, giving you more field time than gym time to get acclimated. It was different, especially due to the fact that players and cheerleaders were placed at an arms length most of the time.

The afternoon of the first practice at the new stadium, you’d all been given the talk. This was basically your coaches and executives way of saying that if anyone found out that anyone off the squad had anything more than a friendly, professional relationship with one of the players—they’d be either cut or sanctioned. It was bad for the image of the team, making it bad for those in charge.

It shouldn’t have been a problem.

That first night practice in August was tough, you were coming off of a sprained ankle and the heat was blistering even at 8 at night. Amanda, your head coach, sent you inside to grab some ice from the athletic trainer to bring back out to the field. There was a stigma around the coaching and treatment of NFL cheerleaders, but you’d mostly had a decent experience so far. Your coaches did care that you were healthy and equipped to cheer.

Adorned in a slightly baggy Bengals T-shirt and spandex, you walked through the empty halls of the mostly deserted facility. The players had just ended their practice about an hour earlier, you watched them all exit into the locker room. That meant that mostly everyone had called it a night, heading home. The cheerleaders stayed late because practice was meant to be after work or class, it wasn’t a full-time job.

The door to the athletic trainers office was slightly ajar, the light on. Pushing it open slightly, you stepped in with furrowed eyebrows and a curious look. On the large medical table, ice in hand, sat Joe Borrow still in his practice jersey and shorts. The office was empty besides him, trainer nowhere to be seen.

He was a good looking guy, you’d give him that. Maybe it was the fact that he was 6’4 or maybe it was the fact that he was really fucking good at his sport. He looked up at you and gave a friendly grin, laying the ice on his knee.

“Emily said she was heading home about a half hour ago, her kid was sick or something so she had to pick him up from the babysitter,” Joe told you politely. “I came in just as she was like walking out, she just told me to lock up the office when I was done.”

Someone was clearly a rambler.

“Yeah,” you nodded. “I was just going to grab some ice.”

He nodded and went silent while you walked over to the ice maker, taking the plastic scooper and putting some of it into a plastic bag. He was still looking at you, making it obvious as you saw him from your peripheral. Twisting the bag, you felt slightly awkward just standing there in silence.

“I’m Joe,” he spoke again.

“Y/N,” you turned back towards him. “It’s nice to meet you.”

He extended a hand towards you, smiling as you took it and shook it softly. When you broke from his grip, he remained looking at you. He was definitely one of those people who looked you right in the eyes through the entire conversation. You didn’t know if this made you particularly uncomfortable or slightly excited.

“You’re a cheerleader.”

“Was that a question?” You chuckled, “I think that’s pretty obvious.”

“No, no. I was kind of just thinking out loud.”

He was easily flustered, that much was obvious. He repositioned the bag of ice and looked back up at you with slightly pink cheeks. This made you want to crack a grin, feeling like you were talking to a boy for the first time ever or something.

“I should head back to practice,” you told him, watching him slowly nod in understanding.

“Yeah, of course,” Joe smiled. “It was nice meeting you, Y/N.”

Walking out of the athletic trainer’s office felt somewhat like developing a crush in sixth grade of sorts. With hot cheeks, you could not get him out of your head for the remainder of practice. Whether it was his stupid hair or his stupid shit-eating grin, or his stupidly toned body.

The drive home was only a twenty-five minute stretch of turning back the interaction in your mind over and over with Phoebe Bridgers playing lightly in the background. Pulling into your apartment complex garage was when you’d finally resorted to telling yourself to leave it be and take a cold shower. This boy was not worth thinking too hard about.

You turned the key over and cut the vehicle off, grabbing your phone and cheer bag to head to the elevator. The walk up was somewhat somber after a hard practice with a racing mind.

By the time you’d made it up to your front door, you glanced down at your phone to check the time. There were several unopened notifications, nothing out of the ordinary at first glance. One immediately stuck out to you, though.

joeyb_9 started following you.

“What the fuck,” you mumbled to yourself, nearly dropping your keys as you unlocked the door.

There was a small part of you that was excited by this, he was one of the most sought after players in the NFL—who wouldn’t be a bit flattered? Only there was a small part of you that wondered why he was going out of his way to search up your instagram.

Setting your phone down, you resorted to making yourself a quick dinner. Watching your phone light up from where you stood across the kitchen making yourself a wrap was slightly unnerving.

Once you finally couldn’t resist any longer, you sauntered over to grab your phone off of the island. He’d sent you two DMs. One right after the other.

@joeyb_9: Hey

@joeyb_9: It’s Joe.

This boy was either extremely humble or just plain stupid. His ability to continue to tell you that it was Joe—like you wouldn’t know who Joe Burrow was.

@y/n.y/l/n: I’m aware

@y/n.y/l/n: Missing me already?

@joeyb_9: Maybe…

There was a slight pause in between his next message, you weren’t sure what to say to that. This was already pretty bizarre and very against the code of conduct you signed at the start of your cheer season.

@joeyb_9: Sorry if this is weird

@y/n.y/l/n: That you’re sliding into my dms lol?

@joeyb_9: Is that what this is??

@y/n.y/l/n: You use that on all the girls, Joe?

@joeyb_9: Would you believe me if I said no?

@y/n.y/l/n: Probably not lmfao

@joeyb_9: That’s fair, I probably wouldn’t either

This was the point in the conversation where you always wondered what to do. It also was pretty obvious that you were not the only girl Joe Burrow probably private messaged on instagram. He’d probably long forget about you by morning and the few hours of your stomach doing backflips at every message would cease.

@y/n.y/l/n: Alright, I’m headed to bed.

@y/n.y/l/n: Was nice meeting you earlier. Have a goodnight!

@joeyb_9: Goodnight, Y/N :)

The smiley face was only slightly scream inducing. He was a nice guy, but he was not just any guy. This was the type of guy that charms you straight into bed and is gone before you wake up. This was what you reminded yourself at least.

The next day was fairly simple, the thought of Joe escaping you almost entirely by lunch. Classes hadn’t yet begun, making it easy for you to go out with girlfriends and get your mind off of any failed talking stages or unattainable guys like Joe Burrow.

“He’s hot as fuck, though,” Lena said, eyes closed as she laid on a towel beside you.

It was a lake day, the heat beading down on the both of you as you felt the sun on your bikini clad skin. On your right and left was Lena and Sydney, both close friends from college. Lena had been your freshman year roommate.

“He is,” Sydney agreed. “Plus, I mean, you can’t say you didn’t think about it a little bit when you started cheering for the Bengals.”

“Okay, screw you!” You laughed. “It’s not some fucking erotica, I don’t cheer hoping to sleep with one of the players.”

“Kind of a turn on, though,” Lena hummed.

Once the three of you had made it onto Lena’s boyfriend’s party barge, you broke out the Mike’s Hard and Twisted Tea. This only led to endless giggling about Joe and pretty much any guy they’d heard you have spoken to since high school.

Living in Ohio had its faults, like the fact that there was no ocean. Lake days on the boat weren’t so bad, though. Sydney had a gift for taking hot pictures too. Her camera skills truly did capture your ass at its best, and your skin glowing.

“Post those,” Lena told you. “See if Mr. Joe Sheisty will like them.”

“He won’t,” you sighed. “He definitely was just fucking around last night.”

They both rolled their eyes and sat back as the boat bobbled a little. While the idea of entertaining Joe was slightly enticing, it was so against the rules and you really couldn’t afford to get kicked off the squad before the first actual game of the season.

The alcohol kind of skewed your judgement, though. Making it fairly easy for you to post the bikini pictures and keep refreshing the likes. You weren’t necessarily proud, but it was hard to resist the urge to match his energy of private messaging you.

A few hours after you made it home, the notification popped up on your screen. You were midway through stretching to work on your routine for your next practice.

joeyb_9 liked your post.

@joeyb_9: Would it be wrong to tell you how gorgeous you are?

This just about sent you over the edge. You’d thought your days of dms from Joe Burrow were done and the novelty would’ve worn off after he’d slept on it.

@y/n.y/l/n: Slightly wrong

@joeyb_9: Fine by me

Swiping out of the instagram app, you decided that you needed to continue your stretch and practice. There was a night practice tomorrow and you couldn’t afford to show up unprepared, this would only end in worse things than flirting with Joe.

Between ab exercises and strength training, you’d been able to glance down at your phone with no more texts received. Of course, you had left him on read. It was pretty obvious his intentions, though. At least it seemed it.

Practice was strenuous, it was only three nights of the weeks so the coaches made sure to push each girl to their limit each night. By the last thirty minutes of practice, your ankle was on fire.

They’d made you run through the stunting over and over again, launching you into the air and cradling you over and over again. The stadium lights were gleaming onto you, your face coated in a thin layer of perspiration.

Through your peripheral, you could see Joe leaning against the doorframe of the stadium support office. He was pretending to scroll through his phone, glancing up and watching every couple of seconds. The players had a practiced later tonight, but still had been done for over forty five minutes.

Every time they sent you up, you were reminded of your distractions. A coach would yell to point your toes, or smile bigger, or suck in harder. Physically, you were exhausted. Mentally, you had already checked out of practice completely.

“Did any of you see Joe?” Carolina asked in a hushed voice, picking up her things as practice ended, ready to head inside. “He was watching for like a half hour.”

“Really?” Johnna smirked. “Alright, which one of you is he sleeping with? I won’t tell, I just have to know,” she teased.

The girls continued to discuss it bashfully all the way inside. Joe was nowhere to be seen, making you wonder if he’d even been there to watch you at all. Truly, you were feeding your own delusions. There were so many girls on the team, he was bound to find interest in the group as a whole. That was sort of the whole appeal.

Just as you finished up showering in the locker room, you heard the ding of your phone. Another message from Joe.

@joeyb_9: Hey, I’m in the parking lot. Down for getting something to eat?

The overwhelming feeling of excitement and guilt passed over you. This was so against the rules, and this guy was such a player. It was not worth it, but a part of you didn’t care. You were only twenty one once, wasn’t this the kind of thing you did.

@y/n.y/l/n: Give me like 10 minutes

He liked the message, giving you some time to slip into the white dress you’d thrown in the bag. It was kind of wrinkled, the type of thing you’d put over a bikini leaving the beach. The true definition of a sundress. There were Birks at the bottom of your bag. The August heat was still very sticky and humid, even at almost midnight.

There wasn’t much else in your bag, you let your hair down from its claw clip and used the mascara in your bag to at least lift your lashes. Some Glossier cloud paint and brow gel and you were left with nothing else really. It wasn’t often you needed to do much to your face after practice. You mostly had the few things you did for morning practices before classes.

The walk out to his car was slightly dehumanizing, knowing how badly you were breaking the rules right now. He had turned his headlights off, inside dark and hard to see from an outside perspective. He’d messaged you that he was in a black Porsche, which was telling.

Once you opened the door and the small yellow light came on, you could see him in a white T-shirt and black sweatpants. His hair was familiarly slicked back, smirk on his face as he watched you step in.

“You’re going to bring me back to pick up my car, right?” You asked, knowing your car would reside in the parking lot until you came back.

“Yes,” he laughed. “I’ll bring you back to grab your car.”

The car smelled very fresh, you threw you cheer bag in his backseat. It laid next to his football bag, his practice jersey crumbled up and stuffed in carelessly.

He put the car in reverse and pulled out of the lot. It was a comfortable silence for about a minute before he began babbling about watching you practice. You’d never heard a boy so enthused to know about stunting and what it meant to be a flyer.

“What if they drop you, though?” He looked over at you. “Does that happen ever?”

“Well—yes. I kind of just have to get back up and try again or some other girl will take the flyer position. It’s not really something I can control.”

“That’s like crazy,” he mumbled, fully serious.

His radio hummed the sound of Pink Floyd, making you grin. He was a fan of older rock. That, you wouldn’t have guessed. Joe tapped his fingers along the steering wheel, smiling every time he saw you looking at him.

“Do you like Mcdonald’s?” He asked, ready to put his blinker on and pull into the drive thru.

“Yeah,” you chuckled. “Who doesn’t?”

He got up to the menu and glanced over it for a second, looking to you for what you wanted. As you told him, he laughed at you for not wanting a burger. This made you teasingly shove him in the arm.

“Welcome to Mcdonald’s. What can I get for you?”

“Alright,” Joe started. “Can I get a Double Quarter Pounder with onions, a large fry, and a large chocolate shake. Then can I get a ten piece chicken nugget and a large Dr. Pepper.”

“Will that be all?”

“Yeah, that’s gonna be it.”

Joe pulled up, still laughing about the fact that you went through a drive thru and got chicken nuggets on purpose. He slid his wallet out of his back pocket, giving you a funny look when you tried to hand him your card.

Pulling up to the first window, he gave the woman his debit card. You turned away from the window, making sure if she did recognize Joe, she would not be able to make out your face. While it was unlikely, it was just too risky. You did the same at the next window, Joe pulling the bag into the car and setting both drinks into the cup holder.

“Alright, I got a good spot to eat,” he said.

Cincinnati had plenty of spots you were unaware of, so when he continued to drive you out of the main part of the city, you were blissfully unaware of where you were. Either this was a ploy to murder you, or he just really liked surprises. After all, you were the one who got into his car.

Once he finally parked at the location, it was pushing one in the morning. It was a deserted lookout, a beautiful view of Cincinnati. The city looked lit up from this view, making your smile at that the gesture.

“The food might be slightly cold by now, but I really just wanted to bring you up here,” he said with a sigh as he sucked down the last of his milkshake.

“Here, have some,” you chuckled and handed him your soda.

The two of you ate, looking out at the city. The small talk was nice, he asked about cheerleading and you asked about football. Joe told you about his family and you asked about his hobbies. By the time you’d been sitting for a half hour, you were trying to throw french fries into his mouth without missing.

“So, if you don’t mind me asking,” you laughed nervously. “Why did you want me to come here with you, Joe? I mean, it’s all really nice and I’ve had a great time. Just why?”

He was silent for a moment, taking a sip from your soda. The question was kind of sudden, but you had to know. You’d only met a few days before, and this guy definitely had no trouble picking up women. So why you?

“Honestly, I just haven’t been able to get you out of my head,” he chuckled. “As stupid as that sounds out loud. I knew you might not go for this, but I thought maybe it’d be worth asking you.”

Your stomach flipped, his hair falling slightly into his eyes. The swell of his arms underneath that white T-shirt. This guy was insanely good looking, and maybe he was just saying what you wanted to hear, but you did really want to hear it.

Now, it wasn’t necessarily a good idea to look at him the way you were. It was impossible not to, though. Like clockwork, he was leaning into you full force and you let your hands go to his hair. His lips were hard on yours, desperate and hot. It was one of those kisses that wasn’t gentle nor rough, but completely and incandescently full of desperation.

Letting your hands slide down his body, you pulled at the white shirt, letting him know it was okay to run his hands up and down your torso. There was a middle console between you, making it hard to truly do much.

“Backseat?” You pulled away.

“Are you sure?” He asked, breathing heavy with swollen lips.

You nodded, he got out of the driver side and threw both bags in the front. Slipping back from the passenger seat, he got in through the back door. Immediately you’d both found each other again, bodies on fire. He let you get on top, straddling his thighs and kissing his throat.

Soon his hands found your breasts, leaving you to let our breathy whimpers. His lips were soon on your neck, sucking hard enough that it might leave a mark. You couldn’t find it in yourself to care, pulling his shirt off and letting him do the same with your dress.

Left in your underwear and bra, his fingers grazed overtop of the fabric. His name left your lips in pleas, making his erection grow increasingly more obvious. He was watching you rock back and forth on his fingers, the windows of the car steamy.

“Fuck me,” you breathed. “Please, Joe. Fuck me.”

He unclasped your bra, letting his lips trail from your pulse point at the throat down to your collarbone, then to the bud of your nipple. He played with the other with his fingers, leaving you a whimpering mess. He felt you grind on his clothed erection, sending him into a spiraling mess as he sucked harder and harder, fingers slipping underneath the fabric and inside of you.

