#broken spine prods

[chrollogy]

SILKEN WEB

— chrollo lucilfer x f!reader x hisoka morow

syn: Hisoka’s ‘generosity’ allows Chrollo to fuck you in front of him after he’s seen the way the latter has looked at you. Though, the redhead cannot help but join in on the fun despite being the cuck—he has his ways, he always does.

18+ MDNI; explicit smut, porn without plot, cuckolding, voyeurism, threesome, creampie unprotected sex, multiple orgasms (f & m), anal (f), masturbation (m), edging, overstimulation, hisoka uses bungee gum, chrollo might be pining over reader, not beta read.

word count: 2.8k

notes: divider: cafekitsune. the fruit of my late night thoughts nod nod. as per poll results, here’s hisoka as the cuck :3

Fantasizing—a children’s pastime, a mere way to escape from one’s gruelling reality but Chrollo Lucilfer would be lying to himself if he deemed he wasn’t immune to it. Oh, he certainly wasn’t without a doubt; the root of all his wildest dreams, and twisted carnal desires was none other than the woman beneath him, all in her serene nakedness—you.

So breathtakingly exquisite—the epitome of beauty. From the lust-clouded gaze that complimented the colour of your eyes all the way to the dulcet tone of your breaths, this was sinful heaven for Chrollo. Sinful not because of the sharp pleasure kissing down his spine but simply because you weren’t his, and he wasn’t yours. Not lovers, not friends, mere acquaintances, and your heart was reserved for none other than a member of the Troupe he led.

But that never stopped Chrollo from fantasizing about you, about this. Ever the observant fighter, it didn’t take long for Hisoka to catch the former’s lingering stares on you—albeit, as blank as a sheet of paper—whenever he paraded you around. One of the biggest telling signs was that Chrollo had never uttered a word regarding your presence whenever you sat there during their meetings despite the other members’ dismay.

Of course, once something piqued Hisoka’s curiosity, he wouldn’t let go until a solid answer was handed to him on a silver platter. It was a short exchange between the two males, a few sharp retorts from Hisoka’s end but nonetheless, it led to this lewd scene. Per the magician’s words, he gave Chrollo permission to do whatever he pleased to you—to fuck, to make love, to get lost in eye-rolling pleasure within your very walls but only if he got to watch everything unfold.

From the intimate act of undressing, and peeling of clothes all the way to a passionate climax that was sure to vex his very bones, Hisoka was to watch it all.

Faint squeaks of the bed frame paired with yours, and Chrollo’s heated gasps filled every corner of the room; his thrusts were deep, and rapid, body intimately flushed against your own which absolutely left no room for coherent words to come out—with the way his cockhead repeatedly prodded your sweet spot, strings of broken whimpers, and low moans were the best you could muster.

Sex wasn’t something you were foreign with but the ungodly rhythm of Chrollo’s hips was enough to make you feel like a virgin again begging for more, more, more, nothing but pleasure engrained inside your mind, clawing, and running after that blissful sensation.

Chrollo was different from Hisoka, he handled you with the utmost gentleness but that didn’t take away the fact that he pounded you oh-so-passionately into the ivory mattress beneath. On the other hand, Hisoka was rough, and animalistic—purely driven by his wild carnal desires. 

Chrollo’s sweat-lined forehead rested against yours, face mere centimetres from your own as your breaths intertwined in a vulgar dance. The hearts of his palms captured your trembling hands in a firm hold, pinning them on either side of your head, and used as leverage to drive his cock deeper into your sopping cunt—as deep as his desires went for you.

He closed his eyes at the feel of your walls clenching around him, jaw tightening as electric pleasure shot up his spine, “F-fuck . .” God, you felt divine, Chrollo truly wanted to keep you to himself. He could treat you so much better than Hisoka—have you reach new heights of pleasure you’ve never experienced before.

Alas, that was out of the picture, Chrollo would have to settle for the mere intimacy of fucking you beneath these ivory covers, the same ones you, and Hisoka retire under after a long, tiring day. The duvet draped loosely across Chrollo’s back, mirroring a broken angel’s wings, and with the eager thrusts of his hips, it slowly slipped downwards. It was hot, and stuffy beneath the weight of the blanket but he’d do anything to keep the lewd intimacy from a pair of prying eyes.

That’s right, Hisoka sat on a chair not too far off the foot of the bed, an unamused expression plastered on his face but the growing tent between his spreaded legs hinted far from unamused.

