#.v: main ( war never changes )

[radiaking]

+ memes / accepting!

@herdragcnfire said: I'll be honest. You're the first person I've run across out here that looks like he can really handle himself.

        "Well, now, I don't know if that says more about me or less about every other sorry sonofabitch you met out here."

[radiaking]

He can’t say for certain why he wants to know what it was like in her vault. Between what she’d told him the night before while out of it on pain meds and knowing her father from before, he has at least put it together that she was part of Bud Askins’ management project, but he doesn’t know exactly what all that entails. And he’s curious.

When she shows some surprise at him asking, he almost regrets doing so until she gets talking, that small smile, the way she rambles on easily—it’s almost nice just getting to sit and talk with her as they’re so often on the move. Even if it’s a topic he’d usually rather avoid.

And he tries to imagine her in her vault, doing all the things she talks about, some of them easier to imagine than others. For some reason, her having taught children is not surprising at all and he even smiles a little, picturing her with children about Janey’s age. All in all, it sounds like she got lucky.

“Sounds like you got one of ‘the good vaults’,” he says with a sigh. Then, noting how her smile has vanished, he adds, “I think you’re right though, they didn’t all know. I don’t think anyone was ever supposed to know.” That was the point right? Experimenting without repercussions, without having to inform the guinea pigs what they were getting into?

        “Quiet sounds nice…” Lucy says, a tad wistfully. There was never much by the way of privacy in the Vaults. Maybe if she'd actually married a real Vault dweller and gotten to spend more than an hour in her own unit. But for most of her life, it was a challenge to find any time to herself. She thinks it might've been nice to have more of that.

        Lucy blinks, somewhat surprised by the series of questions that come next. A slight smile appears on her face, eyes crinkling. “You wanna know about life in the Vaults?” She can't pretend she expected he would. “It was…nice. People looked after each other, and there was always something to do.” Her eyes flick up and to the side as she considers.

        “I taught American history to kids, mainly. In my free time there was the shooting range, gymnastics, the Young Piper's Association taught me everything I needed to know about mechanics…” She shrugs, then winces at the pain in her shoulder. “And I read. I read a lot.” Her smile falters. “I know...I know it wasn't all real, but...I have to believe some of the people I knew were innocent. That they really cared about each other. They can't all have known the truth except for me.”

[melpcmene-a]

Meet Ava, Sole Survivor. I might make her in Fallout 4 ( eventually ) but I feel she'll be strength-based and melee-based. Likely ( or eventually ) part of the Brotherhood. Seeking out her son, and had been in a same-sex marriage. But going with the events-- her wife is now dead, killed by Kellogg. ( As how events go. ) Ava plans on murdering that bastard. Make him suffer. She holds grudges and such right to her heart.

[carpenterswife]

HALF OF ME (i)

SUMMARY: Despite appearances, you’d learnt Soldier Boy was, actually, capable of being a good man. Somehow, you’d wormed yourself into his good books, and had the rarest privilege of seeing him without the suit, the drugs, the ego, the everything. Just as things were going good, his heart somehow getting even warmer for you, the world separates you in the cruelest way.

PAIRING: Soldier Boy x Fem!Reader

WORD COUNT: 3573

WARNINGS: MINORS DNI. Sexism (set in the 1980’s), typical Soldier Boy behaviour, drug abuse, alcohol abuse, questionable morals (peer pressuring drug use), sexual content, eludes to smut, Soldier Boy may be a bit OOC at times, gore.

SERIES MASTERLIST / MAIN MASTERLIST

Becoming a world famous supe was never something you’d ever wanted. Sure, you’d grown up with their photos on your bedroom walls, your father telling you stories of when the first ever supe came to be, insisting he fought alongside the Soldier Boy in the war

The people around you seemed to idolise them. These… mostly regular people in tight suits, pretending to be better than everyone else.

You knew better. You knew enough. Enough to know supes were dirty, and corrupt, and definitely not the heroes they presented themselves to be. That their hands were more blood than they were skin anymore.

And, frankly, you wanted nothing to do with Vought or Payback — or whatever the fuck those shitty, useless superhero teams were called. (Seriously, what did they actually do? Except sit in their pretty tower and take the peoples’ taxes?)

Your father, however, had different ideas.

So, at 18, you woke up in the hospital, after an ugly head collision, with superpowers you’d never had before. A miracle, the doctors called it, a supe whose extraordinary powers had been hidden for her whole life. When you got home, you forced the truth out of your father. Compound V, he called it, a new chemical made by Vought.

No one was born a supe, he admitted, it all came from a liquid in a vial. The truth hurt you, as much as it didn’t really surprise you. Chosen by God, my ass.

This wasn’t supposed to be your life.

But it’s certainly what it turned out to be.

Payback were as shitty, if not more, than you’d originally thought. Each of them had… many flaws. Soldier Boy, obviously, was the worst. If the Devil reincarnated himself, he’d look and act like Soldier Boy.

Simply talking to the man made you want to shoot yourself.

Well… it did at one point.

Two years down the line, things had changed. Soldier Boy was still insufferable, sexist, arrogant, and a major asshole. But… he wasn’t so much a dick directly to you, as he used to be. In fact, if you didn’t know better, you’d say he was actually somewhat nice to you. As much as his macho heart could manage, anyway.

You noticed it the first time when he saved your life on a mission. He’d grabbed your waist when a grenade clinked at your feet, whirling you around and to the ground, squashing you against his firm chest, using his shield to protect you both from the hot blast. He’d shrugged it off as nothing; as something any leader would do for his team. Then you watched him hit Gunpowder about for not following his order to a T, and realised… maybe he did treat you different.

It was undeniable these days.

You were the only person on Payback that Soldier Boy could remotely tolerate.

“You need’a be more careful.” Despite the hard look on his face, Soldier Boy was staring down at you, as a Vought doctor wrapped clean bandages tightly around your midsection. It was a bullet to the wound; which, with being a supe, wouldn’t be too bad, but you didn’t heal inhumanely fast like he did. “You’re fuckin’ useless when you’re hurt.”

You rolled your eyes. “Thanks for your concern, Soldier Boy.”

His eyes narrowed into a harsh glare. “Ben.” He corrected you, for what was probably the 50th time. Each time he did, he got more annoyed with you. “How many times do I have to say it? Is there a brain in that pretty head’a’yours?“

You grunted, spinning on the bed and hanging your legs off the side of it. “Thanks for the compliment.” Ben rolled his eyes at your sarcasm, not offering a hand as you groaned in discomfort and got to your feet. “I’ll be fine. I’ll be healed up by the time we set off for Nicaragua, if that’s what you’re worried ‘bout.”

Ben just grunted, displeased. “Ain’t happenin’.” He immediately shot that idea down. “We leave for Nicaragua in two weeks. You ain’t comin’. Sit this one out.”

You stared, expecting a joke. Clearly, he wasn’t. “Seriously?” You groaned, unhappy. What was it with this guy? “I’ll be fine. It’s a silly little bullet.”

“I was holdin’ your fuckin’ guts in your body.” He walked away, reminding you of just how bad your injury actually had been. He had, indeed, practically been keeping your guts inside of you as you bled out. “You ain’t going. You’re stayin’ here.” You chased after him, pulling your shirt on as you left the infirmary.

“Ben—“

He whirled around to face you. “I said, you’re fucking staying.” He growled, glaring down at you. God, were you glad you were on his side. This man was terrifying. Six feet of pure muscle, strength and violence. “You’re better off here, using that face of yours to get some PR.”

“And, what? The others will back you up?” You scoffed, grabbing his wrist as he went to walk away again. His expression went cold at your touch, but you didn’t flinch. As much as he tried to scare you, Ben wouldn’t raise a hand at you… probably. You had faith in the man. “They can’t fight for shit, Ben. Gunpowder hasn’t even discovered his own dick yet. You think you’re gonna have your back covered out there?”

He ripped his wrist away harshly. “I don’t need my back covered.”

“Everyone needs their back covered.” You argued. “Even you.”

He chuckled, sarcastic and dry. “You worried ‘bout me, princess?” You gave him a ‘seriously?’ look, as he took a step closer, mouth curled into that ever-infuriating smirk. “I’d perform better if you sent me off with a taste of that—“

“Ben.” You interrupted him, unimpressed. You rolled his eyes at his predictable behaviour. “I’m not gonna fuck morale into you.”

“Shame.” His eyes flicked up and down, tracing the curves of your body. “Bet you’d be a firecracker.” He walked away again, and you threw your hands up, groaning. Ben chuckled as he turned the corner. “Think it over, sweetheart.”

“You’ve got a hand.” You called back to him. “Use it!”

Conversations like that were very common with Ben.

It’d be a normal conversation (as normal as it gets with him) — and then he’d start talking about fucking you against the nearest surface, and all pleasantries went down the drain. Seriously, he thought 80% with his dick, and 20% with his actual brain.

And that was being kind.

But, beneath all of his macho assholery, was his genuine worry. You knew he wasn’t letting you accompany the rest of the team to Nicaragua because of your injury, despite how minor it was, and that he was worried you’d injure yourself further.

You’d never slept with Ben, despite how much he’d tried to charm you into his bed. Your relationship was strange. He flirted, you flirted — there were lingering touches. And, sure, he’d never put his dick in you, but his fingers were a different question. And… oh, boy, could that man use his hands.

It was like being in a relationship, just without the sex. Which was odd, as it was Soldier Boy. But, the way he smiled at you and treated you, it made you feel different to the other women.

He was just… shit it showing it.

Poor bastard wouldn’t know emotion if it slapped him in the face.

━━━━━━ ✦ ━━━━━━

“I am not wearing this.”

Okay… scratch all of that. Maybe Ben was just a dickhead.

He lounged back in his chair, grinning lazily, legs spread like he owned the place. He probably thought he did. “Why not?” He took a sip of his whiskey, ice clinking against the sides, eyes never leaving you from over the rim of the glass.

You held up the fabric. “Seriously?”

It was basically a scrap of fabric, with how much it covered up. You didn’t shy away from showing skin. You quite liked short skirts and pushing the line. Because, as a supe, there was a line. Vought liked it when you showed skin — apparently it made your ratings go up with the male fans, no shocker. But, too much skin on display, the male fans started calling you a whore, and the ratings shot back down.

It was a bit like a balancing game, trying to find the perfect amount of skin to make the boys ogle but also respect you. An impossible feat, truthfully.

And this? This was definitely classed as too much.

“I don’t see the issue.” His smirk said otherwise.

“My tits are not gonna stay in this, Ben!”

His smirk just grew. “Again, I don’t see the issue.”

You groaned and put the dress down. “No. I’ll get my own dress. I am not wearing that.” You tell him, arms folding across your chest. You didn’t miss the way he checked out your tits, and the way the placement of your arms accentuated them.

He rolled his eyes, obviously not happy with your decision. Leaning towards, elbows on his knees, Ben’s eyes took you in. “Why?” His head cocked to the side. “You’d look hot. It’d make your ass look great.”

“That’s not a compliment.” You grumbled, pushing a hand through your hair. Ben made a small grunt of disagreement, but didn’t say anything otherwise. “Listen, there’s a certain line. Alright? If I wear that, every guy out there will be callin’ me a whore. Okay? Imma find something else.”

He hummed and sat back. “I think you should wear that one.” Sighing heavily, you just rolled your eyes at his persistence. “All those assholes will be blowin’ their pants just lookin’ at you, sweetheart.”

“Again, not a compliment.”

Ben stared at you, and silently took another sip of his whiskey. He always seemed to think these crude, rather sexist and inappropriate remarks were compliments. Like commenting on your body. Or saying you’d be a freak in bed. Which were obviously not actually compliments.

You rolled your eyes, rubbing your forehead. “I’ll find another dress, Ben.” You told him, definitive. There was no way he was going to convince you to wear that dress.

“What a disappointment.” He grinned, lopsided. “I was lookin’ forward to seein’ you in that dress.”

“Again,” you deadpanned as he checked you out once more, “you have a hand… use it.”

Ben just smirked, and sipped his whiskey again.

━━━━━━ ✦ ━━━━━━

You wore the fucking dress.

The asshole always won. Always.

He looked so fucking pleased, as you walked into his after-party, wearing the dress he’d picked out for you. His smugness was clear, brushing through the crowd with ease to come to you.

Ben hummed, eyes dilating as he stared you down. His eyes lingered on your tits, as they always did. “You look…” he hesitated, trying to think of a compliment that wasn’t degrading, and failed, “fuckin’ hot. If you weren’t such a bitch, I’d bend you over right here.”

Your face pulled together in disgust, looking at him with your lips pressed together “… gross.”

He chuckled. “Drink?” He offered. “I got your favourite.”

And there he goes again.

Being nice.

It did your damn head in.

Accepting his offer, you shivered as his large hand landed on the small of your back, guiding you through the crowd. They all seemed to part like the Red Sea as he came through, a fact that amused you greatly.

Seriously. These women looked at him like he was Jesus reincarnated, when he’d totally call them in a whore in bed.

Ben silently reached out for your favourite alcoholic drink, pouring it into a glass. His eyes scanned over the room, smirking at a few of the women ogling, sending them rushing to their friends and squealing. He merely chuckled and handed you the full glass.