Eventually, when you couldn’t take it anymore, you pulled at the waistband of his sweatpants and let him help you to pull them down his thighs. He wore white Calvin Kleins’s, cock very clearly erect and begging to be let out from the constriction.

He slipped his fingers out and took the hem of the underwear, tearing the fabric in half. This made you slap his arm, muttering something about how those were Aerie and expensive.

“I’ll get you another pair,” he kissed you again.

You sat up on top of him, aligning yourself and letting his length sink into you. There was sweat dripping off of both of you, burying your head into his neck.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he groaned. “Yeah, just like that. Good girl.”

It was like nothing mattered except for this moment, you weren’t thinking about the consequences of your actions, or why it was wrong. He steadied your hips and held your jaw, looking you in the eyes at each thrust until you both came undone. Neither of you had regulated breathing, the whole car smelled like a mix of sex and his cologne.

“Fuck,” you sighed, head dropping onto his shoulder.

Slowly, you got off of his lap and let the realization of what you’d just done hit you. Here you were, in the back seat of Joe Burrow’s Porsche, having just had car sex. Now you had no underwear as well.

He pulled his underwear and sweatpants up, looking over at you and pushing his hair back out of his eyes. There was something funny about the entire situation, making you nearly bust into a fit of giggles.

“Are you laughing?” He teased.

“A little,” you laid your head against the seat.

He leaned forward and grabbed the Dr. Pepper from the middle console, taking a long sip and holding it out to you. You were pretty sure this wasn’t one of the five love languages, but it worked nonetheless.

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#joe burrow fluff #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow imagines #joe burrow blurb #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow smut #joe burrow fan fic #joe burrow series #joe burrow x yn #joe sheisty #joe burrow #joe burrow x oc #joe burrow blurbs #elle’s fics

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daydreamsandcrashingwaves · 3 months

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KICTTC 5

I'm BACK helloooo! Oh my goodness friends! I have so much to tell you all! So I kinda was collar grabbed by this story so my edit of chapter 4 is SO different from what I posted here, SOOOOO I'm posting a bit of the edited Ch4 so no one misses out on plot! ahhh I've been so excited to share this all with you!!!! Transference chapter 3 is in the works as well as a secret WIP! I really wanna focus of my first two stories though so Idk when that will be up or what an update schedule might look like.

Anyways the Angst is strong, the trauma and body horror is as strong as the blasphemous tea I brew, read at your own leisure I aint yo mama lol

Stay safe, give yourself grace, take your meds, get some sun, burrow in a blanket nest, drink water and eat a snack lovelies!

~Ren

Once Danny makes a decision he throws himself in head first, this will be no different. Danny has to start at the beginning. He must tell them everything to have a hope of them understanding how Danny ended up dropping through a portal to his brother’s side. For… their family to understand what true danger hunts him even now.

Dick sips his cup of coffee only to look at it betrayed when it’s bitter and cold. He has been in Bruce’s study watching the live feed of the recovery room for hours. He managed to drag himself to bed when Alfred had insisted but his dreams had been plagued with Danyal trembling on the floor, knife hilt deep in his small neck, the sight of them in the doorway had made him panic and then he was bleeding out, his breath gurgling in his throat as he died. It was an awful way to wake up and he couldn’t even go check on Danyal in person! Damian had cashed in a lot of the blackmail he’s kept on them to keep them away. While Dick was proud of his little brother’s emotional growth, seeing their youngest in person would go a long way for Dick to shake off his nightmare. He is a bat though so he will endure, especially because this involves his family, his brothers.

As the sun started dipping below the horizon behind the curtains Tim walked into the study with two large cups filled to the top with coffee, one with a ton of sugar and cream the other plain black coffee, “Awe Timmy! You brought me coffee!” Dick snatches the plain one up with a smirk.

Tim just grumbles at his grabby hands and relinquishes the cup. He shuffles over to the couch and pulls out his laptop to work on something- Dick isn’t sure where Tim had managed to safely carry the computer with two fresh coffees- and promptly ignores the others as they file in the next ten or so minutes. Judging by the dark circles under everyone’s eyes, sleep was hard to come by.

Bruce is slumped into his chair watching the twins. No one breaks the silence. Dick eyes Jason from where his brother has propped himself against the wall out of the way Their father’s shoulders are tense in anger. So Talia is probably giving him the slip. He can’t help but feel resentment for the woman who keeps secrets that hurt his family. She knows that people don’t always stay dead. When Jason died, the only reason Dick had to face it, recognize that his little brother was dead was because they had his body as sure proof he had been murdered. Dick has seen many times how Bruce grieves and it’s never good. Adding in a twin? Bruce is holding himself together with sheer will power and meticulous training. Bruce might be almost impossible to read but he was the first boy to be adopted. He has more Bruce experience than anyone else in the family but Alfred. He can see the cracks.

Turning back to the screen Dick lets out a little coo at the image. Damian is awake and is looking at Danyal like he’d disappear from under the blanket they share. The boy carefully extracts himself to use the restroom that’s tucked away in the corner. When he comes back onto the screen he is changed into his sweatpants and a t-shirt Dick recognizes as his own. He also spots a change of clothes for Danyal in his arms, which he sets on the side table next to the bed before Damian goes around refilling the water pitcher and glass to be ready for use, setting fresh towels out.

Turning his attention to the younger boy, he can see how sickly the boy is when they’re side by side to compare. His pale skin shows off the dark veins underneath, his cheeks are caving into his face, all his baby fat eaten away, dark bruises under his eyes, and with how injured he was… it’s not telling a pretty story. Dick is confident that if Danyal hadn’t dropped out of the rafters in that warehouse they’d never know he could’ve been out there. He desperately needed help even if he hadn’t realized it yet. Bruce and Dick watch Damian crawl back into bed, Danny doesn’t wake but he does turn towards where Damian has frozen owl-eyed. An arm snags the bottom edge of Damian’s shirt and like a signal the rest of his limbs follow to entwine them together. It’s very cute. With a smirk Dick takes out his phone and snaps a quick picture. It’s unlikely to truly upset Damian since it’s probably the only picture that they have of the twins together right now, but however Damian responds when he knows the picture exists will be satisfying.

“Are we gonna get on with it or just sit in silence with our thumbs up our asses?” Jason glares, looking significantly more tense. He stares down the room while crossing his arms across his chest.

Dick sees Bruce’s shoulders square up like he’s bracing for a physical punch instead of the verbal jab. Batman has an almost obsessive need to know everything he can about a situation, it was one of his many lessons that they as his children made into muscle memory. Knowledge made carefully crafted contingency plans that kept their family safe on and off the streets. Something to hold, to have in reserve for when they need it. To be thrown so many unknowns in the shape of a brother was unsettling them all.

“Jason.” Dick throws him a disappointed look from where he stands by Bruce, placing a hand on his shoulder to diffuse the argument that would shortly explode. “Danyal hasn’t been conscious, he hasn’t had the chance to explain anything yet, has he?” He raises his eyebrow at his brother. The family might not always reach an agreement on, well most things, but Dick knows his younger brother cares. He does. He won’t admit it but he’s here. Red Hood sticks to Crime Alley, looking after his people and- though he won’t claim them- his kids. One glance at Danyal’s wounded, still form was all it took to gain his loyalty. Red Hood liked to take his aggression out on those who disrespect his claim. Jason’s impulse to run off and hunt the monsters who could harm a child this way was poorly hidden. Dick understood the feeling so he didn’t push further.

Jason sneered at his words but didn’t bite back, just turned his impatient gaze towards Tim. “I’m sure Tim has been doing more digging than sleeping.”

Bruce inhales sharply drawing all of their attention. He’s looking at the monitor, hitting the unmute, Damian’s voice floods the room. “I simply meant you only have to tell me what has happened since we were separated… Once, here. I-We had thought you would prefer what privacy we can afford while we determined who had made the grave mistake of harming you. The family, while well intentioned, can be overwhelming. It is difficult gathering everyone and having them sit quietly for extended periods of time and our family is… large.”

Damian’s description brought a small smile to Dick’s face. Danyal’s quiet reply dimmed the edges because he sounded so young.

The whole group shifted and was laser focused on their new family member. Dick can’t think of any way to describe this whole situation as wrong as he took in what he could see.. It had nothing to do with Danny himself, or maybe it was more accurate to say whatever made his newly claimed baby brother look like that was what was firing off all his finely honed warning bells. A glance around at the others makes it clear they’re all, for once, on the same page.

If Bruce’s glare could kill the poor monitor would’ve been smoking at this point. Danyal was clearly at the end of his rope. Dick will admit as much as it irks him Damian was right to sequester the recovery room and keep Danyal in a calm area. They watch in horror as Danyal starts to speak. He was hesitant and nervous at first but slowly gained confidence when Damian didn’t react adversely.

The rest of them didn’t have to restrain themselves.

“What the actual fuck?” That’s Tim’s angry voice, Dick shutters. He sounds like he’s already started on researching his shit list by the furious tapping that comes from the couch. Drs Fenton, the Ghost Investigation Ward, and Vlad Masters can’t possibly know what is coming for them. Dick isn’t sure whether to step in when Jason sinks down into the couch next to their younger brother and they immediately start whispering between themselves.

He decides after a long look at the twins murmuring to each other that he would rather check on Bruce. “B?”

The man that stands firm against Gotham’s most unsavory rogues, looks back at him lost. His eyes get drawn back to his sons on the screen, “He’s so small Dick. I-” It’s rare Bruce breaks in composure and Dick’s chest squeezes. His father looks haunted.

“We’re here for him now, B.” He says gently. There are no words he could say that can erase what is already done.

They listen to Tim and Jason in the background while watching Damian help Danyal get out of bed. Once on his feet Danyal waves his twin away. He’s weak and shaky but they breathe a bit easier when his legs don’t give out underneath his body weight. The short walk to the bathroom door seemed to have winded him. Danyal reaches for the wall and presses into it while he pauses. And pauses.

Damian hasn’t rushed to his side so Dick tries not to panic. He probably needs a moment to gather himself. “Do you think we need to send Alfred down?” He asks Bruce.

“What?” Tim and Jason both looked up at him in tandem.

“Danyal! He was- well he is- fine. But look! He’s all hunched like he can’t breathe right? Why is Damian just watching?” Dick frets wringing his hands.

Attention diverted from their plans of destruction the two leave the couch and crowd around Bruce’s desk.

“Oh fuck!” Tim curses, roughly rolling Bruce’s chair away from the keyboard. “I don’t know how they did it but I think the feed was paused, or spliced or looped. I’m trying to override it- Ah! I got it!”

The feed clears and they all blink at the empty room. The bathroom door is open and Danyal’s things that were by the door are gone.

Bruce jumps out of his chair. “What were they doing right before?”

Tim pulls up the saved file and finds the moments right before the glitch. “They’re hugging?” A few lines of code and Tim has the background volume boosted. A hushed conversation in Arabic reaches their ears.

“Okay Danyal, I understand and will help you,” Damian studies his brother for a moment, “how can I help you best in this moment Danyal, what is it you want.”

They watch Danyal look around at the room, fear leaking in now that he’s not focused on the boy with him. “I can’t be here. I won’t heal.”

Bruce flinches like Danyal had hit him.

They embraced, and whatever else was said was too muffled to pick up.

They watch entranced, like a bruise you can’t help but press on, as the scene plays out and ends with Danyal leaning against the wall.

“They can’t have gotten far, the demon brat wouldn’t risk hurting his precious twin, Dickie-Bird and I can fetch the chicks that flew the nest.” Jason sighs.

Bruce’s phone rings and they all look at it with reluctance. That’s Oracle’s ringtone so it’s important. Dick swipes the device and answers with a quick, “O, we’ve got a situation, please tell me this is important.”

“Yeah it is,” Barbra agrees, “if you guys were gonna patrol why wasn’t I looped in, huh?”

Dick exchanges a confused look with the others. “Uh no, O, we agreed no patrol tonight, Black Bat, Signal, and Spoiler were our covers.”

“Then why is the Batmobile headed towards the edge of town?”

