One Way or Another, I'm Gonna Find You
Kinktober Day Sixteen: Gun Play
Pairing: Demon!Dean Winchester x Fugitive!Reader
Tags/Warnings: Smut, DUBCON, coercion, light choking, dacryphilia, PiV, face fucking, incorrect use of Dean's 1911 (orally and vaginally), oral (m. rec), degradation, dirty talk, spit, angst in the beginning, brief mention of the reader's mom having cancer
Summary: You have managed to avoid making good on your crossroads deal for 3 months after it's expiration date. You started to think maybe you counted the years wrong, until a handsome black-eyed man shows up at your door and proves you wrong and offers you a different deal.
Word Count: 5.6k
Author's Note: Title from the song One Way or Another by Blondie
This fulfills my Fugitive!Reader square for @anyfandomgoesbingo
I cannot understate how dark this is so PLEASE read at your own risk
Bonus points to anyone who can leave a comment saying which book I have the reader quote!
Dividers: Line Divider 1 by @olenvasynyt Line Divider 2 by @omi-resources SPN Divider by @talesmaniac89
Tag List: @copperboom82
Kinktober 2025 Masterlist
Main Masterlist
You had known exactly what you were doing when you buried that box in the center of the crossroads and kissed that darkly dressed man. You knew you were kissing your life, your soul, away.
The deal wasn’t for vanity, it wasn’t for greed. Your mom was dying, cancer, and you couldn’t bear to see her go through another round of chemo. She was your best friend, raising you alone from the time she was eighteen. Thicker than thieves, the two of you.
Maybe it was selfish.
You knew the risks, knew that in just shy of ten years you would have to disappear. You would be presumed dead, and your mom would have to bury an empty casket. At least you wouldn’t be alive to see her have to grieve you.
Maybe it made you weak, taking the easy way out, avoiding the pain and the discomfort. But you saw the light return to her. The doctors tried to explain it, but couldn’t. You knew they wouldn’t be able to.
The only problem was, as it grew closer and closer to that 10 year expiration date, the less you were okay with leaving your mom all alone. She was just starting to get her spark back, getting back into all the hobbies she abandoned when she first got sick.
So, around the 9 year mark, you started to do research.
Late nights spent scouring the internet, mythology books from the library, even visiting a store that sold rare and out of print books for anything you could find that would break the deal or extend it somehow.
You even returned to the original crossroads, falling to your hands and knees to try and dig up the box you had buried there, but it was gone. The dirt hadn’t even been disturbed, like it never happened in the first place.
The next thing was to try and summon the demon again. No dice
You tried a different crossroads. Same result. No one would answer your summons, and you just knew that the lot of them were having a good laugh at your expense. Poor human girl. Shoulda read the fine print.
Frustration and determination sent you to the deepest depths of the internet, looking for something, anything, that would help you even the tiniest bit. Chants, herbs, even mojo bags. Everything you came across you took note of.
But the one thing that came up in every single article, every book, you could find on hell hounds and crossroad demon deals, was Viburnum alnifolium, also known as Devils Shoestring. It was a bitch to find because it, apparently, used most commonly in Hoodoo practices. But, after a lot of string pulling and pleading, you were able to find some.
It was beautiful. Vibrant green leaves, flowers pure and white as fresh fallen snow. How ironic that so much darkness led you here to need it. The root itself, though, was unremarkable. It looked like it could belong to any plant or tree. You bought more than you probably needed, but you’d rather not have to go out of your way just to get more.
The woman you bought it from stated that you could keep it on you, in your pockets or in a sachet, but the most effective way to use it was to hang it above the doorways wherever you resided. Easy enough. You moved out after your mom got better, no longer needing a full time caretaker. The apartment you picked was the city over, a nice little place that was perfect for just you.
After you got the Devil’s Shoelace, you placed it above every doorway and also above every window just to be safe. She also gave you a bag of something she referred to as Goofer Dust. It had cost you nearly 3 times what you paid for the Devils Shoelace, but you coughed up the money anyway.
Once everything was set up, you still had a month to spare. That was the worst part.
The anxiety got so much worse. You barely slept, flinching at every little thing, terrified that the protections you put into place would fail.
Then, you started to hear them. First it was just at night. The barking and growling and howling started faintly, like they were far away. You tried everything from earplugs to sleeping with earbuds in blasting heavy metal. Nothing helped. It was almost like the sound was coming from inside your own head.