“Thanks.” You murmured, taking it from him. Your eyes stared up at him for a moment, curious, before looking away again.

What was it with him? How could be such an egotistical one minute, and then be nice and respectful the next? It was like a guessing game, trying to figure out what mood he was in.

He grabbed your wrist, his grip firm, but not enough to hurt you. “Come with me.” He guided you through the crowd once again, to the doors in the back. As he pushed through into the room, he flashed you a cocky grin over his shoulder. Dickhead.

This room was far quieter. You noticed, immediately, the only people present were supes and celebrities, not the random civilians that’d been granted a pity invite — or the women Ben thought were hot. This was the main party. There were drugs covering every table, with various big names passed out on the chairs, blazed.

Ben lead you to the corner, where he’d obviously already been busy, if the half-snorted lines of cocaine proved anything.

Silently, he offered you a line, which you gratefully accepted.

You didn’t do drugs before you joined Payback. In fact, you’d avoided them, promising yourself you’d never become that type of person. But it was the norm within Vought. Every supe spent their nights filling their bodies to the brim with various drugs, poisoning themselves. So, you started smoking weed to fit in.

Then Ben found out you only did weed, and decided it wasn’t enough. With enough pressure, he’d gotten you onto any other substance he could convince you to try.

It made you more attractive, in his eyes, as you spiralled into addiction like him.

In fact, it got him rock hard, to snort lines or share a joint with you. It was so fucking hot, watching your eyes glass over as you got higher with every hit, with every line. God, it turned him on so bad.

You snorted your third line of the night, when Ben suddenly pushed you back into your chair. Bewildered, you stared at him, as he snatched up a baggie of the white powder. Your heart leapt to your throat, the moment he moved aside the slit in your dress, revealing the bare skin of your thigh. All breath left your lungs, watching him pour some of the powder onto your thigh.

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

He was about to do a line off you.

He glanced at you through his lashes, smirking at the shocked and flushed expression you wore. He used his pocket knife to cut the lines, mindful of the sharp blade against your soft skin.

God, this was hot. He found it hot. You found it hot. It’d be a damn miracle if you ended the night with your clothes on at this point.

Your skin tingled as he sniffed up the first line, of his hands roughly gripping the top of your thigh to steady you, his other holding a rolled up $100 bill. He groaned in pleasure, body physically shuddering, head shaking, as the drug made his body run hot.

He did the next line, the grip on your thigh becoming tighter as his pupils began to blow up.

Was it getting hot in here? Or was it just you?

Maybe it was the cocaine in your systems, maybe it was the fact Ben was just… so damn hot, but you couldn’t stop yourself from grabbing his hair and forcing his head up as he snorted the final line off your thigh.

He looked up at you, pupils blown, lips parted. Holy shit. This man was sculpted like a fucking God. Your body shivered. “You finally takin’ my offer, sweetheart?” He chuckled, shaking off the immediate effects of the cocaine, raising himself up to your level.

“Fuck me.” You whispered, breathless, practically begging him.

His eyes went dark, almost black, with lust. The smirk on his lips made you squeeze your legs together. “Don’t need to ask me twice.”

━━━━━━ ✦ ━━━━━━

You now understood the hype. You understood why women bent their knees the moment Ben uttered a word to them.

Holy shit, did this man have talent.

Your legs were still twitching, the space in between your legs throbbing and tingling with how many times you’d come on his fingers, his tongue and cock. You’d counted four, before your vision had gone white.

Jesus, he had stamina. A glance at the clock on the wall confirmed it’d been just over five hours since you’d first fell into Ben’s bed. That super strength was better for more than just fighting, after all. This man should be advertised for his abilities. No shocker he was an American sex symbol.

He’d just fucked your brains out.

And now, he was staring at you with admiration, laid on his side, in the same bed he’d just railed you in. “You feelin’ okay?” He murmured, genuinely concerned.

“Yeah.” You rolled over to face him, a jolt of discomfort and pain in your hips and thighs. You might have to hold back on… doing anything for the next few days, however. “You didn’t break anything.” You joked, soft and breathy.

He chuckled quietly, hand sliding around your waist and dragging you closer to him. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waitin’ to do that.” He whispered, uncharacteristically soft and gentle.

“To fuck me senseless?”

He smirked. “Mm, I have dreamt of that.” Your eyes narrowed in mild disgust at the image of him having wet dreams about you, swatting his chest. He grinned and caught your hand. “No… I meant how long I’ve waited to have you. You’re fuckin’ perfect. Not just your body. Everything about you is so sexy.”

Your brows furrowed, squeezing his hand, and then worming your fingers out of his. “What do you mean?” You asked softly.

He seemed to struggle for a moment. He wet his tongue with his lips, making your body tingle again. Jesus. “Let’s get dinner.”

What.

“Me and you.” Ben smiled, tracing the curves of your body with a featherlight touch. “Real fancy. I’ll pay.” Was he… asking you on a date right now? The Soldier Boy, asking you on a date? Instead of fucking you and tossing you out?

“You’re serious?” You asked softly, surprised. When he nodded, you grinned, biting your lip to contain it. “Okay, Ben. Let’s get dinner.”

His eyes lit up. Ducking his head down, his lips touched yours, gentle and affectionate. His kiss spoke so many words; his hands gently cradling your body, as he kissed you like you were made of glass. The touch was intimate and loving, widely different to the one he’d used when he’d been on top of you.

No, this was completely different. This was him being vulnerable. This was him showing you just how he felt, without the words.

He smiled against your lips and pulled back, just enough to speak, but his words were still brushing yours. “Yeah?” He whispered, in response to your agreement.

“Yeah.” You stared at him with big eyes.

He grinned, almost boyish in its nature. He stared at you in adoration, seeming to be collecting the words on the tip of his tongue.

You giggled under his stare. You sat up, pulling him with you, grabbing the blanket that he had draped over his headboard. It was fluffy and warm, and smelt like his cologne, and you didn’t hesitate to wrap it around your shoulders, cocooning yourself.

If possible, his gaze softened even more. “You’re adorable.”

Quietly, you laughed. “You sure you wanna do this, Ben?” You stared back at him. Ben was nothing if not a womaniser. Settling down was nothing like him. “Get serious with me, I mean.”

“You’re the only one I’d ever want to.”

Your brows pulled together, confused. “Why?”

Ben soothed a hand through your hair, green eyes drinking in the perfections and imperfections on your face. “You’re the only one I trust.” His voice was gravelly, still heavy with the effects of your recent endeavours. His hand travelled through your hair, and then came down to cup your cheek.

Wrapped up in his fluffy blanket, your head rested on the wooden headboard. “I trust you, too.” You whispered, tilting your head into his palm. His skin was rough, painted with callouses and scars. Every scar on his body had a story. And you’d spend the rest of your life learning every single one.

Despite himself, he smiled at you, thumb tracing the curve of your cheekbone. “I’d kill for you. You know that?” His words made you shiver. Ben killing people wasn’t exactly new… or surprising. But doing it for you? God, it made your stomach heat up — and other parts. “These assholes don’t hold a candle to you, doll. Countess? That whore is— is repulsive compared to you.”

You laughed softly, rolling your eyes affectionately. “Ben.” You scolded quietly, though not with an ounce of anger.

The supe just smirked, chuckling deep in his throat. “You want me to drop that bullshit PR relationship I have with her? I’ll do it. In a fucking heartbeat. I’ll be with you, publicly, if you want me.”

“You’d ruin your reputation for me?” Now that — that meant something. Ben could say anything and everything; he was a master manipulator. He could get anything he wanted with that smile and his suave words. But, if there was one thing he would always prioritise, it was his reputation. He’d do anything to be the alpha male. Anything.

“I’d do anything for you.” He grabbed your hand within his much larger one, guiding it to his chest. He pressed your palm over his heart, allowing you to feel his heartbeat. “I’ll do anything for you, to be with you.” You felt the steady rhythm of his heart. He wasn’t lying. That, or he was a great fucking liar. “I’m never leaving your side. I’m yours.”

Your eyes searched deep within his. “Always?”

Ben smiled. “Always.” He leant forward, gently pressing his lips against yours in a tender kiss.

Three months later, Soldier Boy died in a nuclear meltdown.

A/N: jesus christ this took me so long to write 😭 but i’m so happy with how this first chap turned out. it’s gonna get so much more fun to write we get to the action 👀 pls lmk if there’s any mistakes, as i will go back n fix them !!! hope you enjoyed <3

banners by @cafekitsune

TAGLIST: @onlyangel-444 @deans-spinster-witch @fumolemon @anundyingfidelity

[radiaking]

+ memes / accepting!

@atomiqueen said: “you owe me nothing.”

        Wrong again. He owes her everything. Without her, he'd be worse than dead, he'd be empty, lost, whatever the hell it is that happens when ghouls go feral. Each is different but none of it's good, just shells, zombies, wandering around unable to die and too far gone to even wish for it anymore.

        "Like hell I don't," he says through gritted teeth. He'll never stop owing her.

[radiaking]

        That flicker is so small, so faint, he's not even sure it happened at all, let alone if it's due to any recognition of the nickname. If she's heard of him, he does find that interesting, if for no other reason than it proves a suspicion that this bar or her are not all they appear. It's the Wasteland, almost nothing is just one simple thing. When this doesn't lead to her demanding he leave though, he thinks perhaps the moniker means nothing to her. Or maybe caps just mean more.

        No, no—surely anyone who knows of him by reputation would never get closer to him on purpose, and so casually, too or challenge him in any way, even playfully. Unless they're very bold indeed. "What, 'cowboy' don't work for you either? Fine, you can call me John." He thinks he's clever with this even if no one alive today would ever get the joke. John Wayne was well before even his time.

        her eyes focus down on the glass in her hands, turning it around and around with the rag wiping the rim. the smile flickers slightly on her face, but does not fail. she has heard of the ghoul. his reputation certainly precedes him. but he's done nothing thus far to indicate he means to do anything but have a damn drink.

        so she sets the glass aside, leaning casually towards him, both hands planted on the bar top. “now, you and i both know that's not really what i was asking.” if there's a challenge in her eyes, it's a playful one. “c'mon, cowboy. make something up, if you have to. i'm not calling you the ghoul. doesn't feel right.” 

[mydear-corinthian]

Dirty Diana || Thomas Shelby x reader

Synopsis: After the war, you and Tommy were separated leaving you in London alone with no money at all. Pairing: Thomas Shelby x reader , Tommy Shelby x reader Warnings: SMUT +18, mentions of prostitution & misogynist, p in v, unprotected sex, dirty talk Notes: I saw this Dirty Diana edit of Tommy Shelby & Diana Mitford so why not do a fic about MJ's song?? I'm so happy that Dirty Diana is getting popular and getting the hype that it deserves !! This fic is terribly written and rushed :c Click here to see the MAIN MASTERLIST Click here to see the PEAKY BLINDERS MASTERLIST Click here to see the CILLIAN MURPHY MASTERLIST

Tommy and you were together before the war. His family happily accepted you and eventually treat you as one.

Unfortunately, you two parted ways following the battle. While you were stuck in London trying to become a banker, he was back in his hometown.

As a woman, landing a career like that hasn't been normalized yet. Often, men claim that it was a "man's job" exclusively. You met all the standards perfectly, but in the end, you were not hired. You were left with nothing as a result. No family, no home, and no money.

That's when you started working as a prostitute, something you never thought you would do. It was your last option since you could no longer survive without money. Given that you were making far more money at the job, you cannot complain about it. Constantly receiving enormous sums of shillings in a single night.

You decided to change your name, Diana.

Every night you wait on the busy streets of London for customers. Bending over their vehicle, seducing them.

It wasn't easy and it will never be easy to be working in this line of work. You've been sleeping with young, old, single, married, or even widowed men for money.

It was the usual night. Waiting for new customers as you stood on the busy streets outside of a hotel. Your black dress perfectly traced your curves, a white shoulder fur covered your elbows.

You finally saw a car stopping in front of you. A man wearing a neat navy suit, a newsboy hat decorated his hair, a cigarette burning between his lips.

Due to his hat, you cannot fully see who he was, only his mouth. You walked seductively towards the man's car, bending over the window. "Sir, I have to go home 'cause I'm so tired you see..?" you ask, pretending to be exhausted. "I hate sleeping alone, why don't you take me?" He took a bill out of his pockets and showed it to you. "My place. The hotel." he plainly said.

Seeing the large amount of bill made your eyes widened. Never in your job had you encountered a man giving you this big amount of money for one night.

"Well, I'll see what I can do with that, sir," he exited the vehicle, walking towards the hotel as you followed him. The anonymous man was walking in front of you so you cannot see his face.

You couldn't shake the thought of Tommy, no matter how many men you slept with. You still have feelings for him. You was hoping he could find you and look for you. Your first love was and is him. He was everything to you. It's not that you two split up; rather, it was more that you stopped seeing one another, no goodbye's or hello's after the war. You believed that his 'breakup' was final. that he had already had enough of your relationship. While a part of you believes he is better off without you, the other half of you longs to visit him in Birmingham. That he's already forgotten you.

