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deadsetobsessions · 11 months ago

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Tim Drake, Danny’s human identity in this universe, is a boy trapped in an empty manor with absentee parents a low socialization.

Danny Phantom, on the other hand, is Gotham City himself. He could fly, he could interact, he could be the heart of his city like he needs to be. From the lowest of the lows to the highest of the highs, Danny loved the people that were his. Well, most of them. Child molesters often found themselves crossing paths with a vengeful, mostly recovered Robin.

He is the city, he is Gotham. And with his status came more changes, ones he welcomes more readily that the changes that came with his title of Ghost King.

Being a city couldn’t change him as much as it would have, had he gained the title before becoming King. But now, his shadows are dark, curling around his shoulders and curling away what little light he allowed into his city. His skin, having once glittered green with stars and galaxies and black holes, clouds over just a bit. It gives him a misty quality. His hands become sharper, stronger. Gargoyle-like. He wonders what he looked like to Batman, holding his broken son cradled safely to himself. He’s crueler, now, but that’s easily balanced by his years of being a vigilante himself.

He loves these changes. They are loved in a way changing into Dead Danny Phantom and Ghost King Danny Phantom will never be loved. And even though his human features are different in a way he never had to deal with as Danny Fenton, because it was his body that he died in, Danny finds himself enjoying the distinction. And he enjoys when they combine, because in the end, they’re just facets of who he is, now.

Gotham flies through his city, and enjoys it as a whole. A bigger picture.

Tim Drake walks through his city, and enjoys it as an individual. The smaller picture.

Being Gotham reminds him of what he had to protect as a whole. A duty he gladly bears.

Being Tim reminds him of the people he’s meant to help, the stories he doesn’t get as Danny. A connection he gladly encouraged.

Gotham is power. He is duty, he is fierce love. But for the good of the whole.

Tim is kindness. He is choice, he is gentle devotion. But for the good of the individual.

He’s both.

Danny. Danny Phantom.

Phantom glides through the smog.

The ebb and flow of people is his life blood, the thrumming of life and death and fear and hate and love and everything the city is sung through him and Danny sung back with everything he had. Danny is the gargoyles perched high, watching everything. He’s the stone curves of the sewers, sheltering his rats and mutant murderous crocodile man. The is no love comparable to a city’s mutant rats and their sewers. Ancients, he loves his city.

It would be nice, Danny thinks wryly, if they’d love me enough to stop blowing up buildings.

The sting of destruction to his city would hurt much more, had he not also been King. Regardless, every time there’s an explosion or general large scale property damage, he feels a stab of mild pain. Catching sight of his Bats, Danny stays invisible while following them. He wills the shadows to cradle them, to hide them further. He softens the stone, the mortar, the steel, just a hint. Their footsteps, silent and aided by the city himself. The wind steal away the noise of the grappling guns, so when Danny’s favorite vigilante duo (a fascination he shared with original text!Tim) broke into the building, not a single soul aside them are aware of the intrusion.

Batman skulks across the support beams, Robin following with an anticipatory grin. Danny floats, invisible, undetectable, besides them.

“C’mon!” A goon grunts beneath them. Danny tilts his head. A… Dresden Aberthy. Wow. That’s one hell of a name.

“Hurry it up! Boss said Batman’s going to get here soon!” Another goon- Robbert- said, waving around a gun like a moron at the terrified hostages. Danny could tell half of them were part of a tour bus, mostly because the other half were his Gothamites, bored and unfairly used to this kind of thing. The tourists… He’s fond of them, having kept track of their progress through his city. He doesn’t care for intruders on his haunt, but tourists like to appreciate his city and its doubtlessly Sam-approved architecture. Most of them. Rude tourists get pigeon shit on their heads and food stolen by his lovely rats.

He’ll have to make sure none of the bullets hit the tourists. He likes this group, even if he has enough awareness to question their sanity in choosing his city to sightsee. He knows it’s a mess. It’s Danny’s mess though, so whatever.

——

All said and done, Batman whoops ass and Robin rescues the hostages just fine. Danny grins proudly as Robin knees a guy in the crotch and punches a lady’s throat in order to incapacitate them.

After they tied the goons up, and interrogated them for Two Face’s plans- explode a quarter of Gotham to distract the Bats from his diabolical plan to murder half of Gotham’s judges and lawyers that have been going after him and his people- the duo retreats to the rooftop.

“Didja think Gotham saw that?”

Batman goes to reply, but Danny beats him to it, coming back to visibility with a wind touched laugh.

“I did, little Robin.” Danny smiles, fangs and shadows on display as his vigilantes startles and whips around to face him. “You did well.”

Robin- Jason!- gapes at him.

“I see you’ve recovered, little bird.”

“Gotham! Oh. Wow. People always said Gotham was a lady, but you’re a guy!”

“It was a Lady,” Danny confirmed. “It’s complicated, little bird.”

“So, you’re really… you’re really Gotham? The city?”

Danny looks at Robin with the weight of the city behind his gaze.

“I think you know the answer to that. But yes, I am your city.”

“Constantine,” Batman starts. “He said that city spirits only appear in times of grave danger.”

There is deference in his words. Batman is Batman for Gotham, after all. Danny just wishes he could… well, be friendlier with his knights. May this is a good place to start.

Are you in danger? What threats do we need to handle? How can I help? How can I protect? Please, let me help.

His Knight always felt more than he ever says. Danny smiles.

“Was Robin’s wellbeing not in grave danger?” Danny floats closer. “I am your city. You protect me, it is only right that I protect you, no?”

“Thank you for saving me, Gotham!” Robin’s grin is a touch more sincere than usual.

“Of course, Robin. You are loved.”

“Is there… a reason you’ve shown yourself today? Gotham.”

Danny chuckles, understanding the awkwardness that was Batman addressing someone with deference.

“I wanted to tell you that you did well tonight. Those tourists weren’t harmed in the slightest. Well done.” Danny gave Robin a playful but sincere thumbs up.

“They weren’t a match for us!”

“No, they weren’t.” Danny ruffles Robin’s hair, noticing how still he grew at it. “Robin was too fast for them. That maneuver at the end was masterfully executed.”

Batman clears his throat and Danny resists the urge to laugh at him. It would be mean.

“Thank you, for the… praise.”

Fuck it. He’s played well behaved for too long.

“Yes. I read in child rearing books that positive reinforcement is necessary for healthy development. You did well, Batman.”

Despite trolling Batman- and somehow holding a straight (and hopefully wise face)- he meant every word.

Allowing a small smile to slip at Robin’s chortles and Batman’s quiet sputtering, Danny moves on.

“Where is Nightwing, Batman?”

“He’s still on a mission...”

“If it is awkward to refer to me as Gotham, Phantom will do.”

Batman dips his head once. “In space, with the Teen Titans.”

“I see. Please tell him I request his presence,” Danny barely waits for Batman’s oddly acquiescing agreement before summoning a pigeon.

“Follow her,” Danny instructs the duo. “She’ll lead you to the places with explosives. I will guide you through her, to Harvey Dent.”

Danny winces as another explosion rings out.

“Your face is cracking!” Robin exclaimed, worried. He surged forward to stare at the hairline cracks appearing on Danny’s jaw.

“That would be the explosives. Any damage to the city will be shown on me.”

“Well take care of it.” Batman growled, shoulders straightening once more into an imposing symbol.

“Yeah!”

“I know you will. Stay safe.” Danny disappears, spreading his awareness and directing his Birds to the explosives that will go off the fastest.

Batman and Robin share a glance and leaps off the roof, ready to save their city once more.

——

Tim Drake wanders around Crime Alley, and meets a blonde nine year old trying to throw hands at her absentee Riddler knockoff of a dad. He dodges the brick en route to his face and kicks the guy’s knees out.

“You okay?”

The girl blinks. She stares at her dad, groaning on the dirty street of crime alley, and flicks her gaze back up to Tim, who waits casually.

“Yep. I’m Stephanie. We’re gonna be friends now!”

She grins at him, a baby tooth missing, and Danny melts.

“Heck yeah. Tim!” He introduces himself for the first time in a long time.

Maybe with Stephanie around, he’ll finally use the name Tim? Maybe he’ll get used to it, finally!

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monst · 1 month ago

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Day 3: Saving a Lantern

Sex pollen | Jason Todd

Warnings: 18+ content (MDI) Gn. Reader, Sci-fi, action, Dubcon (cause of the pollen), guided masturbation, Pre-relationship, Praise, mild possession kink (He wants you to be his so bad) Boomerang wielding reader, Fucking around with canon: Kyle Rayner, the controllers, and Effigy. You know how you have the main storyline and then there are small sometimes one-issue mini-series based on it? This is kinda written like a one-issue spin-off.

Wc: 8.2k

The explosion that rattles off to your left drops you to your knees. The air of the blasts skids you across the metallic floor, your body collides with the steel wall before you can right yourself—light sparkles above you, a plasma shot to the wall before you. The missed shot leaves a sizzling ring in the metal. That was close, closer than you’d like. You crouch around the corner, drawing your weapon from your belt. Gunfire clicks against the wall, the resounding bangs growing louder as your pursuers advance. You angle your boomerang around the bend and count the guards.

Too many. Your vision blurs with how quickly you observe your surroundings. The visor of your mask pings with potential solutions and you toss the boomerang. It soars through the corridor before impaling itself on the wall just before the guards. You don’t wait around for it to do its job, but the heat of the explosion still manages to lick at your back. You almost pass the hanger you were searching for in your haste, doubling back with a bounce. As expected, the area is empty. Regardless of your certainty, you clear the room.

As you get closer, your silhouette expands against the steel of your getaway capsule. The blinking scarlet lights startle you before the blaring alarm starts up. And you quickly tap the sensor by your ear.

“C’mon.” You tap your foot as static plays in your ears. “C’mon. That should’ve given you enough time.”

The timer on your screen has you reaching for the door latch. You hesitate and flip through a few more channels. “C’mon Jay.”

“Yo!”

‘Thank fuck!’ You feel your shoulders drop from your ears. “Jeez, cutting it close aren’t ya Hood.”

“Handcuffs needed a specific key, Warden had e’m” You hear him grunt. “Where are you?”

“EPR-13.” You shut the door behind you as the spacecraft powered on. The buzz of the engine vibrated the flashing console. You pushed your worry for its reliability out of your mind when your comms picked up Jason’s voice again.

“Turned on my location can you see me?”

“Yeah, according to the prints, all you need to do is take three lefts and a right to EPR-37.”

“No imma double back to the main chamber blow up their-”

“Done, it’s rigged to blow as soon as we’re off the ship.” You only hear the clink of his footsteps before he barks out a laugh.

“Can’t believe you set up explosives without me!” You bite back a grin at his enthusiasm, your fingers flipping over familiar-looking levers on the dash. “Have I told you how grateful I am that you joined Team Outcast?” With how busy the other members have been you’re tempted to tell him that it’s more of ‘The outcast duo’ as of late.

“Only about a thousand times this month.” You press down on the button that connects the pod to the mothership, the metal doors shutter as they expose the spotted ink of deep space.

“Well consider this a thousand and one.” You can tell Jason’s reached his escape pod when you hear the hiss of the opening door. “Talk to you later.”

Your vessel shoots forward just as Vilgaxian guards pile into the hanger. They drop to the ground as you zip past, flames oozing from the exhaust. You peel away from the large ship, catching sight of another beam of red heading for the asteroid belt ahead. From behind you comes a blinding light, and turbulence shakes your vessel as you steer into the massive boulders. You kill the engine knowing not a single guard deployed. You don’t let the knowledge slow your momentum, the Vilgaxians are hardy and resentful. You have no doubt they’ll be on you two as soon as they regroup; if they haven’t sent out an APB already.

Red Hood is outside your pod before you're ready to step out. You triple-check the jet fuel levels on your boots, the tap against the metal door draws your attention and you see him give you a questioning thumbs up. You return the gesture before venturing out into the stars with him. You travel from asteroid to asteroid. Until you finally land on the one that answers back. The camouflage on the ship flickers, when Jason also lands on it.

Once inside you can finally breathe, a grin on your lips when Jason’s fist reaches out towards you. Your gloves meet in a powdery cloud of dust and you're grateful for the full coverage your suit allows. Jason then pulls out a small cylinder tube, pointing to it triumphantly. “And they said we couldn’t do it.” He scoffed.

“That’s cause the controllers obviously have ulterior motives.” You frown. “You really think this will be enough to clear his name?”

“Has to be.” He huffs. “Rayner doesn’t have much of a defense”

“And we can’t get anyone to testify?”

He shakes his head no and pockets the video file. You unlatch your helmet and follow him into the navigation chamber. “Wouldn’t make a difference.”

“What do you mean?”

“Look for yourself.” You turned toward the monitor. On the screen was the broadcast of Kyle’s unfair trial. The lantern's fight with Effigy was currently being presented. The unmistakable green shimmery trail was left behind once Van Wyck was defeated, his unconscious form drifting off.

“..Yeah that doesn’t look good.” You took a seat as Jason made to peel out of the asteroid belt. The Vilgaxian's burning prison ship grew smaller as you reached the outskirts of the galaxy. Usually, you’d take the opportunity to marvel at the celestial bodies but you were reviewing all the facts presented thus far. “But shouldn’t the fact that they tossed him back on earth originally make this whole thing make no sense? Because if they’re viewing him as property then didn’t they discard him first?”

“They’re saying that it was the ‘incubation phase’. To let his new abilities manifest”

“What a load of bullshit!” Jason agreed.

“Yeah, but at this point, it’s a mess of he said she said.” Jason’s palm laid flat over his chest, “But this is actual proof that Kyle wasn’t responsible for Van Wyck’s psychotic break.”