Sure, the pornographic sounds bouncing off the walls had his cock hardening but Hisoka was deprived. He clicked his tongue, the sharp sound was enough to reel Chrollo out of his pleasured state followed by a stutter in his thrusts. “I’m glad you’re having fun, Chrollo but I said to give me a show, didn’t I?” What was Hisoka supposed to do with your bodies tucked beneath the covers? 

His view was nothing but the top half of Chrollo’s naked back, and the covers moving along with the latter’s thrusts, other than that, it left everything to Hisoka’s imagination. Of course, he wasn’t going to let it be, not after he generously let Chrollo fuck you like this.

With a swift flick of his index finger, the rubbery bright pink aura extended from the tip of his digit all the way to the ivory covers atop Chrollo’s naked back, attaching itself onto the fabric. A smirk crept its way up to Hisoka’s face as he pulled the covers down, exposing the way your naked bodies intimately tangled with one another.

A rather surprised gasp left your lips as the cool air hugged your fervent body, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. Naturally, this had also caught Chrollo off guard but didn’t let on, instead, the raven haired male responded by drilling his hips at a much faster pace, pulling a string of broken moans from your throat which only fuelled the excitement embedded in Hisoka’s chest.

Light amber eyes fixated where you and Chrollo met, Hisoka intently watched as the former’s cock disappeared, and reappeared between your coated slit—not to mention the light sheen of your essence around Chrollo’s cock, causing it to glimmer beneath the afternoon rays that seeped through the windows. Now, this was what Hisoka wanted to see—you, and Chrollo all in your filthy glory.

The feeling of blood rapidly rushing down to his cock, and the familiar tingle between his legs made Hisoka’s citrine gaze roll back, not to mention the growing delight on his face—it was anything but an innocent look. Lewd, wet sounds that were once muffled beneath the ivory duvet now reached Hisoka’s ears like an unholy melody; the constant skin slapping, the mixture of high, and low moans—the impurity of it all, your lover revelled in it.

Sounds of the redhead’s shameless pornographic moans intertwined with your own, and Chrollo’s as he teased himself through the fabric of his pants. Excitement shocked every part of his body like electricity, rendering him sensitive to anything, and everything—it was the same sensation as the extreme bloodlust he felt whenever he thirsted for battle.

Chrollo quietly clicked his tongue, not bothering to glance back at Hisoka in annoyance. He needed to focus on you. And he did. Without compromising the pace of his hips, Chrollo hooked his fingers beneath the back of your right knee, and deftly slung your whole leg atop his shoulder. The deeper angle of his cock had your back arching, your hands scrambled for his taut biceps to claw, and dig into as he pushed you further, and further into the borders of insanity.

“C-Chrollo! Fuck—right there! Just like that—haah!”

He let out a low groan as your nails marked him up, leaving streaks of bright red on his skin. By the looks of it, he wasn’t going to last much longer with the way your cunt gripped him like a vice. Nonetheless, Chrollo’s pace didn’t let up despite the resistance of your walls, albeit, it had his legs quivering, and breath hitching—god, Hisoka was so fucking lucky to have this, to have you.

Chrollo closed his eyes, and parted his lips to make way for soft pants, he focused his entire body in chasing yours, and his pleasure, basking in the ultimate bliss his body was currently experiencing.

Yes. Yes. Ye—

“She likes—haah! She likes taking it from behind—ngh!” The raven haired male shot his eyes open at the sound of Hisoka’s wanton voice, the concentration he once held faltering just a bit from the sudden noise.

Despite Chrollo’s better judgement, he hauled you into the position like a mere ragdoll, deftly handling your limp body with equal amounts of roughness, and gentleness. Though, your arms violently shook, and gave out as soon as Chrollo re-entered your cunt. With your torso flush against the ivory sheets, your lower half remained in position—easier for him to drive his cock deeper; you swore you could feel him in your throat.

The redhead let out a low chuckle, eager hands messily pulling his pants down to free his hard cock; Hisoka sighed at the lack of restraint, and threw his head back, exposing the length of his neck. 

With the new position, Chrollo returned to the pace he had set earlier, heavy balls slapping against your clit from each hard thrust. Skin against skin burned like a searing blaze but god did it feel amazing, not to mention how it stimulated your sensitive bud in all the right ways.

Chrollo curled over himself to place wet open-mouthed kisses down the length of your spine, moaning low saccharine praises in between. He pushed, and pushed into your sopping cunt until the coil deep in your stomach violently snapped. With a loud moan of his name muffled against the damp sheets, your back arched as you came around Chrollo—muscles taut, and knuckles a shade of ivory while pleasure gnawed at your skin.