The both of you were already inside his luxurious hotel room. It wasn't really that tidy but it was manageable.

The anonymous man finally removed his hat, showing his full face at you. As soon as you saw him, your eyes widened and your heart sank.

"Tommy?" you shockingly asked.

"(Y/n)." he greeted plainly.

"How did you- How did you found me?"

He actually haven't moved on from you too. Tommy tried to marry someone for you to leave his mind but that didn't worked for him as well. He just doesn't feel the same feeling that he was with his current wife than you. He wants to relive that feeling and he is hoping that he will be with you again.

"I searched for you. I searched every spot in Birmingham and you weren't there. And so I found you here. In London," he said. "And I know about your job, Diana."

His deep and sultry voice always gets you. Having the sudden desire to take him, make you his, and just be with him.

"How about you stay with me, tonight?" he asked. 

"Oh Tommy, I'm all yours," you answered. Your lips meeting his, passionately tasting him. Tommy's hands roamed all around your small back, allowing the kiss to get deeper and deeper.

He suddenly stopped, pulling his face away. "My wife is at home tonight, she's probably worried tonight. I haven't told her I'm alright." he sighed, walking up to the telephone on the desk just beside the door. He rolled the numbers before speaking. 

Before he said something again, you heard a woman's voice on the telephone, screaming at him. Tommy's wife was mad.

Suddenly, you grabbed the telephone, hearing the voice of his wife. The speaker was on your ear, "He's not coming back, he's sleeping with me,"

You dropped the telephone harshly, smiling at him. "Are you not worried she'll leave you?" you asked, your fingers tapping his chest seductively. Tommy's lips found yours again. The kiss is turning harshly and messier. "It's alright, she was using me for money anyways," he said in between kisses. "And Polly didn't approved my relationship with her but we got married anyway,"

"God, I've been waiting for you," your hands found its way to his hair, crumpling it as you felt his tongue explore your mouth. You moaned in between kisses, eager for more. 

You pushed him into the king-sized bed's soft mattress. You unbutton your wrinkled shirt while leaving your bra on as you crawl from his legs to his hips. He showed how hard he was by the way his pants were rising. Tommy's breath hitched, his skin heats up.

"Where have you been, my darling?" he breathly asked, cupping your cheeks once again to examine your face, processing what is happening right now. You're back. You're here. 

Slowly, your hips rocked on his boner, the friction making your eyes roll. Tommy swallowed hard, feeling the sensation that's happening. "I've missed you, Tom," 

You continued to stroke the hard swell beneath his pants with a look of enticing eagerness, every stroke a whispered promise of something more. You carefully and slowly removed his belt buckle, the metal clasp giving way to your touch with a gentle click. With careful care, your fingertips traced the fabric of his pants, revealing the shapes of his buried need as you undid each button. Gentle yet focused.

A rush of electricity shot through Tommy as her hands discovered his shaft, igniting every nerve ending with a burning passion. You moved his cock up and down with such delicate strokes; it was a rhythmic dance that left him panting, his chest rising and falling in time with your motions.

"Oh god, you're so good at this," he praised. 

Your touch was like a kiss from heaven; it sent electric sparks of need shooting through him, burning an inferno of desire. His breath caught in his throat with every stroke, the melody of pleasure surrounding him so intensely that he was unable to resist, his moans echoing at the limits of his arousal.

He finally came, his white seed spurted all over the mattress and your hands, staining them You chuckled. 

Suddenly, Tommy switched positions, he's now on top of you. "You think we're done?" he asked, his fingers touched your clit, sending shivers all around your body due to the sudden touch. 

"Oh god!" you moaned. 

His fingertips tracing passionate patterns over the fabric that covered your aching core, your back arched in ecstasy as he increased his speed driven by an early desire. Your body trembled with anticipation with every round move, a burning desire that cried out to be let out. Time appeared to stop still as his touch danced over you in the heat of passion, each movement an ode to the unbearable depths of his desire.

You moaned out loud, feeling your orgasm coming. "Tom - I'm gonna .. oh god!"

His movements stopped unexpectedly, leaving you on the verge of euphoria and desperate for release. A line appeared on your forehead as a wave of opposing emotions passed over you, your need pounding against the limits his seductive pause forced.

"Ah, not yet," his husky voiced rang to your ears.

Tommy removed your underwear, showing how wet you were from him fingering you. He aligned his shaft in front of your cunt before you fully took him, making you moan. 

You felt full just from his cock. His warm cock filled you, making him push in even further. Your eyes closed, your head rolling back. 

"So fucking tight," he exhaled deeply. His rough hands gripped your hips making him pound in to you harshly, hitting your sensitive spots all over and over. 

"No one ever pleasured you this good huh?" 

Sweat was streaming down his strained brow, reflecting the fever that was pumping through his body. The air in his hotel room pumped with the sound of your lewd moans and his sultry groans, echoes swirling passionately together and filling the room with a euphoric atmosphere.

His trusts became faster and harsher. His and your skin slapped together, earning a loud sound. 

You felt your orgasm coming up again making you moan louder, seeing nothing but starts and feel like you've been drugged by the most pleasurable medicine there is out there. You clenched on his cock, indicating that you were close. 

"Tommy, I'm gonna cum," 

"Yeah? Cum then, love," he demanded.

You both reached the your high of ecstasy with a few last, powerful thrusts, your bodies combining in a melody of pleasure. During that moment of explosive release, when your senses were overwhelmed by a rush of sensations, you felt him spill out his essence into you, filling you to the overflowing limit with his ecstatic warmth. Every muscle clenched with fine pleasure as your climax came over you in waves of joy, your combined passion setting off an inferno of desire that swallowed you both completely.

Tommy pulled out before dropping his body beside you, panting hard. 

"Come back to me," he whispered. 

"Oh Tommy. I never left you."

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 1 - Where Winning Looks Like Losing

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: This is story non-canon compliant, with the two main differences being; 1) Butcher doesn't have brain cancer, because I said so. 2) All of Gen V didn't take place, because I don't want to deal with the whole supe-plauge thing. Also that's too many characters to keep track of squad. Because of this, the story will start in a similar setting as s4e5, but with different events leading up to it, and will deal with similar themes and have similar events to the rest of s4, but at an inconsistent rate. If you have any questions about other, smaller changes I have made, feel free to ask! Enjoy!

Word Count: 4k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: See Author's Note for Summary. Contains usual tags. Chapter title is from Growing Up by Fall Out Boy.

Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, canon divergence, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, smut, angst, fluff.

Read on A03!

Chapter 2

Want to be tagged? Just ask!

You were not, and never had been, in the business of fighting your wars bloody. You fought them smart, and you fought them dirty. You wouldn’t call yourself callous; if anything, you could use a little more misanthropy in your life, but your moral compass was… subjective. You would steal bread to feed your family, you would cheat if you knew you wouldn’t get caught, and, as you had spent the last six months learning, you would quickly cover your hands in all the blood and grime in the world so that nobody else would have to.

Which was, unfortunately, not a figure of speech.

You let yourself lie in the mud, the cool texture soothing your always-warm skin, and fought the urge to sleep. You could hear someone shouting your name, strung together with an impressive array of obscenities and barely audible over whatever phase of the argument your companions were on, but god, you just could not bring yourself to give a fuck. Sure, the blood on your face was already dry, and the hay mixed into the mud itched and needled at your skin, but you’d live. You’d survived much worse, and at this point it was scientifically impossible for you to get sick, so everyone could just come back for you in a week or two. Maybe three. However long it took for the nightmare sheep to die and Vought’s stock prices to be lower in the mud than where you lay. Maybe a bit longer. Maybe until Homelander wasn’t a you problem anymore. Maybe they’d feed his corpse to the nightmare sheep when they came to get you.

You felt yourself smile a little at that thought. Dead Homelander, weak and pathetic; golden hair grimy; awful blue eyes milky and hollow. Dead Homelander, hands unable to hurt you, mouth unable to twist into that horrific smile. Dead Homelander, pretty face mauled and stupid outfit smelling like shit from being dragged in it to the barn. Dead Homelander, being torn to tiny pieces and eaten by sheep. Dead Homelander, the worst thing that ever happened to you, finishing his reign of terror shat out next to a creek somewhere.

Your smile covered your whole face at this point. It probably looked weird and creepy—the dire, life-or-death situation you were smack dab in the middle of not doing it any favors—but god, it was too perfect a daydream. You could live here forever, in the mud, with your fucked-up little fantasy on loop.

Tragically, you barely had twenty seconds in this ideal world when something hit you in the face.

“What the fuck?!" You sat up, ignoring the hand offering aid from Frenchie, glaring around the barn for your assailant.

“Bout time you join the land of the living, Love. We’ve got a fucking problem, and you don’t get to nap until it’s fixed.” Across the barn, Billy Butcher shot you a cocky grin that didn’t meet his eyes. To be fair, you weren’t sure it ever did.

“You didn’t have to hit me in the face, you ass.”

“That was me,” Frenchie cut in. “And you should thank me; Monsieur Butcher was going to shoot you.”

“You were going to shoot me?!”

“Would’ve felt the same either way, wouldn’t it?” Butcher shrugged.

“No! I’m not bulletproof, you dick!”

“You’d live.”

“So would MM if you shot him! I don’t see you gearing up for that!”

“Well, MM wasn’t sleeping in the middle of a crisis!”

You rolled your eyes, meeting Butcher’s glare from across the room. "Oh, please, you just wanted an excuse to try and kill me!”

“If I wanted to kill you, Sweetheart, it’d look more like this.” Butcher’s arms started to move behind him, where you knew he kept his gun, and you braced yourself, hands fisted at your side.

“Hey!” MM stepped forward, arms raised. “You, if you shoot anyone, I will throw you out to the sheep, I swear to God. And you,” he turned his gaze from Butcher, “turn it down; it’s the middle of winter in Maine, and I feel like I’m standing in the goddamn sun.”

You blinked, realizing that the room had rapidly become impossibly hot, and everyone had moved far as possible from where you stood. The new, alien feeling that sat under your skin was alight and sharp, almost buzzing through you.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, stepping back. MM lowered his arms, a look of what might have been concern flashing across his face, but turned away as the conversation returned to the murder-sheep issue.

You took a few steps back; nobody stopping you or asking for your contribution, fully allowing you to shrink into the wall. You felt your hand move up to your throat, trying to slow the tense, short breaths passing in and out of your body.

“Try thinking of something that calmed you down before.”

You jumped, not having noticed Victoria Neuman move to your side, and gave her a small frown as you responded. “What?”

“Something familiar. Anything that takes the edge off. Trust me,” she gave you a tight-lipped smile. “I’ve been dealing with this my whole life. It won’t get easier on its own. And that,“ she gestured to your hand. “Won’t help it long-term.”

You nodded slowly, forcing yourself to drag your hand from your throat. Something happy. Something happy from before. What had been happy before?

Briefly, city lights flashed in your head, a song on a stereo accompanied by your own hum ringing silently in your ears. It vanished just as fast, but something in your chest loosened, and the feeling waned. Glancing over at Neuman, you saw a small nod of approval before she left your side, allowing you a second to steel yourself before following.

You found yourself standing next to Annie, who gave you a quick and, as far as you could tell, genuine smile before returning her attention to the tense conversation between Butcher and Stan Edgar. The former's voice had grown to a shout, somewhat ranting about a goose-chase for the bioweapon supposedly on this farm, the latter just watching with a cold, indifferent gaze.

“Are you done, Mr. Butcher?” Edgar’s voice betrayed no anger or fear; the only signs of emotion on his face his tightened lips and raised brows. “Because if you are, I would finally be able to share my plan to get us out of this hellhole you dug us.”

Butcher scoffed, but before he could call Edgar either a cunt or a twat—both seemed equally plausible at the moment—the stone-faced man continued.

“While I will be the first to admit that an error was made in regards to a possible weapon against Homelander, I could not call today a complete waste. After all, you introduced me to this… charming young woman. The Anomaly,” he turned to you, and a shiver ran up your spine as he used your supe name. “Is going to help us.”

“Uh,” you paled under the pressing eyes of your team. “No. I don’t, uh, I… no.”

“Yes. You will,” Edgar said. “The V variant you carry is Homelander’s attempt to duplicate the original, the one used on Soldier Boy. Most likely a good attempt. And though the original V was unstable and less than suitable in any practical means, it was potent. I do not think I would be wrong in guessing you are just as strong as Soldier Boy, and likely immortal as well.”

“No.” Annie cut it in. “If you’re going to suggest we use her as fucking bait, the answer is no.”

“I was not going to suggest that, Ms. January, why would I waste such a good product on sheep bait? I am proposing that she simply eliminate our issue. I hear sheep catch fire quite easily.”

Everyone was looking at you now. Waiting for you to step forward and say something, anything. But you were frozen, mouth slightly agape, a million scenarios playing out in your head. You saying yes, and failing to do anything but start a forest fire, the barn burning around you as everyone remained trapped inside. You saying no, and the sheep breaking in and eating everyone alive. You saying yes, but losing control and hitting someone, watching them burn to ash as they screamed. You saying no, and everyone just rotting away in the barn; you yourself unable to do the same. The silence hung in the room, taunt with the way breathing had become labored in your chest, and you thanked a god you didn’t believe in as Annie stepped forward.