You’re both watching the screen when Batman speaks, unaware of the fleet zoning in on you. “This video only corroborates Green Lantern’s side of the encounter. As stated earlier, he came to confront the beings that took Effigy. And was subsequently met with hostility, during the very fight we’ve just observed you can see that Van Wyck’s faculties aren’t intact-

“Objection! Are you saying that we damaged o-”

You clicked your tongue in annoyance at the buffering screen. “Honestly, this whole thing could be over and done with if we could find the Spectre. It’s not like he killed Effigy.” You huff. “He can put him back together and let him speak 'cause he didn’t even agree to the experimentation in the first place!” At Jason’s silence, you pause your rant. You almost jolt out of your seat when the ship swerves sharply.

“Shit!” Jason’s jaw is tense, he can’t see them behind you. “Long-distance missiles?”

“Probably?” You click your seatbelt into place. “But they couldn’t have regrouped that fast!?”

“Paid off,” he grunts turning the wheel to avoid another blast. You don’t think his assumption is too far off considering how far the controllers are willing to go to get their hands on Kyle. “Gonna jump hold on.”

You squeeze your eyes shut and prepare for the vertigo that always comes after a hyperjump. The engine whirrs in preparation causing electric blue flames to spit out of the exhaust, and you lurch forward. You're zipping through space and about to pick up momentum when something slams into the ship, with the right engine blown the hunk of metal veers off course. You’re not sure which is louder the robotic voice repeating ‘warning’ or your screams as the ship spins out of Red Hood’s control.

“We’re gonna land!” Jason shouts above the noise.

“Where!?” You peel your eyes open when he says ‘There!’ and you’re met with a rapidly approaching sphere. “Slow it down!”

“Trying” He hisses through gritted teeth, miraculously he manages to get the vessel parallel before you break through the planet's atmosphere. He’s got both feet on the brakes as you both speed towards the ground. The planet's vegetation comes into view and for a moment you think you're gonna splatter before you can clear Kyle’s name. The canopy trees get a trim while they try to slow your descent. And it’s just your luck that your seatbelt gives and you go sliding across the floor of the ship.

You find your footing but brace yourself against the emergency latch. You catch your name being shouted before the high-speed winds begin to lash your body. The air roars as you cling to the latch, and to Jason’s horror the hinges give and the door flies off with you.

It hurt. Your body that is, although now that you think of it hurt is such an insufficient word to use in such a precarious situation. Your knees threatened to buckle with every step, each advance causing you immense agony. Whenever the plants of your heels hit the ground it sends painful shockwaves throughout your body.

Your lungs constricted in excruciating effort to keep themselves with even an ounce of oxygen. Scratchy wheezes escaped your lips as you tried desperately to fill the sacks with air. You could hear your red blood cells crying in agony begging you to stop, praying you’d give them the chance to do their function. But like hell you would. Stopping, even if for a moment would mean certain death.

You were no longer running on adrenaline. You were running with grit, fierce determination, and one set goal. Live. You ran, ducked, and dodged through the dense forestry. But this wasn’t an epic written by Tolkien and the trees weren’t as kind as to part for your escape. It seemed as though they grew closer, probably angry about their haircut as they huddled together to hinder you, mocking you with their falling leaves as you occasionally collided with their rough exterior.

Within a fraction of a second you slipped, the fortunate misfortune graced you with life as you saw feathers burrowing themselves in the wood where you had once been. Thankfully the thickets that slowed you also slowed your pursuers. The dense foliage was however still to their advantage as their laced arrows whizzed through the air. You felt tears prick at the corner of your eyes as you saw a bright light ahead. A light that signifies an open field. ‘Fuck!’

Without a choice, you were forced to continue your sprint up the hill and towards the open space. You knew death was certain if you crossed the threshold of trees. There would be no cover….. Why were you still running if your fate was certain? In the haze of such disheartening thoughts, you faltered and as a result, you heard a dreadful thud. Your shoulder had been hit with such force that it dropped you to your knees. Still, you persisted, crawling up the hill in hopes... In hopes…?

“Agathana!” The shout was clear but you had no knowledge of the Mugoian language and with one final drag you were sent tumbling down the hill into the clearing. You lay upon the purplish grass and looked up into the sky for the last time you assumed. You wondered if Jason survived the crash, the smoke clouds left behind would put him just a couple of miles ahead. You hope he did. But, your eyes could barely remain open as you looked up at the various moons of the planet.

“Unnghh” the groan slipped past your chapped lips as you regained consciousness. Tears blurred your vision as you tried to peel them open. The biggest sun on the planet beamed brightly assaulting your vision with its warm rays. A breathless gasp left your body and with heavy limbs, you turned to your side. Laying on your back wasn’t such a great idea. You tugged on the broken arrow that had pierced your shoulder. Luckily it had snapped when you had laid to ‘rest’ and hadn’t burrowed deeper, but it wouldn’t budge. With great effort, you sat up and pressed your fingers into the front of your chest plate just above your collarbones. The audible click was met with a release of pressure as the armor split and fell off your torso.

The arrow had pierced through your armor, however, the metallic-looking tip had barely scraped your shoulder regardless you knew it was responsible for your grogginess. Your brows furrowed as you observed your surroundings…

“What the” You winced, it felt as if someone was repeatedly poking your brain with a stick. You grit your teeth clutching your head to your knees waiting for the pain to subside. When the thumping became slightly bearable you began to reassess your situation. You felt your heart leap when you noticed the Mugoi just behind the tree line. You reached for your holster and grasped at air.

“Fuck.” You sighed dejectedly. You must’ve lost it during the fall. You gazed at the lanky creatures warily, wondering why they hadn’t come down and killed you yet. Pale long fingers beckoned you closer. You scoffed and promptly flipped the tall alien motioning you to the treeline off. You had figured that something was holding them back. Hell, they weren’t even shooting at you…

This did not bring you comfort. Your intent wasn’t death and you sure as hell didn’t want them to be picking their razorlike teeth with your fibula, but their hesitance was… Concerning, to say the least. Somewhere in this new territory, or on this field was something even the Mugoi were wary of. It wasn’t surprising. You recognized the planet, Jutangai, and it was bursting at the seams with undocumented danger.

However, as far as your eyes could see nothing was alarming. The suns were just as warm as they’d been when you passed out and the purple grass swayed gently in the wind, the blades soft under your fingers. Everything seemed relatively normal, you even brushed off this planet's version of ticks off your legs… ‘So then why are they so scared…?’

You had laid there for what seemed like hours before you got to your feet. This alerted the Mugoi and they chattered amongst themselves. You paid them no heed even as they began to hiss and try to call out to you in their ungodly screeches. It was then that you noticed how there was no sound save for their collective yips. The air around you seemed to grow stagnant.

An inexplicable chill shuffling up your spine. You moved but a step when even the voices of the Mugoi were silenced. You could hear the pounding of your heart but you couldn’t explain the fear that had begun to grasp at you. You took a shaky inhale and looked ahead, the field ended and from there, the forest continued. It was then that you noticed that something was very very wrong… The grass in the forest was green...

The ground beneath you rumbled, you swayed with the movement but remained standing. Odd protrusions poked up from the purple blades. They rose and fell slowly. Whatever was underneath the patch of earth had sensed your movement. The creatures weren’t near you but it was a long run to the tree line ahead. And even then you had no way of knowing if there were more Mugoi’s waiting for you on that side.

You exhaled in relief as the ground flattened once more. You turned your head gazing into a couple of curious black eyes. ‘Great an audience�� you thought. You had no idea how quick the things underground were, your legs were sore and the path ahead was uncertain…

You buried your teeth into your bottom lip as you bent your knees to pick up your chest and back plate. You risked another move. This time you put your dominant leg behind you as you shifted toward the Mugoi’s. The ground bubbled once more and you inhaled sharply drawing your arm back.

You threw the heavy piece like a frisbee and watched with bated breath as it soared through the air and landed close to the edge of the forest near the lanky beings. As soon as the metal bounced off the earth something broke through the ground…. It scared the shit out of you. And apparently, it spooked the Mugoi and they scampered away. The thing had around twelve very thick, very sharp legs.

A hard shell seemed to cover its body but you could make out various milky eyes. To your relief, it couldn’t see but its legs pierced your armor with ease, its mandible chewing through the metal like paper. To your horror, more erupted from the earth. Some smaller, some... Bigger. While the creatures congregated around the protective piece you yelled at yourself mentally. ‘Run, Go! Now, Run!’ You hesitated, and rethought your plan, even if you threw the piece they could be on you in seconds.

‘Think, Think, Think!’ You looked at your lower half. You knew what you were going to do. Hell, it was going to leave your flesh very vulnerable but you needed to somehow divert their attention long enough for you to reach the other side. There were so many that you knew some might follow you exclusively but it was a heck of a lot better than all of them on your tail.

Once they were off you felt lighter and you were ready. You turned quickly and sprinted towards the treeline. You heard them take off after you and dropped a piece. You could hear it getting torn to shreds and tossed the other two pieces laterally. You didn’t dare to look at anything but the trees in front of you. Your heart was in your throat as you ran and you could feel the unnatural warmth of the creatures right at your heels. You felt one get close to nipping your skin and you pushed yourself to run faster.

‘C’mon (Name)! C’mon! We’re almost there!’ Your eyes were wide with panic ‘Don’t fucking trip! Don’t trip!’ Tears rimmed your bottom lid as you heard one of the creatures growl very very close. Just as you burst into the tree line you turned around bringing your arms out in front of you. The ghastly being pulled its grotesque head out of its shell elongating its neck to snap at your arms with its foaming mandible.

Your body crashed to the ground as the creature closed its teeth around your arm guards. You felt it give way and quickly brought up your feet. You kicked at it frantically screeching along with it as it pierced your flesh with its strong jaw. With a final kick, it was finally off of you. It wailed as its body touched the green grass of the forest. The thing quickly crawled back into the purple field while hissing at you menacingly.

Your chest rose and fell hazardously as you tried to regain your breath. Your entire body trembled. You could feel the wet tears slipping down your neck onto the floor as you curled up and hugged your body into yourself. You lay there listening as the creatures creaked and croaked back into the earth. You allowed yourself time to calm down but every so often you shook and no matter how tightly you hugged yourself the shaking did not end. ‘Probably the poison? Was it even poison?’

The smallest sun had taken its place in the center of the sky and in the dimmer light of it, you allowed yourself to weep...

“Jason.” You mumbled deliriously. Your body felt clammy, your skin burning but your body shivering. You felt as if you had a mouthful of cotton and your nose had decided to close port leaving you gasping pitifully through your mouth for air.

“Jay don’t go” you whimpered. Your legs shook as you stood on them and your world rocked sideways while you grasped onto trees to search for him. But no matter how much you stumbled you couldn’t reach his voice. You could hear him loud and clear. He was calling for you. In your delusion, you continued your struggle.

You traversed through snaggly thorns and tripped on veiny floors till your legs gave out. “Stupid limbs.” You groaned “He’s just up ahead….?” Your vision swam as what felt like lava traveled through your veins. You brought your hand up to your forehead, the heat of your forehead brought you out of your delirium. It was then that you noticed a secondary pulse in your being.

A whine passed through your clenched jaw as you tried to pry off your arm guards. However, you gave up on the task as your inflamed forearm pulsed. You were alarmed at how fast you had acquired an infection. “Guess that’s why the Mugoi stay away from e’m” You slurred while reaching into your pant pocket. To your immense relief, your hidden pack was undamaged. You wasted no time in pulling open the box and preparing the syringe.

“I can’t believe I hallucinated Jason calling.” You mumbled feeling relief flood your system as the drug healed your body. “Alien medicine you are amazing.”

You let yourself relax for a moment, you had no idea how long you’d been sick. It could have been a couple of hours or days. Standing to your feet once more you shook off the lingering nausea and figured that you should press on. ‘I need to find water.’ A terrifying growl made you grimace ‘And food…. And Jason’

You glared at the beams of light shuffling through the canopies as you trekked to where you hoped you’d find water. You hated planets like this, too many moons too many suns, and no way to tell how much time had passed. Fortunately, due to the medicine, the dull ache in your legs had subsided, although your arm still throbbed but nothing unmanageable. You rushed ahead when you heard rushing water.

You jumped straight into the clear river, your lower extremities were soaked and they only sogged up further when your knees hit the squishy ground. You didn’t hesitate and dripped your hands into the water to drink. You didn’t worry about the contaminants of the water as the super drug was still in your system ready to wipe out anything potentially harmful. Once you had your fill you looked around. So far there was no immediate danger….

There was a mountain straight ahead, the vantage point would probably help you locate your teammate. A rustle in the bushes had your shoulder hiking up to your ears. Before you could ready yourself for an attack a large figure burst from the treeline. You fell backwards into the water clutching the wet fabric of Jason’s shirt tight. “Oh thank fuck.” He breathed “I thought you… god, I thought you had” He trailed off, but the slight tremor you felt underneath your fingers betrayed his thoughts and fears.

“No.” You replied wetly. “But it sure was close.” His following laugh was ugly, and he kept you close when you both stood.

“I’ll bet.” He muttered. “Second night here I was taken by a bird with six wings. And I was almost eaten at least five times yesterday.” He scoffed.

“Well, they know a snack when they see one.” You joked. At your jest, you could see the tension melt from his shoulders.

“Haha.” He took a moment to look you over and you followed suit. Aside from a couple of scrapes, he looked fine. “What happened to your arm?”

“Blind, twelve-legged spiders from hell.” He blinked at you slowly, then flicked his eyes around searching. “It’s fine they can’t leave the purple grass.”

“...Right.” He coughed. “Looks infected, we should head back to the ship.” To your relief, it wasn’t much further and it wasn’t long before you were sat in a cot Jason hovering over your arm in concern.

“I took some antibiotics, so the swelling should go down soon.” He nods and continues to clean your wounds. He’s wrapping your arm when you ask. “How long have we been here?”

“Three days.” That explained your headache. “Comms?” He shakes his head.

“Still down. Haven’t finished the repairs but I’ve been switching channels on the monster.” Of course, the monster survived. The ‘monster’ is the biggest blockiest transmitter you’ve ever seen. Old as balls but probably the most reliable equipment in the Outlaw’s possession.