They, with years of experience fighting side by side, spring in sync for the hidden entrance and pile into the elevator to the cave to change and to track down their brothers.

~~~~~~~

Gotham was unusually muggy this evening. Bruce could feel the sweat drip down his scalp and his suit was already damp. Breath blazed through his lungs yet brought him no warmth. He had to suppress his instinct to shiver. Fear was all he could feel. It was bone chillingly familiar. Nothing like Scarecrow’s toxin yet he was still sinking deeper into glacier littered water. As Batman, Bruce has taken many hits, faced the cruel underbelly of Gotham from the shadows and had said enough. Birthed from vengeance and relentlessly courting justice, he gets back up, keeps moving, doesn’t stay down even when he probably should. No one else had managed to stand against the city’s rogues. Every night he embraces their seething rage that blistered the streets and exploded buildings. Batman turns towards danger, not away. He is the shield that protects his city's people from the impact the best he can. It’s never enough. Batman has flung himself head first into a race that had long since started.

In the rare hours he is alone surrounded by the soft glow of the Batcomputer and the quiet rustling of sleeping bats he can admit, those first years, he had enjoyed the vicious fights. Tangoing with death each night. He was entranced, he would dance until the curtain dropped. It was a destructive cycle he couldn’t escape. As he’s aged his compulsion to run off has cooled, and it was only after the first time Dick got more than just a few bruises did he realize the true cost. Even if he couldn’t stop them, perhaps he should’ve tried harder to work with his children to ensure their safety. A family of vigilantes was a double edged blade. His curse to bear. The curse he spread. Every night his heart is split into pieces and goes with them as they stalk their prey from within the shadows. His children amaze terrify him in how they’ve all risen to fight back the miasma that threatens to swallow Gotham whole.

He doesn’t know Danyal, has never learned what his favorite breakfast is or seen him off to school. They have never shared late night training sessions. His youngest has never fallen asleep sequestered away in his own world working on a case and for Bruce to find him and tuck him into bed like he has with all of his children at least once. No. He was never given a chance. Danyal’s existence was hidden from him. His death was a secret Damian was manipulated into thinking he had to carry the weight alone. And people believed Batman to be some sort of legendary detective. If Bruce was less controlled he might scoff at the thought. He missed things, big and small, all the time. Most often it was his children that were affected by his carelessness, his lack of understanding.

He knows what it is to lose a son. In death and because of his own parental ineptitude. Bruce knows what it is for his world to spin out from under his feet and to let his rage blindly guide him. Bruce risks a glance at Jason, his walking, talking, breathing miracle. Why couldn’t he just say that to the person who needed to hear it. Jason had died, it was awful, truly awful. As an adult he has never felt so lost. Jason was only a child. A brilliant, bright, life snuffed out in the cruelest way only for some universal hiccup to thrust his soul back into body and for Talia to pick him up. They’ve never talked about the Y-incision that spans his entire torso. Jason hadn’t intended for him to see it. Bruce doesn’t know who is responsible. He doesn’t know if they dare breathe another breath on Earth. He’s afraid to ask. He’s afraid of what he’ll do if they aren’t already dead. No, the only thing he knew about it was what Jason had deliriously shared with him while sick with whooping cough. The cut may have happened but that was as far as they got. His ribs remained intact, his organs undisturbed. Bruce has to trust Jason told him the truth. Bruce hadn’t had the strength to imagine alternatives.

He has no choice now. Whatever Danyal’s journey has been, wherever he’s been. Bruce despairs that his youngest’s life journey has been too similar to Jason’s. Danny had listed off to Damian the multitude of injuries he had and Bruce just knew. Two of his sons have been dehumanized, valued as objects for other’s use, to state their curiosity. His youngest didn’t just get cut into, as despicable as that already was, no, he was awake, aware, alive as some sick fuck rooted around behind his ribs. (Half-alive. His gut rolls at the implications yet it brings none of his usual suspicions to draw his attention to what his son was hiding. Only he wasn’t hiding, not from the Wayne family. No, he had shared everything with very little prompting from Damian. Danyal was running from them) Bruce could only stare at the screen in his office in horror. How fast did his regenerative ability work to regrow his harvested organs? Did he have to break wrongly healed bones and had to hold them in place until they healed enough for him to escape or did his bones snap forcefully into place on their own-

It’s a race against time now. Danyal is in no condition to be on the run. It would crush him to send him away but Bruce would. He can find a secure place away from him for his son if that’s what it took to make him feel safe enough to rest. Recovery needs to be his number one priority, he had been slowly relaxing with Damian yet as soon as he wasn’t disoriented he fled. What does that say about how he thinks they’ll treat him? What does it say about Bruce that Damain felt he could better protect his twin alone?

Bruce forces himself to reach for his comms and connects to the main comm line they use for patrols. “Everyone, change of plans, keep your eyes open for both boys. They fled from the cave in the Batmobile, hail the line immediately if they’re sighted, I don’t expect Robin to linger once it stops.” Bruce internally curses at himself that he didn’t think to have some sort of code for his youngest. He’s known for creating contingency plans for his contingency plans, yet he is not prepared for this. He could’ve never prepared himself for the knowledge he had not one blood son but two, twins. He couldn’t be too revealing incase someone was listening. “We’re in pursuit of the Batmobile now. Remember the boys are both League trained, Robin likely will have some tricks he’ll play.. The boy’s full capabilities are still unknown and he is heavily injured, proceed with caution, the boy is likely running on instinct, resistance is expected. We want to avoid making them feel cornered.” His tone is tight with worry, He doesn’t blame Danyal for being suspicious. He may be their father, but as far as he knows it wouldn’t be safe. Well, Bruce can’t blame either of them, they’re children, his children. He will blame their mother though. “We want them to get them home safe with no further injuries.”

Some very distant part of him is proud of Damian for unequivocally having his brother’s back, if only they could bond over things that didn’t shave years off his life. Bruce has never been more stressed. Some day soon he’ll just have to embrace the grey that was sprouting in his black hair and give Alfred relief from helping him hide them.

“Copy that B-man! Our eyes are peeled!” Spoiler responds “I’m currently in Burnley, Orphan’s got Somerset covered and Signal is in Old Gotham! If they’re out here we’ll find them.”

“From what Oracle sent, I think I should be able to pick something up with my powers, I’ll keep trying while we move, B.” Signal pipes in.

“Thank you Signal.” Bruce is flooded with relief. He really is lucky to have them, there’s no one else he’d rather have at his back. They’ve all grown into their own. He tries not to sigh.

Discovering the twins missing had sent them scrambling, even Jason had looked worried and tucked away his instinct to question him or to argue, his second son had simply followed them down to the cave. At this rate he may get an ulcer. He had felt panic steal his critical thinking, as he led his boys south towards where the Batmoblie was speeding away faster than they could grapple. He had to find them. Gotham isn’t safe at night and Danyal’s movements will be restricted if he deems it important not to rip his stitches.

Moving through the air usually calmed him but tonight grappling wasn’t moving him around fast enough. Taking the Batmobile was smart of his sons, he begrudgingly had to admit, not only was it faster, the boys would be hidden inside. If Robin had driven his bike he’d have superior maneuverability even though Batman could’ve followed them faster, but if the boys had impacted something during a high speed chase to flee? They’d both be thrown. Danyal is already severely injured anything additional.. Bruce couldn’t make himself focus on that.

His Trouble Twins probably planned it this way to slow them down. To throw them off their tracks. It was working, the boys had a 10 minute lead on their group. They’d left as soon as they had suited up but they still were too far out of reach. Away from the protective shadow of his cape. He couldn’t protect them now that they left the safety of the manor. Jason was cursing underneath him on the street racing past buildings on his bike, he was slightly ahead of Batman and Nightwing’s position in the air, on the bike next to him Tim was working with Barbara to try and get eyes on the boys. Quiet suggestions on what to look for. Shadows that move unnaturally, flashes of color there and gone, how they needed an algorithm up to analyze all of the feeds simultaneously. With the many cameras in Gotham-more than half Bruce had bought for the city to install- they wouldn’t be so hard to find. They shouldn't be so difficult to find, but Damian was particularly slippery when he put in the effort. Bruce glanced at his eldest besides him.

Dick was one long string pulled too tight. He, of course, was still chatting happily with Barbara but his smile was strained at the edges, his movements too careful and precise. He hasn’t joked once. The possibility the man would snap increases the longer the twins are missing. It’s rare to see Dick outwardly expressing something other than the pure sunshine and patience. By the time Jason had come around he had curbed most of his bloodlust, it was a faint memory by the time Tim weaseled his way into their lives. It reminds Bruce too much of Brucie. The persona that he developed to hide from the vultures that would’ve taken everything from him as a child when tragedy struck. Before Bruce had decided to be active in Gotham’s social scene he knew it was better they underestimate poor orphaned Bruce Wayne. Brucie hid Batman, a shield to protect his family from those who would expose their secrets. He was necessary, even if Bruce felt suffocated most of the time. Was Dick hiding from him?

He has to suppress a shutter. All his children to some degree, whether on or off the streets, have adapted to Batman’s mannerisms and habits. It was essential to survive facing the threats they do. Dick though fell more into Bruce’s habits. His eldest son, who with a smile looked after his siblings while Bruce was distracted by some crisis or another.They both often blamed themselves for things they couldn’t stop or foresee. That heavy invisible weight that sits on their shoulders because they claimed it. Bruce knows that he’s failed his children, Dick.. Dick in particular has had to step up on his behalf to smooth things over between family members. Forced to become another parent to the kids he brought home. It was never Dick’s responsibility and it’s taken time and a lot of effort but Bruce is making steps forward, trying to stop repeating the same mistakes. It was only Alfred’s guidance and help raising the boy that he excelled instead of crumbling under Bruce’s incompetence. Bruce was trying though. Even if it was hard to talk about casually, he was in therapy, it was.. Helping. He’s not putting so much of himself onto his children these days. He’s been processing his thoughts and feelings instead of bottling them inside and letting his anger rule him.

Words though, they still escaped him on the best days. Today was shaping up into an absolutely horrible one. Bruce wanted to say something to reassure his sons that things would be okay. None sounded right. He let them choke him. If they could just find Danyal. As much as it would pain Bruce, his youngest doesn’t have to stay with them-with him. Bruce could never trap him here. He… He just wants Danyal to recover. Recover and be safe, whatever that looks like. The boy looked so small next to Damian. They’re twins and Danyal was so small on that bed next to his brother, all skin and bones, his skin stretched over his face making him look years older and the blood, oh God, it took a second but once they realized all that green was coming from inside of him, Bruce was sure they were going to be planning another funeral. The Y-shaped wound was gruesome and he had stared in shock. Another one of his children getting cut open, violated. Vivisected. He was going to mourn another child. He was going to puke. He was going to destroy those who dared to touch Danyal. A heady mix of vengeance and justice for a boy he’d never properly meet. Somehow though, the boy had stabilized. His boy, another one. He’s too old for surprise kids. Only to be spirited away by Damian behind layers and layers of traps that had made the family hesitate and then they were gone, on the run with Alfred’s careful stitches being the only thing holding Danyal together.

What were they thinking? Why wasn’t I? Why didn’t I fight Damian harder when he locked them out of the recovery room? No…Danyal was already compromised. Damian saw this and ran from his family because he didn’t trust them to protect Danyal, didn’t trust them not to set him off. Maybe they would’ve made it worse, maybe his son was right even if Bruce didn’t want to admit it. Damian was saving them from an error. The boy who he had only met unconscious or through a screen, would’ve lashed out at himself again and they would’ve caused his-

“B? The Batmobile’s tracker has stopped moving on the edge of Burnside near the Craig Bridge. I can’t get a clear view.” Oracle reports

“Hn.” He adjusts his trajectory and his sons follow suit, adjusting their positions to be out behind him in a V-shaped formation. If someone were to see them at this hour they’d see the vigilantes and would draw parallels between them and their namesakes, in normal circumstances it might bring a ghost of a smile across his face, they were a mixed bag flock. His flock. His family. He was thankful to have them at his back tonight. They’d find the boys, they had to. They still had nothing on the threat that was nipping at Danyal’s heels. If they were caught…

“Why would the Demon Brats go there?” Jason grumbles. They’re three blocks away now so Bruce has to fight his nausea down. They might have to subdue the boys if they won’t listen to reason. The idea of injuring Danyal further or obliterating any chance to build a relationship because he sees them as a threat rather than family. He has to stay firm though. He might have not been allowed in the room but between Alfred’s worried fretting and the security feed Bruce is very aware how Danyal shouldn’t be moving let alone going on the run with Damian. If Danyal would just let him explain he had options maybe he’d come back on his own.

“Hood, Red Robin, hang back and spread out. Start searching. I’d like to have our newest addition to Agent A within the hour. Nightwing with me.”

His grapple connects to the next roof and he leans into the arc so his path can wrap around the corner. Just ahead the Batmobile is stopped. The doors were open, no signs of the boys or of a struggle. Bruce knows they won’t find anything inside the Batmobile, Damian is efficient and clean in his work, but they look anyway. Bruce shares a look with his oldest and sighs.

“Nothing in the Batmobile, Hood, Red Robin, report.” He shoots his grapple at the closest roof to get a better view of the surrounding area, Nightwing follows closely behind him.

“Nothing that I can see.” Hood grunts.

“Nothing here either, no alerts from the cameras.” Red Robin sounds frustrated, “You don’t think they bailed in a dead zone, do you? Robin wouldn’t have him jump from a speeding vehicle, right?”

“Hn.” Bruce refuses to acknowledge that thought. Even if it was a likely option, if they felt it necessary to throw them off to that degree. Dick is quiet next to him. He wants to say the right thing to ease his worries. Bruce has never been good at finding the right words, to reassure without false promises but will always try, “We’ll figure out what happened, Chum.”

Dick looks at him for a long moment. Bruce lets him and tries not to shutter himself away. Dick needs Bruce more than Batman right now. “Yeah,” It comes out grim, “before or after my youngest brother reopens something?”

Bruce squeezes his son’s shoulder before turning away and shoots his grapple at the next roof. Right before he jumps he says, “We can only hope the boys are being careful and try our best to find them.”

#daydreamsandcrashingwaves #dc x dp #jason todd #tim drake #dick grayson #bruce wayne #batpham #demon twins au #danny fenton whump #danny and damian are twins #Keeping it close to the chest #fic writing #KICTTC fic #KICTTC update #my writing #lets just say this is more of a sneak peak ;3 #danny fenton #damian wayne #WHERE DID THEY GO BWAHAHAHHAHa

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lildrabbles · 1 year

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I Trusted You

Cheater Deku X GN! Reader, then potentially Bakugo X GN! Reader

Warnings: Reader is reffered to as doll once, Deku cheats on you with Uruaka, swearing, Bakugo is softer than usual, a bit angsty but with a somewhat good ending? let me know if I missed anything!

A/N: This story is requested from a friend of mine because i ran out of ideas lol, hope you enjoy! Also in case you didn't know, "F/N" means first name <3

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You thought Deku had been the one. You knew you loved him, and you knew he loved you… or, you thought he did at least.

Everything was going well too! Just the other night, you went out on a date to this cute little cafe, you were both laughing and smiling and even made out when you got back to the dorms.

But apparently that wasn't good enough for him.

You had been planning on surprising Deku with some snacks and a movie to watch, like you guys had done about a month ago. He had been training hard lately so you wanted to treat him!

You made him think that you were terribly sick so he wouldn't come knocking on your door and so you could prepare all the snacks. You packed a container of popcorn, some drinks, and some chocolates into a box and started making your way to his dorm.

“This is gonna be a great night!” You thought excitedly to yourself. You walked up to his door and knocked gently. No answer. You knocked again and when he didn't answer, you opened the door softly and peeked your head in. “Hey baby! Special delivery--”

But then you saw him on the bed. On top of Uruaka. Kissing and making out. You saw him trace his fingers up from her waist to her face - something you thought only you would be able to experience.

“I-Izuku..?” You stuttered, your eyes starting to water.

Their heads snapped towards you, eyes widened. Deku jumped off of Uruaka and tried to walk towards you.

“Doll this isn't what it looks like-”

You dropped the container of snacks and slapped him hard across the face, tears threatening to spill.

“I-I trusted you, you bastard!” You screamed, a small tear managed to make it past your eye and down your cheek.

He looked down at you in shock, holding his face. He didn't say anything, just stared. You huffed in anger and turned around, slamming the door hard in his face. You marched downstairs without a word, pulling your hood up and trying to cover your face.