“She can’t control it,” she told Edgar. “We’ve been working on it for months, and she’s gotten better, but she can’t. It’s more complicated than it usually is, and it’s new.”

“Well, then I guess we should start to pray she gets lucky. I simply will not die in a barn in Maine, and unless anyone else has a plan, I must insist we start moving. Before the structural integrity fails us, and we all become dinner.”

The room was quiet for another moment, Annie looking as if she wanted to argue, but MM spoke first, his voice laced with reluctance.

“He’s right. We don’t have time to come up with something better.” He sighed, turning to you. “You’re the best bet we’ve got.”

“Still a shit bet,” Butcher muttered.

You agreed.

But Edgar was right.

“Everyone will need to stay inside,” you said softly. “Even if it works, this could get… messy.”

Murmurs of agreement were made, and you turned to Kimiko. “You’re the strongest,” you told her. “You can open and close the door the fastest. Crack it open, I’ll run through, and slam it as fast as you fucking can.”

She nodded, moving to the barn's entrance. As she passed you, she paused, giving your arm a small squeeze and you a small smile before she continued. You smiled back, trying to ignore the flash of her anxiety running through you at the touch. Everyone else began to move to the opposite side, hiding pointlessly behind hay and barrels. Neuman paused, though, looking at you with an unreadable expression.

“Something calm,” was all she said before turning to follow Edgar.

Something calm.

City lights. Music. Cheap burgers and cheaper beer. Carefree smiles. Music.

You stood before the doors, giving Kimiko a small thumbs up. She raised her hand, fingers falling from five to four, from four to three.

Two.

One.

You sprinted forward, waited for the sound of a slam behind you, and let go.

The world lit up.

It felt like a hurricane was spilling out of you, like a part of you was being ripped out and launched away. You could see the fire, but not quite feel it. If anything a chill had set itself through your veins, your skin becoming flushed not from heat, but exhaustion. Already darkness was creeping into your eyes, the effort to control the flames splitting the sky taking a toll. It was like a volcano trying to control its eruption, if any of its magma was under the control of the mountain.

But you had to. You could pass out after; you could sleep for a hundred years, but right now you had to control it.

The blood and muck on your skin had been long seared off, the clothes on your back turning into foul-smelling smoke. Your job was long finished now, nothing but bone and sinew remaining of the sheep, but a new problem emerged.

You couldn’t stop. You were burning and burning and burning, and the feeling in your skin wasn’t dulling, but growing. The exhaustion was gone, replaced by pure adrenaline, yanking you up and up, away from relief.

Something calm, Neuman’s voice echoed in your head, and you closed your eyes, trying to hear that long-gone music and see those phantom lights.

It wasn’t working. And you were only getting closer to an edge, a drop into something you’d been so careful to avoid. It was eating you, pushing you further and further. You'd jump into the freezing water of the river but it would just evaporate. You’d bury yourself in the mud but it would just boil, feeding into itself.

Sing, a small part of you begged the rest. Just sing. No use hiding yourself if you’re dead.

You gave in, and began to hum. An empty tune, your voice on key but strained. Slowly, you felt yourself come to, your body returning to your control. You followed the song to the end, and as it ended, just before you collapsed on the ground, relief rushed through you. The fire had lingered, a saving grace from your song. You hadn’t felt any effects, with no hallucinations plaguing your vision before it went dark.

————

The first thing you realized when you woke up was that someone had moved you from the dirt to rest against a tree. The second was that you were no longer naked. Someone had apparently managed to find you clothes, and though they were itchy and a few sizes too big, you were still grateful. The third was that you smelled like shit. You had thought you were covered in blood before, but that now seemed as if it had been bubbles and floral perfume. One might have thought thoroughly barbecued sheep would’ve smelled at least tolerable. They would’ve been wrong. Because you were covered in what of it hadn’t dissipated into smoke, and you smelled like a dumpster full of rubber and fish.

The only person who would come near you was Frenchie, who had forsaken his sense of smell years ago, and had evidently dressed you and pulled you to where you currently sat. Everyone else stood closer to the fence, waiting for their ride back to New York to pull up on the dirt road. You sat alone, eyes still drooping, startled out of your own head as Edgar’s voice cut through the air.

“I must say, I am glad to see my faith in you was not misplaced.”

"Yeah, well,” you shrugged, looking up at where he stood, only a few feet away. “I wouldn’t ask for an encore.”

“I am afraid I may have to. In our prior introduction, it seems you deeply undersold your capabilities.”

“Forgive me, I didn’t have time for self-evaluation when I was being kept in a fucking dungeon.”

Edgar sighed. “I must apologize for that. Though I was not made aware of Homelander’s little escapade, I recognize that you might feel as though I hold some blame.”

“Not an apology,” you muttered. “And I find that hard to believe.”

“Unfortunate, but I cannot force you to accept the truth.” He looked you up and down once before continuing. “And regardless, it is not what I am here to say.”

“I was wrong only once today, and it was when I said you were just as strong as Soldier Boy. You are not. You are much, much stronger. Not physically, of course, but overall. Overall, your power surpasses Soldier Boy’s, surpasses Homelander’s. I know you wish him dead, I would imagine you prefer it to be painful, and very few deaths inflict the suffering felt when one is burned alive. I suggest you learn how to control your gift, and learn fast. You were looking for a weapon, and I am telling you that you are it. Do not waste yourself.”

And he walked away, leaving your mouth open and your eyes wide. You stood to follow him, painfully pulling yourself to your feet, but made only a few steps before you felt a rock hit your back, and you whipped around to find Frenchie behind you, holding a hose.

“Starlight suggests you take a shower before our drive back,” he said, gesturing to the hose.

You blinked, looking back at Edgar, only to watch him be loaded into an armed van. Your brow wrinkled, a part of you wanting to chase the car down and demand Edgar elaborate, but you just turned back to Frenchie with a sigh.

“Sure, just count down before you–“

You cut yourself off as the freezing water hit you in the face.

Thankfully, Frenchie had thought to bring a towel—a gross, possibly moldy towel—but a towel nonetheless, and he handed it to you the moment the hose-down was finished. As his arm stretched out, you noticed a deep gash poking out from his sleeve.

“I can fix that,” you gestured to him. “I mean, I’ll have to touch you, but I won’t tell anyone what I feel, and you won’t have to let MM give you stitches.”

Frenchies frowned, looking at his arm as if only he now noticing his injury. “Are you sure? You must be tired, and–“

“I’ll be fine. Won’t hurt me for more than a few seconds.”

He hesitated, but gave you a nod, rolling up his sleeve before offering his injury to you. You took a deep breath and placed your hand over the wound. It hit you fast, it always did, the onslaught of emotions. You were suddenly twice as tired, a powerful and painful guilt sitting on your shoulders and a self-loathing that was familiar, but not yours, carved itself into your chest. After a second to adjust, you started to work. Your own arm, mirror to Frenchies, began to sting as the skin turned raw and red. You bit your tongue, ignoring it and focusing on keeping yourself going until the cut was gone, the skin was healthy, and there were no signs of any issues in the first place.

“Huh,” Frenchie stated at his unmarked arm, glancing at your own, which was already fully healed itself. “Merci.”

“No problem,” you offered him a grin. “Just don’t tell Butcher you accepted my evil supe healing.”

“You do not,” he frowned slightly. “You do not feel everything, yes? Just, simple, children’s emotions?”

It was your turn to frown. “Children’s emotions?”

“Oui. Joy, fear, sadness. No more.”

Oh. You hesitated to answer, debating if it was worth the lie. It would make him feel better, you reasoned with yourself.

But he wouldn’t trust you, a little voice whispered. And he’ll hate you.

You settled on the truth. You didn’t think you could stand another person hating you.

“No, I feel… everything,” you admitted. “But I wasn’t lying before. I won’t tell anyone.” You paused, watching his face carefully as you continued. “I won’t tell Kimiko.”

A look of shock passed over his face, but Frenchie nodded. “Good. Good. Tres bien,” he gave you a grateful look. “Merci.”

“Anytime,” you gave him a close-lipped smile, and the two of you returned to your group just as your ride pulled up. As you loaded into the car and began the long, tense drive, Edgar’s words replayed on loop in your head.

Your power surpasses Soldier Boy’s, surpasses Homelander’s. Learn how to control your gift, and learn fast. Do not waste yourself.

Do not waste yourself.

You thought back to the last time you saw Homelander. Though it had been from a distance, and he had not even known you were there, your body had frozen. Fear, white-hot and all consuming, had coursed through you. You had almost passed out from it. If you had been face-to-face with him, it might have killed you all on its own.

Do not waste yourself.

You couldn’t fight Homelander. You just couldn’t. You could be capable of overpowering him tenfold, and you still wouldn’t be able to fight him. You knew, in your heart, that his eyes would meet yours and you would be sent right back into that tiny white room, feel his hands holding you down, feel that hollow, empty hopelessness leak from you into the air.

But he needs to die, a small voice whispered in your head. And you’re the Anomaly. You could kill him. You’re the only one who could stop him forever, make sure he never hurts anyone, ever again.

No. No, you couldn’t be the only one. Yes, the biochem weapon had been a bust, and no one else could possibly rival Homelander and come out of it alive. But there had to be other options.

Your power surpasses Soldier Boy’s.

Do not waste yourself.

An idea started to form in your head. A terrible idea. A reckless and dangerous idea. But an idea all the same. And as it became fully formed, you managed to convince yourself more and more that it might somehow work.

Now all you had to do was convince everyone else.

——-

“No. No fucking way.”

The air in the meeting room was tense, mouths hanging open in shock. MM was glaring at you with a disdain you had previously only seen directed at Butcher, Butcher watched at you with a reverence you hope to never see on his face again, Grace Mallory looked all at once disgusted, intrigued, and impressed, and President-Elect Singer frowned as he listened, but gave you a nod to continue regardless.

“I know it’s crazy, but the problem last time was that you couldn’t control him, right? And I could. You can have us isolated, making sure we're out of the public eye and away from any possible collateral until you need us. I’d keep an eye on him, keep him in line, and he wouldn’t be able to hurt me.”

“I, for one, think this is an amazing idea. Best one I ever heard,” Butcher grinned at you. “Worst case scenario, it goes sideways, he kills her, we knock him out, and everyone still wins.”

“What part of ‘he wouldn’t be able to hurt me’ don’t you understand?” You snapped back.

“What if he blasts you with his fucking reactor?” MM pushed. “Makes you just another human? What’s your plan then?”

“That wouldn’t work on me,” you responded dryly.

Butcher snorted, but Mallory raised an eyebrow.

“Really? What makes you so sure?”

“One of the tests that was run on me was putting me in a room and blasting it with nuclear energy. They dropped Hiroshima on me, and it did jack shit. Soldier Boy throwing a temper tantrum won’t be any different.”

“And how do you think you could control him?” Singer asked.

“I can burn up to 5500 degrees Celsius. That’s hotter than a bomb. Won’t kill him, will knock him the fuck out. And it’ll hurt.”

“I just can’t believe I didn’t think of this sooner,” Butcher mused. “It’s fuckin' perfect.”

You glowered at him. “Stop helping me.”

MM looked at Mallory. “The fact that America’s number one unstable asshole,” he gestured to Butcher. “Is on board should be enough to tell you how stupid this is.”

“Number two unstable asshole,” you said under your breath.

“Thanks, Love,” Butcher winked at you.

“Yeah well, don’t be so pleased. You’re only just losing to Homelander.”

Butcher shrugged, and you returned your attention to Singer. “Sir, please trust me. I, more than almost anyone, know how dangerous this could be. But Homelander is more dangerous. We needed a weapon,” you echoed Edgar’s words. “This is it.”

Singer nodded slowly, and MM scoffed.

“You can’t be seriously considering this. He’s a fucking unstable asshole murderer and a goddamn liability. What if we wake him up, she can’t control him, and he gets free?”

“We said whatever it takes,” you snapped. “I wouldn’t be pitching this if I thought it wouldn’t work. I can control him, I promise.”

“You’d bet your life on it?” Mallory asked.

“My life?” You snorted. “In a heartbeat.”

Mallory sighed. “Then fine,” she shot a look to Singer. “I’ll sign off if you do.”

“Sir,” MM said, sounding almost desperate. “I am begging you, do not do this.”

Singer just shook his head slightly. “Desperate times, they make you do desperate things. If I saw another way, I’d take it, but for now we’ll have to make do. I approve the request.”

“Thank you, sir.” You gave Singer a grateful nod, ignoring the searing feeling of MM’s anger.

“Don’t thank me, girl. If this goes south, it’s your head. Grace, set up a safe house for them ASAP, if I’m signing off on this I want it moving fast.”

Mallory nodded. “It’ll take a few days. We’ll have to transport him there before we wake him up.”

“Do whatever you have to,” Singer said as he stood to leave. “If this is our only shot, we can’t afford to miss.”

[radiaking]

+ memes / accepting!