“And the trail?” Jason doesn’t hide his grimace, but his hand comes down on your head gently. “Don’t worry about that, get some sleep.” You want to ask, ask if Kyle’s now going to take Effigy’s place as the controller's pawn but he’s helping you lay down, and as soon as your head hits the pillow you're out.

You wake to the sound of sizzling metal. Your limbs pop when you stretch and as your arms are above you, you notice that the swelling on your arms has gone down. There’s a bottle of water on the table in front of you, next to that is a roasted fish. Your stomach growls and you take care of that before getting cleaned up. Finally feeling like yourself you make it to the control room. You see Jason fusing a panel.

“Morning!” You chirp.

“G’morning.” He grumbles, sliding out from beneath the console. “Feel better?”

“Mm. Thanks for the food.” You catch his smile before he has time to turn away. He grunts in reply and you almost mention how Bruce like that is. But you're quickly distracted by the sheet dangling where the door should be.

“Fuck.” You groan.

“Hn?”

“The door.”

“Where is the door?” He asks.

“Oh don’t get me started.” You groan. He motions for you to continue, picking up the torch to continue working while you speak. “I wasn’t lucky to know where we were when we landed but landing in the middle of a Mugoi village was a dead giveaway”

You put your hands to work, helping with the repairs while telling him about the fun chase through the woods. “It did cushion my fall but to be fair to them, Their very important-looking structure was kinda destroyed by the door.”

“We’re gonna have to fight them to get it back aren’t we?” He sighed.

“Probably… Maybe…”

“Great.”

While you both were making steady progress with the repairs, now that you knew the other was safe you were both more concerned with getting information. And, since a break was in order the two of you took the time to climb up the mountain. You avoided the steeper side of the peak, where you saw the six-winged bird Jason mentioned. “Wouldn’t the rocks interfere with the connection?”

Jason paused his hike to look back at you. “Usually but we’re running out of options.” He kept fiddling with the knobs as you climbed higher until miraculously a voice came through.

“Batman to the Outlaws come in.”

“B!” Jason exclaimed.

“It’s been days Batman… Maybe it’s time to give it up, they’re deciding today. We should be brainstorming not-” Whoever spoke was promptly ignored. “Batman to the Outlaws come in.”

Jason adjusted the channel “Outlaws to Batman” He grinned.

“Red hood.” You hadn’t known Bruce out of the cowl for long but anyone could hear the relief in his tone.

“Hey.”

“Report.” Somehow you knew Batman knew that Jason’s eyes were rolling.

“We’re fine no need to ask.” he scoffed. “We’re grounded but we’ve got the evidence. Days before Kyle’s fight with Van Wyck, Effigy was spotted attacking the Vilgaxian’s prison ship. Soon after the controllers pick him up. Possibility of an exchange between them, as soon as we left their ship we were surrounded. Long-range missiles not typical for Vilgaxians.”

“Hm.”

You share a look with Jason but before you could question him, he was crowding you up against the side of the mountain and into a shallow crevice. “They’ve picked up our transmission.” You peek from around his broad shoulders, three ships have entered the planet's atmosphere and begin to scan the terrain. Rocks come into view when he presses you further into the space, your back meeting the cool surface of the mountainside. The radio is silent for a moment but you don’t comment on it too busy moaning in disgust.

You had placed your hand on the stone to support yourself but your palm had sunk into something squishy. The cool rubbery substance oozes between your fingers but you keep still until you hear Batman's voice.

“We’ve got another piece of evidence to declare. I’ve just received a video from one of our colleagues.” “Let us see it” “Not until it’s been properly analyzed we’d like to verify the authenticity of it first. Now if you’ll excuse me”

“He’s good.” You muse. Jason scoffs but doesn’t deny your claims.

“B They’re pulling back” You watch as they zip back into space and out of sight.

“Good. As soon as you're up and running I want that file uploaded. In the meantime, we’ll look for a paper trail. We'll send backup for you two just in case. This is exactly what we needed thanks, chum.”

And he clicked off.

“Well… That’s that I guess.” You hum. You duck your head to hide your grin at Jason's reddening ears. He grumbles to himself his eyes widening when he notes how he's crowding you in. When he pulls away you're reminded of the icky goo, you curl your lip as you shake the slime-like substance off. “Yuck” you wipe it against the rock. “Eww, that’s nasty what is it?”

“Not sure.” He replies. “I came across it yesterday, tingled a bit till I washed it off.” You shrug and follow his lead, rinsing off your hand in the river and thinking nothing of it. Jason goes to spear some more fish while you work on getting the system running to send the clip. When he returns you switch. It doesn’t take long to fix what you need but it does take about an hour for the file to send.

You get an incoming call while Jason’s working on the ship’s exterior. Kori’s vibrant green eyes are the first thing you see when you accept the call. “(Name)!”

“Kori Hi!” You swirl your head toward the doorless entrance to call Jason in. “Jay!” He comes rushing in as soon as you call him, seafoam green eyes scanning the area for any immediate threat till he sees Kori and Bizarro on the screen.

“Oh.”

“What not happy to see us?” You can hear Roy’s laugh in the background. “Art how long till we reach Jutangai?”

“Two days? You two can hold out that long right?”

“Of course.” You grin. “I can do two more days of fish you?” Jason snorts.

“This whole lantern thing is crazy.” Roy sighs.

“Tell me about it.” Jason frowns. “(Name) and I think they want him because he can host Ion.”

“Whose Ion?” Artemis asks.

“Long story,” Kori interjects.

“We do have time.” You’re sharing goodbyes with Bizarro when Kori begins to tell Artemis of the cosmic entity. You slump back into your chair when the call ends.

“I’m beat.”

“We’ve already done our part, we can take a break.” So you do, you spend it chatting about what Jay was doing during the time you two were apart. He’s telling you about a giant mantis he fought but he pauses his tale when you yawn. “Boring you?”

“Nu-uh.” You yawn again. “Just tired. I wanted to take a shower before bed but with how cold that water is”

“I got the water heater fixed last night.” You jump to your feet eager for a hot shower. “We’ll put a pin in this, I wanna know how you got away.” You don’t see how his eyes follow you when you leave the room.

You stay under the spray for far longer than you anticipated, you were relaxed and the hot water paired with the water pressure has you practically melting. By the time you come out, Jason’s gone from the control room, you don’t see him in the small kitchen, the bedrooms, or storage. Out of concern, you can’t fall asleep, you sit on your cot Jay’s book in hand as you debate on going out and looking for him. ‘What if he’s hurt? Maybe the bird came back?’ You are about to spring to your feet to find the man when he comes through the door.

His face is flushed, sweat causing his shirt to cling to his muscles. You’re only mildly ashamed for ogling, but worry overrides the feeling. He steps towards you, his body heat radiating off him in waves. You are about to question him when his fingers pinch a wet strand of your hair. “Y...You okay?”

“Yeah, Just needed some air.” His voice is rough. “G’night.”

“Good night?” You don’t press him but you do fall asleep bewildered.

He’s good as new the next morning, He’s working on the jagged scrapes along the hull of the ship. You want to ask, but you're not sure how to. You mull over how you’d approach him while you test the repairs. You’re prodding at a couple of cables when you start feeling angsty. You are not sure why but heat begins to pool in your lower belly. And your skin itches to be free from the confines of your clothes. You rest your hot cheek against the metal of the ship walls but it’s stuffy in the ship.

You press your thighs together feeling your core pulse. ‘Maybe a dip in the river will cool me off’ You muse. You push past the fabric ‘door’ and Jason quirks a brow at your rushed out. “Need some air!” You throw a “Going to the river for a swim.” to let him know where you’d be. He doesn’t pay much mind to it, only telling you to stay safe while he gets back to work. The main sun moves a couple of inches across the sky and he figures he should join you, and cool off a bit.

On his trek to the river, he thinks back to last night. The odd fire that filled his loins. He’s had thoughts about you before but the way in which he was consumed the previous night didn’t seem quite normal. Maybe foreign subs-

“Hnngh” He paused at the sound. He was close enough to see the river, your head peeking out from behind a rock. When you whimpered again he heard his boots hitting the earth. He was next to you in seconds, eyes roving over your form to find out where you were hurt.

“Are you” The words died in his throat. “..Okay.” He quickly averted his eyes, but the image of you with your hands between your thighs was already burned into his retinas. While a million thoughts raced through his head most of them along the lines of you being as attractive nude as he’d imagined. The one that rang out the clearest was ‘Last night.’ The same thing had happened to him. He cleared his throat remembering how long it took for him to finish. Your broken moans pulled him from his analysis.

“J-Jason.” You whined pitifully, it felt wrong, the way his stomach swooped at your tone.

“Y-Yeah?”

“I can’t” You whimpered, he chanced a look at your face and his heart sank. Your brows were pinched, your lips wobbling as tears cascaded down your cheeks.

“Can’t what sweet thing.” He frowned and reached out to wipe your tears pausing when he thought of the possibility of recontamination. ‘The thing on the mountain?’

“Cum.” The air was knocked out of him.

“J-just keep doing what you’re doing b-” He paused before he could call you baby. You weren’t his no matter how he felt. “Just keep going I’ll.. I’ll be at the ship sorry.”

He was about to get up from his knees when you wailed “No please stay! Help me.” He couldn’t.

“I can’t your not, We’re not.” He blew out a long line of air. “You are under the influence of some type of aphrodisiac, you should be fine if you cum a couple of times.” He felt the tips of his ears burn at his words.

“M’ not asking for you to touch me.” You gasped, the wet sounds of you playing stimulating yourself were getting harder to ignore. But your words caught his attention. He was caught between being hurt and confused. How’d you want him to help you?

“Jay please.” Your voice was going to haunt his dreams. “Help me!”

“H-how?!” He breathed, his eyes not moving any further than your chin.

“I can’t get off without…”

“Without?”

“..Asmr.” You mumbled.

“Asmr?” he parrots. “What do you-

“Ugh! Just talk me through it!” His cheeks bloom a cherry red at your ask.

“O-okay Um, shit.” He holds his breath for a couple of seconds to settle himself. “Okay. I want you to keep doing what you’re doing, mm yeah just like that but not so fast. Go slower for me sweetheart.” He bit his lip at your shaky okay.

“You like that?” It’d be easier if he could see but once your head was clear he wasn’t sure you’d appreciate that.

“Yeah, Jay feels good~”

“Yeah?” “Mhm” “Wanna be good for me?” At your teary yes! He asks you to go faster and press a bit harder.

“God you’re so sweet, you just do what you’re told huh?”

“Yes! Only for you! Ah! Jason~” He knows you’re just saying that. But if he only knew how much you wanted him to.

“For me? Then cum for me. You can do that, right? Cum all over your fingers for me.” You do just that your sex dripping from your release but the fire in your veins is still scorching.

“M-more Jay need you to Mmm fuck! Tell me you wanna fuck me!” Oh, he does. He really does want to. And while he knows he shouldn’t his calloused palm cups your cheek tenderly, his thumb pressing your chin up so that your hazy eyes can look into his. He doesn’t look away from your face, watching your lashes flutter with each word.

“Of course, I wanna fuck you baby. I’d make sure my baby feels real good. I’d kiss these perfect lips” He dares to brush the rough pad of his thumb on your lower lip. “Till you’re dizzy.” He whispers.

“Gasping for me and gripping my hair as I lick down your pretty neck.” You mewl eyes shutting as he paints you a picture. “You’ll be so sweet for me right?”

“Yeah promise”

“Promise?” His deep voice grumbles the words and you rut into your hands with a repeat of the word. “Hmm, then you’d have to stay real still for me as I explore that gorgeous body. I wanna lick you everywhere, gonna kiss and tease you till you squirm.”

“Please!”

“Don’t gotta beg sweet thing, I’ll give you everything, my fingers, my mouth my tongue my cock all yours. Just tell me how you want it.”

“I’d want you inside.” You gasp.

“Then I’d have to go down slow, get you nice and wet with my tongue, stretch out that pretty little hole so you can take me. Do you want it nice? Slow and deep, or do you want me to stir up that sloppy hole hard and fast?”

“Shit! Jay!” You see him through tears, the pressure in you winding tight with each word. “Yes!”

“Which one?”

“B-both! Wanna be yours.” Your breath hitches and one of your hands leaves your body to grip his forearm. Your nails bite into his skin when you cum again. Jason lets out a shaky breath when your mouth drops open in a soundless moan. He hasn’t looked down at you once, but your face and voice are doing it for him. He doesn’t touch himself, he painfully hard but he’ll let it go down. He thinks you’re good now and you feel his grip on your face loosen.

“O-one more, s-still feels hot.” And while yes, your body is still heated it’s not so much due to the aphrodisiac. He can feel your breathy pants against his fingers and he wets his lips willing himself to stare into your glassy eyes. He can do this, watch you fall apart one more time for him. ‘Just one more’ His dick was so stiff that it was becoming uncomfortable.

“Wanna be mine huh? You want me to put my thick throbbing cock into your tight little hole? Gonna let me cum inside? Make you mine from the inside out?” You hissed out a string of yeses. No doubt raw from the overstimulation. “Mmm yeah fuck need you to milk my cock with your perfect hole, gonna make you all sloppy and loose and have you thank me for it, show you how much I lo- want you, get you all drunk off my cock” He feels your hand speed up and he continues “You won’t want anyone else right?”

“No! Just wan’ you.”

“Just me?” You nod “Gonna be all mine.”

“Yeah, all yours!” Your voice cracks a tiny bit and your cum for the third time with his name on your lips, your body slumping over the cool rock as you catch your breath. Jason’s still cradling your face, his eyes glued to your shiny lips. He doesn’t know when he leans in, you don’t know when it happens either. But his rough lips press against your softly, the lightest of pressures but it leaves you more breathless than his filthy words had. Your eyes snap open when you feel him pull back, his pretty seafoam eyes are wide, his lips parted. He wrenched back looking vaguely horrified as if your lips burned him.