Gradually, it never stopped. The vicious growling followed you into the waking hours. By this point you had learned to sleep through it, albeit not very well. Day by day as it came closer to the 10 year anniversary, it got louder and louder until it was like they were right outside. Which, as you learned, was because they were.
As the clock ticked over to midnight, ending the 10 year deal, you sat curled up in the corner of your apartment just waiting to hear your door bust down in splinters of wood, or hear the glass shatter into a million pieces. But it never came.
Surely you were in the clear right? What you didn’t know, and couldn’t find anything about, in your research before and after the deal, was what happened if you could ward off the hell hounds. It didn’t seem like anyone who had tried, lived to tell the tale. So, you went about your life.
Instacart groceries and an online customer service job that paid enough for you to make rent and utilities meant you could live like an agoraphobic. Delivery drivers brought you groceries every week, and your mother was more than happy to meet you at your apartment.
The week after, you heard a knock at your door. When you opened it you saw the delivery driver, a boy no older than 18 holding your bags of groceries. But what had you going so pale so fast that the boy asked if you were okay, was the hip-high hound that could be described as nothing less than demonic. It shimmered, like a hologram does, and for a second you thought you might just be hallucinating from all the stress you had been under the last two weeks, hell the last year.
But then it came closer, and to avoid looking like you belonged in a mental institution, you stood ramrod still, taking the bags from the boy. And then it lunged, and you flinched. But the hound was stopped by an invisible wall right where your door was. It slammed into it with a whine, but then immediately went back to growling and snarling at you.
You took the rest of the groceries from the boy, giving him a large tip hoping that he wouldn’t report you for drug use or something. Now you knew why they sounded so close. It terrified you. And odds were that Fido wasn’t alone, especially from the different tones you heard.
After that encounter, that revelation, you stopped inviting your mom around as much. You placated her concerned phone calls with excuses such as illness or busy times at work. She still thought that you worked at the law firm you had been at when she first got sick. You didn’t think the hounds would harm her. As far as you knew from your research they shouldn’t. You were their primary target.
You made the deal.
It was your soul they were tasked with dragging to Hell to be tortured for all of eternity. Not hers.
Three months came and went, and you were starting to go a little stir crazy.
You had never really been the type to go out and party every weekend or anything, but this much time alone within the same few walls of your apartment was starting to drive you crazy. Especially with the wolf pack outside yowling at all hours.
If you ever got out of this, you’d never be able to look at another dog the same way. Which was a shame, because you loved dogs. But you didn’t think you could ever not hear the snarls, or see the murderous intent on that hell hounds face in any dog you came across.
Any of them could turn into Cujo in a second and all you could imagine was a little yippy rat dog being possessed by one of those hounds and scratching your face off. It was a terrifying thought.
You had just put into place the last piece of the puzzle you were working on, a 1,500 piece one that depicted Van Gogh’s Starry Night, when a knock sounded at your door. Glancing up at the clock on your wall, you saw it was later than anyone should be at your door.
Maybe your neighbor had gotten locked out of his apartment again. Or, rather, maybe his girlfriend locked him out of their apartment again after he pissed her off one too many times by playing COD and screaming obscenities so loud you could hear him clear as day from two units down.
Unfolding yourself from your position on the floor, the puzzle spread over your low-seated coffee table, you winced as your knees and ankles ached in protest from the way you had been sitting. Being housebound due to being hunted by murderous hell hounds meant you weren’t able to walk around as much, and you were feeling the effects of it.
You slid the cover to your peephole to the side, peering through it. Brows furrowing, you were confused when you saw a man who was definitely not your neighbor standing in front of your door.
Your neighbor was a short and portly man a little bit older than you were. This man was a far cry from that, tall and trim with smartly styled hair. He also wasn’t a tenant you recognized. Maybe he was new?
Unsurprisingly, two hounds also hovered around your door. They looked up at the peephole and growled. You bared your teeth back before realizing that they probably couldn’t see you.
“Who is it?” You called out, not about to open your door to a random man standing outside your door at night.
“Someone who can make your little pest problem go away.” He smiled as he looked into the peephole.
Pest problem? The mom upstairs must have called an exterminator. Her kids always had lice. But he wasn’t dressed like an exterminator in a dark red button up layered over a black t-shirt, jeans and boots.
“I don’t have a pest problem. Must have the wrong unit. If you are looking for Theresa, shes one floor up.”
He cleared his throat, an amused grin tugging at his lips. “You’re tellin’ me you don’t see Juliet and Mary here?”