@cagedchoices sent: ✐

        "Hope is somethin' really tough and tenacious you gotta give up. It’s an addiction to break."

[radiaking]

There's a quiet stirring of guilt about how pleased she is that he fucked with the organ dealership, considering he hadn't really, and certainly not for the reasons she's inferred. And were it anyone but her, anyone but his Janey, that guilt wouldn't even exist. He'd done what he had to do to get what he needed...but it is Janey. So he'll keep it to himself that he'd only been there trying to sell the MacLean girl in the fist place.

Then, another jolt to the nervous system—us cowpokes—even if he wanted to try pretending this woman could be anyone but his child, this one would be hard to get past. As it is, Cooper, despite what he may act like, doesn't quite believe in coincidences. Something his mother used to say when he was a kid, about there being no such thing. So her use of the phrase is just further proof of her identity.

"Oh, I can shoot all right," he says, his brows raising. It might be nearly all he can do these days, but it's a required skill in the Wasteland. "So, about this Moldaver...y'all still close?" One mystery he wanted to learn from her may already be solved, but there's still plenty he'd like to have a chat with her about.

"Good." The word came out of her mouth before she could stop it, because it wasn't often that she spoke straight from the heart if not in anger, and she despised slave owners, traders, and organ sellers - pretty much the same category anyway - enough for her to approve. "I've fucked up a few suppliers myself before, traders and the like. Don't get me wrong, I am a fuck up myself, but still got some standards."

Still, they both could be worse, since he was the type to just give radaways and, well, she would nearly do the same, except for asking some stupid payment in return so that no one could claim she was being nice or other gross adjectives.

"Sort of." Janey repeated the words, cowboy, sort of, but didn't specify anything else - couldn't go around telling people she was pre-war, could she. Still, a fun and heartwrenching coincidence, down to his hat. "Us cowpokes adapt, look at me." And yet, also, look at him. 'Fucked up an organ dealership' and willing to help for money, just her type of worker. "If you are ever in need of a job... I'll remember that you helped me, and I'll pay good. My camp doesn't really give a shit about the whole human or ghoul thing, as long as one can shoot, they can help. Hell, as long as they can follow rules, they can stay." Many ghouls had, as well as escaped synths and even the occasional mutant, which really went to show how shitty regular cities were.

[myladysapphire]

The spoils of war

Being a woman on the loosing side of a war was never a good thing. And when you are the only daughter of the looser it can mean one of two things, either death or marriage, and for lucky for y/n, Aegon was in need of a wife.

word count: 2,665

CW: MDI 18+, incest, angst, smut, forced marriage, unrequited love, jelousy. p in v, fingering, loss of virginity, oral (f reciving), no happy ending

Fem!reader x Aegon ii Targeryen and past fem!reader x Aemond Targereyn

a/n Aegon isn't a r*pist in this fic

Masterlist

Being a woman on the losing side of a war was never a good thing. Death always followed war, but so did marriage. and Marriage was what you now found yourself facing. Though you had begged for death, the greens deemed it fit for Rhaneyras only daughter to marry Aego.

as a means to oppress the remaining black loyalists.

With Heleana having taken her own life after the detah of both her sons, Jaeherys and Maelor. Aegon found himself without a wife. 

And with only a daughter to succeed him, the small council feared another dance should Jaeheara be heir, so they agreed a marriage between you and Aegon would suit the realm.

Though you disagreed, you had been a prisoner in the red keep for longer than you can remember. Having been dragged to the keep by Aemond after Luke's death. Aemond would visit often. You wewre forced to listen and watch as Aegon ruled, as they ridiculed your mothers everymove. You would hear about the death of each of your family through gaurds taunts.

You had seen freedom for half a year when your mother finally achieved her birthright. Had met Cregan, the man who you was supposed to marry. 

And then you heard of Aemonds death. Daemon had killed him and died himself. You and he had once considered yourself inlove. Even planned to run away and marry. But after what he did to Luke, those feelings changed and the love and longing turned to hate and anger. And with his detah came relief. She felt one step closer to her mother being safe on the throne. 

And then Aegon returned and killed your mother. Burned her alive.

You had witnessed it all, as guards held you back.

Then two weeks later your own grandsire, Coryls Veleryon, came and told you of the plans, the plans he agreed with and even proposed. 

He was the only visitor she had had. She had no Aemond to visit her, to eat with ehr even if all she did was spit angry words in his direction.

Then today, after over a moon, you were dragged from your bed and forced before Aegon in the throne room.Your mothers burnt body laid in front of you, wrapped in sheets as if to hide what Aegon had done to her. and your youngest brother, Aegon the younger, in chains.

The green council tood and told you what they demanded, Crolys the main voice among them. It was clear you had no choice but to accept their demands. marry Aegon and become queen, her brother's life will be spared and warded in Oldtown until he was four and ten. If she refused, he would become just like thre dead mother. A burnt body. And she would be dragged down the aisle anyway.

she needed her brother Aegon, he was the only family she had left and it killed her that he would grow up in the hands of the greens, but then again so would her children. The heirs the small council had demanded they have, if not Aegons life would be forfeit. 

The small council had left, leaving her and Aegon alone, bar the few guards that remained. 

Aegon called your name, he seemed nervous, tired even.

He wore the conqueror's crown, it suited him, though it was not his. But it was clear that the weight of it was more than the weight of the rubys. A weight Aegon ahd once told her he feared. 

He coughed, bringing you back from your thoughts. “Your grandsire informed me that he told you of our plans over a moon ago”

You nodded.

“I know this is not what you wanted… that i am not who you wanted, or even - or even the brother you wanted-” he stood up and made his way towards her “but this is for the good of the realm”

You scoffed “of course it is Aegon, no one wants another war.”  Everyone knew why you were marrying, it was to be a front of the greens and blacks uniting, of her bending the knee. “I am the spoils of war, Aegon. And when it comes to victory the victor always keeps his prize. And I am your prize Aegon. Not that i had a choice” you tunrened to leave, done with this, you had time. Time to get a letter to Cregan. Some servants were still loyal, surely?

Aegon once again called your name “we wed on the morrow”

Then again, the greens were smart enough to win a war, of course they were smart enogh to marry her fast. 

Aegon had alwasy hoped to wed her. And he had hope for this marriage, but not hope for a happy marriage. though he had once hoped to wed her instead of Helaena, and now he was forcing her to marry him. But he did hope it’ll end the war. Hoped that Cregan Stark would stop his attacks and surrender, submit to him and not launch the realm into another war.  they had lost too much as it was.

Aegon felt sorry for her. He felt alone but she truley was. Her only family would soon be torn from her and she would be stuck with them, and married to him. 

It had never been him for her, though it had always been her for him. from doing everything to gain her attention, bullying Aemond so she would see him as the better brother, from begging his mother and even his father to marry her and not Helaena. From bedding whores who were her doubles. 

But for you it has always been Aemond, always been him even when he killed your brother, Aemond still spoke as if you two were soon to wed and that you and him were utterly in love. He  had never got your attention, not the way Aemond had.

He called your name again, you were numb, eyes and face void of any emotion. “did you hear me?!” he asked more sternly.

you nodded your head, looking down. “ I understand Aegon.” you said his name so sweetly and yet it was filled with such hate. you had yet to call him King, had yet to fully bend the knee to him.

he sighed “you will have to bend the knee to me before and the lords of the realm… they have all been summoned for the wedding. where we shall pledge our souls together and you shall pledge your allegiance.”

you gritted your teeth, you had never been stubborn, always a people pleaser, but when it came to this you were being… difficult.

he sighed, going to speak again before you snapped your head up. He was close, close enough to reach out and take her hands in his. To hold her close. To-

“Fine! But you must swear to me Aegon.. That my brother will be safe. I - i do not want him in oldtown, send him somewhere anywhere but there. I will only bend the knee if he is safe, and i will make sure he does aswell, and that he sticks to it, if you swear he will not be killed!”

“Of course, i- he is my nephew, and as it stands my heir- it is in the crowns best interest to protect him. Doing otherwise would-”

“Risk war” she finished for him. “I make no promises for the marriage, but is shall do my duty.”

It hurts, duty. Their marriage, the marriage he had hjoped for being just a duty. Being a consolation prize for winning a war his mother and grandsire planned and plotted his whole life. And her turning around and storming through the door straight away hurt even more.

She had been given a dress. It was ivory and It was…beautiful. 

She had expected green. Something obvious. To get the greens point across. But she supposed the wedding got it across enough.

The wedding was packed, lords and ladies from all over westros, lords and ladies from both the blacks and the greens.

Her grandsire walked her down the Asile. 

Aegon stood up there, in ivory, with matching patterns to her gown. He smiled at her. He looked happy as if he had waited for this day. As if she and him were lovers finally getting there wedding day.

The ceremony was fast, a copy and paste of the dozens of weddings she had attend

They had stood before each other, in the eys of the realm and the gods. There hands joined togther, eyes locked. It was intense and fast. Then she was maade to kneel before him, and as she knelt he placed a crown on her hesd, naming her his queen consort.

There was relief throughout the kingdom the night. There wedding celebration turning into toasts and dances of peace. 

And before she knew it, it was time for the bedding ceremony.

She was nervous. She knew it would hurt somewhat. Her mother had always had told her. And told her all she would need to know. Ahd reassured her that on her wedding day she would be there, smiling and dancing as she married her love. And yet her mother was dead. Her brothers dead. Rhanea and Beala were at driftamark, univinted as if them coming would prevent the wedding from happnning. And she was not marrying her love, she was marrying her duty. Marrying for peace. And yet when Aegon looked into her eyes as they stood for the bedding ceremony she flet at peace, calm, as if eveything was snapping into place.

He took her hand in his and kissed it, before moving to step down and leave.

Aegon had ordered for no escorts top there chambers, no servants or maids. It was just them. 

And for the first time in who knows how long she felt like she could breath. 

Aegon looked towards you, cupping your face with his hands, caressing your cheeks. he was nervou, his eyes gave that away. “i’m sorry if this is not the wedding you wanted, or the husband, but i want you to know that you are the wife i have always wanted. i understand why you could never love me back. i have done terrible things to your family and i-“

“not tonight Aegon” you begged, “for tonight let us be husband and wife, tommorow you can be King Aegon, the Aegon who did all of those things, but tonight we forget. you will make me forget” you begged.

Aegon responsed ,not with words but by surging forward with a kiss. Unlike the one in the sept, were it was quick chaste. this was filled with passion, filled with Aegons love for you. There  mouths moulded together, his tounge teasing your  lip until you finally got the hint and opens for him. she was inexperienced, it was obvious, but you caught on quick. even quicker when his kisses started trailing from your mouth, to your  jaw and then to your  neck, moving further down until they reached your shoulders. he looked up then, his hand moving to the back of your dress, reaching for the corset. reaching for his laces he gave a soft kiss to your  shoulder, before removing the laces to her gown., your dress slowly dropped to the floor, pooling around your ankles. leaving your in your shear underclothes.

“gods”Aegon moaned, before diving back down to kiss your neck and working his way back up to your mouth. you moved your ah do to his shoulders, relaxing more into the kisses, allowing yourself to bask in the pleasure.

Aegon moved down one more, this time he didn’t stop at your shoulder, but moved down your your breast. taking your nipple into his mouth, and moaning at the taste. you yourself moaned in pleasure, you had done some stuff with Aemond, mainly kissing, some touching, even had his head between your thighs. but tonight felt differ t, it was not a differ t lind of pleasure, but a feeling. with Ameond it was forbidden, but with Aegon, he was your husband and deep down it felt right.

moving away from your breasts aemond pressed another kiss to your lips, before taking a step back. you watched as he did, removing his jacket and then his tunic, leaving him topless before you. he was not toned or leaned as Aemond was, but a bit chubby. And yet she found even hotter than the toned body you  had once knew so well.

Aegon continued stepping back, but not before taking your hand in his and pulling you with him, towards the bed.

He turned you around, allowing your back of your beds to hit the bed. sitting in the bed Aegon thought you a vision, even more so whn you shyly reached  for your small clothes and pulled them off over your head. you were perfect.

he moaned at the sight, before reaching down and pressing his mouth to yours, his hands reaching down to caress your body, the feeling filled with care.

“Aegon?” you spoke up, causing Aegon to lean back and stop.

“what? are you ok?” he asked

you nodded, reaching forward to his breeches, searching for the laces. Aegon let out a laugh, before moving back to take them off. “better?” he asked. you nodded.

he leant down and gave you a kiss before getting in his knees and spreading your legs. he looked up at you a gleam o his eyes, before moving forward, and devouring you. his tounge circling your clit. his hands moved up your legs, leaving goosebumps in there wake. his fingers moved up towards your heat, his fingers teasing your opening. slowly he entered his finger, gods you were right, unexplored. 

pumping in and out of you, you let out moans of pleasure, your peak etching closer and closer, before taking you over whole.

Aegon moved back, wiping his face in the bed sheets, before standing up. 

you looked at him, dazed.

“we don’t have to go any further-“ you interrupted him.

“i want too” you spoke, almost begging.

he nodded, moving you back, further into the bed. 