He doesn’t turn around when you call his name. He’s avoiding you. Or are you avoiding him? You sort of feel like you may have taken advantage of him. That last one you didn’t really need it maybe you’d pushed to far? Or maybe he knows you like him and he’s pulling away? What if he only sees you as a friend?! What if this changes things? What if he kicks you off the team? The what-ifs follow you into fitful sleep. Unbeknownst to you the what-ifs plague Jason throughout the night.

He’s devastated, because how could he take advantage of you like that? He has no right to kiss you. You were under the influence, you were saying whatever. What if he ruined things and you want to leave the team? What if you never wanted to speak with him again? And while he likes the rest of the team he’s not complaining about it being the two of you most of the time. But after today will you even feel comfortable being with him alone? Was he too obvious? Did you know?

You both looked wretched in the morning. Lack of sleep was apparent as you wished each other a stilted good morning. He worked silently on the hull while you finished up inside. The nerves were killing you and the incoming call did nothing but grate them.

“H-Hi Biz.” Bizzaro furrowed his brows at your expression. “Couldn’t sleep.” You lied, it didn’t look like he believed you. “What’s up?”

“Bad news! We’re a minute closer!” He beams.

“Oh, That’s great!”

“Don’t tell red him.” He waves at you before cutting off the call. You steel yourself and walk outside. Jason almost drops his tools when you come to stand behind him. He readies himself, determined to hear you out.

“Bizzaro says they’re an hour away.” ‘Oh.’ He wonders if that’s what you want. To pretend it didn’t happen. But you don’t leave and before he can turn around and tell you he won’t mention it your apologizing to him? “I… I’m sorry.”

“What?” This time he does drop his torch. “Wait? Why are you sorry I should be the one apologizing?”

“The thing wore off after the second orgasm- Huh? For what?” You ask.

“What do you mean for what?” He frowns. “Kissing you. Huh?!”

You both gawk at each other for a moment before one of you snorts and the other laughs.

“I like you,” Jason confesses.

“I like you too.” You smile. You’re both smiling at each other until you hear the six-winged bird screech in the distance. “We um.. We should probably get back to work?”

“Yeah.” He watches as you quickly shuffle over and is stunned when you press a kiss to his cheek before you can skirt behind the curtain door into the ship he catches your hand. His gaze flickers down to your lips and you don’t need any further invitation. Sure you’d probably have to have a proper conversation about whatever this was but for now his lips against yours were enough.

The rest of the Outlaws touch down an hour later, the first one off the ship is Roy who throws his arms over both of your shoulders “I guess we have two things to celebrate!”

“How could you possibly know?” Jason asks.

“I didn’t” He grins. “You just confirmed it.”

Kori flies out of the ship and squeezes the three of you into a hug. You hear the breath get knocked out of Roy when Bizzaro joins and you all wait for Artemis to reluctantly join. “Group hug!”

It isn’t long before you are all sitting around a fire and Artemis is telling you about how the Guardians of the Universe opened an investigation on the Vilgaxians. “Turns out they really just wanted him so that they could trap Ion”

“So how’d the infiltration go?” Kori asks Jason. He’s telling the redhead trio about your quick mission while you chat and chug beers with Bizzaro.

“Not been long” He huffs.

“Yeah, it has.” You sigh, you're pleasantly buzzed watching as the campfire light reflects off the faces of your friends. While you like being a duo with Jason there's just something about having the whole gang present. You grabbing another drink when Roy spots your arm.

“What did that?”

“A blind, twelve-legged spider from hell.”

“Oh, this I have to hear.” When you finish, Kori snaps her fingers “It’s a Kn’vg!” You all butcher the pronunciation when Roy claims it’s his turn to tell a story about a close encounter with death! While Roy yaps Jason's hand reaches yours tentatively and you curl your fingers around his. You’re glad that although everyone sees how you're now leaning into each other no one says anything about you two. You know they’ll ask but not right now, not when this thing between you is still so new. Your friends continue to chat into the night that is until Artemis snorts at Roy’s tale. “No way that happened.” Jason tucks you under his arm as the shit show begins.

“It did” he frowns.

“Is this one of those and everyone clapped moments?” Kori asked.

“Sounds real.” Bizarro huffed his arms crossed over his chest.

“It is.” Before Roy can properly defend himself Jason tosses out a “Bullshit!”

“What?! You mother fucker! You were there?!”

The next morning you catch Jason's eyes and look away. His smile is shy when he says good morning, you're wrapping your arms around him to pull him into a hug when you hear someone ask.

“Hey, where's the door?”

“I drew a map!” You exclaim, you all group around it. “Here is the purple field and there’s the Mugoi village, the door should be right in the center.”

“Biz can not fly and get it.” He shrugs.

“No I can get it, I want to see the Kn’vg creatures.”

“We can all go,” Kori suggests. Roy straps on his trick arrows before taking the map and heading off in the direction of the lavender field.

“The first one to it wins!”

“Hell yeah!” Jason takes off after him after latching on his hood. Kori and Bizzaro speed off and Artemis has already caught up to both Roy and Jason promptly tripping them as she passes. You shake your head at your team but strap on your boomerangs all the same.

“Wait for me!”

You'd have to talk with Jason later, have a real serious conversation about this, you know the two of you. But right now, you needed to get to that door before your maybe-boyfriend and friends.

Kinktober2024|Masterlist

#“Pretty sure this counts as harassing the locals…” (Name) Probably #jason todd x reader #jason todd smut #red hood x reader #red hood smut #jason todd x you #red hood x you

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ninibeingdelulu · 5 months ago

Text

Mimicking his mannerisms ✧

Plot: You mimic your boyfriend’s mannerisms.

At first, the enigmatic striker didn't seem to register your playful imitations of his signature subtle smirks or the way his steely cobalt eyes would narrow with razor focus.

Why would he? To Kaiser, such trivial details weren't worth breaking concentration over.

That utter absorption in the game, in dismantling defenses and obliterating opponents through sheer, leonine skill is what made you start mirroring his mannerisms in the first place.

The way his chiseled features settled into that stony, impenetrable mask of intensity whether dribbling a ball or simply contemplating strategy...you found it weirdly entrancing.

Which is why, bundled up on the sofa freshly showered after a match, you erupted into peals of giggles after perfectly emulating Kaiser's celebratory chest thump and fist pump from earlier when he'd scored the game-winner.

Complete with your best attempt at replicating that guttural grunt of exertion just to sell the impression.

At first, Michael merely arched one of those winged brows fractionally, gaze flickering over to you with mild interest. Studying, analyzing, deconstructing your silly antics just as he might an opponent's offensive patterns to identify weaknesses.

You beamed right back without a shred of self-consciousness, striking another achingly-familiar pose - feet braced apart, knees bent, arms raised like they're clutching an invisible ball, mouth curling into that infuriatingly smug half-grin Kaiser flashes before blowing past defenders like they're standing still.

And...was that the ghost of a chuckle rumbling up from the striker's barrel chest at catching your overly-earnest mimicry? Sure sounded like it before he hastily muffled the impulse, eyes crinkling with unmistakable amusement.

In a flash, you pounced - taking shameless advantage of your petite stature to clamber right into his lap before he could protest or deflect.

Looping your arms loosely around his thick neck, you peered down with dancing eyes and an impish grin.

"Something funny, Master Sniper?"

You crooned his moniker in an exaggerated baritone approximation of his own molten vocals.

"Don't tell me the great Michael Kaiser is finally going easy on the opposition?"

Michael, to his credit, didn't so much as flinch at your flagrant invasion of his personal space. Just leveled you with one of those piercing, soul-searing stares from beneath heavy lids for a pregnant pause.

Almost as if evaluating whether to simply disengage entirely...or take the bait and engage with this maddeningly irreverent side of you that delighted in needling his legendary composure.

Then, before you could react, those powerful arms looped in an inescapable vise around your midsection, crushing your squirming body flush against his own.

One broad palm cradled the nape of your neck, callused thumb dragging along the line of your jaw as Kaiser fixed you with a lopsided smirk crackling with unspoken challenge.

"So that's how you want to play it, wildkatze ?" Any pretense towards stoicism evaporated in favor of that rich, honeyed baritone dripping with roguish self-assurance that stole your breath more effectively than any physical exertion.

"Well then...no more holding back, starting now."

Those silvery eyes glinted like sharpened steel as he effortlessly flipped your positions with that same controlled, explosive grace he wields between the lines - pinning you bodily beneath his solid, unyielding weight with startling swiftness.

One sensual caress along the curve of your lips with the calloused pad of his thumb ignited tingling shockwaves through your nerve endings.

"Let's see how good your impressions really are...starting with the most important celebration of all once we're done here."

Any further protests dissolved into breathless, keening pleas of surrender as Kaiser set about teaching you to mimic the only poses and exertions that truly matter between the two of you.

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bowieandqueen11 · 1 year ago

Text

Moonlight Dalliance / Izzy Hands Imagine

Request: I wrote this a couple of weeks ago but I think I might have accidentally deleted it off Tumblr because I can’t find it now! Hope you enjoy and I’ll have another request out asap! 😘

Warning: spicy, implied sexual content, sword fighting, mentions of blood and some strong language!

(I do not own OFMD or it’s characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @goodsirs.)

☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°

Before you had even reached the deck, you could hear the clashing of steel reverberating through your bunk.

If it hadn't been for the pouring of sawdust through the cracks in the ceiling beams that rained down like ash over your nostrils: if it hadn't been for the graceful leaps of careful footsteps lightly stepping in box squares above your hammock, you might have chalked down the noise to Roach's snoring. In fact, as you swing your legs over to your side and try, as quietly as possible, to land on the floor of the recreation room without waking as many as your ship mates as possible, said cook was trying to do his best impression of what could only be called a foghorn mixed with an incredibly rusty blender.

'For God's sake-!' The sound of Lucius' voice disturbing you as you were trying to tip toe towards the door almost makes you jump out of your skin. Unravelling Black Pete's arm from around his waist, he gives a final groan into the side of his pillow before throwing it in a wide arch straight at Roach's head. 'If you don't stop snoring I'll stick my wooden thumb, splinters and all, straight up your ar-.'

Thankfully, the sound of you wincing as you grab onto the handle and inch the hinges slowly backwards is drowned out by a stout HMPH as Lucius' pillow lands on Button's stomach. You can't help but let out a snicker at the way the man shoots straight up from his slumber like a scarecrow being raised in a field. He arches one eyebrow and glanced around intently. 'Attack, we're under attack!' You take the opportunity of your fellow crewmates either lunging out of their hammocks, or being tipped out onto the floor during the frantic hustle and bustle that followed to escape out to the helm of the ship. In fact, Wee John seemed to take far too much pleasure out of twirling the Swede's hammock so that the man ended up a mess of tangled limbs, yelping like a fly caught up in a spider's web as Oluwande tried to grab his arm and pull him back out. You didn't mind the good natured jostle of your friends: you had spent so much of the evening tossing and turning, unable to get the thought of one arrogant prick in particular out of your mind, and so the excuse to leave your bunk and get some fresh air was more than welcome.

The sea air - god, the sea air felt so kind on your tired lungs.

The night seemed fragile, the moonlight tender as it spilt over the creaking boards of the ship and pooled in a warm puddle around your feet. It seemed to widen within your eyes, a fine mist spraying like a wicked phantasm from its shadows and coating the surrounding sea in thin tendrils of smoke. With a mind hazed with tiredness, you rubbed at the corners of your eyes and tried to chase away that dream-like glow only the late night could bring. The sails caught in the mild wind and groaned above you, masking out the sounds of Izzy's short pants as he wiped his forehead with the untucked end of his shirt. In fact, not realising yet that you were standing only a mere few metres away from him, he grabbed his shoulder and tugged his shirt off completely, discarding it with a frustrated throw at Stede's cabin doors.

Two hands grip tighter on the wood, willing its body to relax. The tang of salt could do nothing to burn away the fizzling want banging against your ribcage, nor could the cool pinch of the helm railings distract you from the fact that you had spent every second of that day restless; as if on repeat, every time you closed your eyes, or had your thoughts distracted away from repairing the helm, or talking to Lucius, or exploring the islands Stede had insisted you all stop at so he could take Edward off on some grand adventure, you were taken back to that afternoon. The feel of Izzy Hands, the soft ache in his eyes, so desolate, so hopeful: when he had been congratulating you on a job well done fighting off some remote Englishman who had tried to ambush your crew once you had docked, and behind the thrum of his beating heart he hadn't the wit to stop his arm from reaching out and brushing the back of his knuckles against the droplets of blood splattered on your cheek.

His smile had dropped almost immediately of course, and he had run like a gun was being unloaded against his heels back into his quarters and hid there for the night, but the look in his eyes when he had touched you... god, if it wasn't enough to make Davy Jones repent his sins, for even his adoration for Calypso would seem like hatred in comparison.

Yet only the smoky gleam of the moon melting over the champagne waves kept your aching head company. The moon, being a sneaky temptress, was in fact the one thing that drew you to the cause of your distraction; squinting down onto the deck, it took you a minute to remember the reason you had come up here in the first place.

Izzy Hands. In the flesh. And lots of it, if the sweaty gleam of his bare chest was anything to go by.

It takes a moment for your mind to shape the shifting umbra into a perceptible form: he looks angry, furious, even, as his sword slices the misty air like swiss cheese and gives lashes to the main mast. The cherry wood cracks easily under the weight of his blows, the poor shaved shards that land by his feet obviously taking the brunt of the walloping you can only assume is meant for your captain.

Swallowing your nerves, you call out to the fickle shape. 'What are you doing wandering about at a time like this?'

He startles as you wander across the ship towards him, perching back against the side of the mast he was currently tearing to shreds. Incredulously, he looks you up and down before bowing his sword. Your laughter sweetens the edge of his blade, and for a moment Izzy's step falters at the sound.

‘I could ask you the very same thing. Don't you know that all the horrifying creatures slink out from the depths after the full moon rises.' He tilts his head at you, pushing his tongue up against his teeth to stop a smile from breaking like welcome dawn across his face. 'Would hate to see you get dragged away by something... wanton.'