Your heart plummeted into an icy lake as the man put his hands on the heads of both hounds. And that lake froze over when he blinked and all of a sudden the green irises that had been trained on you through the door were replaced by solid onyx.
A demon.
“Now unless you want me to send these ladies up to, what was it, ah yeah, Theresa and her two kids, you’re gonna open the door and let me in.” The hounds snarled as if saying they would do it.
He has to be bluffing. The same way they shouldn’t go after mom. Even you had a hard time believing yourself with that thought.
Reluctantly, you unlocked the deadbolt, then the door knob, then the flimsy chain that seemed so ineffective given what you were wanting to keep out. Once the door was open you stood face to face with the man, staring down the two hounds.
You weren’t sure who was more intimidating.
Both looked at you like you wanted to eat you. And you weren’t just referring to the hounds.
The grin he shot you as he strode forward was wholly lupine. He didn’t give you much choice other than to let him in and get out of the way. You stepped aside, allowing him to step over the line of Goofer Dust you had on the floor.
It wasn’t something he missed, clearly looking at it followed by a searching gaze for the Devil’s Shoelace, which he found tied to a piece of butcher's twine and hung on a nail above your door.
“So you’re the one who’s avoiding fulfilling her end of the deal.” He drawled as he shifted his emerald gaze from the root above your door to consider you.
“If you can’t beat the odds, change the game.” You said, chin up, shutting the door behind you, leaving the hounds in the hall.
“Except you really didn’t change the game, now did you?” He dragged his eyes from your body to your face. “You’re just avoiding losing.”
The action should not have made you wet. But your traitorous body had decided that ‘hot man’ equaled ‘get fucked’
“But.” He cut you off, leaving your mouth half open with an excuse. “I have been sent here to offer you an, addendum, of sorts.
Again, your brows furrowed. You worked in a legal office, you knew what an addendum meant. Certainly this was some sick joke this demon was playing on you before he kicked the Goofer Dust away and cut down the Devils Shoelace, letting the hounds rip you to shreds.
“Go on.” You replied slowly.
“Ah.” He said like he was pleased with himself. “That got your attention, didn’t it.”
You didn’t realize you were walking backwards, or that you were doing so to keep a distance from him until your back hit the corner of the wall that made up the doorway to the hallway that led to your bedroom.
“My handler, my boss, doesn’t like that you have gone three months past your expected expiration date unpunished and uncaught.” He explained. “Gives him a bad rap, and he's already feeling the heat, if you’re picking up what I’m putting down.”
You blinked, and a muscle in his face twitched.
“Say you understand.” That came out darker than how he had been speaking.
The words couldn’t leave your lips fast enough. “I understand.”
“Good. Now, I could kill you.” He shrugged, reaching behind him to pull a beautiful pistol. “But my boss has granted me a bit of leeway with you. So here’s your options. Listen close because I will only say them once. Say yes if you understand.”
“Yes.” You were shaking now. From nerves, or from the way the commanding presence he demanded was making you feel, you didn’t know.
“Good.” He held up the gun and you flinched at the click of hammer cocking back much to his clear amusement. “Option one. I blow your brains out the back of your pretty little skull and your soul ends up in Hell where it belongs.”
You shuddered, blinking back the tears that started to gather in the corners of your eyes.
“Or, option two.” He eased the hammer back into place, lifting it up and placing you out of range. “We come up with some kind of arrangement.”
Relief flooded you. Okay, well, anything is better than being dead.
“How about, once a month I come back here on the full moon and we get nasty, and I convince my boss to call off his dogs.” He shrugged, brandishing the pistol. “Your choice. You get 10 seconds.”
“Option two!” You blurted out, putting your hands up as if that would stop a bullet. “I pick option two.”
As soon as the words left your lips, the incessant growling that had been nonstop for the last 4 months ceased. You weren’t sure you had heard a more beautiful sound. A sigh of relief came after, a weight lifting off your chest.
“Good.” He stated, dropping the pistol to his side. “I really didn’t feel like playing crime scene cleaner tonight.”
“So,” You trailed off. “This starts next full moon?”
He cocked his head, the movement wholly animalistic. “Nope. Gotta seal the deal first.”
The man—demon—moved fast. A blur and then he was on you. You gasped through parted lips.
“I do things a little differently then those assholes at the crossroads.” The hand that wasn’t holding the gun gripped hard onto your chin, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. “Besides, since you skipped out on the last deal, I gotta make sure this one sticks.”