Moving between your thighs, he pushed in slowly and carefully. 

you felt so full, uncomfortable, before it turned quickly into pleasure. Aegon moved slowly, pumping you full, his body pressed against yours, kissing you deeply. before moving faster, harder. moans filled the room, the pleasure over taking them you both as you once again reached your peak, and Aegon let go, filling you with his seed.

Aegon collapsed further into you, both your breath heavy.

“gods” you sighed. and Aegon nodded in agreement.

As the years passed since your wedding to Aegon. 

you knew you would never forgive him for what he had down, never love him, not like he loved you. 

but you were civil, appeasing. paining the picture of the perfect wife. And Wegon grew more in love.

but deep down you knew that you would never love him, or forgive him, and some part of you would always long for Cregan or mother black loyalist to rise up and name your brother king.

But as you grew older, and had five children, all the image of Aegon, that that day would never come. not as your children grew older. As Jaheara and Aegon wed, and had children of there own. 

And when aegon died at the age of 56, from a summer fever, believing you had forgiven him and loved him, you realised that the greens had won. Even as you watched your son be crowned king, and his son after him.

You never got your happy ending, but the history books would right that you did. That all along you were a green. Switching form one brother to the other.

when in reality you still felt alone, and though you died surrounded by your grandchildren and great grandchildren, you died feeling alone, still feeling like the spoils of war.

Taglist (bold means could not tag)

@taragryenmoony @flrboyd @theanxietyqueen17 @zillahvathek @dark-night-sky-99 @apollonshootafar

to be added to taglist

[radiaking]

+ memes / accepting!

@freakarus said: ❛ don’t come any closer! ❜

        Ordinarily being outnumbered for him doesn't really mean outgunned and he makes a quick tally of the guns pointed at him by...well, a group of kids, really, far as he's concerned. That's not always something that stops him from doing what he has to but...only when he has to. "Easy there, hot shot," he says, arms raised, a gesture of good faith. "I ain't lookin' for no trouble but if you are, well, let's just say you'll find it, huh?"

[radiaking]

+ memes / accepting!

@stormlit (jo) said: "I'm trying to get the fuck out of here."

        "You and me both but they ain't gonna let you just walk on outta here. Make yourself useful." He reluctantly tosses her a gun but he's got shit to do and is tired of all the detours. If this gets him back on track faster, then so be it.

[radiaking]

        And that story there is exactly why he couldn't have stepped foot in a vault. Not that Vault-Tec had been offering him one after everything. At the time he'd had to trust that Barb would at least make sure no harm came to Janey but he couldn't trust they'd give two shits about him. Whether Barb tried to secure Cooper's safety or not, he can only guess (for now) but he still could've never trusted being in a vault. He'd heard too much. He tries to keep in mind now that not everyone else knew then what he did, what they all mostly know now. Vault-Tec lied to everyone.

        "Not your fault, they had good PR," he says scathingly. They may have wiped all of his ad work after he parted ways with them but anyone alive then would know all about his work for them. When his binds are undone, he stretches, rolls out his wrists a few times and cracks his neck. "You tellin' me I'm not the first person from then you've met out here?"

he doesn't kick her across the room like she'd been worried about, so she makes untying him quick. " yeah, " nora replies, fingers working at the bindings around his wrists now, " i'm from before. " she sucks in a deep breath, as if retelling the story requires patience she has to muster up beforehand. her annoyance shows in her tone as she continues, " shortly before the bombs fell, a vault-tec employee came to my door and told me that my husband and i qualified for a spot in the nearest vault due to his military service. we got the warning about the bombs, and when we got inside, they told us we were going into decontamination. "

nora inhales sharply as she takes a step back, finally done with his bindings, but she avoids his gaze at first. " i should've known it was bullshit, but i was more focused on my son—and i guess the whole world ending. " nora's eyes settle upon the ghoul. " it wasn't decontamination. they froze us. " she pauses, and then— " out of all the people i've met from before, meeting the cooper howard kind of takes the cake. " not that he seems anything like the man he once was now, but hey, who would be after two hundred years of living?

[radiaking]

+ memes / accepting!

@itsalcngstory said: ❝ don’t tell me what to do. ❞

        "I'm not tellin' you what to do, I'm askin' ya nicely." That is an egregious stretch of the truth since he's pointing a gun at her. "You're the second vault-dweller I've seen up here in as many days, so why don't you tell me what the fuck all y'all are comin' up here for all of a sudden. Someone steal your daddy too?"

[ivystoryweaver]

3 Times Jake Lockley Tried Threatened to Kill You and 1 Time How He Saved Your Life

Part 5/5: Finale

previous || Miniseries Masterlist || Main Masterlist

Pairing: Jake Lockley x f!reader

Summary: Jake makes you a life-changing offer, but can you trust him? Can you really trust anybody?

Word Count: 7.3k

Content: nsfw, mdni, language (more than usual), nipple play, oral - m. and f. rec, p in v, unprotected sex, knife play, knife threats, mild injury, blood, wounds, violence, rough sex, creampie, tiny bit of anal teasing, mentions of food, suicide, trafficking and abuse, mental health discussions, not beta'd

gif does not indicate reader's race

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

You checked the lock behind Jake. And again. Three times. Then you checked and re-checked all the windows and curtains, even though Jake had secured the house as soon as you arrived. You peered in every closet and under both beds, in the bathroom, everywhere that someone might think to hide.

And you did all this while carrying your weapon. In fact, you inspected the house so thoroughly and repeatedly that you were searching a closet when Jake returned. Your blood went ice cold in your veins at the sound of footsteps. But you drew a deep breath and gripped your weapon, ready to defend yourself if needed.

He called your name and you almost collapsed in relief, making sure the safety was on before setting the gun on the night table. 

“There you are, you okay?” He hurriedly questioned, rushing to check you over.

Nodding quickly, you threw your arms around his neck and held onto him as if he’d just returned from war. 

“I got you, it’s okay,” he murmured against your ear, wrapping his arms around the curve of your back and pressing your body against his securely. “I’m sorry I left. You’ve been through hell today.”

“It’s okay,” you assured him, your eyes drifting closed as he folded you closer still, deciding to see how he would respond if you remained calm instead of showing him the absolute panic consuming you.

“No. It’s not okay. I shouldn’t have left you.” Pressing a kiss to your temple, he eased back and took your face in his hands. “It won’t happen again. I’m not gonna control you like everyone else. I should have given you the choice."

You blinked at him so sweetly, stunned by his confession - wishing so badly to believe him, but still so uncertain...

Better to play nice for now.

“Keep talking,” you smiled warmly at him. “You’re more than a pretty face.”

He kissed your lips, chuckling lightly, relieved that you seemed in good spirits.

Jake showed you the supplies, allowed you to change into clothes closer to your size, and the two of you made some food since you hadn’t eaten since breakfast.

As the evening wore on, he finally seemed to relax a bit, removing his jacket, although his gloves and hat stayed on. And before you had to wonder anymore, or for very long about his intentions, he motioned around him at the supplies he'd gathered, letting you know he had a ton of work to do to get the two of you out of there safely tomorrow - and suggested you go to bed...leaving you completely bewildered.

"I'll fix up the bed - you can sleep in there. I'll take the couch."

Now you were more confused than ever.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Jake checked with you half a dozen times, it seemed, making sure you felt okay to go to bed.

"You can sleep in here, you know...if you want. Plenty of room," you offered, fidgeting nervously with your hands, which was quite unlike you.

Jake stopped, glancing up from tucking a blanket neatly under the edge of the mattress. "Thanks. Maybe I will. I just don't want to keep you up."

"Okay," you softly agreed, and Jake wondered if the chaos of the day had taken the fight right out of you. "Hey, come here," he said softly, reaching for the swell of your hips to pull you close. "It's been a shit day. I'll come in later."

You nodded, sadness lingering in your eyes and Jake realized he'd never seen you so soft and vulnerable.

"You're safe here," he repeated. "I promise you."

Forcing a smile, you went along with his idea, needing time to think.

Although you'd put up a fight with Jake, at least verbally, several times before, this was different. You were alone, totally isolated and no one knew where you were. You could die here. Or he could be leading you to your death.

So for once, quietly accepting your fate sounded like the way to go. You kissed Jake goodnight and locked yourself inside the bedroom, hoping he wouldn't grow suspicious or worse, angry.

You stared at the pitch black ceiling above your bed, unable to believe this is how your first night with Jake Lockley was going.

This man who haunted your fantasies, who plunged a knife into your abdomen, whose very voice made you wet...was surprisingly the softest man you'd ever met. At least you truly hoped so.

These thoughts turned over and over in your head, making you toss and turn for what felt like hours, wondering if Jake would come to you. After getting up to use the bathroom, you decided it best to unlock the door.

After a while longer, your impatience won out and you remembered all the times in your own bed, in the comfort of your penthouse, when you'd relieved your stress physically - each time fantasizing about Jake - at least for the last few weeks.

Bored, frustrated and wired, your fingers wandered under the cotton t-shirt Jake had given you to sleep in, toying with the scar he'd left with his knife. The knife you came on. The scar he'd caressed while fingering you with his gloves on - something right out of your wildest dreams.

He must think you were so unhinged. Which...was probably true. Even now, toying with your scar, you felt yourself getting wet. Maybe you could just...no. Not with Jake in the next room. He would definitely hear you getting yourself off since you weren't exactly one for quiet orgasms.

The truth was, you simply weren't used to being on your own, quiet, with no phone, no one to call, no one to serve you. Nothing.

"Fuck," you hissed, annoyed with yourself for getting worked up over a stab wound.

"That a request?" Jake's voice sounded from the bedroom doorway.

"Shit! Jake - you scared me." Scooting up in bed, you reached for the bedside lamp.

He stood, shirtless, arms folded over his chest, his curls wild and untamed from running his fingers through them relentlessly...and his hands, finally, bare.

"What, you don't wear gloves to bed?" You teased, drawing your legs up to your chest in a somewhat defensive pose.

"I can if you want, cariño," he smirked, pushing off the doorway to stalk toward the bed.

"I thought you were busy," you huffed, keeping your distance, if only to pretend you were punishing him in some way.

"I was, but...I missed you."

"Sure you did," you fired back, rolling your eyes.

"There it is," he darkly chuckled, easing closer to you. "So sweet before, but I knew it wouldn't last."

"Fuck you," you spat, reaching out to swat at his arm, but he trapped your wrist in his strong grip, condescendingly tutting a few times.

"Mmm, you said that," he nodded, pushing your hand over your head while climbing on top of you, his gorgeous body flexing as he eased you underneath him. Taking hold of your free hand, he pushed it up to join the other, locking your wrists in an iron grip. "Why do you think I came in here?"

Without giving you time to answer, he covered your mouth with his own, strong hips pinning you to the mattress to restrict your movement. Licking open the seam of your lips, he thrusted against you hungrily, growling as your hips shifted to meet his rocking motion.

Keeping a hold on your wrists with one hand, he dragged his free hand down to push up your t-shirt, quickly and easily finding his scar - his mark on you. The one he saw you fondling as he quietly watched you from the doorway a few minutes ago.

He should have let you continue, waited patiently while you slid your fingers into you slick cunt, panting his name.

But he just couldn't help himself, even now, as those same fingers wandered down underneath the hem of your panties. You moaned deeply into his mouth as he rubbed his knuckles between your wet folds.

Tearing his mouth from yours, he kissed a trail down your throat, yanking up your t-shirt to expose your breasts to his waiting mouth, smiling against your skin as he sucked your hardened nipple. Next he trailed his tongue down to your scar, breathing hotly over the sore skin before laving his tongue over the ruined flesh, the steady drag of his knuckles through your folds making you mewl and liquify under his touch.

He continued downward, laying soft kisses along your stomach, down to your panties, before pulling them off your legs.

"Relax, baby," he gruffed out, kissing a trail up the softness of your inner thigh before his lips finally met your dripping core.

"Jake...please..." You gasped, threading your fingers through his thick curls as he softly and temptingly kissed your cunt.

"Think about this every night, mi amor. Wanna hear you when you come on my tongue."

"Fuck, Jake," you moaned as he dragged his tongue through your folds. Your body trembled in pleasure at the way he started eating you - the squelching sounds filthy and turning you on beyond belief.

He nibbled at your throbbing clit before laving with his tongue, over and over and it felt so fucking good you thought you might cry. Then he plunged his tongue into your hole, fucking into you, swirling and licking as his thumb found your clit - circling it with hard, pressing pulses while working his mouth all over you pussy.

You tugged his hair so hard, pushing his face against your cunt, rocking your hips, fucking his face and he seemed happy to let you handle him like a toy, soaking his mouth with your juices.

A pleasure like you'd never known began to build in the center of you and you rushed headlong into it, thrilled that he wasn't trying to control you - seeming pleased with the way you bucked wildly against him.

His tongue felt hot and wild and wet inside you, obscene wet slurps filling the bedroom - only slightly obscured by your shrieks of ecstasy.

Whatever in the world you were mad at him for, he was forgiven because you'd never had a lover or a toy or anything in the world take you to heaven like this.