You scratch your cheek, trying your best to hide how you were growing flustered at his words. 'Well, at least if I get dragged away I'll be going with clothes on.’

He flushed at that, head tilting down as he crossed his arms gruffly over his abdomen and blinked languidly.

'What are you actually still doing awake?', you ask, crossing your arms and doing your best not to fantasize about leaping forward and ripping the rest of his trousers straight off with one tear.

'I couldn't sleep.' What he didn't tell you, was that he couldn't sleep because he was so in love with you his heart felt like it was going to bleed out of his fucking chest any time he tried to distract himself from thoughts of you.

'Yeah, neither could I.' What you didn't tell him, was that you couldn't sleep because you were dreaming of grabbing Izzy by that scruffy collar and kissing him silly.

A tense silence suffocated the two of you, sliced only by Izzy shooting his sword through the air with one last precise carve through the freshly hollowed mast. Izzy whips out his wrist, clenching his fingers into a tight fist to try and alleviate some of the burning tension running through his joints at the desperation to touch you.

‘You did well today. As much as I hate to admit it, you can fight better than any of those other morons.’

‘A compliment? From Izzy Hands? Pinch me, I must still be dream-‘

‘Your footwork is a little rusty, though. Could use some work, so you don’t trip over and fall on your own bloody sword.’

‘There we go. There’s always a but with you, isn’t there? You can’t just give the compliment and leave it hanging.’

'I'm just saying... it would be a real shame to pierce such a breast.' Your breath hitches as his eyes dip down to contemplate the sliver of skin still on show between the free flowing buttons of your dress shirt. He sniffles, fingers almost indiscernibly tightening around the metal of the hilt as he did his best to stifle the overflowing shiver that was running up and down his legs. He keeps a tight watch on you for a moment, before biting his bottom lip with his top teeth and darting his eyes out towards the ocean, both incredibly aroused and also incredibly sheepish from having shown such weakness.

'And to ruin such a fine blade.'

He runs his hand across his beard, motion tired yet calculated. Too jolted to speak, let alone run away back down to your bunk and hide your head underneath Oluwande's arm for the rest of time, you leave Izzy the perfect opportunity to pounce.

’Here… come here’, his knuckles fold as he beckons you forward with one hand, his other still resting on the hilt of his rapier as he jabbed it into the floor and let it drop after a moment. If he had let it go just then, as he watched the swish of your hips approach him, he had a pretty good feeling his knees would buckle underneath him. ‘I have far more experience than you do. You ought to learn from a real pirate. Not the hoity toity arsehole that runs around this ship like a headless chicken.’

‘If I remember correctly’, you say sharply with a growing smile, ‘you lost against that headless chicken.’

‘Don’t.’ Before you have time to realise what’s happening, Izzy has grabbed you by the waist and rugged you back. He prays you didn’t hear the hoarse groan that jilted from the back of his throat as your buttocks bounced back against the tensed muscles of his lower abdomen. His voice is gruff and warm against the shell of your ear, but his fingertips burn with the ferociousness of a thousand lantern fires as he snakes his free hand around your shoulders and grips onto the bottom of your chin.

'Don't tease me. It won't end well for you.' His thumb digs into your jaw as he tilts your head back, and you can feel his smirk branding it’s way into the bare strip of skin between the nape or your neck and the hollow of your earlobe. Your head is fully resting back against his forehead now, and his vice on you only lessens once he’s content that you’re too far gone to step away from him.

'Put your foot... here', he guides your right foot forward with the toe of his boot, almost sinfully slowly so he could feel every twitch and tense of your quadriceps against the inside of his thigh. 'There you go, lean your weight forward-'.

He tips you then, doubling you over so your back is pushed down against his groin. You swear you can feel the curls of his hair fall in loose curls down against the small of your back, gathering that his head must be hovering just above your tailbone. For your own sake, to stop your legs from turning into jelly and letting your full weight fall so easily into Izzy's grip, you pretend the haunting moaning sound you hear must be from the hinges of the sails as they turn through the night sky.

'Perfect form', he breathes out in a short gasp against the shell of your ear once he's collected himself, his arm tightening around your stomach as he places you. His right hand drags down your arm, teasingly burning a trail right down over the back of your hand and onto your fingers as he entraps them with his own. He turns your hand, his own clenching so they fold over your own. 'That's it, now jut forward and strike.'

His knee pushes against the side of your buttocks as he jumps the two of you forward; he shoves a little too harshly, though, and just before your feet nearly trip backwards over the rotund exterior of a rogue barrel, Izzy's hand has shot out like a viper to latch its teeth around your wrist. His fingers squeeze as he tilts you upright again, a sharp exhale whistling out of his nose at how close you come to falling into his chest.

'You're not a bad teacher', you manage to laugh out between gasps, 'but unless you're packing... who doesn't bring a weapon to a sword fight?' Straddling to the side, you manage to slide down and grab onto his discarded sword, sweeping the tip through the air until it landed just below his chin. Tilting the skin up, you gaze down at him through dropped eyelids, his fingers now nearly convulsing against your wrist.

You manage to break free of his hold, grabbing onto his bare arm and pulling him so now he was the one caught in your trap. Your bicep holds around his stomach, moving with each tremble of his breath as you graze the sharp edge of his rapier down across his face and jut it under his jaw.

The bastard only smiles as you hold the edge of his blade against his throat.

'Did you really think you could win this fight?', he asks between the tight lips of a knowing smile, and it takes you a second to realise that his free hand has wrapped round to hold onto yours on top of the handle. He shoves the blade away, kicking out with his foot so you trip backwards. He easily catches you before you hit the ground.

You dance your fingers up his chest as he holds you tight against him, dipped down like lovers do during the first dance. All the stars burn deep within the depths of his soul, pouring out like razing destruction from his eyes as he keeps darting a path between your nose, and back down to your lips.

'I don't think you won this either, Izzy Hands. In fact, I think we both lost something here.' You spread your fingers out over the bare skin across his pec, feeling the flittering thud of his heart pound out against your fingertips.

By god, if he had ever been so delighted to lose.

His lips ravish you like a man shrivelled under the island sun, desperate to drown; before your gasp can fully deflate from your lungs, your legs have been kicked out from underneath you by a swift and skilled kick from the side of his boot.

Oh, he had been planning this for a long time. Had been thinking of nothing but this since he had boarded this vessel. The tightness of his arm as it snakes around your back and stops your shoulders from taking the brunt of the bounce off the boards: the way he throws his rapier behind his back without a second care, instead replacing his clenched fingers with the reddened meat of your hip as he levers you down was far too precise and meticulous to be a mere spur of the moment, subconscious thought.

An uncomfortable heat shivers over your torso and settles as an anchor weight in the pit of your stomach as Izzy grazes his right hand over the top of your thigh. Plop. Plop. Plop. His leather gloves ball as he taps his finger one by one, teasingly, against your inner thigh, using them to shove your legs wider apart. His lips pull away with a sickeningly sweet pop from your neck only for a second, as he breathlessly glances his eyes in a jagged path across your face.

He looks wonderstruck.

You can't help but reach out to touch the tough muscle of his left peck, swirling your finger across the short strands of his chest hair. The soft scrape of your fingernail soon turns into your fingers fully spreading out like the tendrils of a swift current once you feel him bury his head into the curve of your neck; his chin juts into your pulse point and the bastard has the audacity to whimper at the feel of your palm brushing over the hardened tip of his nipple.

If he wasn't living out all of his deepest, darkest dreams, the man nearly collapsed on top of you may have felt embarrassed at the way his pelvis began to buck down and brush the tightening leather over the rising line of skin underneath your belly button. In your turn to be bashful, you can feel a flush crawl over your cheeks as Izzy grabs onto the bottom of your thigh and tugs you closer, fist clenching over your ankle as he throws your right leg up and over the side of his hip bone. His hands are surprisingly soft, surprisingly gentle as he claws and kneads and mewls into you, his lips dragging down and over to the side of your jaw now with quick, tempered nicks.

You're scared his skin is going to melt off at the bone with how it burns against your hip: it holds tightly to the side of your pelvis, his thumb toying with the tassels hanging from the band of your trousers as he impetuously grinds down against you again. You can feel his shit eating smirk as the flat edge of his tongue licks a hot streak up to the shell of your ear; he bites down, tugging at your earlobe and clenching his fingernails so tightly into the soft skin at the side of your buttocks that you were amazed he didn't draw blood.

‘What on earth was that noise?! What’s going on up here! Which hooligan is up making a ruckus on my ship? And so late! I know you wanted another bedtime story, but I told you, we all need our beauty sleep!’

The glim flicker of a handheld candle illuminated out from the stairway as the ruffled hair of your captain peered out past the door like a startled meerkat. With wide eyes, he mustered the courage to lift up the skirts of his nightshirt and take a step out onto the deck, away from the safety of Ed's gentle snores as they billowed out through the crack.

Before your captain can spot the two of you caught in such an awkward position: Izzy grinding against you like a needy dog, your hand bunched into a tight fist in his hair and your legs wrapped tightly around his taut waist, he shoves a gloved finger to your lips. Annoyed at being disturbed, you tilt the hand gripping his hair backwards and smirk to yourself as Izzy dips his head down to land between your breast bone to try and hide his groans.

Before you can tease him anymore, he's gripped onto your wrist and is tugging you up; he's near carrying you bridle style in his arms as he slips past the railings of the ship, mingling in with the shadows. His hand covers your mouth to stop your giggles, carrying you off down to the bunk of his room so the two of you can carry on your midnight dalliance where your poor, confused captain wouldn't be able to hear the pounding of the bed as its frame shudders against the wall and your screams echo out against the silent moonlight.

#Ofmd #our flag means death #izzy hands #izzy hands imagine #Izzy hands x reader #Con o’neill #ofmd imagine #israel hands #Israel hands imagine #Israel hands x reader #Our flag means death imagine

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laxmienterprise · 1 year ago

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3 Types of Steel: What Makes Them Different?

Laxmi enterprise supply a mild steel round pipe moreover variety of mild steel goods. carbon steel is still prominent in steel frame construction. Visit our website for more information that will help you choose the best kind of steel for your project.

#mild steel beam #steel frame construction #types of steel bars #mild steel round pipe

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cuckoo-on-a-string · 2 years ago

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Civilian Asset 2.

Polyamorous/femme/female reader x multiple

Summary: Things go from bad to worse.

Master List (coming soon) / Prev chapter

Warnings: Mild/brief self harm (over-washing hands), peril, violence, kidnapping, torture, corpses, gore, extremely brief threat of SA

Tagging: A couple folks have asked about tagging. Unfortunately tagging breaks my posts, so I don't keep lists. But I DO reply to each comment on each chapter when I post something new. So it's like a hand-written invitation delivered by butler to your inbox.

A/N: Thank you so much for the support! I hope you enjoy the ride!

When you remember how your legs work, you find your way to the bathroom. Away from the windows, it’s pitch black, and you have to flick on a light to see your hand in front of your face, but the yellow glow itches over your skin, and you work fast, turning the tap to cold and using the little bar of hand soap to attack the lingering rust red hiding in the creases where skin meets nail.

You wish for a big, bristly brush. Or some steel wool. You’d scrape the skin off and start over again if you could. Without so much as a washcloth, you’re forced to pick at yourself, scratching until your flesh is raw and fresh blood seeps up to hide the old.

Once you’re sure the handler’s blood is gone, you slurp a few handfuls of water, sure you’ll feel the affects of dehydration after so much vomiting soon if you don’t. Passing out is never fun, but in the current circumstances, a little dizziness at the wrong moment could be a death sentence.

A little voice whispers in the back of your head that everything tastes like iron as you sip, and you drown it by throwing the next scoop of water directly in your face.

The makeup you wore to the club has not faired well, and you’d rather be the idiot civilian in need of rescuing without mascara tracks streaking your face.

The cold water and hand soap leaves your skin flushed and red, but you’re clean. Maybe even a little refreshed.

Breathing comes easier.

It’s easy to pretend this is just an unplanned sleepover. This isn’t the first time you’ve spent an evening puking up your soul and washing your face without proper skincare products because your drunk ass never made it home.

This is okay.

This is livable.

All you have to do is sit tight and keep behind a locked door. Easy enough.

The light stays on. Even if it makes you uncomfortable, you can’t resign yourself to the total dark again. But you step out. Better to enjoy the illumination from a distance.

You wedge yourself into a corner between the empty living area and the hall to the bath and bedrooms, keeping away from the windows. No one said anything about snipers, but you have seen movies, and even if there isn’t a ghost out there with a gun, windows are an opportunity for the wrong person to see you moving around.

In the day, windows are eyes looking out. At night, the eyes turn in. It’s the kind of lesson you learned as a girl. Be aware, because someone wants to take a look without asking. Someone is hiding in the car beside yours, so be careful where you park. Don’t walk with headphones in. Kidnappers like to grab long hair and ponytails. There’s always someone who wants to hurt you, and they’re always going to be bigger and stronger, so the only way to win is to see them before they strike. This is definitely not the situation you grew up imagining, but you’ll take the intrinsic paranoia of being a woman in public as the gift it is in the moment.

Headlights from passing cars sweep the room from time to time, and you freeze like a deer as the LEDs paint the walls white. The beams cutting through the empty windows feels like a countdown, gears in a clock turning, and as the number of cars grows, you gradually notice some of the light stays behind, weakening the shadows where you hide. It’s closer to dawn than you realized, and soon this awful fucking night will end.

A knock shatters the silence, and your hand falls to your pocket, where your phone waits. Didn’t the woman say she would call? Could she have forgotten, or…?

Another series of knocks interrupts your train of thought, and you wrestle with the urge to leap towards the door the way you lunge to a ringing landline. Habit.

You get to your feet, backpack slung over one shoulder, trying to decide whether to approach the door or go hide deeper in the safehouse. It’s a Choose Your Own Adventure story from hell with no way to turn back to the previous page if you get shot.