The grip on your chin bordered on painful as he kept your face in place. His lips were rough but warm as they slotted over yours. It was a world of difference from the demon who had made the initial deal with you. That one had been slow and dark. All shadow and star dust. But this one, he was red fucking hot and it burned its way through your body like wildfire, scorching away most of the fear still strumming through your veins.
Primal need and lust fueled this kiss, not the greed of the deal.
He caged you fully against the wall, his body pressing flush with yours. Your fingers itched to reach up and touch him, but the residual fear still lingered, perpetuated by the shiny pistol still clutched in his other hand. The barrel of the gun dragged up your bare thigh, the surprisingly cold metal biting into your skin. It skimmed over the soft material of your sleep shorts, up over your hip and under the baggy and threadbare t-shirt you wore to bed. You flinched as he pressed the muzzle into the softness of your belly.
The pressure on your jaw lessened, followed by the absence of his mouth and his preternatural warmth as he took a half step back. As you ran your tongue over your kiss-swollen lips, the taste of him sent your head spinning.
“Knees. Now.” He commanded, pulling the pistol away from your stomach to gesture with it.
He hadn’t left much room for you to move, so the descent was a little awkward and your knees ended up slamming into the pergo floor a little harder than you would have liked, sending zings of pain through your legs.
“Good.” He nodded. “Now open that slut mouth. Stick your tongue out.”
For a half a second, you knelt there frozen, but as the pistol moved into your peripheral, you instantly opened your mouth.
“Good choice.” He commented, but didn’t pull the gun away.
You expected him to pull it away, keep it back at his side or put it back into the waistband of his jeans, but no. He brought it up to your mouth.
“Now, suck.”
Blinking your surprise, you glanced from his face down to the pistol. The metal was cold and heavy on your tongue. It tasted bitter from the gunpowder residue, making your nose scrunch up a tiny bit. A disturbingly pleased grin spread across the demon's face as your tongue curled under the pistol’s barrel, lips suctioning around it.
You began to bob your head on the gun despite your minute trembling. It wasn’t lost on you just how dangerous this was. You had no idea if the gun was loaded or not, but if you had to guess it most likely was. He didn’t strike you as the type to keep an unloaded gun just to handle it like he did. The trigger guard bumped up against your lower lip, signalling how far it needed to slip into your mouth before you could pull back.
Your eyes wandered over his body, landing on a noticeable bulge in the front of his jeans. Despite the circumstances, you were very aware of the way your underwear was now sticking to your pussy with your arousal the longer you moved on his gun.
“Does the slut see something she likes?” He smirked, pulling the gun from your mouth.
A trail of saliva connected your spit-glossy lips to the muzzle. As he took it away, wiping it on his jeans, the line snapped back, hitting your chin. You resisted the urge to lick it away or swipe your hand across it. Something in the way he was staring down at you, eyes fixated on the glistening on your chin and lips.
He held up the pistol. “You did good with this. Let's see if you can handle something bigger.”
First you were impressed by how he freed the buckle of his belt so easily with one hand, then your eyes went wide at the size of him when he shoved his jeans and boxers down his muscular thighs to tug his cock free. It hung heavy, half hard in front of your face, and you were so fixated on it you missed his hand reaching down to your mouth.
You let out a surprised sound as the tips of his fingers slipped inside your mouth, pressing down against the back of your tongue. The unexpected intrusion coupled with the depth of his fingers into your mouth caused you to gag harshly. Viscous saliva filled your mouth, coating his fingers thickly. They glistened with your spit as he pulled them out, using it as lube as he gave his cock a few tugs.
This time you didn't wait for him to tell you, opening your mouth wide. He tilted his head to the side, predatory satisfaction painting his features.
“She's learning.” He snarked, gripping his cock at the base and guiding it into your mouth.
The taste of precum hit your tongue as he tapped the head of him against it a few times before sliding in further. Your lips closed around the shaft, hollowing your cheeks to create suction. The demon groaned, his free hand gathering your hair away from your face as his hips began to thrust his cock forward into your mouth.
You did your best to keep from gagging, but with each forward shift of his hips it sent the tip of his cock against the back of your throat. Bracing one hand on his thigh, your nails dug into the denim. To stabilize or ease his motions, you didn’t know. The other hand you balled at your side, thumb tucked into the fist—A trick you saw on the internet a few years back to help suppress your gag reflex.
It helped. A little.