Just then, his stiff cock brushed against your leg and the thought of how hard he felt and how good he was about to fuck you sent you into oblivion. Your back arched violently off the bed as your whole body shook with orgasm, like a delicious lightning zinging through your entire body, all the way down to your toes.

Jake kissed gently back up your body, knuckles gently stroking your arm, fingers tangling with yours as you rode out your high.

"That's my girl," he murmured against your neck. "Came for me so good. Taste fucking perfect."

"Jake..." You panted, squeezing your joined hands and wondering when the room might stop spinning.

"I got you, baby. I got you."

Your blissed out brain vaguely drifted back to this morning when he said the same thing to you, while trying to get you to safety. It was a hell of a day.

You rolled to your side and curled up against his chest, loving how his arms automatically wrapped around you and pressed your body against the heat of his bare chest. The straining, hard length of him dug into your thigh as his mouth sought yours out once more, this time hungrier, more demanding.

He lifted your t-shirt over your head as you frantically pushed at the hem of his boxers, lips fused every second possible as you freed yourself of your remaining clothes.

He rolled your body back underneath his, kissing you hungrily before pushing your arms back over your head, hissing as his gunshot wound smarted. With fingers tangled, hands linked, he worked his hips in between your legs which fell open eagerly.

Sliding his tip through your drenched folds, he groaned out a few curses in Spanish before pushing into your hole, pausing for just a moment - just to get a reaction out of you.

Predictably, you slung your leg around his ass and urged him into you deeper, hissing as his cock stretched you open.

"Fuck me," you demanded, even as he bottomed out and held himself still, if only to hear you say it again.

Writhing underneath him, the stretched position of your arms put your breasts on a gorgeous display for him. "Fuck me, Jake," you whined, your back arching deliciously as you squeezed your joined hands.

Unable to restrain himself any longer, he roughly speared back into you, twisting his body into yours, his mouth falling open in a gasp as your hips rocked to meet his.

He went slowly, but it was deep and a little rough and wild and so Jake.

"I think of you every night - wishing you were inside me," you panted, body rolling beautifully underneath him.

"I'm here now, baby," he groaned, driving his cock into you possessively. "I'll give you anything you want."

"I want you here," you panted, both legs wrapped snugly around him now, fingers gripping his own, spread open beneath him, taking his cock so good. "I want you inside me. Come inside me. Stay with me."

Your words ignited a molten lust like he'd never felt with anyone else. You were such a beautiful paradox - or maybe it was his heart that thrummed with conflict, but only for you. He wanted you wild, cursing him, fighting him, making him burn for you, but he simultaneously needed to tame you, take your body underneath his, just like this - make you soft and desperate for him.

But earlier, you were too quiet and he worried that maybe your spirit was breaking. He couldn't live with that. You were sweet and vicious and filthy and beautiful. He wanted to shove his gun in your pussy or bend you over the hood of his car and make you cry, but he also wanted to pamper you and get down his knees to give you anything your heart desired. He wanted to pull you apart with his lips, his tongue, his fingers, his cock. To pleasure you for hours on end, tender and deep and slow, in a soft bed.

He wanted all of you. And as you murmured against his mouth that you were glad he was here with you, he thought it might feel something like love.

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You fell asleep tangled up in Jake, honestly pleased to simply have his undivided attention. Despite everything, you still felt safe with him, but doubts lingered.

Your sleepy mind dragged you under and into a terrible dream - vague, but with images of your awful bodyguard who attacked you at the forefront. Then Jake appeared, and simply...watched. You cried out for him, but he didn't seem to care.

You woke up suddenly, disoriented and afraid, only to find Jake sound asleep beside you. Burning questions plagued your mind, so you silently slipped out of bed, quickly racing to the living room to locate some kind of weapon. You needed to solve this right fucking now.

Creeping back into the bedroom, you gripped a knife in your trembling hand, drawing a deep breath before laying it against the corded thickness of Jake's throat. Of course, as soon as he woke up, he would overpower you and probably be pissed, so you decided to climb on top of him, straddling his body to more easily pin him down.

Before you even called his name or shook him awake, his dark eyes popped open, feeling your naked body draped over his. But his brief delight quickly evaporated when he felt a sharp knife edge pressing into his skin.

"Shit," he hissed, struggling at first, but faltering when you dug the knife in to the point of pain.

"Be still," you ordered. "I have some goddamn questions."

"All right, okay," he agreed, holding his hands up as if surrendering.

"Put your hands underneath your body," you ordered. "Lie on top of them. Do it now."

You thought you saw a smirk and it enraged you, which caused your wrist to slip and barely nick his throat.

"Fucking hell, be careful with that," he gasped, complying with your demand - wincing at the way his current arm position pulled at his gunshot wound.

"Answer my questions or I will cut your fucking throat," you snarled, using all your weight to pin him down and hoping like hell you sounded believable, if not intimidating.

"Okay, just...go easy."

"You said twenty minutes," you accused, "You said you would be back from your supply run in twenty minutes, but you weren't."

"Corazón. Please - "

"You said twenty," you fussed, trembling with rage. "It was thirty-five minutes - "

"I'm sorry - "

"I thought you left me here, Jake," you insisted, gesturing animatedly with your free hand. "O-or something happened to you."

Wetting his lips, he attempted to explain. "I went to two different stores, but I got most of what we need. So we'll be ready. It won’t happen again. We'll use burner phones next time."

"Who will be ready?"

"You and me, to leave here tomorrow," he reminded you. "I told you." He groaned as your bare cunt shifted against his lower abdomen. Fucking hell, you were crazy but damn if it didn't make him want you so much.

Scared of asking your next question, you pressed on, desperate to know. "Are you going to kill me? O-or hurt me? Are you still out for revenge against my father?”

“What? No,” Jake passionately replied, hoping to convince you with his body held captive. “You were in the car when we were shot at this afternoon. I’m trying to save your life.”

"How do I know?" You clapped back, pounding your fist on his chest. "How do I know you didn't kidnap me?"

"Jesus," he huffed, rolling his eyes, but he seemed oddly relieved. "That's what has you all worked up. You think I fucking kidnapped you?"

"Maybe you did," you snapped. "Maybe you're trying to trick me - to get me to trust you."

"I told you you have every reason not to trust me, after what I did to you," he insisted. "Believe me, I was surprised you even agreed to come here with me. I'm just trying to keep you alive."

“But why?” You blinked down at him. “Why did you change your mind?”

His gaze met yours confidently. “You were in that bathroom with me today. In the club, when you kissed me. Why do you think?”

“For a good fuck?” You smarted. “Mission accomplished. Now what?”

He took the compliment. “Thanks,” he smirked. “I thought so.” Wetting his lips, he added, “I know I won’t forget the way you looked in that mirror for a long time.”

Fuck. The mere thought of it made you wet. Even his voice could rile you up.

"What if you're full of shit?" You seethed, trailing off as you felt his very prominent erection against your ass.

"What the hell...this is turning you on? Are you seriously fucking hard with a knife to your throat, talking about kidnapping me? You sick fuck!"

Jake's head dropped back to his pillow then and he let out a dark chuckle at your apparent obliviousness to the obvious reason he hadn't overpowered you yet. "That surprises you? You're the one who fucks yourself with my weapons, sweetheart."

"Yeah? Maybe I should shove this knife right up your ass!"

"For god's sake..." He groaned. "You're a spoiled fucking brat, you know that?"

"Fuck you, Jake," you growled, shifting your hips down. Using your free hand, you gripped his cock, pushing your thumb over the tip before guiding his length into your pussy.

With the knife pressed firmly to his throat, you sank all the way down, hissing at how he stretched you so good before starting to rock your hips.

"fuck..." Jake moaned, turned on beyond belief at how you were at least pretending to threaten his life while clenching him so tightly.

"Now answer me," you panted, trying hard to concentrate while riding such a good cock. Your eyes fluttered closed for a moment - an opportunity Jake should have taken, but willfully chose not to. In this case, getting his dick wet was far more appealing than scaring you further.

"Are you going to hurt me?" You half moaned, dragging your hips back and forth demandingly. "Or let anyone else hurt me?"

Jake wet his lips at the sight of your bouncing tits. "No. Never."

"But why?" You gasped, grateful instead of angry when he freed his hands, running them up your thighs. Gripping your hips, he moved you back and forth, helping you ride his dick harder and faster, even as the knife pulled roughly at the flesh of his throat.

"Because...you're mine," he panted, feeling the thrill of victory as the weapon dropped from your hand. "You're fucking mine. Say it."

Bracing your palms on his chest, you bounced faster and faster on his cock - your gorgeous tits mesmerizing him as your body flexed and fucked and you started to moan his name.

After a vigorous round of you riding him hard, he sat up with you, wrapping you in his strong arms, his mouth crashing into yours as your bodies twisted, rolling together like a thunderstorm.

Pulling you harder down onto him by your shoulders, Jake buried his face in your neck, remembering back to the club when all he wanted was to suck a mark on your skin and come against you. But now, you were here with him, alone, naked and he was so deep inside you. You wanted him as much as he wanted you.

"Say it," he repeated, his voice pleading instead of demanding, hands caressing down the curve of your back as he murmured against your throat. "Say you're mine. Because I'm yours. Only yours."

"Jake," you whimpered, your body surrendering to a euphoric wave of passion, arching against him as you came undone. He groaned into your skin, feeling your walls clenching around him, coaxing him toward his own release. Surging heat filled you inside and you held Jake's head against your shoulder tenderly as he he came back to himself.

Easing back, he gasped for air, gazing into your eyes before kissing your parted lips. Touching his forehead to yours, he cupped your cheek with his hand.

"I won't let anyone hurt you. Ever." Reaching for the knife, he felt you flinch, hurriedly whispering his name. He pressed the handle into your hand, kissing your mouth again. "Take it. Do anything you want. I'll never hurt you."

You repeated his name, realizing it was becoming something of a touchstone. Wrapping your arms around his neck with the knife in your hand, you kissed him deeply.

Maybe he really did just want to fuck you, but whatever he was doing was working. You were finally beginning to truly believe him.

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After holding one another in the dark, bodies wet and soft but still joined, the two of you panted, soft kisses and caresses soothing and calming you.

You climbed out of bed to clean up a little, check Jake's gunshot wound, and get a drink. Jake pulled your t-shirt back over your head and found his boxers. Pulling you against his chest, he ran his hands up and down the curve of your back, smiling to himself as you draped your bare thigh across his abdomen.

"I'm sorry I cut your neck," you whispered, running your fingertip over his chin before tracing the shape of his lips.

"No, I don't think you are," he softly chuckled, fingertips brushing the smooth curve of your ass underneath the hem of your t-shirt. "But thanks for saying so."

But you were serious. "I didn't want to hurt you, I just..." You trailed off, your voice faltering.

"You were scared," he supplied. "I don't blame you." Pressing a soft kiss to your temple, he added, "Gotta teach you how to handle a knife though. Just in case."

"Oh don't worry," you laughed, "I'm not planning to climb naked on top of anyone else and threaten them."

Jake hummed against your skin, squeezing your ass. "No, your naked body was pretty effective actually."

You shared a giggle, feeling the tiniest bit carefree, like lovers, instead of the messed up star-crossed whatever-this-was.

After a moment, Jake pulled the covers over your bodies. "Try to get some sleep. We have to leave in a few hours...unless you have more questions."

You did. You asked him again why you had to leave this house so soon. "It’s off the grid - even the electricity and water bills can’t be traced to me, but…it is better to leave soon."

“Okay,” you nodded, “and go where?”

Wrapping you a little tighter, he decided it was now or never. “I’m going to New York. From there, I can’t tell you yet. Not unless…” His voice trailed off for a moment. “You have to decide what you want to do. I can get you back to your father, if that’s what you want."

Chewing on your lip, you squeezed his hand, grateful for his touch. “What if I don’t want? What choices do I have?”

He chanced a look down at you and found you staring at him intently, as if he really could solve your problems. Hell, he was the cause of at least half your current issues. 

“Uhm…” he cleared his throat, dark eyes flickering away and then back to yours. “I’m leaving. I don’t know why you would want to, but…you could come with me.”

Your sharp intake of breath surprised him. “Really?” You whispered, your voice laced with sincerity and not a trace of guile or sarcasm. “Y-you would take me with you? Away from my father, from all of this?”

He eased back, lying beside you, so he could see your face better. “I would. I will - if you want.”

“But what about my father?” You pressed. “What about your revenge?”

The familiar ache inside him ignited as Jake remembered his brother. He shook his head, trying to figure out how to explain… With a sigh he finally peered deeply into your eyes. “I want you more than I want revenge.”

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Fingers tangled with Jake’s, your head rested against his arm as the two of you raced toward New York in yet another different vehicle.

“It really doesn’t bother you to leave stuff behind?” You curiously inquired, nuzzling into the sleeve of his leather jacket.

“I don’t have much to leave behind,” he vaguely responded. “Why? You missing your penthouse about now?”

Turning your gaze up to his face, you noticed his mouth curled teasingly.

“I’ll miss the breakfasts,” you answered honestly. “Omelettes made to order, mimosas, tea… Find me some decent eggs and a waffle and I’ll be happy.”