In the end, someone else makes the choice for you.

A key rattles in the lock, and grey morning light floods the space as the door swings open to reveal three tall, clearly male silhouettes. They file through and shut the door quickly – too quickly? A smiling blond in the front approaches, hands up, trying to put you at ease.

“Hey, ready to go?” He talks like he knows you, but you most definitely do not know him. It tugs at your stranger danger trigger, and your hands flex against the urge to raise defensive fists. He’s American. The woman on the phone was American, too. Maybe that’s a good thing. “We’re here to get you somewhere secure, okay? Got a car out front.”

The other two sweep the room, move down the hall, clearing the rest of the safehouse with handguns easily hidden under their casual civilian clothing. The leader sounds like he’s from Boston. The other two have a bit of South in the mouth from what you catch of their brief commands and replies. It’s all very official. They’re professionals. There’s no reason to think they’re anything other than what they claim.

The smiling man knew where to find a key, so logically, someone in command told him. They knew where to look. They know you’re supposed to go somewhere with them.

So why do the hairs on the back of neck prickle?

Another lesson from your teen years pops to mind: If it feels wrong, it probably is.

Your phone jumps to life in your pocket, and you seize it with dread and hope as the man’s eyes dart to your hand, his smile suddenly and mysteriously missing.

“Don’t.” A flat command with a threat rippling under the surface like a riptide.

You hesitate, locking in place like he’s drawn a gun on you. “Why?”

He smiles again, more forced than before. “Because you don’t need to. We’re already here.”

His bullshit steams in the morning sun as it drops from his lips.

It feels wrong.

It is wrong.

You leap back and accept the call.

“Team’s five min – ”

You shout over her as the man lunges, talking faster than you realized you could. “Three men! Had a key! Americ-”

The blond tackles you, his shoulder in your diaphragm, and the air leaves you with a squeak as your back slams into the thin carpet. He’s heavy, and you hit the ground hard. As you blink away stars, you distantly hear the woman’s voice from where the phone has fallen a few feet away.

“Shut-up,” the man growls, driving his palm into your face.

His hand pushes over your mouth, and you don’t stop to think before sinking your teeth into the asshole’s skin. It isn’t the first time you’ve had reason to bite a bitch, and you hope it won’t be the last.

He jerks away with his own yelp.

You haven’t quite gotten your breath back, and you barely manage to bleat, “Help,” before the window of opportunity closes again.

A backhanded strike sends your vision spinning, leaving you discombobulated long enough for all three of the men – all shouting over each other – to roll you over and zip tie your hands behind your back. A heavy stomp and distinct crunch tell the fate of your phone.

You’ll tell the woman at the end of the line no more secrets. That tie is severed. You scream again anyway, because maybe someone is close enough to hear you. This is a residential neighborhood. Someone may wake up and feel heroic.

“Shut-up.” The leader smacks your head into the floor to make a point, and your teeth catch on the inside of your cheek. “We could’ve done this nice and easy. Painless. Quiet. But you wanna be a bitch? You wanna play games? Fuck it. Fine.”

You pull against your restraints, trying to get up on your knees as the blond addresses his friends, “We’ll do this at the warehouse. Grab her.”

Swearing, the other two heave you onto your feet and start dragging you out of the safehouse. One makes an attempt to fling you over his shoulder, but you kick and writhe until you tumble off, so they make due with hauling you by the arms as your heels scrabble across the carpet, the doorway, the concrete. You’re losing ground. They’re taking you away. And your mind is full of frantic thoughts about kidnappers and secondary locations and dropping survival rates.

One keeps a gloved hand over your mouth when it’s clear you won’t stop screaming no matter how many times they tell you to. Well-behaved women seldom make history, and well-behaved hostages rarely live to tell about it. There is no reason to go quietly into that good night, and fuck if you won’t fight them every inch of the way.

But they’re bigger, and stronger, and they get you to the car.

The blond leader waits by the trunk, holding it open with one hand while he cradles the one you bit near his chest. You get a glimpse of red teeth marks before his teammates literally toss you into the trunk and slam it shut.

It’s darker than the safehouse, and with your hands trapped, you can’t find any of the emergency pulls designed to help people in just this situation. One of the simplest horrors – losing control of your own body – tightens your throat. You can’t defend yourself. Can’t even put your arms over your face the next time one of the bastards takes a swing at you.

The engine rumbles to life, and your kidnappers peel away, flying over speedbumps and taking tight corners in their rush to leave before the real escorts arrived. You roll and slip at the mercy of inertia. Both fortunately and unfortunately, there’s nothing sliding around with you in the dark. While a crowbar or tire iron could’ve stabbed you or given you a concussion as you bounced and crashed around the narrow space, they might’ve helped free your hands. The best you can do is guess at where the taillights are and try to stomp through the corners.

You do not succeed.

But you keep trying as the coarse flooring scours a rug burn into your cheek.

This could be your last chance to get away, and if you can get the trunk open, you’ll gladly jump into the freeway. Tied hands and all. Living with one less limb or a broken spine is better than dying slowly in a warehouse. Right?

You don’t get to make that decision.

The road turns rough under the wheels, and you nearly vibrate to pieces, collecting bruises as you collide with the ceiling, floor, and walls.

You taste blood, probably from where you bit your cheek. Or maybe from the slap. Or any of the dozen times your head struck something during the ride.

It isn’t a big deal. It shouldn’t be, at least. But you’re bleeding. You just got the blood off your hands, and now it’s on your tongue. Your wrists sting where the plastic zip ties cut too tight. These men will kill you. They will hurt you until you’ve told them whatever they want to know, and then they’ll throw your body somewhere filthy for scavengers to tear apart.

You’re helpless.

The feeling sits like uneasy bile in your gut, churning with raw fear and howling anxiety as you fight back tears.

Shocky. Is that a word? You feel shocky.

The facts of your reality are a little too much right now, so your consciousness pulls back half a step. It’s happening to you, yes, but not in an immediate way. It could be a vivid thought experiment, or a dream you’ll realize is a nightmare when someone shoots you in the head and you don’t die. Your mind just lets all the feelings slip between open fingers to fall in a pile at your feet. The writhing miasma of panic and discomfort screams, trying to crawl back up your knees, but it doesn’t hurt so much down there.

You’re distancing yourself. That’s the word. Maybe it will help when they take you apart.

The car rolls to a stop. Your heart nearly stops with it. You hold your breath as the engine shuts off, listening to each shift the men make as they exit the car. The squeaks of old seats and aging suspension echoes through the trunk, and slamming doors send shockwaves through your bones as the men crunch over gravel to reach the back. The hatch pops open, and the fully-risen sun blinds you.

How long was the drive? Hours? Minutes? The sky is awfully bright.

As you squint, tears automatically beading in the corners of your eyes, the leader speaks up.

“We done playing games, or you gonna make this difficult?”

You lash out. Even if your hands are bound, your legs are still free, and you kick like a mule when the first man reaches for you. You miss him on the upswing, but he’s balancing with one hand on the trunk’s lip, and your heel slams down hard on his knuckles.

He wheels back, cursing, but you don’t have time to celebrate. Before you get your leg back into the deep, dark depths of the trunk, the leader grabs you by the ankle and yanks you out. The latch digs into your back, and you shriek as you go face-first into the gravel.

You’ve taken your pound of flesh from all three. The leader has your bite on his hand, you hopefully fucked up one goon’s fingers, and both of the supporting meatheads should have good bruises from your resistance on the way out of the safehouse.

None of them are well pleased.

“Fucking fine then.”

Still holding your ankle, the leader moves towards the decrepit building they’ve parked behind. He’s a bulky guy, but he’s got a bad case of vanity muscles. He can’t walk and pull at the same time. It’s step – drag – step – drag – step.

The little stones jab through your clothes, slicking into exposed skin and grinding deep bruises along your hips. Growling, you kick and wriggle, aiming for the asshole’s wrist and knee as you try to inch away like a worm.

He loses his grip, and for a blessed instant you think you’re free. Then meathead one and two each take an arm and haul you inside before their leader loses any more face. They don’t give you a chance to get on your feet, clearly frustrated with the whole ordeal. You aren’t a threat, but you’re a pain in the ass, so they treat you like the problem you are.

Spotty sunshine cuts through broken windows like dozens of spotlights in the wide storage room. The remaining glass is too filthy for anything but a muted glow to creep through. Still, there’s enough light for stubby grass to grow in the cracks. The place has seen better days, and rustling wings answer the thugs’ heavy steps as a flock of nesting pigeons take to the air. Everything smells like bird shit and mold.

The leader drags a rickety wooden stool to the center of the room, and the goons force you up to sit on it. Like most stools you’ve encountered, this one is a little too tall, and your toes don’t quite scrape the ground. The support rungs where you might’ve rested your feet for balance have rotted away to splintered stumps, and your sneakers paw the air, trying to balance, before you realize your escorts aren’t letting go.

Blondie steps in front of you, insincere smile back on his face. Clearly, he feels in control again, now that he has two grown men holding you down so you can’t run, can’t fight back.

“We know the hand-off didn’t happen,” he says, almost friendly. “We know you met with the handler, though, and he definitely had time to tell you something.” Leaning in, he lifts his brows, feigning an open expression as hands squeeze the blood from your bound arms. “I need you to tell me two things. I need you to tell me exactly what the handler said to you, and I need to know exactly how much you’ve told Laswell. That’s it. You can still make this easier on yourself. Just tell me the truth.”

Your jaw clenches shut. Your lips seal closed in a frown. It’s instinctive, almost defensive, like crossing your legs and leaning away when a man crowds you in a bar. He can’t have what he wants. You won’t give it to him.

You don’t even know who Laswell is, but you assume she’s the one who directed you to the safehouse.

A flicker of irritation warps the leader’s face again, and he says, saccharine sweet like fruit about to rot, “We could always do a cavity search to make sure you didn’t receive anything.”

You don’t take time to think. Following your gut, you sneer, giving the bastard elevator eyes even his goons will notice. Meeting his gaze again, you simply say “Gross.”

The following slap leaves your ears ringing. It jogs some of your disassociated mind back into your body, and you blink rapidly, searching for your equilibrium as you stare into the corner of the room, where his strike turned your head. Something wet wells over your upper lip, and when you try licking it away, you get a mouthful of copper.

“Fine. Fine!” The leader moves behind you, throwing up his hands. He rustles through something where you can’t see, muttering under his breath, and you wonder if he’s ever done this before.

Maybe he’ll give up. Maybe, if you keep quiet a little longer, they’ll just…

Rough hands force your left pinky straight, and something cold presses against your fingertip, pinching the nail.

Oh.

Fuck.

He’s gonna rip it off.

It doesn’t even hurt yet, but you can’t catch your breath. It’s evacuated your lungs before the screaming starts, and you go deathly still as you try to brace yourself.

The pliers lift and tug in a quick but ruthless motion, ripping the nail from the bed, and your vision goes white.

Pain too intense to stay in your finger crackles through your shattered nerves, and you struggle to fold in on yourself as every muscle tries to get away, to physically disconnect and run from your own hand. Your lungs won’t expand, and squeaky, stuttered cries punch out as you try to breathe.

“Just tell me what you know! It’s not that hard! Jesus!”

The pliers settle on the next nail, and you start hyperventilating. It’s just pain. It will pass. It’s just pain. It will pass. A friend once confided he’d studied torture-endurance tactics when he started running. You cling to them as the second nail lifts and whimper through a desperate inhale. The key is time. Nothing lasts forever. One way or another, it has to stop eventually. It isn’t as effective as it probably was for your friend, though, because his torture ended in a good shower and cool glass of water.

You aren’t ready to die.

But you don’t talk, either.

The asshole on your left jerks you hard to get you to quit shaking so his leader can grasp the next fingernail, but it’s not something you can voluntarily stop. “She’s not talking. Just shoot her so we can get out of here.”

The leader throws down the pliers, and they clatter across the brittle concrete. He paces behind you. Each step sounds like the second hand of a clock ticking away his patience, ticking away the minutes you have left to live. “He wants to know the extent of the breach. Our mess. We clean it up.”

His teammate scoffs, “Just because you want to impress him –”

“This isn’t about impression anyone, dumbass!” The leader’s voice pings around the empty warehouse, and you flinch, ready for that anger to turn on you. He marches back from the corner his pacing took him to, snapping at his associate over the top of your head. “What do you think happens if we don’t meet his expectations? If we don’t fucking exceed them? Think he’ll just shrug and call it a learning experience? Fucking – dumbass!”

“Bet he’d be angrier if we get caught because you wanted to exceed his expectations.”

Silence. A full thirty seconds. You count them in your head, like you’re playing hide and seek.

“We’re running out of time.”

The leader sighs. A rustle. Something clicks, something you imagine is the safety of a gun, and the men holding you in place lean away without letting go.

You struggle, jerking and swaying so you almost knock over the stool, but the men anticipated your fight against the end, and their bruising grips crush to the bone.

Something brushes the hair on the back of your head, gentle as a kiss. Oh, it’s definitely a gun.

“Last chance.” The leader still acts like he’s being reasonable, that his inconvenience is greater than your entire life. Like he ever could’ve been the hero in this scenario.

Now that he’s shown his hand, you have no reason to speak, even if you had planned to. Caving to his demands won’t buy back your life. It might not even win another hour. You didn’t get the message out, so you’ve already failed. And you’re going to die.

Doesn’t mean you aren’t terrified. Your face drips with tears and blood. The salty tracks sting what you assume is a cut on the side of your face, and every breath of wind stirs the naked nerves on the tips of your fingers to fresh agony.

You don’t want to cry, and you sure as hell won’t beg these assholes for anything. But you can’t bear to watch, so you close your eyes like a child, face screwed up as you wonder how much the bullet will hurt on its way through your brain, how much you’ll feel before it ends you.

The hands on your arms tense. The barrel of the gun presses firm and cool against your scalp.