But with the pace he was thrusting into your mouth, anything short of numbing your throat with those gimmicky flavored numbing sprays wasn't going to help much. Aching began in your knees, having knelt so long on the hard floors. It was a dull ache that radiated from the parts that held contact with the laminate flooring to the surrounding joint. Then your jaw started to throb, nearly in time with the throbbing between your thighs.
Thus far you had managed to keep your eyes on him, his face, watching the expressions change. But then you felt it. The solidity of the muzzle against your head. Your eyes squeezed shut as you tried not to flinch.
“Nuh uh.” He admonished, slapping your cheek with the gun. “Keep those eyes on me.”
So you did. It was a monumental effort to pry them back open. But when you did, he nodded, and the gun retreated, the hand hanging down by his side.
He groaned, his grip on your hair tightening as he pushed your head further onto his cock. Your hand gripped faster to his thigh, groaning onto him. Coughing you tried to pull back but the hand on your head meant you could only pull back enough to breathe through your nose.
“Almost there, sweetheart.” He grunted, rocking his hips shallowly into your mouth. “You can take it.”
The words, the ragged and deep, sent your clit throbbing harder than it already was. A moan traveled from your throat down the length of his cock, causing him to curl inwards slightly on himself, shoving your head all the way down until your nose brushed the neatly trimmed patch of hair at the base. With a choked sound, you felt him twitch and jump in your mouth as he spilled down your throat. Considering how deep he was, you didn't taste the saltiness of his spend.
Your throat felt raw when he pulled out of your mouth, strings of thick spit dripping from your mouth and his cock. Coughing, you tried to pull oxygen back into your lungs. Working your jaw open and shut, working out the ache.
“Oh fu-huh-uck.” He moaned, tucking himself back into his pants but leaving his jeans unbuttoned, tucking the pistol in his jeans. “If your mouth feels that good, I can't wait until I feel what that pussy feels like around me.”
You were already halfway to standing when his hand gripped your arm, hauling you to your feet. “Bedroom?”
“Down the hall, doorway at the end.” You panted. “Wait, wait. What do I call you?”
He paused, briefly, in his pursuits to half drag you down the hall to your bedroom. “What do you call me?”
“Yeah.” You answered. “Your name.”
He shot you another panty dropping smile. “Dean. And I can imagine you are gonna be doing more than calling me by it soon.”
Goddamn. “Dean.” You tested it out, his name rolling on your tongue.
He groaned your name in response. Then his hands were pawing at your waist. He was strong. Incredibly so. He lifted you up like it was nothing, tossing you on the bed. The air was rocked from your lungs as your back hit the mattress, then it was being kissed from your mouth as he crawled over you.
His lips moved with a fervor against yours, a need. They traveled from your lips across your sticky jaw. You ground your hips upwards against his, the thin material of your shorts and underwear not providing enough friction against your needy clit. Then, you were on your stomach with a face full of your pillow, the demon—Dean—clicking his tongue.
“Greedy, greedy.” He said, tone full of teasing admonishment. “So eager to have something in this needy pussy, huh?”
His fingers curled into the waistband of your sleep shorts all the way between your underwear and your skin. Cursing, you were pulled down the bed as he yanked the clothes down your lower half before he tossed them somewhere in your bedroom. Then his hands were groping your ass cheeks, each fingertip digging into the plush, causing your string of curses to turn into a wanton moan. The air from your bedroom was cool against the wetness gathered along your core.
“Fuck, you're soaked.” Dean groaned from behind you, his thumbs swiping through the slick. “This is gonna slide right in.”
What? You then gasped into the pillow as the familiar metallic coolness replaced his thumbs, running through your folds. His hand pressed against your lower back just as you felt the muzzle of his pistol press against your entrance.
“Dean.” You breathed, half in warning, half in plea.
“Good start.” He spoke lowly. “I'll have you screaming it before we’re done here.”
Your eyes went wide, your pulse thrumming loudly in your ears. You didn't like this, not one bit. But that panic was laced with a molten heat that had you pressing your thighs together. It didn't last long, his incredibly strong grip prying them back open. The steel nudged against your entrance again, making your breath catch in your throat.
Slowly, Dean slid the gun inside you. You can feel the edges and ridges of the barrel inside your pussy as he worked it in and out. From what you can tell after having it in your mouth, it feels like he’s only working half of it in. Your chest seizes, mouth falling into a gasp as he thrusts the rest of the pistol barrel into your pussy with a sharp thrust. You cry out his name, fisting your hands in the sheets. Pleasure pulsed through you as he sped up the tempo, the ridges rubbing up against the sensitive spot within you.