“That I can do,” he nodded, eyes fixed on the road ahead. “I know a few places in the city - greasy spoons, but the best breakfast food you’ll ever eat.”

You hummed out an affirmative, snuggling back into your comfortable spot against his arm. After a few quiet moments, which you realized Jake seemed to cherish, you bravely voiced the most important question.

“So…I’m here. We’re going to New York,” you stated the obvious. “Are you going to tell me what happens next?”

“I will,” he assured you, smoothing his thumb over yours, "when we get there. It's...complicated. But I promise I'll tell you everything."

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NEW YORK

“I think I like your safe house better,” you joked, glancing around at the not-so-nice motel room, noting the presence of one bed and a small sofa.

"It's no penthouse, but it's safe," Jake shrugged, setting down two bags - now your only possessions in the world. "We'll be out of here tomorrow night anyway."

His gaze landed on you, carefully observing, just waiting for you to run out the door and call your father. Why would you want this? Not enough money - danger, leaving your whole life behind?

And why was he taking such a risk, having you here? Rich, well-known and beautiful, you were a beacon, drawing unwanted attention.

Noticing you shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot, he crossed the room, relaxing as you smiled at him, accepting his embrace.

"Let's get you some waffles," he murmured against your ear, holding you securely. "Then we need a few more supplies. I promise I'll answer any questions you have."

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"I have...a disorder," Jake finally admitted, his voice blending in with the old diner's dull roar.

Fresh pancakes sizzled on the griddle - the aroma of this morning's coffee filling the air with a slightly burned tinge.

Expecting to him to tell you the plan - to reveal the city of your final destination, you asked him, "What kind of disorder?"

And that's how you learned about his alters - Steven and Marc. He talked for a long while, briefly mentioning his abusive mother, his dead father, and the kidnapping and murder of his younger brother Randall.

Steven had been with him a long time, since they were children, but Marc came later, after college. Marc rarely came around, kept quiet and generally seemed to protect them.

"Steven's not like me," Jake simply explained, while you finished eating. "He's good. He's always been good." Then he went on to admit he planned to let Steven live in London and take a back seat in their mind.

Panic began to grip you from the inside out. Was Jake planning to disappear and leave you with this Steven? Or Marc? Had you met either of them?

And was London really your final destination?

"If you come with me, I'm not going to leave you," Jake explained, "but you'll meet them at some point."

Reaching across the table, you squeezed his hand. "Thank you...for telling me. I understand, in a way."

Noticing his confusion, you went on to explain that you were familiar with disorders and mental health issues because your mom was bipolar.

"She was on and off meds my whole life. My dad didn't really believe it was a thing - always treating her like an embarrassment or a burden," you brokenly explained. "She got so low that...she finally killed herself."

"My god...I'm sorry," Jake soothed, squeezing your fingers gently.

"I think...maybe when she realized what my dad was actually doing - how awful he really is - she just couldn't take it anymore," you went on. "That's why I was so afraid of you."

"You don't have to be afraid of me," he reminded you, rubbing circles over your knuckles with his thumb.

Realizing Jake didn't fully understand, you explained to him that when your mom found out your dad was trafficking humans, she took her life.

"I've been trying to get out ever since. But I couldn't find a way, so I played nice. I didn't know what else to do." You shook your head. "Maybe we should find a way to...I don't know - overthrow him. He's truly evil."

Realizing the horrors you'd lived and how they were as bad as his own, if not worse, Jake's heart burned and he'd never wanted so badly to protect you.

"Let's try to get out first. I'll teach you how to fight, and when to avoid a fight," he suggested. "I don't want to think about something like that until I get you safe."

"You know...at first I thought you might secretly work for my dad, or a worse rival - that you took me...to sell me."

"Jesus," Jake whistled in disbelief, making sure to keep his voice quiet. "Are you serious? That must be terrifying."

Linking his fingers with yours, he peered into your eyes. "I was hired to kill you, by a rival of your father's, yes, but it had nothing to do with trafficking. I may have killed some people but I don't know anything about that world. You have to believe me."

Swallowing hard, you nodded once. "It's hard, but...I'm starting to? If that makes sense?"

Reaching into his jacket pocket, Jake retrieved the keys, sliding them across the table to you. "You have your weapon." He nodded downward. "Those are to the car and the motel. You can hold onto them. You can leave anytime you want."

"Jake - "

"Listen it's not just whether or not you feel safe with me," he tried to explain. "I'm not going to make you believe I'm the only path to safety. You're smart and strong. I don't want you to, but...if you need to go, you go."

Gathering the keys from the table top, you managed a smile, stashing them in your jacket pocket. "Thank you."

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“I hope you’re not trying to seduce me, Mr. Lockley,” you joked later that evening as you watched him peel a white t-shirt over his head. “Because three times between yesterday and last night has me a little sore.”

“Yeah?” His eyebrows shot up almost triumphantly. “You out of practice?" He stalked toward you slowly, unfastening his jeans. "Or maybe none of your toys fill you up the way I do?"

"Holy shit," you half gasped/half giggled as he pulled you close by your hips.

"Take a shower with me," he breathed against your lips, fingers inching underneath your shirt. "Promise I'll be nice."

As if you needed convincing.

Underneath the warm spray, Jake pushed you up against the tiled wall and kissed you hard and deep. Your fingers tangled in his locks as your slick, naked body arched into his.

"Can't believe you came with me," he murmured on your ear, running his hands all over your wet body. "Can't believe you're here."

If you weren't already tender from your activities last night, you would have to stop yourself from begging him to push your legs apart, bend his knees and fuck up into you with slow, powerful thrusts. Just the thought of it had you liquifying in his arms and moaning into his mouth.

It was you who blindly reached for his throbbing length, twisting your grip around this thickness before teasing his tip with pressure from your thumb.

Pulling away from the kiss, you locked eyes with him and dropped to your knees, empowered by the lust you saw simmering there.

He grunted out a curse as you went to work, licking and sucking his balls into your eager mouth, fingers naughtily slipping between his legs to momentarily tease his puckered hole. The list of things you wanted to do to this man would probably make even him blush, but you returned to your task, licking a long stripe up his veiny, hard length - tongue swirling over his tip.

His back hit the tiled wall as if he needed it for support, lips parted and panting.

Fingertips continuing to tease his ass, you sucked his hard shaft into your wet cavern, taking him to the back of your throat and swallowing his tip. He felt you gag for a second - the thought of your pretty mouth stuffed full of his cock making him groan in satisfaction.

After your little preview of how good you could make this for him, you got to work, teasing his balls, stroking insistently, alternating between brushing with your fingertips and cupping him in your palm. Your mouth slid up and down his length, humming out tempting moans to vibrate his shaft, sucking greedily on his tip - up and down, over and over, taking him so far down your throat that you gagged with each pass.

"...f-fuck baby, just like that," he praised, his hand cupping your cheek to keep you in place in the perfect spot.

You smiled in satisfaction, working him a little faster, your cunt dripping for him as he grabbed your other cheek and really started fucking your face.

You didn't mind that he took control - you wanted him to take what he liked, needing him to lose himself in pleasure - and his rough handling of you only made you want him more.

"Good girl," he groaned, hips pushing him down your throat faster now, using you the way he pleased. "You're my good fucking girl, on your knees for me, so pretty..."

The ache in your core was pulsing need now - god, if only you weren't so sore you would beg him to pound you up against the wall. Reaching between your legs, you slid your fingers over your clit, rubbing furiously as your hips rocked in time with his face fucking.

You wanted to focus on him but you need some relief so badly. Jake hissed out several curses as his hips stuttered - his cock erupting, warm spend burning down your throat. You greedily swallowed, loving the sounds he made as he finished.

He hauled you to your feet, kissing you hard before offering to wash your body. "Let's get out of here and I'll take care of you."

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Jake wasn't kidding. He washed you, dried you carefully and pulled a clean t-shirt over your head. Then he laid you down on the bed and kissed you for a brief eternity before crawling down your body.

Lying side by side with his head opposite yours, he, drew your luscious thigh over his shoulder and spent the next hour with is face in your bare wet cunt.

If you died tomorrow, this alone would be worth living for. After wringing a couple orgasms out of you, he started up again, pausing for a moment when you half-heartedly called his name as if you might ask him to stop.

When you didn't, he kept going, ignoring the return of his own erection. Since he was so conveniently placed, you took him back down your throat, your bodies thrusting, fucking in and out of one another's mouths, feeling a mutual bond and wild pleasure beyond anything a lover had ever given you before.

You went on like this another hour - orgasm after orgasm - wild and unrestrained, but he never did anything to make you more sore. It was all languid, syrupy pleasure, molten lust and simmering desire.

He cleaned you up later and you fell asleep on his chest in minutes.

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THE PLANE

"Maybe this is better than revenge," you whispered to Jake, hands joined, seatbelt fastened and ready for an overnight flight overseas. "I mean...I finally got away, and I'm going to be happy."

The thought that Jake could be the one to make you happy, to give you peace and safety was indescribable - stronger and more powerful than anything revenge could have offered him. So he tried to tell you...

"That...means a lot to me."

Chewing on your lip, you smiled at him sheepishly. "Thanks for calming me down before the security check. I got so worried they were going to keep me from leaving with you."

Jake rested his head against yours, sighing gently. Worried was quite an understatement. You completely freaked out and started to draw a bit of unwanted attention, terrified that the two of you would be separated, and that you would be left behind, or that your fake ID would land you in some sort of interrogation.

Jake talked you through every step and now you were on your way to London. Eventually. You were flying through a couple of other cities first, just to make your trail a little less obvious. One thing that enabled you to feel safer was that Jake had been planning this escape of his for years, and had some money saved. The only variable was adding you to the mix.

"I understand. It's okay," he softly replied.

"I'm like her, you know... My mom. Maybe." Your gaze dropped to your lap. "I think I might be." Turning your gaze over to him, you smiled sympathetically. "That's why I get it, in a way - having a disorder or...feeling different. I get it."

Feeling a little choked with emotion, Jake cleared his throat. "Maybe uhm...maybe we're perfect for each other."

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LONDON

The blunt tip of a knife grazed your throat, paralyzing you. Your body was pinned to the ground - you were trapped.

"What now, muñeca?" Jake hotly breathed against your ear, shifting his hips against yours tauntingly.

"We fuck...obviously," you deadpanned, meeting his thrust with one of your own. "But I have to be able to defend myself someone who actually wants to hurt me."

Jake winked. "Show me what you got, baby."

Hooking your arm around the outside of his, you jerked your knees up and rolled abruptly to the side, twisting his arm behind him. Applying pressure to his lower arm, you kept digging and writhing until he started to lose his grip on the knife.

You knew he was stronger than you, but Jake was trying to teach you how to rein in your (typically wild) temper and stay in control, mentally. Not only that, but he showed you how to use your body's momentum to your advantage.

Of course, this was Jake, so once you managed to get the knife out of his hand, he pushed you back down to the floor, face down, and yanked your leggings over the swell of your hips.

Pinning your arms over your head, he sucked the spot on your neck that made you weak. "Be still, muñequita. I'm not finished with you."

"Get the fuck off me," you squirmed, moaning as Jake smacked your now bare ass.

"Fight all you want," he taunted, pushing your legs apart so he could shove his thick cock into your slick core.

You gasped at the intrusion, moaning as he rammed into you in slow demanding thrusts, the position tighter than usual because of the leggings restraining your knees.

"Knew you would be soaked," he groaned out, turned on beyond belief at how hard you were fighting to escape his hold on you.

Fucking while training had become a regular occurrence for the two of you, but since you didn't safeword, Jake drove his hips into you faster, using his free hand to wrap around your throat from behind.

"Want me to stop, Princesa?" He taunted, growling as you threw your head back, headbutting him before he could squeeze your throat.

Using his slight disorientation to your advantage, you scrambled away from him, chuckling condescendingly as you roughly pulled off his dick.

But before he could react, you pushed him down and climbed on top of him, sinking down on his cock and pressing the knife to his throat.

"I told you to throw that across the room from your attacker," he scolded between harsh pants.

"Not if I want to fuck him," you smarted, riding him hard and fast before smiling devilishly down at him. Tossing the knife across the room, you leaned over and kissed him wildly, humming in satisfaction as he squeezed your ass.

"Good fucking girl," he praised, groaning as you worked your beautiful body over his cock, tits bouncing, lips parted, panting and kiss swollen.

"I fucking love you, Jake," you panted, linking your fingers with his, slowing your body into a languid roll of your hips, staring deeply into his eyes. "I love you."

Leaning up, Jake wrapped you in his arms and rolled you underneath him. "I know."

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Jake read off the name of your new ID - same first name but a brand new last name you picked out for yourself.

"How does it feel?"

"Feels perfect, Mr. Grant," you teased him, nodding down to his ID, which was in Steven's name.

He nudged your shoulder. "So...are you ready?"

"To get your ass kicked? Or to fuck me again?"

So much training, so little time. You were getting stronger. And you were closer than ever to being able to eliminate your father.

But you would keep that to yourself...for now.

END

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Jake Lockley-Centric stories

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