When you reached the living area of course everyone else was down there.

“Hey girlie! Hey wait what's wrong-” Mina tried to touch your shoulder but you dodged past her and started heading straight to the door.

“S-sorry I'm fine, just need air..” You mumble. Then you accidentally bump into Bakugo, of course you did. Just what you need right now.

“OI YOU LITTLE-” He cut himself off when he saw you storm past him and out the door. He squinted in confusion as the doors slammed closed. Everyone goes quiet for a second before Denki speaks up.

“Well she seemed a little more cranky than usual-” Which resulted in getting a smack from Jiro.

You plopped down onto a bench on the street, starting to hyperventilate as you let emotions take over as you curl up, your knees to your face as you sob into your sweater. You make sure to be quiet though, don't want to bother anybody. You can hear the door open and close but you don't think much of it until you can hear shifting beside you on the bench. You look to your side, making sure to keep your eyes hidden.

You see Bakugo awkwardly sitting there with his hands shoved in his pockets.

“Uh… you seemed pretty upset in there.” He started uncertaintly.

You chuckle dryly and nod, burrowing your face back into your knees. “Y-yeah, I guess you could say that.”

He shifted a little. “Do you… do you wanna talk about it?”

You sigh before lifting your head. You knew you could trust him, enough at least.

“Well, I just found out Izuku is cheating on me with Uruaka.” You say, tears starting to brim again. You quickly wipe them away.

His eyes widen as he looks down at you. “Wait, seriously?” He asked in a shocked voice.

You nod dryly, “Yep. He doesn't seem like one to cheat, does he?” You chuckle a little, voice cracking.

Bakugo looked down, his fists clenching. “That fckin green haired dumbass..” He glances back at you when he hears sniffling, you trying to desperately wipe away the tears that were starting to stream down your face.

His face softened, and without hesitation he gently grabbed your shoulder and pulled you in close to him.

“You're okay… shhh… let it all out.” He said in the softest tone you've ever heard from him as he stroked your hair gently.

Your eyes were wide in shock from his softness right now but you slowly started to calm down, closing your eyes as you began to snuggle into him. You hiccup. “T-Thank you Bakugo, this means a lot…”

“Katsuki.” He says without a beat, massaging your scalp a little.

You lean into his touch when you ask, “Huh?”

“You can call me Katsuki.” He said gently, pulling back a little to have an almost emotionless face, but you could see some emotion in his eyes: slight anger, concern, sympathy, and also kindness. The Katsuki Bakugo, was actually being soft and gentle around you.

You smile a little before saying, “Then you can call me F/N.”

He smiles back before patting your head. “You feel a bit better now?”

You chuckle and nod. “Yeah, I do.”

“Good, because my shirt is soaked now”

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

The End!

I left it up to you whether you wanna dump Deku and go for Bakugo or forgive Deku or just stay as friends with Bakugo, whatever it's up to your imagination ✨

#bakugo #bakugo x reader #bakugou x you #deku x y/n #deku x reader #cheater deku #cheater deku x you #cheater deku x reader #deku angst #cheater izuku midoryia #soft bakugo #soft katsuki bakugo x you #bakugo comfort

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utilitycaster · 8 months

Text

Sort of related to the post about people coming in for shipping but something that’s struck me, as actual play fandom has spread, is that there is a certain lack of genre awareness currently - not just surrounding Critical Role, to be honest; it’s a frustration for me for the conversation surrounding Dimension 20 and Worlds Beyond Number for a while as well.

Take fate, for example. The idea of fate, whether it’s as specific as an ancient prophecy, or as broad as the general concept of destiny, is absolutely at the core of so many classic fantasy series that to be vehemently opposed to it within Critical Role is to display profound ignorance of the genre of fantasy. It’s akin to showing up to a sporting event and getting mad that people are running around in athletic gear; it’s like going to an Italian restaurant in the US and screaming in the face of the waiter when they give you bread and olive oil. There is not, per se, a required reading list. You do not need to read nor watch all of Lord of the Rings let alone consider it a formative work; Sam Riegel and Aabria Iyengar sure haven’t. But if you are not familiar with the genre at all, at the very least you do need to come with a certain awareness that you are not familiar with the genre and be open to its conventions. And to be clear: it’s valid to hate the theme of things being fated. But again, that’s like hating they serve bread and olive oil at the Italian restaurant; you should probably simply not go to Italian restaurants.

Another example that is my personal source of irritation is the obsession with radiation as a factor in Burrow’s End. Setting aside my original irritation at just good old-fashioned lack of reading comprehension with the conflation of the poison and the Blue/the Light, the idea that the intelligence was induced by radiation is really…not genre aware. Like, I recognize I’m coming at this with rather more knowledge than average (from a scientific rather than genre-aware perspective no less) but to get back to genre, I take no issue with, say, radiation in comic books. I know the premise of Spider-Man or of Doctor Manhattan’s origins is absolutely ridiculous; but that’s the genre. Radiation in comic books exists to be an easy origin story so we can get to the point of “here’s a guy with powers”. However, in a show that derives its narrative language from Watership Down and Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of Nimh, the idea that the magic and the lightning and the source of intelligence are radiation makes little sense. Another example is the weird response to Skip in Starstruck; the idea of an alien brain parasite like that is so genre-typical to space opera it feels like, again, someone going to an Italian restaurant, pointing at the bread, and saying “WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT? HOW DARE YOU!”

I think my particular frustration with both of the above (and when I talk about Worlds Beyond Number) is that those people ignorant of genre and not letting it wash over them a la Sam will often fall back to the real world (although, unfortunately, not when it comes to radiation) when trying to make sense of the narrative without the signposts, language, and tropes of the genres to which they belong. To understand the subversions or deconstructions that are likely to occur in, for example, the upcoming exploration of the Citadel in Worlds Beyond Number, you need to be open to the idea that it is a complicated place and not simply The Evil Empire That Suvi Will Definitely Leave; if you’re utterly suspicious of everyone and refuse to try to understand why this is a place people enjoy let alone will die for, you can’t actually experience the story. We are going into the Citadel arc; these wizards will be humanized, and if you have closed off your mind to them already you have set yourself up to be miserable. I do think it’s great that actual play has found an increasingly large audience, but the medium of actual play also carries a certain lexicon and ignorance of it will skew one’s interpretations. My personal bugbear here is of course interpreting bog-standard tanking strategies as either romantic or self-sacrificial in intent, but in general, any resistance to the mere concept of gaining power, the existence of concrete deities, combat, and the placement of plot above romance in D&D are all signs of this ignorance. And again: ignorance is fine! But with all of the above there also often comes this entitlement to a story that is familiar, in blatant disregard for those parameters of genre and medium, and I have to wonder, again, why people mad that a fantasy story is leaning heavily on fantasy story norms, or why D&D has combat, are still showing up to the fantasy D&D story. To return to the Italian restaurant, which is getting a lot of terrible patrons in this metaphor, it feels like a lot of people are showing up to this restaurant because they heard it was good, but then becoming furious it won’t serve them peanut butter and jelly. People who are not familiar should still be welcome, but that lack of familiarity needs to be accompanied by an openness and desire to learn, rather than the entitlement that is so often present.

#cr tag #wbn tag #d20 tag #on fandom

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enigmatist17 · 10 months

Text

"Buck?"

"Yea man?"

"Why are you awake?"

"No reason."

"It's not no reason, not at 3am."

There's a sigh, and slowly a head peeks out from the kitchen. It was indeed 3 am, and Buck had almost forgotten about the two sleeping on his couch.

Well, one of them was asleep anyways, little Christopher peacefully asleep against his fathers side. He and Eddie had been crashing on Buck's couch ever since Buck had been welcomed back to the 118, and while Buck repeatedly offered the spare bedroom, the answer was always the same.

"Oh it's just for tonight."

Yea, sure it was.

"Sometimes I have to just get up." Buck shrugged, slipping his hands into his sweatpants pockets as he made his way to the dark living room. "Sorry I woke ya."

"You're fine, really." Carefully Eddie wormed his way up into a sitting position as Buck perched himself on the edge of the couch with a sigh. "Out with it then, come on."

"Out with what?" Buck's usual grin fell flat as Eddie raised his eyebrow, and they hold eye contact for a few moments before his shoulders slumped. "I dunno - part of it is I'm still surprised you guys keep coming back, part of it I keep waking up and thinking that the damn tsunami is back and Christopher -" Buck looks away with a shaky cough, and squeezes the hand that covers his.

"It would have to get through me first. Now come on, get over here or go and be all depressed in your room."

"I won't go and be "depressed"." He groused, but scoots further up onto the couch with a quiet grumble, slipping against Eddie's side like he's done it a thousand times.

"Yes you will." Eddie chuckled, pausing when Christopher shifted at the new weight beside him, burrowing between the two and going still after a few moments.

"He's a good kid." Buck gently reaches over and runs his hand through the youngers hair, shoulders relaxing a little bit further at the soft noise he lets out. "He was so brave you know - down at the pier? Kept on smilin' and cheering up everyone because you've raised a damn fine son."

"I always say it, he's the light of my life." Buck laughed breathlessly, and his eyes light up with his smile this time.

"You're so sappy man." Eddie shrugged with a smirk, and without really realizing leans over and presses a gentle kiss to Buck's temple.

"Maybe I am." He chuckled, eyes going wide when he really registers how close to his coworker he is, and both of them experience what a computer feels when it bluescreens.

"Did ah - did you just kiss me?"

Was it hot in here or was it just him?

"...apparently yes."

They bluescreen again, before Buck lets out what he can only describe as a giggle. They spill into full-blown muffled laughter when Eddie lets out a chuckle, and soon they're trying to muffle their laughter like two kids up late on a school night as they try to not wake Christopher. They're both crying by the end and breathless, but are grinning from ear to ear as Buck kicks back with a very pleased hum.

"Soooo, you gonna kiss me again? Or is it my turn? Because it can totally be my turn."

"You're okay with this?" Buck looks up with a grin, and shrugs.

"I'm not super surprised to be honest?" He shrugged, and Eddie facepalms with a snicker. "Also everyone already thinks I'm gay, so maybe they just know something I don't??"

Eddie's snicker turns into a loud laugh, and surprisingly his son doesn't wake as Buck watches in amusement.

"Clearly bud, clearly." Buck grins as he moves close, kissing Eddie's cheek. "The cheek?"

"Aw c'mon, at least it's the face!"

"I mean the temple counts."

"Nope, not at all."

"Oh it so does!"

The nightmares of the tsunami don't come back when the giggling duo eventually fall asleep on the couch an hour later, and Christopher wakes to the sight that puts a smile on his face.

Finally

#911 #911 abc #911 fox #eddie diaz #evan buckley #buck buckley #christopher diaz #eddie diaz x evan buckley #evan buck buckely #evan buckley x eddie diaz #buddie #buck x eddie #eddie x buck

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leahnardo-da-veggie · 15 days

Text

Fast Food- Travels

Designed to be read on its own, but you can find part 1 here and part 2 here.

Those were the days! No stress, no struggle, no weight of an inexorable prophecy hanging over my head. Just me, eating and sleeping as I pleased.

My first stop had been Saints-burrow, the town closest to my home. The humans there had hair like flax and skin like the earth, their skirts thick with spun valli-wool. They tended the fields with cheer, and welcomed me with open arms.

Kindness was as rampant as tallgrass there, an endless flow of generosity the likes of which I'd never encountered. There was no need to steal, thieve or burgle, for they were all too willing to give it to me for free.

I spent two years in the local inn, spinning tales to the tavern's regulars in exchange for a steady supply of ale and bread (though I suspect they would've given it to me for free), before I felt the itch to travel.

Somedays I sit and wonder what happened to those people, to their children's grandchildren. I wonder if they would have wept to see what became of their kindness. I wonder if they would blame me and curse themselves for being so generous toward me.

My wandering feet, or wings, as the case came to be, took me down to Nyctomachia, the land of a thousand gods.

My first night there had been thoroughly godless, however. It had been a gloomy night, like many others to come, full of rain and mist. Amidst the dampness, I stumbled across the corpse of a man, dressed in the rich purple fabrics of high nobility. His chest leaked blood like a fireflower blooming out of his heart, and his pockets held nothing but death. There was still one thing to take, however, and I, ever the pragmatist, took it with both hands.

That night, I slept under the plush covers of a dead man's bed, wearing his face, donning his silk nightgown. Oh, and screwing his lovely, obliging spouse. I do suspect they knew all along that I was an imposter, and I do suspect they didn't care.

I came to discover that Nyctomachia held an array of wonders for me. There were the night markets, where people were crushed together and trinkets hung off the walls, ripe for the taking. There were the galleries, where an established gentleman such as my current identity could waltz in, and, in the form of a rather grotesque street rat, flee with stolen goods. Best of all, there was the Undercity.

It was a hidden network of tunnels, spreading across the entire city, home to every inhuman thinkable. All manners for creatures lived there, from ghouls, goblins and vampires, to harpies, dryads and even a few centaurs. I, to my shock, fit right in.

I spent my days mimicking Sir Armuin Kinaei the twelfth, lounging about looking pretty while my spouse managed the estates. I spent my nights gambling away my stolen goods and getting drunk on spirit-mead, gossiping in bad pidgin the whole time. I spent fourty years like that, twenty carefree years that ended with my spouse dying on me.

It wasn't a sudden thing. Everyone had seen it coming a long way. Humans only lived for so long after all, and Akati was not young when I met them. It still hurt. It still hurt a lot.

It hurt enough that I disappeared into the night and never returned, leaving my possessions to the living who I held dear. I suppose it was just too much for my heart to bear, to watch any more of my friends die.

Little did I know my heart was fated to experience far worse hurts.

Taglist:

@coffeeangelinabox, @dorky-pals, @calliecwrites, @kaylinalexanderbooks, @shukei-jiwa

@thewingedbaron, @pluppsauthor, @cowboybrunch, @wylloblr, @possiblyeldritch @ramwritblr, @urnumber1star, @fortunatetragedy, @bigwipscholar, @ratedn

@vampirelover890, @possiblylisle, @illarian-rambling, @the-ellia-west

@finicky-felix, @evilgabe29, @glitched-dawn, @rivenantiqnerd, @dragonhoardesfandoms

@drchenquill, @everythingismadeofchaos, @owldwagitoutofyou (Anyone else who wants to get added can tell me in the comments, pm me, or send me an ask about it!)

#writeblr #writing #my writing #creative writing #writerscommunity #writing community #fantasy #spilled ink #short story

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bluegekk0 · 11 months

Note

i think that this song somehow fits feral pk for some reason in my head and i wanted to share it

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SECVGN4Bsgg

Men At Work - Who Can It Be Now?

i imagine that what if feral pale king was still paranoid and anxious that the point that he always isolates himself because he always thinks of his past failures as a king.

Despite that the radiance is defeated and long gone. Feral Pale King has intense fear and trauma so strong that is slowly damaging his mental health. feral pk still thinks that the radiance is watching him and is secretly plot revenge for feral pale king to make him suffer. In feral pk's mind, the radiance is patiently waiting for feral pk to let his guard down. which is the reason why feral pk became feral

and that thought gives pale king so much nightmares even though that the radiance is no longer here in hallownest

imagine an au of this au that feral pk is 10x depressed than before with a sprinkle of more angst. an au where feral pk is still paranoid of the radiance despite the radiance is dead which makes it pointless to be fearful of

an au where hornet tries to help feral pk overcome their depression and trauma

sorry for this long ask, Men At Work - Who Can It Be Now? reminds me of a depressed feral pk hiding in a cave with unwanted thoughts

oh damn this song takes me back ahahahaha thank you for reminding me of it

funnily enough, the way i see him in my head (which i don't really portray in my art much, i'll admit) he is very paranoid. not about the radiance, he's assured that she's gone. in the au, grimm is her half brother, and if there's anyone who could confirm that the radiance is no more, it would be him

instead, he is paranoid about pretty much everything else. in particular about failing everyone yet again, and hurting those close to him. the deaths of all the vessels that he was responsible for have devastated him, and it's the main thing that keeps his mental health in shambles. there are good parts to his new life, and he loves it and wants to experience the happy moments, but every so often he is hit by the reminder of what he did and how much of a failure he is. that, and all of his trauma that he can't process properly. those are the things that fuel his nightmares and constantly stress him out, no matter how happy he might be with his family around

so you're not that far off with your au idea. there is a lot of angst to fpk, and he is very much a depressed, broken man. i suppose the biggest difference is the radiance, even if she's gone in both the actual au, and your idea for the side au. also to the last part, hornet's involvement in his healing in the fpk au is a bit complicated, since she has a lot of her own issues to process and deal with. but they stick together, and that helps both of them in the long run. so i suppose in a way she does end up helping him, with the addition that she also manages to overcome her own issues thanks to him