Hisoka unabashedly fisted at his cock, one hand focused on pleasuring himself while the other sunk into the plush of the armchair. He matched the pace of his hand to Chrollo’s hips, imagining that it was your cunt instead of his palm, albeit, your velvety walls absolutely compared to nothing. Oh well, he’ll get a taste of you one way or another.

It didn’t take long for Chrollo to follow suit, driving his hips a couple more times before completely pulling out, and blowing his entire load on your bare back. He let out a shameless moan of your name—the loudest one he’s let out. Thick, milky ribbons of Chrollo’s cum unceremoniously painted your skin white, and all he could do was stare at it in a haze while his chest heaved up, and down.

On the other hand, Hisoka gave himself a few more rough pumps before squeezing the base of his leaking cock, lustily letting out a hiss as the pleasure he’d worked so hard for slowly dissipated. He cursed in between rough pants—the hunger for a sweet release just grew tenfold after depriving himself of an orgasm.

Hisoka had something better in mind than cumming on his hand.

“I guess it’s my turn.” Strong, muscular legs slightly quivered with every step taken towards the bed, cock standing proudly against his abdomen. Chrollo only narrowed his eyes at Hisoka, clearly displeased by his sudden initiative.

The former returned a smile, “Oh, don’t get greedy now, Chrollo. I’ll give you two choices—” He held out two long digits. “Either you sit, and watch or join in on the fun.”

Never in a million years would Chrollo even think to engage in a threesome with you, and Hisoka. He didn’t know what bothered him more, the fact that you were the latter’s lover or the fact that he was on the same bed as Hisoka. Nonetheless, here he was balls deep inside your ass, completely unhindered by inhibitions. Hisoka cursed at the feel of your wet cunt, biting his lips at the lewd sound it made as your hot cum coated his cock.

The redhead laid flat on his back, cunt wrapped around him while you straddled his lap which left Chrollo to take care of your backside. Your body remained slumped against Hisoka’s—limp, and quivering as if one wrong move would have you exploding to bits. Could you really blame yourself? Both men stretched you out like it was their sole purpose, it did nothing but put your body under immense pleasure.

You were sandwiched between Hisoka, and Chrollo as though mimicking a mere fly caught in a spider’s silken web, unable to escape. And that usually meant one thing: to wait for one’s impending doom before the ruthless arachnid strikes.

An experimental thrust of their hips had you wailing in pleasure. Having not given enough time to come down from your high, you were still too sensitive—any form of sexual stimulation immediately had your body uncontrollably shaking, and hot tears lining your eyes. Hisoka cupped your jaw with both hands, lifting your face in front of his own before closing the distance; heated, and rough just how he liked it; the redhead didn’t hesitate shoving his tongue past your lips, intimately exploring the inside of your mouth with the wet muscle.

If anything, the messy kiss was enough to distract you from the sudden rough pistoning of their hips—Hisoka gleefully swallowed your wanton moans, and relished at the burning sensation of your nails scratching down his bare chest. The bed creaked under the weight of their merciless thrusts with the headboard atop Hisoka’s head repeatedly banging the wall behind it; these sounds mixed with the lewd melody the three of you produced filled all four corners of the room.

It was funny, anyone would think that a Hisoka, and Chrollo tandem would be a match made in hell; highly volatile once paired together which would result in utter chaos but this—the two moved in perfect unison as though they shared one mind, one ideal. Even only if it was for this moment that they saw one another eye to eye, a wordless union to bring you to another orgasm.

A thin, translucent string of saliva connected your lips to Hisoka’s as he pulled away for a breather, hot breaths mingling with one another as you panted in eachother's face. A sense of pride bloomed across his crimson-marked chest as he watched your lust-filled eyes roll to the back of your head—Hisoka always had a thing for your expressions during sex, it served as fuel to keep going, to keep fucking you.

You looked beautiful bouncing on their cocks, head falling forward while taking their entire length like a champ; the only thing you could really do was grip onto Hisoka’s shoulders, and moan for your dear life. Chrollo couldn’t help but fixate on the way your ass jolted with every thrust, even just the sight of his cock disappearing, and reappearing between the globes of your ass had his head spinning.

It didn’t take long for you to reach yet another orgasm, and this time, it was more intense than the previous one; hot tears ran down your damp cheeks as your body convulsed from pleasure, a drawn out moan of their names combined scratched at your throat. As though he was punched in the gut, Chrollo curled over himself as you clenched around his cock, and attached his lips on your right shoulder, biting down hard at the bare skin.