A crack like thunder shatters the stillness, and it’s amazing that you can still hear the men holding you down yell and jump after you’ve been shot.

Another bang, and the man on your left lets go as something warm sprays your face.

Your eyes pop open.

That shouldn’t happen. You’re supposed to be dead.

The man to your right yanks you off the stool and pins you to his front with an arm across your throat. Using you as a human shield. Because.

He’s the one in danger.

You register the dead bodies of the blond leader and the one who argued for your execution on the floor. Blooming pools of red seep from wide holes in their skulls. Something greyish oozes from the hollow of the goon’s former expression.

The last surviving teammate has you facing some of the high, broken windows, and you recall your fears of a sniper when you cowered in the dark safehouse.

A new gun pushes into your temple, and you try to twist away only for the man to squeeze your neck so hard he cuts off your air. You aren’t sure if means to choke you, but you can’t fucking breathe. Unbalanced, with your hands still tied behind your back and a gun to your head, there’s nothing you can do but slip and stumble where he pulls you – presumably out of the sniper’s line of sight.

As he tries to drag you towards an exit, the door falls in with a boom, and two large men with much bigger guns than your kidnapper’s rush him.

“Drop it now! Get on your knees!”

Your kidnapper doesn’t comply. He whips back and forth, putting so much pressure on your throat your vision dances with black spots, and your feet drag, almost entirely limp, over the floor.

“I’ll do it! Back off! I’ll shoot her!”

The two men move in concert, orchestrated like a pack of wolves as they split up and gradually move on the hostage-taker. The man drifts back towards the stool and his dead friends without realizing, far too involved with the nearer guns to remember who’d killed the others.

He grinds the gun against your face, and you squeeze your eyes shut again. How many death threats can you survive in one day? If the approaching team doesn’t move faster, you’ll suffocate before you get shot.

Your shoe slips in blood, and as you feebly scramble to keep your feet under you, a third shot reverberates through the room, and you’re falling. The man holding you tumbles forward, pinning you under literal dead weight with his arm still twisted around your neck.

You only have a moment to panic, and then big hands are tugging the corpse away, and the light seems as bright as it did when your kidnappers opened the trunk. You can breathe, and the oxygen shudders into you like a punch to the sternum. Coughing, you try to remember how this breathing shit is supposed to work.

One of the men quickly but carefully rolls you onto your side so he can cut off the zip ties, and your hands ache with the rush of blood to your fingers. Including your mangled nailbeds. Ah, fuck. Those smart.

The second man kneels in front of you, pausing to speak into a radio while his partner gets you free.

“Good shot, LT. Target down. Securing the package now and moving to exfil.”

He is very Scottish, and that puts some little, anxious voice in your head at ease. The group who took you was American. This is not the same club. As if shooting the kidnappers wasn’t enough to prove that. But for whatever reason, the accent matters more to your rattled mind.

The man behind you helps you sit up, and as you flex your hands, as happy as you are hurt, he asks, “Are you seriously injured? Can you walk?” A nice, English accent. It has the same effect as the Scot’s voice. These are friends. They’re here to help. Even if they’re even scarier than the men who first took you.

“I’m… fine.” A lie. “I can walk.” In theory.

They hadn’t done anything directly to your legs, but everything feels shaky and unsteady, so you aren’t sure how well they’ll hold once the adrenaline drops.

“Okay.” The Scot pulls you the rest of the way to your feet with the same firm efficiency as his comrade as the Englishman turns with a raised gun to watch the room’s other exits. “I need you to hold onto the back of my vest.” He takes your undamaged hand and guides your grip over the heavy strap covering his shoulder. “Just like that. Very good. Just move when I move and we’ll get you out, yeah?”

You nod, feeling small and strange – he’s bigger than you initially thought, and you feel like a child hanging onto him like this. But you understand what he’s doing, and you’re slightly more confident in your ability to leave on your own two feet now that you have some physical support.

“Okay.” He lifts his gun and signals to the second man. “Let’s move.”

It’s a short, cautious trip back into daylight. The Scot checks corners as you progress, keeping himself between you and potential threats ahead while the Englishman guards the rear, ready for an ambush.

When you escape the shadows of the warehouse, a black SUV races up to meet your little band. You flinch back, but don’t let go of the Scot’s tactical vest, and the young man behind you rushes to assure you all is well before you bolt. “It’s our team. Don’t worry. You’re safe now.”

The Scot opens the door, hops in, and because you’re still holding onto him, you go, too. Behind you, the rearguard leaps in, and the vehicle takes off before he even wrangles the door shut.

It takes a moment and the Scottish gentleman clearing his throat before you realize you haven’t released him, and the hold leaves you kneeling awkwardly on the bench seat between the two… soldiers? Agents?

He does the hard work for you, unfolding your fingers the same way he brought them to the vest. “There you go, hen. You’re alright.”

Anxious, face burning, you slip down to sit like a functional adult with your ass on the leather and your feet on the floor. Two more men sit in the front, one with a rifle. One with a fucking fishing hat. That’s all you can see around the headrests. Nothing sticks in your head as you look around, and you can’t see out the tinted windows very well past the bulky men with their outsized guns.

You’re alive. You’ve been rescued. But every little sensation, every dawning thought and fact make you feel worse. Small. Trapped. Rushing somewhere out of your control.

You feel, once again, very terribly like a civilian caught in the wrong world.

#ghost x reader #captain price x reader #soap mactavish x reader #soap x reader #x reader #poly!reader #cod mw fanfiction

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lokisgoodgirl · 2 years ago

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Hot & Bothered: Snack Shack [Avenger!Loki x Fem Reader]

Part of the Hostile F*cks Collection A link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: (14) Ice-cream ain't the only temptation waiting in the Snack Shack. Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Smut. Hostility. Language. "Friends" w/ benefits. (4.2k)

You and Loki walked most of the way in silence. A small hut came into view, a half-shuttered awning facing the sea. The Snack Shack, a faded rectangular sign above the front read.

Loki chuckled mockingly, shaking his head. “I shall never become accustomed to this realms insistence on purchasing frivolities.”

“Like food?” you muttered. “Besides, you’re like, the poster boy for frivolities.” you said scathingly, pinching the arm of his chiffon robe. Loki sniffed. “I meant the exchange of coin. So uncivilised.”

“Well, it may surprise you to know” you whispered secretively, leaning towards him. “That not everyone has the benefit of being a spoilt arsehole.”

Loki scoffed, offering a dismissive wave of his hand. “I can assure you that if I was necessitated to use such vulgar methods of capital exchange, I would not waste it on trifles such as…”

He trailed off, searching for any sign on the dilapidated exterior of what could be found inside the Snack Shack. You rolled your eyes, turning the key.

“After you, my Liege.” you mocked, waving him inside. The god tilted his chin up, flicking his hair past his shoulders before striding barefoot through the rickety door in a swirl of black silk-chiffon.

Prick, you thought. “Peasant.” Loki snapped dryly in response, not looking back.

You tilted your head, a wave of irritation at his insufferable new habit giving way to curiosity. “I thought you said you could only see flashes of things. Like photos of certain...whatever?”

Loki nodded, picking up an empty plastic jumbo-cup and inspecting it with mild interest. He tilted his head, voice saturated in feigned innocence.

“You must be feeling something very strongly, Agent. Either that or the reason for your unfortunate position is deepening its hold. Oh dear.” He ended with a theatrical narrowing of his eyes, the blue of his irises darkened in the unlit gloom.

A coy smile pressed against the god's cheek as he watched your brow twitch; words failing to bridge the gap between your brain and tongue. He straightened, flipping the jumbo cup to spin flawlessly back to its position at the top of a curved stack.

A beam of afternoon sun snaking through the shutters ran a sliver of sunlight across his broad chest as he leant against the counter. It caught the golden embroidery of the caftan resting against his obliques, illuminating the luxurious weave that hung like a fucked-out lover around the muscle of his hips.

The god’s hands gripped the sides of the stainless steel, drumming them lightly as he waited for you to respond.

“Steve didn’t ask you to talk to me, did he?” you said, suddenly very aware you were bare but for a simple bikini. In the cover of shadow, Loki let his eyes wander leisurely over your curves; a flash of pink running across his bottom lip. His tell.

“He spoke to me earlier. He didn’t speak to you.�� you analysed slowly, running a finger along the length of the steel counter. Loki’s eyes flashed, a roll of his shoulders betraying his arousal. He pulled the flowing length of the caftan to the side, letting it swirl and flutter. You supposed he thought it looked casual.

“He spoke to me prior to-” he started confidently.

“-Liar.” you snapped, cutting him off.

The god raised his brows. “You lied to me, Loki.” you said coyly, noting the way he was pressing himself back against the thick steel bar. His grip had tightened around the edge, the unexpected causality of your statement taking him by surprise. Not that he had lied. But that you had caught it.

Loki glowered, lowering his chin. “You are the one lying Agent. To me. And to yourself.”

“You’re full of shit.” you snapped, heart beating louder with every slap of your flip flops against the rudimentary tiled floor. “Why did you lie about Rogers? Why did you come over to sit with me? Did you miss me?” you goaded, pouting mockingly as his glare intensified. The bitterness in your voice surprised even you.

He had shuffled slightly to the right, subconsciously moving away from your stalk around the L-shaped counter. “Or did you miss your toy? The game.” you continued non-nonchalantly, reaching out and gathering the opposing edges of his caftan in a fist. “Which you were cheating at, by the way.”

You could smell the dried salt crusting in his hair, the undertone of spiced musk which infused his insufferably biteable skin hanging thick in the heat. A thrilling tingle soared over every hair on your body, his beautiful eyes squinting suspiciously as he tried to read you. “What’s wrong, Loki? Lost your upper hand?” you sneered.

Suddenly you pulled the fist gathering the sides of the slutty caftan towards you, slamming his mouth to yours in a violent kiss. Loki jolted in surprise, before his hands fastened to either side of your head. The feeling of his warm tongue invading your mouth after so long was heaven. Infuriatingly, it was fucking heaven.

He shuffled you back across the tiny kitchen. You lost a flip flop. And then two.

The force of his kiss was electric, the animalism of his covetous passion overpowering every ounce of dominance you had held mere seconds ago. He released you against the opposing steel counter, a fresh chill of metal hitting your lower back.

“You wish to know why I can see the desires that your mind screams across the lonely abyss you have created around yourself? One of misdirection and sabotage?” he hissed, taking no mind of the fist still gathered at his chest. Loki’s face was inches from yours, eyes wild and dangerous. Salted onyx curls fell around his cheekbones, rugged and dry.

“No.” you said slowly, rounding your lips. You watched his eyes hover on them as they remained parted, waiting for him to fill them again. “Liar.” he echoed.

You rolled your eyes, using the free hand not hoisting his robe together to roughly palm the front of his swim shorts. Unsurprisingly, he was already hard. Of course he fucking is, you thought. Despite your distractions, Loki continued unperturbed.

“You think that by conceding to your need for my intel on our little party trick, that you concede yourself?” he let out a mirthless laugh that stifled the small space, vibrating against the pots and pans hanging on the wall behind your head. “Oh Agent…” he hissed, as you squeezed his manhood tighter than any mortal man would find pleasure in; “...we are too far gone for that.”

“You’re awfully full of yourself for a man in a negligee.” you snorted, dragging your nails along the sensitive ridges of his cock through the nylon.

Loki grimaced, releasing a ragged growl as his head fell back to the ceiling. He let himself enjoy a few moments of submissive pleasure, before he brought himself forward; renewed determination glowing in his eyes.

“Be that as it may...it does not change that I can read you the way that I can.” he smirked, trailing a long finger between your breasts. He drew it between the mounds, groaning lightly as the digit disappeared into the valley of your cleavage before tracing it up your neck. His thumb lingered on your thorax, igniting the nerves that longed for his absent touch.

You let your head loll to the side, hips thrusting forwards as you felt him grow harder through the tight swim shorts. Harder? Fuck; you thought, as Loki’s fingertips grazed the length of your neck, back and forth; feeling every pulse, every breath. He descended to sweep your exposed collarbone, drawing tingling lengths over every pleasure point hidden beneath your skin with the lightest of touches.

It was torture. He was torture.

Loki’s forefinger and thumb clasped lightly beneath your chin, pressing against the angle of your jaw and forcing your face to his. He rocked his hips into your hand, grinding against the passive fury of your desire. “So fucking weak for me, aren’t you, Agent?” he murmured thoughtfully, eyes narrowing as he watched a new wave of infuriation blossom over your features nestled in shadow.

Before you could answer, his hands were wrapped around your wrists; tearing them from their grip on his caftan and cock like tissue paper. You gasped as he raised them above your head, sliding them roughly down your naked waist and hoisting you on top of the counter with a jolt.

“The only time you’re drawn to me is when I make you rage, isn’t it?” he grunted, grasping ravenously at your thighs as he spread them wider and slotted himself between. You panted, gasping as his hands wound in your hair possessively. “You are such a fucking arseh-”

“-Yes, Agent.” he groaned from deep in his gut, clawing mercilessly at the bikini bottoms wrapped to your hips.

“Loathe me. Scorn me. Hate me. Rage for me...I care not.” he spat through a desperate moan as the white briefs were cast to the floor by your flip flops. “Just fuck me.”

His own swimwear had disappeared in the fray. The thick cock you fantasised about filling you in the long hours of the night bobbed at his naval as he closed the distance between you. “Don’t, Agent.” he said softly, pressing a finger to your lips to quell the biting words hovering there.

Perched on the counter-top, you gazed up at the god who irritated you more than anyone or anything ever had. If you chose, you could pick up your shit and leave. But why would I do that? you thought fleetingly, catching a fleck of something spark in the greenish hues of his eyes.

You lurched forwards, catching the tip of his finger in your mouth and sucking with your eyes locked to his.

Loki lowered his chin with a rumble, the timbre making your slick pussy tremor as you swirled your tongue around the tip. “You are playing with fire, little thing.” he growled, tinged with desperation as your mouth released his finger with a final wet slurp. “Fucking burn me, then.” you snarled, running your palms down his chest to the treasure below.