but yeah, this was a very interesting ask! i really like this idea, it's not something i have considered, but it makes sense and i think it would be interesting to write about. if things went a bit differently with my vision, i could totally see myself going there, i might have actually considered something like that at one point if i remember correctly, though evidently it didn't go past the idea phase. so it's cool to see that someone else reached a similar concept hahaha

"reminds me of a depressed feral pk hiding in a cave with unwanted thoughts" <- i could totally see that even for the "main" fpk au btw. he does that a lot, even if he now swapped a cave for his dirtmouth house bedroom and a burrow made from blankets hah

thanks for the ask again! i don't mind getting longer asks btw, i actually really enjoy reading through them, so i appreciate this! sorry if my response is a bit incoherent, i haven't re-read it before posting. i'm very exhausted after the barbenheimer bomb (figuratively and literally) earlier today and i wanted to respond before going to bed

#ask stuff #feral pk au

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blankdblank · 1 year

Text

Protego Pt 6 - Riddle Family Massacre

Masterlist here

...

Thursday did come around. Where she was expecting the Knight Bus, wide eyed she stood underneath the bus stop watching the covered carriage pulled by four invisible Thestrals. “What is that?!” she cried out to Sirius who sat on the front seat of the carriage, smiling madly now that he was with his adored one he hoped to marry one day to see this mystery through to the end with some luck on this trip alone.

“Magical carriage, don’t worry Muggles will think it’s an old busted down Plymouth and they can’t see Thestrals, which only Wizards can see them if they’ve seen death, and they’re the best navigators around. Tried to get Narcissa’s beau Lucius to lend us his family enchanted car, but he wanted in on the action and we were not about to let him tag along. Up front or in the back?”

Under her feet the gradually rising snow crunched to her every nervous step closer. Internally at a loss for if she was seeing a mirage of some sort. The impossibility of the unknown answer of her ancestors and this mode of transportation heightened the urge to shiver beyond reason of just the dropping temperatures that enabled the snowfall. Sharp and quick the draw of a curtain blocking the windows on that side of the carriage facing her had her flinch and freeze. Regulus’ hand off the drawstring to let her see him released to give her a wave matching his widening grin at seeing she’d showed up wearing the same scarf Sirius had pondered she might wear for hours the night prior.

“I’d suggest up front!” Alastor called out from the window in the back he’d opened to do just that, “Everyone should have that experience just once. If you don’t like it you can ride back here on the way home.”

“Hear there’s some incredible sights along the way off our wireless,” Regulus added as a sort of reminder to his older brother on things they looked up he could point out to help keep conversation from dipping into a lull.

Heavily she huffed and walked closer to the carriage. Sinking each step much more as the mounds around the path of the wheels had been pushed up in their arrival. Invisible pressed hooves on her right that made crunches of their own had the hair on the back of her neck stand up. Nothing was there, and yet round hoof like impressions marked the places of four Thestrals who were pulling the carriage. Her body aimed at the front bench and said, “So help me if I fall off, I will kill all of you.”

Hand out to take her raised one Sirius helped her up, ensuring she was safely seated and smiled at her with a renewed grip of the reigns. “Be hard to kill me I’m already in heaven.” Accented with a wink. Up to his chin her hand rose to press in a swipe motion that forced his head forward, “Off we go lads,” clicking his tongue and a flick of the reigns he named the town they were headed for. Soft at first the carriage began to roll forward in the start of a trotting pace of the flighted invisible creatures that by thirty feet had the carriage back up in the air again.

The sudden jolt urged her body to scoot into his side. A reflex answered by his, a raise of his arm to let her dip and latch around his middle. Chuckles muffled inside the carriage from the pair who had seen that move they guessed might happen. Widely Sirius grinned to himself, even at the awkward fold of his jacket to jam an internal row of buttons securing a spare magical warming layer into his ribs underneath her arms. “You are sure we won’t be seen?!” she checked.

Around her back his arm lowered to rest there and help her feel more secure in time. “Cross my heart, whole thing is enchanted, even our seat, no one can see us except for Wizards in flying vehicles or on brooms.”

“Why did I let you talk me into this?” she squeaked and he simply held her a bit firmer until she began to calm down at least at the wind, but not the height that after a few stolen peeks out over his other arm she ducked back to burrow her head into his chest. Ignoring the flap of the collar of her double breasted coat in a timed thwack against her face due to the shifting wind currents around them.

Begrudging ally or not, by the time the first trip to the theater had been over she had begun to know that there was at least some room for trust brewing between them. She might not be overly sure as to what his intentions might be exactly, but until he showed otherwise she felt she could give him a chance to be trusted by her with some things at least. If in anything to be a distant relative to warm up to in time and mingle with on random holidays should things with Lily keep growing sour. The room once echoing of giggles long past bedtime now sat uncomfortably silent on both sides of an invisible line drawn between beds they sat upon not looking the others way.

Glints of edges of buildings grew more visible to the drop of the carriage. A town with rows of shops and homes in wavy patterns ended with flat ends between blocks became more obvious the closer they got. A city far from the euphoric place she had heard of from her parents under this blanket of snow shielding all that was meant to be so magical about this place that gifted her to them. Just streets and buildings between the scattered bodies of children exploring their town and creating frozen kingdoms of their own with dreams of magic now lost to her were to be seen blocking off any joyful sensation in being here. Only fear, heart thundering louder than hooves and wheels that met the cobbled road almost made her miss notice of the landing.

Right outside the city they did park the carriage. Regulus was first to pop out of the back with hold of a container that let out the unmistakable scent of blood into the air when opened. Four trays, now the lid was off, slid apart to help the four claim their own snack Alastor helped him to hold. Off the carriage the duo on the front bench climbed into the trench the carriage and other two made, to wiggle and stretch a few of their most stiffened joints. “What is that?” Jewels asked aloud before she’d realized it.

“Raw meat. Best cuts we have in the supply for the family herd.” Sirius answered and she looked up at him lost to what the boys might be feeding.

The invisible bodies clearly snacked on in gratitude, noisily naming their locations for the young girl who moved closer with a trembling hand raised to land awkwardly on the neck of one of the invisible bodies. Each muscle under her hand shifted around the meal in the rise of the head to swallow it whole. “How, how do you take care of them if you can’t see them?”

Regulus answered, “Our Gran had a bad bout of sickness few years back, passed on during our evening talk she wanted with us, we can see them just fine.”

Alastor added when she looked his way, “Had a stage hand take an untimely step too many on a hanging support to a heavy prop. Good thing was the fumes of the cloud of dust it let off killed him before he hit the stage, after he’d hit a few more props on the way.”

“Oh,” she replied and Sirius shook his head, helping to guide her hand to its head.

“Think black eagle head on a winged horse’s body.” Sirius explained to help distract her off that morbid topic.

“Oh,” she said, then asked, “Like a Hippogriff?”

“Um,” Sirius answered, “Maybe if you plucked the Hippogriff, these don’t have feathers. More leathery.”

Contently it let out a puff of an exhale laced grunt of approval to the contact of the curious girl. “You have a herd of these?” she asked and the brothers nodded to the fall of her eyes onto the pair.

Regulus answered, ticking his head to the side, “Yes, well, Gramps does. All our family properties are linked to the family mansion that’s hidden away on unplottable land. We all have stables and the herd can be brought from that land to let out the carriages on an empty street nearby if we’re close to Muggle lands. Which our house is smack in the middle of London, comes in handy.”

After giving the Thestral another pat she said, “We should go now, I can pet them again later. Maybe even feed them.”

Regulus smiled as his brother still had hold of the now lowered hand, stating for him, “We brought tons of snacks for them. They’ll surely love you after that.”

Walking away from the carriage they were glad to have all worn warm pants, socks and boots to counter the accumulated snow now being joined by more to settle atop their jackets and chosen knitted hats, the latter matching their sweaters and scarves. Much deeper than the prior stop, and much harder to not whip out their wands to carve walkways as they did at school to spare that small struggle. The quiet little town wasn’t used to guests this time of year, but at the gossip shared of an adoption record inquiry with the post office the other day the curious visitors, if bothered at all, would be taken as the ones who had called.

Alastor had memorized the maps of this town and named the way to the others. Each silent to let each sound rippling from between the rows of buildings and grouped blocks of houses almost bowl them over as the wind hoped to do. She wanted answers. To know what mother she belonged to. But in that came the terror of the notion that like her birth father that woman could be anyone.

Morfin Gaunt was no saint, having served time in Azkaban back in the late 20’s and early 30’s in prison for assault on a Witch, his own sister no less. Same as their father who died shortly after his release from the same prison. Known widely to be poor, somehow there was a woman to have been lured to marry into the Gaunt family. A man of short temper surely was the source of hers, now she had to know what she gained from her mother. All by means of a single undocumented name on her birth certificate.

The noise of each street they passed by had their eyes swiveling to take in what surrounded them as if an attack could come and evasive maneuvers would be called for. A void of noise had their hair prickle in a rise up when they stepped in front of a row of offices. Frail and quiet Jewels was able to ask, “Why did it go quiet like that?”

Alastor replied, “Land keeps a memory, like certain spaces feel sinister, not haunted. We’d see sign of a ghost or two. More like they tore something bad down.”

Regulus asked with a hint of uncertainty in his voice for how Jewels would react to hearing it, “I thought only the orphanage had been torn down, right?”

“Mummy did say they wouldn’t have left me there,” she murmured back.

A step closer to her side Sirius pushed through the snow to say in a comforting tone, “No shortage of novels with sad goings on at orphanages. Now we have to find a much more likely haunted Nunnery.”

Up at him she looked with pointed gaze for the unnoticed borderline joke Alastor cut in to say plainly, “Now Padfoot, ghosts are not the goal for a top notch Nunnery. Just need the penguins and some bells for that.” That was enough to get her to look his way and he pointed forward, “Two streets and we take the next curve to the end atop the hill. Not far now.” She nodded and they pushed onwards past the quiet pocket, back into more echoes of the more playful city residents out and about and those just being nosy about the visitors passing by.

Right to the center of the main road in town easy to be gotten to by everyone the Nunnery was located. Fixed to the back of the church and the side of the Midwife and Doctors clinic, that unlike the demolished orphanage was sure to be in use for decades to come by the townspeople. Almost painfully the town grew under the shadow of the ledge hanging over the front stoop. Silence hung over the teens who had shaken themselves free of snow in reading the notice the bell was broken and to use the knocker. Silence broken by Jewels, who saw her hand rise on its own to clack the heavy ring against the wooden barrier between her and the information promised to her.

“Maybe they’re deaf?” Sirius muttered on the cusp of the third minute to pass by in their wait. But the chatter of the boys broke when the door opened and one of the eldest Nuns opened the heavy door lowering her eyes to land on the shorter group that all flinched up anxious waves. “Hello, how might we help you?” she spoke aloud in a curious tone.

Jewelia answered, “I was adopted out of Wool’s Orphanage, I hoped I could see my adoption file.”

“Oh yes,” she said elatedly and stepped aside, “Come in, yes, we did get a call about an adoption file.” Behind them she sealed the door shut again and gestured her hand to the side to lead them along when she turned around. Back to one of the back rooms she led them all, asking along the way, “Would you happen to know your birth parents’ names, or merely your adoption date?”

“The father is listed as Morfin Gaunt.” The girl answered in what she hoped to have been a steady tone.

“Gaunt,” she said. Into a cabinet of drawers now ajar for the letter G her fingers flit across the file folder tabs inside. Closing the two beneath the first with her foot and knee once she had located the proper collection of files, lifting one out of the bunch to check, “Merope Gaunt?” blindly to her side she passed to Jewels that the girl opened in the drop of her eyes, “And a, Morfin Gaunt, odd.”

“Both siblings left children here?” Regulus asked his brother in Latin, who shrugged.

“No record of a kid for Merope in our ledger,” Sirius muttered back in the same tongue.

The Nun looked up as she shut the drawer to the girl who’d already been reading the notes on the first page of the file. “This says she had a son,” Jewels read.

Regulus said, “Morfin’s sister was Merope, you have a cousin.”

The Nun smiled and offered Jewels her file, “Daughter, adopted by the Evans, correct?” Jewels nodded and she said, “I will leave you the room a few minutes and fetch you all some tea.” Out of the room she walked and the teens looked around moving to the spare open square of chairs along a corner of the office muffling noise of the other Nuns at work throughout the clinic on the other side of the far wall.

“What’s it say about him?” Regulus asked when they’d all settled around her, with her right in the corner seat to give them all fair view of her reactions or the file if need be.

“Tom Marvolo Riddle Jr.” Jewels’ brows furrowed, and she said, “This says he went to Hogwarts.” That had the guys huddled around her to look a bit closer, “Apparently he was a thief and an arsonist.”

“Riddle,” Sirius said to himself, “Where have I read that name?”

“Something about a bunny, and moving his room to a new secluded room.” She turned the pages filled with disciplinary notes and ample with other things hastily compiled surely over the years between medical check up receipts. “He left at 16 and never came back, there’s an article in here about, Riddle family, massacre.” Her voice broke off and Alastor took hold of the Daily Prophet cutout the Muggles must have taken as scraps left around his room that were included in his file.

He continued, “Says the only believed suspect was Morfin Gaunt, who after nearly two decades wanted revenge for the death of his sister in childbirth of the son she had from the Muggle husband who abandoned her. Something about an earlier sentence and charges he was let loose after their father Marvolo died. Killed the whole Riddle family. But there was no proof, couldn’t even get a memory out of him on it.”

“So, my birth father killed his in laws, and still left the boy here?” She asked more herself in shock for what her father did than the others.

Alastor said, “Least now we know the name to dig into the Prophet archives for. We can write them today when we get back. Something seems fishy about this massacre too. All we know this Riddle Jr was a sick puppy when he graduated, went home to find his father and got curse happy.” Story of how the orphanage was shut down also came in a bit of a mystery as the Matron in charge had been found dead in another terrible accident not long ago enabling the office building developers who wanted the land on that block an easy time in buying it up.

The camera Regulus had brought was used to make copies of the whole file as she watched, not willing to open her own file just quite yet. Changing the film three times, the final time he sealed the camera back again and slid the used roll into his pocket designated for them. “What’s your file say?” Alastor gently urged her to finally break the front cover that revealed how she had been orphaned.

Sirius helped her to situate the top page right side up that had a read out of the Muggle police report of a rather inexplicable death for the couple that left a little girl an orphan. “This doesn’t make sense, how is this an accident?”

Sirius shook his head, “This wouldn’t be an accident. Someone killed them.”

“I remember the day you were brought to the clinic,” the Nun spoke upon her return pushing a tea cart loaded with mugs of warm drinks and some hard biscuits to nibble on while it cooled. Her smile spread in the fall of her eyes on the girl again. “Eyes like no other, heard tell some imagined your eyes to change colors, hair too.” A chuckle left her in the offer of the mugs to each of the teens who welcomed the warm treats with soft thanks. “Brought right round here to ensure you were healthy. The Doc wouldn’t say what had befallen your parents, only you were heard crying behind a closed door your mother had collapsed in front of.”

Gradually away from her lips to blow on the tea in her mug Jewels lowered the mug, unable to take a sip yet off what she had heard. “Do, you remember her name?”

The Nun shook her head, “Can’t say we were able to uncover one. City records show no marriage and our public notice came up nil in leads for any relatives or missing persons.” Wrinkles on her face formed in the force of a smile onto her face, “Only, I recall something of some siblings in the family who adopted you?”

Jewels nodded, “I have two sisters.”

“See, all is well that ends well.” To the tick of her brows up so the woman could sip on her own tea Jewels dared to take a sip of the drink far beyond able to comfort her now.

“What do you remember about her cousin?” Alastor asked and a sour look flinched across the Nun’s face when the mug lowered from her mouth.

“Foul little creature. We heard terrible stories from some of the girls who came to join our order before he just vanished into the wind at 17. Should be my age now,” then she nodded and reached out a hand to pat Jewels’ knee. “Best not search for him. Cannot trust so much as a bunny rabbit with that one. That one is no kin to a kind child like you.” Off Jewels’ face to the file she looked asking, “Why have you come in search of the orphanage?”

When their eyes met again Jewels replied, “Mother’s name is blank on my birth certificate.”

“Oh yes, truly, I do wish we might have been of more help to you on that front.” A phone call had the woman set her mug down and rise to go and fetch it in the lift of a finger stating she would return again.