The climax sits low in your stomach as his movements quickened further. It feels so foreign, unlike any cock or toy you’ve had inside you. That unique sensation quickly building up that pressure in your belly, the tightness between your legs. Grinding your hips down, you couldn't help the moans that fell freely from your mouth, most of them muffled by your pillow. You could feel your pussy grip around the gun every time Dean dragged it out of you, like despite your repulsion that there was a literal gun in your pussy, your body still wanted it inside of you. Panting hard, each breath half moan, you felt the climax growing and growing, your legs shaking under his touch.
“D-Dean!” You cried out, back arching towards him.
“Thats right, slut.” Dean growled, his hand briefly leaving your lower back to come down hard on your ass with a loud smack. “So greedy for somethin’ inside ‘a you that you're gonna cum on a gun.”
So fucking dirty. You felt the rush, knowing there was nothing you could do to stop it.
A harsh sound ripped from you, hips shooting off the bed completely as your orgasm sent shocks through you. You rocked your hips back against the gun as he worked you through the endorphin rush. It just kept going and going, your eyes rolling back in your head as he pulled the gun from you with an obscene sound.
“That’s right.” He grunted, and you heard the clatter as the gun hit the floor of your bedroom.
Fabric rustling followed soon behind and then your hips were being dragged up. His bare lower half pressed against yours, his knee knocking your legs wider apart. You had barely stopped twitching from the aftershocks when you felt the head of his cock slide past your entrance. Another ragged moan dragged from your parted lips as he split you open.
Dean gave you no time to ease into it, sliding all the way home until his hips lay flush to yours. Mouth open in a silent gasp you couldn’t think, couldn't move as he gripped your hips tightly, pulling you back to meet his punishing pace. The skin slapping filled the room alongside your moans and his grunts as he fucked into you harshly. You shivered on his cock as he slid his hand up your spine to tangle in your hair. His fingers gripped the hair close to your skull, using the grip to pull you back against his chest.
“Oh fuck.” He groaned against your neck, teeth grazing at your racing pulse. “This pussy feels so good ‘round me, slut.”
You moaned his name in response, fucking yourself back on his cock. One hand slipped between your legs to strum circles on your clit, causing you to tighten down hard on his length, the other cupped your breast.
“That's right, slut.” He slammed into you harder. “Fuck yourself on this cock. Rub that pretty little clit. Wanna feel you cum on me.”
Panting hard now, you met his hips with each thrust. Perspiration had started to bead on your hairline, leaving little streaks at your temples as they dripped down. Every bit of you felt alive, standing at attention as his hand gripped your hip to hold you in place, the other exploring the expanse of your body.
That floaty, mindnumbing feeling started to grow behind your eyes the faster his hips snapped up into yours. Near incoherent things were whispered into the junction of your neck and shoulder, but you were sure they were dark as sin if his behavior tracked. You were sure you couldn't form a coherent thought if your life depended on it, too drunk on the way his thick cock was pounding into you. The circles you were rubbing on your clit faltered as you felt your walls flutter around him.
He groaned, the sound resonating into you, his teeth digging into your skin. His hips stuttered, the pace faltering. A loud groan echoed through you as Dean came hard, filling you with the warmth of his spend. But he didn’t stop, fucking into you harder until that pressure low in your belly snapped and you came with him, screaming his name.
Both of you shuddered as all the sensations wracked your bodies, leaving you feeling like a raw live wire. Dean released his grip on you, letting you ease yourself back onto your stomach. You hissed as he pulled himself out of you, the space between your thighs sore as hell. Settling into the bed, you finally could catch your breath
The mattress dipped beneath his shifting weight and you looked over your shoulder to see him pulling his boxers-briefs and jeans back on. He was still shirtless, and now you could get a decent look at him. Cut, with just the right amount of softness. Your eyes were drawn to the odd shaped tattoo on his pectoral, but his shirt soon covered it. He bent down to snatch his discarded pistol from the ground, sliding it back into the waistband of his jeans.
“The hell hounds,” You said shakily. “They're gone now?”
“So long as you honor our little arrangement." He answered, doing up the blood red button-up
“Once a month.” You clarified, continuing as he nodded his head, turning to exit your bedroom. “Do you need a key or whatever? In case I'm sleeping or something?”
The look he shot you over his shoulder instantly stirred you back awake. “I'll find my way in.”
And somehow, you believed him.
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