“A month…” Loki groaned wistfully, as your hands looped around his neck; pulling him deeper against your keening body. You wondered if he had meant to say it out loud. His mouth latched to the curve of your shoulder, sucking messy kisses into the salted skin.

The flimsy material of your bikini top did nothing to stop pangs of pleasure soaring as your nipples rubbed against his body; shooting in blissful stars.

With an aggressive sweep of his hand, the pans hanging on the wall behind you shot across the room; clanging menacingly against the stove and falling chaotically to the floor. You gasped, descending into giggles as Loki lowered you against the cool counter-top with a satisfied smirk.

He hoisted your legs onto his shoulders, the silky material of the chiffon caftan feeling taboo beneath your naked calves. The god towered over you who lay spread and ready; running his feral stare over your glistening pussy as your back arched against the steel.

You moaned his name in frustration, pulling shamelessly at the golden hem of his slutty cover-up. Loki chuckled, holding his cock in one hand and dragging it leisurely against your wet slit.

“And you think you’re not weak for me...” he muttered, dipping the wide tip teasingly inside; watching a sticky web of arousal string outwards as he withdrew. His hair fell around his face, his eyelids closing gently with the smallest thrust of his hips edging lightly against your core.

“Only for what you can do…” you teased, fingers grasping around the counter’s edge; steadying for the coming reckoning. You bucked your hips so the first inch of his cock was swallowed into wet heat. “Fuck.” Loki choked, losing his concentration. His palms slid up the front of your thighs hanging against his chest before he bit ravenously into the flesh to his side.

“Please.” you sneered, feeling his length pulse against your clit as he stalled for time with his teeth and tongue. “You’re weak for me, Laufeyson.” Your fingers tightened around the chiffon hanging at his waist, yanking hard. The god’s eyes fluttered open in your direction, lips still fastened to your skin mid-bite.

“So desperate for the one who doesn’t want you.” you cooed, watching the familiar primal glaze blossom in his stare as you arched towards the ceiling. “So desperate for v-validation…”

The god’s hands cupped your knees, straightening your legs against his broad shoulders. “Lying to yourself again, Agent? How unattractive.” Loki snarled.

His fingers wrapped around your calves, squeezing tightly as you squirmed on the steel like an animal marked for slaughter. You bucked upwards, trying to capture the tip of his weeping cock like before. Loki tutted, wild hair melding in amongst the folds of black fabric covering his shoulders. “Doesn’t seem like you find me unattractive, Loki.” you purred, pressing your lips together mischievously.

Your hostile lover’s jaw clenched, grinding his teeth together as he leant forward; tight obliques pressing against the rear of your thighs. The veins of his furiously hard cock pulsed against your slit as he slid back and forth through your folds. Testing you. Teasing you.

You gasped as Loki thrust into your pussy without warning, his brows slanting before resuming their haughty, regal set. He bottomed out, a low groan vibrating against the back of your legs through his chest as he began fucking you with your straightened limbs jiggling shamelessly by his ears.

Dirty grunts spilled from his lips as he rode you into battle, primal desperation soaring as you rocked violently into his passion.

You could do nothing but feel the enormous weight of Loki’s arousal stretch and fill your sex, every long drag of his cock making your face scrunch in aggressive pleasure. Loki’s jaw gaped, unhinged as dark hair swung against his cheekbones; errant strands sticking against his parted lips.

A line of utensils on the wall shook, every messy slap of the god’s hips meeting your centre making them clang. A spatula clattered to the steel counter, bouncing along the shaking surface before descending loudly to the floor. A ladle followed.

One of his hands ran down your thigh, finding its way between your spread legs. He began rolling your clit with his horizontal thumb; firm and mercilessly targeted – each massage of the digit timed against his wet thrusts.

“Tell me what I want..” you gasped between filthy curses, your back squeaking against the steel as sweat made it stick. In a flash, Loki roughly lowered your legs around his hips, swooping his hands beneath your waist and heaving you into the air.

His cock never left your slit as you clenched around him, hanging on to the heady fuck only he could deliver with all the strength you had.

He slammed you against the lowered shutters, crushing your mouths together like a man possessed. You’d never seen him like this, hands spasming in their impatience to squeeze and grip and pull every curve of your body to his. “Say that again.” he growled disbelievingly by your ear, making you shudder.

“Tell me..w-what I want, d-dickhead.” you managed to gasp as he rutted into you; your back flat against rickity corrugated metal. It rattled ominously with every smack of his hips, your hands running through his hair and pulling his head back with a sharp tug. Loki hissed, lips stretching to reveal his teeth bared as he bit air. “F-uck, Agent…” he groaned. “I shall n-never understand you.”

“Good.” you whispered groggily, clenching tightly as he dragged his pelvis against yours. He couldn’t be any deeper. Every tight thrust bottomed out as he impaled himself again and again, withdrawing only an inch or two from the back of your channel before the temptation was too much. “You owe me that.” you murmured breathily, wrapping your arms around his neck.

His face hovered in front of yours as he stilled, fully sheathed and hard as rock. He jutted his chin, capturing your lower lip between his teeth and drawing it back. A thoughtful hum shuddered the air as he squinted, eyes flickering between your own. You could feel a tingling by your temples, a low buzz of static filling your mind as your lungs clenched. Am I imagining that, you wondered; as Loki’s hypnotic stare sank into yours.

The god inhaled sharply, head titling to the side as he pursed his lips. “You’re a bad girl.” he murmured, punctuated with a slow roll of his hips. “No worse than you.” you countered, as Loki’s attempt at a lean for a kiss turned to a grin.

“Where?” he said. “There.” you replied, nudging your head towards the opposite side of the small kitchen space. The only unspoilt surface.

Loki smirked. “Very well. Although don’t be disappointed when you do not have the strength to facilitate the desired result.” he mocked, sliding his cock from your tight, wet heat and lowering you to the ground. The tiles were cool on the soles of your feet, flushed with faint pins and needles from Loki’s iron grip on your thighs. “Oh, we’ll see.” you replied petulantly. “I have a lot of pent up frustration.”

Loki chuckled, backing slowly towards the steel counter on his left. “That much is obvious, Agent. Perhaps it will teach you not to punish yourself with the withdrawal of your affections from me.”

You rolled your eyes, before being drawn back to the sight of him leaning seductively against the ledge. His slutty caftan spread out as he rested his hands casually behind him, knuckles popping as long fingers wrapped around metal.

The chiffon cover-up glinted in the slivers of light through the squint shutters, embroidery framing his deliciously luxurious erection in the scruffy surroundings. “Or perhaps affections is the wrong word, hmm?” he interjected, looking at you appraisingly through heavy-lidded eyes.

You stepped forwards, noticing him brush the long line of dark material from one thigh, holding it beneath his thumb against the steel. It exposed the meat of his muscled thigh which bulged as he adjusted his stance. Tease, you thought with a smile as you padded past him, enjoying the moment his look of smug assurance melted to a frown.

“What are you doing?” he snapped incredulously, as you reached up to a high shelf. You fished around in a box, drawing out a solitary wafer cone before placing it beneath the ice-cream machine beside Loki.

“I’m mortally offended you would choose that over the delicacies I offer, Agent.” he coyed, bristling beneath the humour. You shrugged, watching the vanilla soft serve swirl in a perfect loop, higher and higher. The machine growled, chugging as an exasperated huff expelled from Loki’s throat. You smirked.

Turning to face him, you held up the loaded cone. “I thought you said you can see what I want.” you postured bluntly, before giving the ice-cream a whoreish lick. Loki’s eyes narrowed. “Indeed.” he growled, widening his legs. You sashayed the several steps between you, pressing your chest to his. He opened his mouth, eyes never leaving yours as you let him lick the cone. Slow, sensual. Filthy.

You whimpered as he covered the tip with his mouth, sucking before his tongue darted across vanilla-soaked lips. “I’ve had better.” he murmured playfully, a dark strand falling over his eye. “Me too.” you said, before shoving the remnants of the ice-cream in his face.

Loki spluttered, smiling back at your own grin as you began to run the ruined cone down his neck. A drop of white fell from his nose, splashing your cleavage. The scent of artificial vanilla filled your nostrils, soft serve melting instantly against his heated skin. It nestled in the crevices of his collarbone; sticking in tacky pools before finding a slow path down his chest.

“Did you see that coming?” you whispered provocatively, letting your tongue roll over the final word. Loki shivered, shaking his head. You ran your palms up his neck, feeling the thick sugar clinging to your fingertips drag across his skin. They slid over his cheekbones, carding past his temples as Loki gave a reluctant twist of his neck.

“Beware the robe” he muttered, “it was crafted by Asgardian crones, the finest weavers in all the realms.”

You smirked, wiping a wet finger down the embroidered collar. “Oops.” you purred. Loki sighed heavily, restless irritation bubbling beneath the surface of his perfect skin. It felt like all your senses were heightened. His submission. That was what you had wanted more than anything else, right here. Right now.

A seaborne breeze fluttered through the gap in the shutters, coolly kissing the sweat gathered on your chest and neck. Without a moment’s pause, your messy hand slid down his abdomen, rippling over valleys of muscle before wrapping around his heavy cock. Loki hissed, a rasping groan filling the air as you began to slowly wank him back and forth.

Your free hand fastened around the thick muscle of his neck, the cartilage of his Adam’s apple hard against your tingling skin. The span of your thumb and forefinger barely reached edge to edge.

Loki smirked down beneath half-lidded eyes. “I told you.” he growled goadingly, before you pushed the flat of your palm backwards. Loki let out a grunt of surprise as the digits hooked beneath the angle of his jaw, tilting his head back further as you increased the speed of your hand around his cock. The drying stick of ice-cream made every tug drag as you watched him relent beneath your touch, becoming undone against the steel.

“Gods...more…” he whimpered huskily, toes curling on the floor. Loki’s thighs twitched, femur muscles bulging against your own as you pressed harder against the soft flesh of his neck. “Fuck.” he choked, rasping moans filling the air as wetness slid between your legs.

You squeezed his windpipe, clenching at the sound of half-breaths struggling to surface. The god’s hair swung around his shoulders, chin pointed to the ceiling. His stomach muscles flexed against your chest, the desperate thrusts of his sex into your palm making you feel more than turned on. Making you feel alive.

You slowed the motion of your hand, feeling a silent whimper vibrate his throat. Toying with the foreskin covering his shaft, your fingertips gently massaged the weeping tip as his knees began to buckle.

“You’re so fucking weak for me, Loki.” you parroted, seeing his brow crease in feral anticipation. If he could, you were sure he would have nodded. You pushed the hand pressing at the angle of his jaw further, making his eyes roll back as you tugged the delicate skin of his cock out and pulled it back with aching slowness.

A ragged groan from Loki charted every step of it’s ascent.

“Mercy.” he gasped, as you stroked him slowly. Too slowly.

Every devastating rub of his sensitive tip made him lean back further under the weight of your hand at his throat. He was dripping with precum, each roll of your thumb against his frenulum making another pearl squeeze forth. You glanced down, seeing his fists clench and unclench against the metal counter-top, body shaking with unspent lust. Ready to burst.

Your pace quickened.

“Why can you see into my head, then?” you panted, beginning to tug mercilessly. The fluid motion of your hand sliding against the magnificent column of flesh was it’s own reward, the pretty flutter of his lashes as he came undone making you mewl alongside him.

Loki let out a strangled moan, velvet skin melded to your own; moist with arousal and saliva and liquid sugar as you stroked the underside of his exposed shaft with every flick of your wrist. The veins on his neck stood erect as muscled shoulders juddered, abs clenching as he leant into your grip.

“Because you...fuck. l-love me, f-fuck...uhhh…” he groaned, eyes squeezed shut as glorious white seed spurted over your fist. His roar was apocalyptic, a deafening exhale of your name as he spilled himself over your waiting skin. His cum shot up your wrist, coating your palm. Your forearm. Your chest.

You squeezed a final time as Loki let out slow, shallow pants; gathering every drop before smearing the handful down your cleavage. Bringing your fingers to your lips, you sucked the remains as the god leant forwards, tongue primed.

He met the curve of your breast with a sigh, letting slow licks trail languidly as he lapped himself from your skin. Fuck, it tastes even better than I remember, you thought; pressing the back of the god’s head further between your mounds.

There was still a ringing in your ears as he surfaced. “Did you hear what I said, Agent?” he said tentatively, mouth sticky with ice-cream and semen; glistening in the low light. “I was distracted...” you purred, your hand already fumbling for his cock, ready for round two.

“Because you love me.” he said slowly, brows slanted. An awkward smile tugged at his lips.

You snorted with laughter, brushing a thumb against his mouth to gather the remnant slick gathered there. You sucked it, able to instantly tell the difference between the ice-cream and his own delicious vanilla-infused seed.

“Very funny. You’re insane.” you snapped, pulling the collar of the sluttish caftan towards you to kiss him. Loki frowned, placing a palm gently against your lips. His brow was furrowed, deep lines set above eyes which sparked with barbs unsaid.

“I should have known better than to think you’d actually tell me.” you said petulantly, muffled against the flat of his palm. The god leant forward, the scent of his cum hanging sweet and heavy on his breath.

“Since you will not take my word, I think it best you have a conversation with my brother.” Loki said with disquieting bitterness, lowering his hand. You realised that the tight swim shorts had reformed around his hips as he readjusted the sheer robe, haughtily flicking fucked-out hair over his shoulders.

“Wait-what?” you stuttered, stumbling to gather your bikini bottoms from the floor. “Loki, wait –is that it? What about the water?”

“I have it on my person.” Loki grunted dryly, casting a shaded glance behind him with a theatrical flourish of the slutty caftan. “You are not the only expert at hiding things, Agent.” he said snidely, letting the door to the snack shack clatter shut behind him.

Continued in Bow to Me Part of the Hostile F*cks Collection