“Pictures,” Regulus said, hurrying to reach over and collect her file to snap pictures of each document and return it while the woman seemed to be locked in a conversation that drug on longer than she hoped.

“Little Hangleton,” she muttered to herself when they were again alone on that same stoop now facing the other way. “How far would you imagine that is?”

Sirius smiled widely and said, “Not without grasp of our steeds. Thestrals can find anyplace. Natural navigators.” Back to the carriage and waiting steeds he led her, not allowing her body to lock up in the whirl of her mind over what she had learned about her birth family. Chance to offer some raw meat snacks of her own had Jewels a bit relieved by the distraction between this discovery and the continued search now extended to the house she was taken from.

Little Hangleton wasn’t far off from the previous town, and out of the dozens of houses here the one the Gaunts lived at wasn’t hard to pick out for Jewels. Who at the sight of the house out of her years of nightmares fainted when she couldn’t seem to catch her breath.

“Jewels?” the guys all asked as she came to, each huddled around her inside the divot of snow they made to help keep her out of the cold wind that only helped to stop her from scooting away from the house that had her eyes fill with tears.

“That’s the house, I keep seeing that house, there’s a woman trapped in there.” She whimpered out in her panic bubbling out of her trembling self.

“Okay,” Regulus said. He nodded his head trying to calm her down, “Let’s scope it out.”

Sirius and Alastor helped her up, the latter asking, “What’s the woman look like?”

“Me,” she answered shakily and he wet his lips, stealing another glance at the house then looked back to her. He now saw the tears that broke loose down her cheeks out of fear that had the roots of her hair and brows turning black in a gradual loss of her ability to keep her disguise.

“Jewels, it might be a trapped memory. Of when you lived there, they didn’t have an exact birthday for you in the file.” Alastor said in as supportive a tone he could muster to the fall of her tears Sirius helped to wipe away.

“But we’ll check it out.” Sirius said.

Answers did come, none calming as they stood wordless at a headstone that left her mother without a name outside a long since emptied house they couldn’t find a way to break in without getting expelled for it.

Alastor as promised did dig into the Daily Prophet records for any bit of news he could find on the Gaunts and any semblance of a wedding or birth announcement linked to them. The paper would name that Marvolo died alone inside the house before his son could be released from an assault charge against Ministry members who talked to them about their danger to the Muggle Riddle clan, of which Merope bore a fondness for one of them.

Bloody revenge was the claimed reason for Morfin’s second sentence in Azkaban. Against the same family his sister had abandoned him and their father to marry into and bear a child for. Yet decades later he and an unknown Witch got caught in some unfortunate accident as the Muggles claimed the Gaunt line had been cut off entirely by their research. No courtship, no marriage and most certainly no baby was noted. Thus stalling the family standings without an heir noted to retrieve custody of what little the Wizarding World saw them flaunt and all they imagined to be hidden away.

Day after day on lunches the guys would share what they had dug up in their turns at the hoard of Prophet news clipping copies Alastor had divided to not handle alone by their girth. Nothing to reassure her any of the three Gaunts had endearing qualities to lure a presumed young spouse to wed them. Daily her hair when she got home grew darker and she found a place to sit with legs curled up to her chest unable to know who to talk to in all this.

“That theater troupe was supposed to be a happy thing.” Petunia said, having finally broken to chatting with her baby sister who was seated inside the spare coat closet in the back of the house.

“It is,” Jewels replied softly.

Down into the closet Petunia moved to settle herself down at Jewels’ side, “This is where you reign in ecstatic glee then?”

“I’m related to one of the founders at school,” she said softly, but not soft enough that Lily walking by couldn’t hear, urging her to stop and listen in to what she’d been missing. “I found my adoption papers and the boys who go to theater with me have been helping me to hunt out my birth parents.”

“Have,” Petunia squeaked out in a loss for what to say, “Have you found anything?”

“I found the house, in my dream, where the woman is trapped. My birth father is dead and we haven’t been able to track down his wife’s name yet. Apparently Witches don’t keep records like we do, it’s all in bloodlines.”

“That must be maddening.” Petunia said and leaned closer to Jewels’ side as she sniffled and tucked forward into her legs.

“I just want to know where I came from,” she squeaked out, “In case one day you don’t want me anymore.”

“Mummy and Daddy chose you, if anything we would kick Lily out long before you,” she said deliberately to make Jewels chuckle but only made her feel a bit worse. “You get so sad little bunny,” Petunia sighed cuddling her sister closer. “No one is ever going to ever be able to stop you being an Evans. You are stuck with us I am afraid, as we are stuck with Great Aunt Gertrude.” That had Jewels giggle and sniffle to Petunia’s hint of a grin in their shared dislike of the woman who fawned over Lily and never cared to show them any mind. “For now, we must get your face washed and your hair in those bows,”

“I hate those bows, they pinch my head.” Jewels whined in reply.

“I know,” Petunia replied wearing a pair of their own. “But if we are ever to compete for some praise at the table we must endure the pinches until one day we dole out our own.” Muffled grumbles followed on the way down the hall to the bath where the elder sister helped the youngest to freshen up and fix her hair that was steadily creeping back to maroon again.

Lily however faked a trip to the bedroom as if she’d forgotten something only to come back out and find her sister to ask, “Where did you get that broomstick?!”

Jewels turned from the mirror and replied, “A gift from Sirius and Regulus.”

Lily scoffed, “Since when do you have anything to do with Sirius Black?! And just who is Regulus?! You are supposed to be taking acting lessons not flirting with random boys!” she stormed out of the room.

And where Petunia might have assumed Jewels might burst into tears at the insinuation the adopted daughter stormed herself downstairs to create her own path of fire and brimstone bringing up each and every fault James had. The very same boy who gifted Lily the bracelet she had shown off all day who was far crueler to their joint friend until eventually the both of them were sent to bed by their parents without supper, away from their amused visiting relatives, in separate rooms.

Pt 7

#Marauders Era #Alastor Moody #Sirius Black #Regulus Black #Petunia Evans #Lily Evans #Riddle Family Massacre #Gaunt Family Mystery #Wool's Orphanage #Thestrals #Flying Carriages #Sisterly Fued #Gifted Broomstick #Harry Potter #Sirius Black Pining

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13uswntimagines · 3 years

Text

Loose Lips Sink Ships (Soran X Swift!Reader)

Request: The Next Instalment of the Swift!Reader Universe where everyone finds out that the reader is dating Emily and Lindsey. Basically, 5000 words of the reader getting caught in compromising positions, having deep conversations with her sister and teasing some too invasive fans.

Other Parts of the Swift!Reader Universe

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

Taylor considered herself a very perceptive person, especially when it came to you. From the time you were little, she could read you like a book. She knew to look for the tilt of your head when you were curious, or how you scratched the back of your neck when you were nervous.

But this, she had never seen before. Your thumbs twiddled on your thighs, patting out an erratic pattern that didn’t match any of your favorite songs, and your feet were tapping out a completely different beat. You also kept tucking your chin, completely refusing to make eye contact with her.

It wasn’t just tonight either. It was for the entire week you had been staying with her in her Manhattan apartment. She didn’t know if she could take another three weeks of you sneaking off to the terrace to make phone calls at midnight.

She sighed, turning away from the stove to lean over the island, taking a long drag from her wine glass and eyeing you carefully.

“Alright, what’s going on with you?” She asked, raising an eyebrow at you. You blinked up at her with owlish eyes.

“You’re acting weird,” she added with a shrug, turning to whatever she was making on the stove.

You took a large gulp of your drink and swallowed hard. You didn’t think you had been that obvious, but then again Taylor knew you better than anyone (well, there were two people who probably knew you as well as she did). Soon enough they would be just as good at getting information out of you as Taylor was.

“I’m just tired. Pre-season and national team duty are kinda kicking my ass,” You mumbled, rubbing the back of your neck, praying to god that she would take this excuse.

She nodded, tapping the spatula on the side of the pot before turning back to you and picking up her glass again. “I’m sure the media pressure isn’t helping that,”

You shrugged.“Everyone just expects me to be you, and it’s a lot sometimes,” You mumbled, absentmindedly circling your fingers over the rim of your glass.

Taylor’s eyebrows furrowed. She could tell you weren’t telling her everything, but if this was the route you wanted to take, then she wouldn’t miss a chance to reaffirm you.

“I know, and I’m sorry for that,” She said softly, reaching across the island to gently grab your hand.

You finally looked up at your sister, echoing her sad smile, and noting the worried crinkle by her eyes. “It’s not really your fault,”

She nodded. “I know, but all I can do is tell you how amazing you are as many times as I can,”

You held her gaze for a few more seconds, her seriousness giving you no reason to doubt her sincerity.

It didn’t matter what the media, or your family, said about your career. Taylor maintained that you were just as good, simply because you were you. She was your greatest champion and most trusted confidant.

You nodded, and she squeezed your hand before turning back to the stove. She knew pushing you to talk about what was really bothering you wouldn’t help. You would come to her when you were ready.

You watched her thoughtfully as she put the final touches on dinner, checking on a tray in the oven and stirring the things on the stove.

You were comforted by the familiarity of it, but the little voice in the back of your head reminded you that you also enjoyed this position when it was a different blond cooking for you (and the way Lindsey teased her while she cooked).

The three of you had been together for nearly eight months, and recently you had all decided that maybe it was time to stop hiding. The first step was telling Taylor, but you weren’t really sure how.

Your heart thumped in your chest at the thought of your two favorite women. Your girlfriends, you reminded yourself. They made you feel so many amazing, and terrifying things you had never felt before. Taylor always sang about those emotions, and you wondered if this was what she was talking about.

“Can I ask you a question?” You asked softly, and Taylor paused her stirring on the stove. That was always the cue you used when you wanted to have a serious conversation. When you were nervous about whatever the answer would be. The last time you had asked that you wanted to know if she would be upset if you skipped college in favor of going pro.

Her opinion mattered to you more than anyone else’s.

“You know you always can,” She said, avoiding looking over her shoulder (towards where she knew you were worrying your lip between your teeth).

“How did you know you were in love?”

Taylor paused, a pan halfway out of the oven, at the completely unexpected question. She should have seen this coming, she had seen the way those two looked at you.

She cleared her throat, straightening and setting the hot pan on some oven mitts on the counter, before turning her full attention to you. She took in how you seemed so hunched in on yourself, your eyes still glued to your glass.

“Well, She made me feel warm and bubbly like there was a hot spring in my chest. When anything happened, she was the first person I wanted to tell,”

You blinked up at her, your eyebrows furrowing. “Like you were addicted to her? Like when she smiled, it finally felt like you could breathe?” You rushed out and Taylor let you, giving you to work through your emotions, before she pulled you into a tight hug.

You had a very bad habit of bottling everything up and pretending that you were fine (something she was sure her career choice - and your mother- didn’t necessarily help).

“Did you feel scared of how much she made you feel?” You leaned into her touch, sighing when she ran her fingers through your hair.

“In the beginning it did, but then it was freeing when I realized that she would be there to catch me,” Taylor said, kissing the crown of your head.

You closed your eyes. You didn’t doubt that they would catch you, but the feeling of falling was terrifying. You were in deep and keeping it from your sister was difficult.

“Dinner looks amazing and I’m starving,” You mumbled, and you felt Taylor sigh. She had gotten a little out of you, but definitely not enough to curve her curiosity. All in good time.

“Let’s eat,” she said, kissing your hair and standing to make you two plates. She still had 2 weeks to get the rest of the story out of you.

****

You were in absolute heaven. Trapped in between the two warm bodies of your girlfriends, one set of lips moving with your own and another trailing kisses lightly down your neck.

Emily and Lindsey had spent one of their free days (between Adidas and other sponsor commitments) hanging out with you, and you couldn’t be happier. You spent the day exploring the city and checking off a massive list of stereotypical couple things the city had to offer. It had ended in a very romantic dinner at a little pub on the lower east side, and now some amazing kisses in your room at your sister’s apartment.

Lindsey’s hands slipped under the front of your shirt, her nail scratching lightly up your tummy and ribs as she pressed herself further into your back. You sighed into Emily’s mouth, tilting your head to both give her a better angle on your mouth and give Lindsey more room in your neck.

“Hm, we’ve gotta stop. Tay will be back soon,” You mumbled when Emily pulled back and turned you so Lindsey got her turn too.

You felt Emily sit up behind you to get a good look at the clock. “You said we had till 12, it’s only 11:15,” you could hear the smirk in her voice, even as she kissed your ear and made her way down to the patch of skin on your neck she knew drove you wild.

You bit your lip. It was one thing to ask your sister for relationship advice, and a complete other for her to walk in on it.

Lindsey gently brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. “Do you wanna stop?”

Emily paused as they both waited for your answer. It was sweet and comforting how they always made sure you felt safe and that you were enthusiastically consenting to whatever you were doing.

You shook your head and pouted. “No,”

Lindsey sent you a very indulgent smile, her thumb gently rubbing over your cheeks. “Then less talking, more kissing,”

You giggled into the kiss, a shiver running down your spine when Emily continued her ministrations in your neck.

You hummed into the kiss, very much enjoying how their bodies felt pressed into yours. God, it was like you just couldn’t get enough. It was so easy to lose track of time with them. It wasn’t until a loud slam of the door and your sister calling “Y/n, you here?” That you finally pulled away from the women.

“Shit! You two have to hide,” You squeaked, practically leaping from the bed. You threw Emily’s pants and Lindsey’s shirt towards the women on the bed, who were moving way too slow for your liking.

“Where?” Emily asked, tripping as she tried to hastily shove her legs inside her pants, while simultaneously glancing around your room in search of a suitable hiding space.

“I don’t know! Figure it out,” You said over your shoulder, taking a deep breath to hide your panic before you exited the room.

You carefully closed the door behind you, she would have zero chance of getting any information out of you).

“Hey kid, how was your day?” Taylor asked from the couch, looking over her wine glass at you. She opened her arms, and you immediately went to burrow into her.

“The best. I went out exploring,” Your entire face brightened (Taylor wondered if it was because you got to experience the city, or from the person, she was sure you experienced it with - ie the person(s?) who had left the hickey’s all down your neck).

“Where’d you get that shirt?” She asked after a few minutes, pinching the grey sweatshirt (which conveniently had a number 9 and the USWNT logo on it).

You blinked down at your outfit, your eyes widening, at your outfit, a pair of Emily’s Thorns shorts and Lindsey’s sweater.

“Oh, Umm,” you stuttered, racing to come up with a response when a bang echoed from your room.

Taylor’s head snapped in the direction of the sound “What was that?”

“Nothing Tay,” You winced at another loud thump followed by several giggles.

She raised an eyebrow at you and stood to go investigate for herself. She didn’t mind you bringing a significant other home (especially if they made you this happy) but she didn’t want them hiding from her.

“Are you going to tell me, or am I going to have to go find them for myself?”

You crossed your arms like a petulant child and pouted. “I also spent the day with Emily and Lindsey,”

“And?” Taylor asked, slightly confused. She liked the women and she thought you knew she would approve. Hell, she had practically given them the shovel talk already.

You sighed, hunching your shoulders. “They’re hiding in my closet because we were making out when you came home,”

Taylor giggled at how absolutely pitiful you sounded. She patted your shoulder “Well, I think the closet is a terrible place to hide. How about you get them out here,”

You nodded and stood to go retrieve the girls, slightly afraid of what Taylor was going to say to them.

“And y/n,” she said just as you got to your door.

You paused and turned towards her “Yeah?” You asked, tilting your head to the side.

“I’m happy that you’re so happy to be dating them,”

You smiled so wide that your cheeks started to hurt. It felt like a weight was lifted off your chest. No matter what happened going forward, Taylor supported you (even if you were sure she was about to give them one hell of a shovel talk and set up some serious boundaries).

You nodded and entered your room. Perhaps it was about time that you all came out of the closet.

******

You weren’t quite sure how you always got yourself into these situations. Maybe it was that you, Em, and Linds barely got to see each other outside of camp during the season, or maybe it was because the three of you were so sickeningly in love that you couldn’t keep your hands to yourself.

Whatever it was, you, Emily, and Lindsey couldn’t seem to keep your hands to yourself (especially after you came out to your sister).

Even now, with the no girlfriends rule at camp, you found yourself pinned to the elevator wall by Lindsey’s hips, thoroughly enjoying the way Emily’s tongue was exploring your mouth (shivering slightly when Lindsey hit the sensitive spots on her neck) (with no idea how they thought this position was comfortable for them).

You were so engrossed in your kissing that you didn’t hear the ding of the elevator, or the doors beginning to slide open.

“Holy shit guys, at least let the girl breathe,” Kelley’s cackling caused all three of you to jump, and Lindsey to inadvertently knock heads with you.

“Fuck,” Emily hissed, working her way out from between Lindsey’s arms and your chest.

“Ow,” You mumbled, rubbing your forehead l, as Lindsey used a thumb to lift your chin so she could look at it. “You alright babe,” She asked softly.

Kelley laughed louder at the mess that was the three of you trying to untangle yourselves from each other, ignoring Alex’s glare (teasing someone while their cheeks were as red as yours were wasn’t something she felt comfortable with).

“Shut up Kelley,” Emily grumbled, pulling you off the wall so she could hug you from behind. You leaned back into the woman, taking whatever comfort you could. The three of you knew it was time to tell the team, but you hadn’t expected it to happen like this.

“How long has this been going on?” Alex asked softly after a few minutes. There was no way the three of you could be so comfortable around each other if this was a new thing.

“Almost a year,” You said, shyly looking up at Lindsey, who placed a very sweet kiss on your cheek while Emily placed the same on your other.

“Does Taylor know?” Alex asked at the same time Kelley said “I’m gonna need an exact date,”.

Alex slapped the back of Kelley’s head. “Not the time Kel,”

“Yeah, Taylor knows and is super cool with it,” Lindsey said softly, squeezing your hand.

Alex tilted her head, looking to you for confirmation. You nodded.

“Good, because I didn’t want to have to try and keep it from her,” The forward smirked, and you felt more heat in your cheeks. You all promised you would never mention that incident again.

“She was terrifying last time we saw her mad,” Kelley grumble, rubbing the back of her head.

“That was because you let Y/n surf in giant waves on her first time out,” Emily snorted, nuzzling her nose into the space behind your ear. Alex smiled softly at the sight of you so relaxed.

“Are you three going to tell the team?” She asked.

“You might have to if you are going to continue playing tonsil tennis in the hallways,” Kelley added, only for Alex to slap the back of her head again.

“We hadn’t really talked about it yet…” You mumbled. Both of your girlfriends squeezed you (Lindsey getting your gains, while Emily tightened the arms she had wrapped around your middle).

“Well, could you wait like 3 days? I have 20 bucks on you three taking until the middle of camp to come out,” Kelley asked, scratching the back of her neck. You rolled your eyes. Of course, they would have bets on you, but you weren’t about to bend over backward for it.

“You knew?” Emily screeched. Kelley cackled nodding wildly.

“You’re not exactly subtle,” Alex laughed. Anyone with eyes could see that you were head over heels for the women and that they were falling just as hard as you were.

*****

The internet fucking sucked. You knew that and found it relatively easy to ignore the mass chatter of the online world, but then again you had never been a part of such a disgusting report by some shady internet reporter.

All you had done was gone to lunch with Shawn Mendes, and someone had snapped a picture. The two of you had become good friends after spending so much time together on the 1989 tour. Now some random reporter was commenting on how you had confirmed your new relationship. It wouldn’t have mattered if you were anyone else, but Taylor’s fandom had blown up the small town reporter’s article.

Now they wouldn’t leave you the fuck alone.

“We’re not going to respond to it,” You huffed, crossing your arms adamantly in front of your chest, effectively pushing your plate of pancakes away. You squinted at the vets sitting across from you, completely baffled why they thought you would take any other route.

Lindsey’s arm around your shoulder righted, while Emily leaned in, almost conspiratorially. “Of course not, but wouldn’t it be fun to send the fans on a little goose chase anyway?”

Your ears perked at that. Taylor’s fans were always so fun to mess with. They made it so easy, particularly because your sister had trained them to always look for clues (that most of the time exist).

“And we have been talking about wanting to come out,” Lindsey added softly.

Your expression soured. You didn’t want to do this as a reaction. You wanted it to happen naturally.

“I don’t wanna do that in response to some asshole who doesn’t understand boundaries,” You pouted.

“But what if we did it our way?” Lindsey and Emily both asked at the same time. It was scary how in sync they were most of the time.

“Like get the team involved, tease the fans. At least show them that you don’t play for Mr. Mendes’ team,” Emily shrugged, trying to act like she didn’t care, but you knew she did.

You couldn’t help but smirk. You did love to mess with the fans.

“If you do wanna mess with the fans, I have the perfect picture” Tobin chimed in, giving you that little push you needed.

Emily raised her eyebrows at the woman, ignoring the glares the rest of the vets were sending her way. “Didn’t see you as a prankster Toby,”

“It’s artsier than anything else…” Tobin grumbled, flipping her phone to show you the photo she was talking about.

It was of you, Emily and Lindsey during a morning hike the team had taken. You were laughing, while both of their heads were tucked into your neck. You were the only one clearly identifiable, but it was clear you were smitten with whoever you were with.

“Ooo, I like that one,” You said, suddenly feeling excited. It was bound to send the fans into a frenzy because you couldn’t see who was making you smile so wide.

Tobin nodded and began typing out the post, before flipping it for you to read and ok. You giggled at the tag line “only those two knuckleheads could get you to smile this wide before your morning coffee”.

“Good?” Tobin asked, and you nodded enthusiastically. It was perfect, and coming out this way- with the help of your team- felt amazing.

“I have one too. You guys are too photogenic,” Christen said, pulling up her phone and begging to scroll through her photos (much like the rest of the team began to do). Were you guys really that obvious? No wonder they had bets going.

*****

Your teammates were having way too much fun. You shouldn’t have been surprised considering how private the women normally were, it must have been nice to get some time sending the fans on a wild goose chase. You were also surprised at how many photos your teammates had taken of you and your girlfriends. And just how many of those photos were perfect for the little game you were playing with the fans.

You could identify yourself on all of them, but Emily and Lindsey weren’t clear at all. But it was plain to see that you were very in love with whoever was sitting next to you.

“Did you see Alex’s picture? It's amazing!” You said, wiggling excitedly between your girlfriends. The three of you had taken a break from the team and decided to cuddle while you watched the fans go insane. (It was honestly one of your favorite places to be).

“Pshhh, no Pinos is totally the best,” Emily snorted.

You pouted. She nudged your side and placed a very sweet kiss on your pouty lips.

Alex’s photo of Emily and Lindsey throwing you into the ocean was totally better than the one of you shoving and chasing your girlfriends with birthday cake-covered hands.

“No, Kelley’s is totally the top picture in the bunch,” Lindsey smirked, nudging your chin with her nose from your other side.

You blinked up at her and looked at the photo of one of your favorite goal celebrations. You had literally leaped into Emily and Lindsey’s arms, but you were at least 3 feet higher than Lindsey’s head in that picture.

You bit your lip. It was a very good picture, one of your favorites actually, but there was one that topped them all for you. “They’re all pretty good, but I think I’ve got the best one,” You said softly, pulling out your phone.

It didn’t take you long to find the picture in question (it also happened to be your lock screen). You were smiling brightly at the camera, the reputation tour stage (lit for the song Dress) clearly behind you, trapped between Emily and Lindsey kissing each of your cheeks. Your girlfriends looked over your shoulders to catch a glimpse of your phone.

“Are you sure you wanna do this?” Lindsey asked softly. There was no hiding or pretending in that photo. It was open and honest (and a great picture of a fantastic night).

“Yeah, it’s like speak now or forever hold your peace,” Emily added, and you could practically hear her eyebrow raising.

“No, but I don’t wanna hide you two,” You shrugged. It was the balance you sister had worked her entire career to achieve. Hiding away meant that there was no commentary about your relationship from people you had never met (loose lips sank ships after all), but it also meant avoiding the little things that you longed to do in public.

You weren’t sure if you would ever be ready to face the media, but your desire to be with your girlfriends the way you wanted was just so powerful.

“You know we’ll wait as long as you need us to,” Lindsey said, using her thumb to tilt your chin and look you in the eyes.

you nodded, your eyes never leaving her concerned blue ones. “I know but, like-. I wanna be able to hold your hand or kiss you and not have to worry who's watching. I want to be able to take you on dates, and not care about if a camera can see us cuddling. I want to be able to post about how great you looked in a game, or for your birthday. I don’t want to hide,”

During your rant, Emily had wrapped herself around you from behind, resting her chin on your shoulder and rubbing her hands flat on your belly (which never failed to calm you down).

“We know darling, but once this is done, it can’t be undone,” She said softly.

You threaded your fingers through hers, glancing down to avoid Lindsey’s appraising stare (you never could get anything past them). “I didn’t think you were a Shakespeare fan,” You mumbled.

“I’m full of surprises,” Emily said, kissing her favorite spot just behind your ear. Lindsey cracked a smile too “we both are”.

“I know,” You nodded suddenly serious, as you carefully extracted yourself from your girlfriends and began to type up the Instagram post.

You passed them the phone when you were done, idly twiddling your fingers now that you didn’t have anything in your hands. “I’m gonna do it if you two are alright with it,”

“We’re fine with whatever you choose, we love you and just want you to be comfortable,” Lindsey and Emily both said, rubbing your back and arm respectively in a comforting motion.

“I know, and I love you too. Let’s do it,” you said clicking the button and closing your phone. You didn’t need to watch the comments roll in.

It wouldn’t be until the next morning that you would see your sister had also decided to chime in. And you couldn’t keep the smile off your face at her simple caption- love my sister and her girlies. For sure the best squad ever.

#uswnt x reader #uswnt imagine #uswnt imagines #soran x reader #soran imagine #taylor swift x reader #taylor swift imagine #taylor swift fanfiction

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writethelifeyouwant · 3 years

Text

Mine

Summary: You tag along with Jensen to a convention and get to hang out on the sidelines during his solo photo op but you don’t particularly enjoy the experience – and you make sure Jensen knows that.

Pairing: Alpha!Jensen x Omega!Reader Rating: 18+ Tags: omegaverse, jealousy, angst, smut Word Count: 2.5k Bingo Squares: @spnabobingo - Possessive Omega | @j3bingo - Possessive

Photo credit: @katbratsupernaturalwhore and Google - edit mine

Commissioned by: @synmorite - thanks so much for the prompt babe! Who doesn't love a little Alpha!Jensen? I think we can all sympathise with this one ❤️

If you'd like to get monthly commissions plus early access to all my stories, I only have three spots left in my Triple Tier ☕️

Your foot snaps against the linoleum tiles as yet another shell-shocked Omega girl is ushered away from your mate by a volunteer. All he’d done was hug her during the stupid photo and you could instantly smell the slick leaking into her panties. What an utter slut, you think derisively, checking your watch for what feels like the millionth time in the last half hour. Only ten more minutes left for the photo ops and then you get Jensen back to yourself. You can wait that long.

You think.

Looking up from your wrist to check the line again you see a guy at the front now, and watch curiously as he approaches Jensen, hand outstretched with confidence. This guy radiates Alpha. He also radiates ‘Winchester’, which you’re sure is by design. When he throws his arm around Jensen for their picture he looks like he could play Sam and Dean’s younger brother, or at least their cousin. You smile happily, thinking it’s nice to see guys here on their own and not just being dragged along behind deranged fangirls all intent on sleeping with your mate.

But your smile drops when you catch sight of Jensen’s fingers curling closely around the guy’s waist, burrowing into the flannel. And your stony expression turns murderous when you scent more pheromones in the air – distinctly Alpha ones. For fuck’s sake, is everyone at this convention trying to take your mate’s knot up the ass? At least they’re not Jensen’s scents, you try to comfort yourself as the fake Winchester files off only to be replaced by a new Omega girl who’s already leaking like a faucet from the smell of her. How does Jensen stand taking photos with this walking parade of raging hormones?

Deciding you can’t take another second of this onslaught to your olfactory senses you grab your phone off the table by the photographer’s equipment and turn to go. As you pick it up you catch sight of one of the monitors Chris is using to check the pictures before he sends the occupants off to collect them. On the screen you can see an image of Jensen and this simpering girl, Jensen clutching her to his chest, her head buried in his t-shirt. It would be a sweet photo if it didn’t make your blood boil. You storm off without looking back at Jensen, positive you can’t stomach the sight of another Omega in his arms right now.

Despite not telling him where you were going, your mate finds you in your hotel room relatively quickly after his photo op has ended.

“Hey baby,” Jensen’s arms wrap around your waist and he drops a kiss to the top of your head. “I didn’t see you leave, I missed you.”

“Yeah, sure,” you scoffed. “I’m sure you were so lonely.” You can practically feel Jensen roll his eyes behind you. This isn’t a new argument, but you can’t help yourself.

“Sweetheart, we’ve talked about this,” Jensen groans. “I love the fans but none of them mean anything to me like that. None of them are you,” he squeezes your hand in his, pulling your chin up to look you in the eyes. You had tried not to let Jensen’s words melt your icy mood but staring into his eyes now, bright and earnest, starts to thaw you out.

“They all wanted you,” you complain. “It smelled like a strip club with all the pheromones flying around out there.”

“Hey, I can’t help my good looks,” Jensen laughs. “It’s why you love me, really.” He throws you a wink and you can’t help but giggle, smacking his chest lightly to show you haven’t totally forgotten your annoyance yet. “Baby, you know I’m yours, no matter how many crazy fangirls line themselves up – I will always be yours.” Jensen’s thumb brushes against the small scar at the base of your throat, his claim mark, and you shiver despite the heat of the day.

“Damn straight you’re mine.” Your hand closes over his, pressing his hand into your scar and pushing his fingertips to wrap around the back of your neck. “And I’m never gonna let you forget that mister.”

“Never dreamed you would,” he smiles and pulls you into a kiss.

You don’t want to let your agitated mood drop so quickly but it’s hard to stay mad when Jensen’s lips are on yours; when his hands are crushing you to his chest in such a complete demonstration of possession… when you feel his cock starting to harden behind his jeans. A groan slips past your lips when you catch the scent of his arousal, deep and smoky like that whiskey you always share on your anniversary, and you comfort yourself in the knowledge that amidst the sea of pheromones you’d been wading through downstairs, Jensen’s scent had never been present. His arousal was for you, and you alone.

“Fuck, you smell so good, baby,” you say against his lips, using his answering laugh as an opportunity to curl your tongue inside and around his own.

“What do I smell like, sweetheart?” Jensen pulls back with a wry smile, intent on teasing you.

“Like mine,” you growl, the word reverberating in your throat, seeping into your veins, into your skin. Jensen’s eyes darken, and an answering growl rumbles through his chest. You surge forward and push him back onto the bed, climbing over his body before he even has the chance to settle on the goose-feather comforter. “My Alpha,” you bury your face in the crook of his neck near his own mating gland and inhale, filling your lungs with him. Unconsciously, your teeth scrape over his throat and Jensen moans, his hips bucking into you insistently.

“Jesus, Y/N,” he moans, continuing to grind his hips up and into yours. “Yours ‘mega, all yours.” He pulls your lips back to his and you go willingly, letting him take the lead for a moment and devour you. Your world turns upside down when he pulls that trick he’s so proud of and spins you beneath him. You drag your hands down his body, feeling the bulge of his shoulders, his arms, tracing from his chest down to his hips and teasing your fingers under the hem of his t-shirt.

“Off,” you grunt into your kiss and he sits back, immediately confused.

“Everything okay?” Jensen checks worriedly and you roll your eyes.

“I meant take your shirt off, doofus, not ‘get off me’.”

“Oh. Good,” Jensen nods and pulls both his shirts off in one go, leaving you with a stunning view of his tanned and freckled torso. You reach your hands out to run them through the scattering of chest hair he’s let grow back in, and use it to yank him back down on top of you. “Ow!” he shouts, landing on your chest and glaring up at you.

“Mine,” is your only response as you drag his face back to yours. Jensen starts to tug on your clothes, forcing you apart to pull your top over your head, and you use the momentary distraction to unbalance him and shove him back onto the mattress so you can get on top again. You start at his throat, kissing and licking your way down over every inch of bare skin you can find, all while fumbling with his belt and the button on his jeans.

You finally manage to get his jeans open, and you pull yourself up so you can look him straight in the eye. “Mine,” you whisper again, dragging your nails down his chest hard enough to leave behind red streaks that fade just as quickly as they appear – only a temporary mark of your claim. You fingers dig into the waistbands of his remaining clothes and you begin to peel them down his legs, still never breaking eye contact. Jensen’s cock lands on his stomach, twitching as you once again dig your nails into his skin on your journey downwards.

When you’ve discarded the last of his clothes you quickly strip out of your own and rejoin him on the bed, this time kissing your way up his legs instead of down his chest, all the while chanting “mine”. You want to mark him with it, press it into his skin, inject it into his veins. He’s your drug, and you want to be his. At the point where his thigh meets his hip you pause, tongue and teeth seeking out the softest part of him. You concentrate your violence on this one spot, drawing the blood to the surface and staining him with your ardour. From the corner of your eye you see his cock twitch again, a small trail of slick spilling onto his skin.

You’re drawn to the shine, mouth watering as you scoop the head of his cock between your lips with nothing but your tongue. Jensen’s moan echoes down his body and you feel it where your head is resting against his hip. You pull off a little and lick around and around the tip, pressing your tongue to the spot just under the head that makes him tense up every time you touch it.

You sit up, and use your hand instead of your mouth, massaging the same skin you just left nice and slick. Finding that one spot again you squeeze a little, loving the feeling of his cock jumping in your hand. You roll your thumb across it, pressing the tip of your nail against him and Jensen’s eyes shoot open with a surprised whine bleeding through his lips.

“Fucking hell woman,” he sort of laughs, but it dies in his throat in favour of another moan when you press your nail in again.

“Mine,” you grin, and then you bend to suck him as far down your throat as you can. Jensen’s big, and you never manage to take him all the way down, but you can feel the stirrings of a knot starting to press up into the base of his cock and your lips can just about make it that far. You bring your hand up to wrap around the length that doesn’t fit, massaging the growing bulge that you can feel working it’s way higher. You know if you want him to be able to get his knot inside you, you need to work quickly. Pulling off with a gasp you place one last lick right over his slit, making him hiss from the sensitivity.

You shift your hips so they're hovering directly over his and drop down, running his cock through the slick that’s positively dripping from your folds. You ride the flat of his dick, leaning down so the head catches on your clit every time you bump past it, small gasps escaping your lips with every touch.

“Anytime you wanna put it in baby, just let me know,” Jensen pants, grabbing handfuls of your ass in an effort to get more pressure where he wants it. You giggle, happy that your ploy to make him desperate for you is working.

“Oh believe me,” you purr, dropping a small kiss to his lips, “I intend to use every inch of what’s mine.” You lift your hips and reach down to grab hold of him, lining up to sink back on top of him. You both groan at the feel of him sliding inside of you, your pussy squeezing around him with every beat of your pulse.

“Well, good thing you’ve got a lot of inches to work with then,” Jensen grins cockily, and you give him a long, suffering stare.

“Don’t make me question our entire relationship. I’m trying to enjoy myself here.”

“Don’t let me stop you, baby girl,” Jensen smiles even wider until you squeeze yourself around him as hard as you can and he chokes on a moan.

“That’s what I thought,” you smirk, and you start to move your hips on top of him earnestly. Your thighs start to burn quickly with your punishing pace but you keep fucking him hard and fast. He feels so fucking good inside you, stretching your walls more and more as his knot continues to grow and you fight to sink it inside of you. Jensen is meeting you thrust for thrust, pistoning his hips up into yours, his feet wedged into the mattress under his knees to give himself more leverage. The angle is doing wonders for your impending orgasm.

“That’s it baby girl, keep fuckin’ me,” Jensen growls, fingers pressing into the meat of your hips so tightly you know it will leave a bruise, and you’re again struck with the desire to mark him too. “Look so fucking pretty, just using my cock to get yourself off. This what you wanted when you made me yours? Just after a dick you could claim as your own?”

“Fuck, Jensen,” you whine, feeling yourself nearing the edge as his knot presses harder against your entrance.

“You gonna cum ‘mega? Cum all over your Alpha’s cock?”

“Shit, yes, Jensen, yes!” A ragged scream leaves you as he shoves his knot inside of your cunt and you come undone around him, the extra stretch exactly what you needed to pull your finish out of you.

“Fuck baby, so hot,” he gasps, breathless as he continues to fuck into you with sharp, solid thrusts. “Cum on this cock of yours, ‘mega, all yours.” Growling, Jensen stills suddenly, back arched and rigid, eyes screwed up tight. You can feel his knot pop inside of you, cum shooting deep and warm into your body. You close your eyes too, basking in the pleasant feeling of being so thoroughly connected to someone.

When Jensen’s muscles ease and his hips start to droop you follow him back down to the bed, curling against his chest as he hugs you to him, pressing little kisses to the top of your head while he catches his breath. “I love you Y/N,” he sighs happily, rubbing his hand absentmindedly up and down your back. You grin into his chest, snuggling in closer and pressing a kiss of your own into his skin.

“Love you too, Jay,” you smile. Jensen’s thumb finds your claiming scar again, brushing over it back and forth, soothingly.

“You know,” he starts, thinking out loud, thumb still playing across the base of your throat. “There’s one way you could really make sure everyone knows I’m yours. The way everyone knows you’re mine.” You look up to him, surprised, understanding immediately what he means.

“Really?” you ask skeptically. “You want me to claim you?” A swoop of delight dances through your stomach at the thought of putting something that visible on him.

“Why not? As you’ve been so eloquently putting it all night, I’m already yours. Why shouldn’t people be allowed to see that?”

“Because the make-up girls will murder me,” you giggle, fingertips splayed over his neck where a claiming mark would go.

“Screw ‘em,” Jensen shrugs, eyes sparkling. You nod slowly, letting the feeling of euphoria sink in as you nuzzle into the crook of his neck. You kiss, and lick and tease against his skin, letting your teeth out to scrape against the vein you can practically hear pulsing beneath the surface. With a deep breath you draw back your lips and bare your teeth, whispering between you as you bite down.

“Mine.”

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asweetprologue · 3 years

Text

my burden to bear

@sugar-and-spice-witcher-bingo

Prompt: Piggyback Relationships: Geralt/Jaskier Rating: Gen Content Warnings: None Summary: Jaskier gets hurt during a hunt and Geralt has to carry him back to town. Jaskier has mixed feelings about this. ao3

“You’re hurt,” Geralt said. Jaskier groaned from his position on the ground, more at Geralt’s tone than any amount of pain.

“I think I’m fine,” he said, pushing himself up into a sitting position. When they’d come to the woods, they’d been working under the assumption that the creature plaguing the nearby village was nothing more than an overactive godling or maybe a hag. Neither of them had been expecting a leshen, and no amount of staying back from the fight did any good when your opponent could sense your location through the ground. While Geralt was valiantly slaying the beast, Jaskier had been darting away from roots shooting up from the ground and attempting to impale him. They’d not succeeded, but they had managed to send him sprawling as he tripped over an exposed root. He’d feared he was done for when suddenly the writhing plant life had collapsed. Though he was pleased to be still in one piece, his ankle throbbed traitorously where the root had tugged his feet out from under him.

Geralt narrowed his eyes suspiciously and offered him a hand up.

Jaskier took it and allowed himself to be pulled to standing, only to stumble as soon as he put weight on his left leg. Geralt caught him as his knees buckled, one hand snapping out to grab him by the elbow. Jaskier’s face lit up, heat spilling over his cheeks in an embarrassed flush. “Ah, shit,” he cursed.

“Hmm,” Geralt agreed, looking down at the offending appendage with a stormy expression. “No Roach.”

“So true,” Jaskier said morosely. They’d left Geralt’s trusty steed behind for this venture, as the brush was generally too thick for her to navigate. The village was a good mile or two away. Jaskier’s ankle seemed to throb even more intensely at the thought of the walk. “Well, nothing for it I suppose. I’ll manage.” He tried to pull out of Geralt’s grasp, gingerly testing the weight on his ankle. It felt like being stabbed in the tendon with a razor, but he would be alright. He had plenty of experience limping along beside Geralt on the Path. This time it would just be a bit more literal.

Geralt did not release him, much to Jaskier’s surprise. “You’ll make it worse,” he said, mouth tightening. Jaskier’s pulse, only just having begun to settle down now that the leshen was dead, began to rise again. Angry Geralt he was plenty used to, but angry-at-him Geralt was not something he enjoyed. They both knew that Jaskier was a liability at best on hunts, and he was well aware that he was only ever one misstep from being left behind, at least for the truly adventurous moments. He hadn’t realized it would be an actual misstep that did him in.

“I can manage, Geralt, I swear,” he protested. “What else am I meant to do? Stay here forever? I’m sure I could make a nice home out of the leshen’s abandoned burrow. House. Whatever.”

“They don’t have those,” Geralt said dismissively. “I could get Roach.”

“Sure. So I can be eaten by the wolves that ran off when you killed the beastie. I’m sure they’ll be eager to finish the fight once the huge man with the swords fucks off. I’ll walk, it’ll be fine, I’ll -”

“I’ll carry you.”

Jaskier blinked, and then blinked again. He must have heard wrong. “Come again?”

Geralt glared at him, as if daring him to offer up a different solution. “I’ll carry you. It’s not that far of a walk, and I still have Thunderbolt in my system. It wouldn’t be hard.”

If Jaskier had thought he was flushed before, it was nothing compared to now. “Ah, well. Um. Are you certain? I suppose - I really can walk, truly -” He took a step backwards, away from the warm hand that still cupped his elbow, only to nearly drop to the ground when a bolt of pain shot up his ankle. Even his knee ached with it. Geralt caught him around the waist, hauling him upright again and, unfortunately, directly into the witcher’s space. Jaskier gasped at the contact more than the near tumble, though he hoped Geralt thought it was just the surprise.

“I can see that,” Geralt said dryly, their nose barley inches apart. Jaskier swallowed.

“I take your point. How, uh, how do you want to do this?”

Geralt released him, allowing Jaskier to take a deep, fortifying breath. Leaning all his weight on his good leg, he waited while Geralt turned around and knelt down on the mossy forest floor. Jaskier exhaled slowly. “Put your arms around my shoulders,” Geralt said.

Jaskier ran a hand along his face, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. “This is so infantilizing,” he grumbled, but he leaned over and pressed his chest to Geralt’s back, wrapping his arms around his broad shoulders. He was extraordinarily grateful for Geralt’s armor, separating him from the heat of his body. As it was, he still felt like he might spontaneously combust when Geralt’s large hands came up to grip under his thighs and raised him effortlessly into the air.

Holy fuck. “Melitele,” he said, “do I weigh anything to you?”

“No,” Geralt said with an amused huff. He began to take sure steps through the clearing and back the way they’d come. Jaskier shifted to find a more comfortable position for his arms, and found that he could lift them away entirely without Geralt dropping him an inch.

“I feel like a toddler,” he groused.

“Next time watch your step,” Geralt grunted.

They made their way through the forest slowly, Geralt carefully navigating the underbrush. Jaskier was aware that he was being more delicate with his footwork than he typically was, avoiding any areas that might throw him off balance or land Jaskier with a face full of branches. He was being nice, Jaskier realized, not even getting back at him for the fact that he had to carry Jaskier’s sorry ass through the woods. Always so chivalrous.

That was Geralt though. Even when he was grumpy and upset and probably worn out from a fight, he was always going out of his way to be kind. He wasn’t always nice, Geralt, but he was almost always kind. It was a miracle, honestly, that he didn’t lose hold of his temper more often than he did. They would bicker, often, and fight, sometimes. But even when he was mad, Geralt was often still considerate, still worried about Jaskier’s safety and comfort. He was always taking absurdly underpaid jobs, even taking payment in a simple meal or a roof over his head sometimes, just because there were people in danger. This village, for example, had scraped together a tiny purse to offer a passing witcher, desperation writ on their faces. Seven people, including two children, had disappeared in the last season. It was a small village, only a little cluster of houses, and such a loss must have been felt deeply. Geralt had looked at the purse, a frown maring his features, and pushed it back into the alderman’s dirty hands. The job had ended up being even more dangerous than he’d assumed, but Jaskier knew Geralt wouldn’t take payment beyond maybe a warm loaf of bread and some hearty stew from the alderman’s wife.

It was wildly unfair that the reputation of witchers remained so heavily tarnished. That Geralt’s reputation still suffered so. It was starting to mend - in the decade since Jaskier had begun traveling with him, the White Wolf ballads had become popular, enough so that many towns they passed through were already ready to throw their crowns and orens at his feet. But the further north they went, the closer to Blaviken, the less people were swayed by his songs. People didn’t always see what Jaskier saw. Not everyone felt the depth of affection swell in their breast at the sight of his silver hair and golden eyes, regardless of how many times Jaskier tried to put it to words. Maybe it wasn’t something he would ever be able to capture. This haunting, aching thing inside him that just loved and loved and loved Geralt of Rivia.

He wished he could do more, more to alleviate Geralt’s pain and stress. And instead here he was, only putting more weight on his shoulders. Literally. Jaskier rested his forehead against the leather of Geralt’s armor with a sigh. That was the story of his life, though. Try to help, get in the way, get pushed aside. An infallible cycle.

“Alright?” Geralt asked suddenly. Jaskier blinked back to himself, attempting to shake off the shroud of self pity that had settled over him.

“Hmm?” he responded, lifting his head from Geralt’s shoulder. “Alright what?”

“I’m asking,” Geralt said. “You’re quiet. That only ever happens if you’re writing a song or you’re dying.” He paused. “It’s only your ankle?”

Jaskier huffed out a laugh, stirring the hairs at the base of Geralt’s neck. The silver strands were pulled back into a short pony, leaving the pale expanse of skin beneath exposed. Jaskier had to tamp down the swift and overpowering urge to tuck his nose into the spot just behind Geralt’s ear, to press his lips to the scar just above the line of his armor, where some monster must have gotten in a lucky hit. Forcing himself to focus, he said, “Just the ankle, I swear. I’m only thinking.”

“So it is a song,” Geralt said darkly.

“A great ballad about how the White Wolf of Rivia once again saved a humble bard,” he agreed, eagerly latching onto the half lie. “You’ve made a bit of a habit of it.”

Geralt grunted, sounding unamused. Suddenly there was a burst of sunlight across Jaskier’s vision, warm on his face. They stepped out of the forest and onto the small dirt track that led to the village, which Jaskier could just barely see peeking out over the rise of the next hill over. The sky was a sprawling blue tapestry above them, not a cloud in sight. “I don’t like it,” Geralt said, stopping to scan the road briefly.

Jaskier’s throat felt tight. “Saving me?”

Geralt hummed an affirmative and began walking again, towards the village.

Jaskier let out a long breath, equal parts annoyed and hurt. “Well no one’s asking you to,” he snapped. “I know it’s, I don’t know, part of your job, but you don’t need to go out of your way.”

Geralt shook his head, nearly hitting Jaskier in the face with his short ponytail. “It’s not a fucking chore, Jaskier. I just don’t - I wish you didn’t need saving.”

“Well, you and me both,” Jaskier said. “I know you think I do it on purpose, but I don’t actually want to get in the way.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt gritted out. Truly annoyed now. “Nothing you do could keep me from doing my job.”

“Well obviously you always finish the fight, I wouldn’t imagine you’d just quit on my behalf -”

“I don’t like it,” Geralt interrupted, “because I don’t like this.” He moved one hand to Jaskier’s injured ankle, the touch feather light. Jaskier’s knees tightened automatically to hold himself in place, but it was barely necessary. Geralt was strong enough to hold him in one hand. It made Jaskier feel deeply fragile, but not necessarily in a bad way. More like something precious and delicate. Worthy of being preserved. It made his fingers tingle where they were latched together between Geralt’s collarbones, just at the base of his throat.

“Oh,” he said, at a loss for words. “I didn’t know that it, um. Well - I’m really fine.”

“I know,” Geralt said, sounding tired and a little amused. “You always are, mostly. I still don’t like it.” He tapped a finger against the heel of Jaskier’s boot, still light, and then put his hand back to support Jaskier’s thigh. “Sometimes I forget that you’re not like witchers.”

Jaskier laughed outright at that. “I can’t imagine how you could lose track of that piece of information. I complain about my bad eyesight and sore feet daily, as you are certainly aware. I’m the same as any other human.”

“You’re really not,” Geralt said, so quiet that it almost seemed to be said to himself. Jaskier stilled at that, startled and somehow warmed by the sentiment.

“Thank you,” he finally said. They were nearly to the outskirts of the village, where hopefully they would find a warm welcome with the alderman or another grateful peasant. They might be given a place to rest for the night, maybe a few, while Jaskier’s ankle healed. Maybe they would be asked to move along, and Geralt would let him ride on Roach for a few days, and in the evening he would give Jaskier the salve he used for bruises and pulled muscles. Maybe even rub it into his swollen foot himself. “I’m sorry to burden you.”

“You’re not a burden, Jask,” Geralt said. Then he laughed, a dry rasp that Jaskier never tired of hearing. “Well, alright. Technically you are at the moment. But I don’t mind.” As they reached the first house, he gently set Jaskier on his feet, turning to offer support. Jaskier let him slip a broad arm around his back, Jaskier’s own stretched out across Geralt’s shoulder to grip at the rough leather there. After having Geralt’s face hidden from him on the walk back, the sudden confrontation with golden eyes and square jaw was enough to make Jaskier flustered. Their faces were close now, and it felt almost too intimate, too raw after being unable to see Geralt’s expression during the rest of their conversation. Geralt quirked a small smile at him, a fondness there that Jaskier felt echoed in his own chest. “I don’t like it when you get hurt, but I don’t mind saving you.”

Jaskier couldn’t help but smile back, even though his heart was racing and he knew his face was flushed from their proximity. “I suppose I’ll have to let you keep doing it then,” he said, only the tiniest bit breathless.

“Good,” Geralt said, and together they took their first steps into the village. “But for the love of the gods, at least try not to get yourself into trouble.”

Jaskier laughed even as his ankle flared with renewed pain and he spotted a few villagers stepping out of their homes, concern plastered across their faces for the injured bard. So it would be hot stew, he thought giddily, and a warm place by the fire, and Geralt would still probably rub that salve into his ankle. He could be satisfied with that. “Geralt, my dearest, just try and stop me.”

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