Hisoka muttered sweet nothings while stroking your hair, amusement filling his tone; you laid there drowning in pleasure while both men remained chasing their own bliss, hips stuttering. It was filthy, and soaking wet where Chrollo, and Hisoka entered you, arousal mixed with your cum messily dripping down the latter’s balls, and onto the sheets beneath.

Chrollo’s digits dug into your skin, he sheathed his cock all the way inside your ass before emptying all his cum inside; he rode out his orgasm by grinding his hips, earning a dainty gasp of his name. Chrollo violently shuddered before releasing your skin from his teeth, he lapped, and kissed at the marks, helping ease the painful sensation he left.

This left Hisoka to firmly plant his feet on the mattress, and thrust upwards which sent your body bouncing once more; short gasps turned into full blown wanton moans as his cockhead repeatedly kissed your sweet spot, bringing your body into overstimulation. Hisoka groaned loudly as the familiar feeling at the pit of his stomach returned, you could tell he was close from the way his fingers gripped your waist with such desperation.

Strings of colourful curses left your lover’s throat as he came inside you, ribbons of his thick essence filling your walls all the way to the brim ‘til it leaked out, and dripped down his balls.

Heavy pants filled the room, the smell of sinful sex hung heavy in the air. The three of you remained still for a moment to catch your breaths but the short time also allowed your minds to clear of lust, and for the whole situation to actually settle in—of what the three of you just did.

Though, it was safe to say that Chrollo wasn’t going to let you escape from his hold any time soon—as though he had you entangled in bands of swathing silk—especially after finally getting a taste of you.

—

affiliated with @houseofsolisoccasum & @pixelcafe-network !

[nsharks]

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part twenty-nine —other parts

pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader words: 4.4k tags: death. blood and gore. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. enemies to lovers. SA and implication of child SA (very subtle). summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival.

You trip over a tree root, catching yourself against the rough bark. You don’t stop. You scream for him again, your legs propelling you toward the road, boots sliding over loose gravel.

He pushes past the others and closes the distance.

You slam into him, nearly falling, and grab his shirt, using him to steady yourself. “Simon, we have to go. Now. We need to leave.”

“What’s going on?” Someone asks—Price?—but it barely registers.

"We need to fucking leave!" you urge.

Ghost clamps onto your shoulders. “Twix, breathe. What did you see?”

“There is a body—and blood, on the wall—I don’t know what it says, but it's fresh—” You shake your head, heart erratic. The words won’t come out right. You can’t explain the wrongness crawling under your skin, the terrible dread in your stomach. You thrust a finger in the direction of the chapel as if they will understand. The quiet air rolls through the flowers. You feel it now. It's too quiet. Too calm. You can only manage a whisper. “Someone had to have written the words. We’re not alone.”

You barely catch the unfurling of his eyes before the world erupts into black smoke, and then you can't see him at all.

They already knew you were here.

He grabs you, shouting something you can’t make out.

Your first thought is Blue, and your second is the bow.

Your hands fumble as you blindly slap an arrow onto the string, but someone's body slams into yours, and it falls. You can’t even see where it landed.

The cloud of smoke burns your lungs, and a string of coughs spasm up your throat.

Ghost’s grip slips from you.

"Blue!" you choke out. 

You stumble forward, reaching aimlessly, even though you don’t know what you’ll do when you find her. Your vision blurs with painful tears, and then you feel it—a sharp prick at your neck.

The pain is a numb, searing sensation down your spine.

Your muscles seize, then convulse.

"Ghost," you think you say. The soft ringing in your ears drowns everything. You try to take a step, but your leg won't move. You succumb to the numbness. The ground rushes to meet you, though darkness steals you first.

You swim between disjointed visions. Viewing them from behind plexiglass. At first, you are talking to Paul. It's a sunny day. The birds are chirping through canopies of oaks. Then, you are in a room bathed in white. Fingers prod at you. You can't react to them. A soft voice hums sweetly, almost soothing, but it twists and warps back into Paul’s voice.

"The world kills the very good and the very gentle and the very brave impartially. If you are none of these you can be sure it will kill you too but there will be no special hurry."

You bite a smile. "You know I have those words memorized."

"Good. Don't forget them," he says, not looking up from the wooden bird he whittles between leathery hands. It is a raven, you think. Though, you're no expert like he is. 

"You missed the first part, though."

His brow lifts. "Remind me."

"The world breaks every one and afterward many are strong at the broken places," you recite. 

A weathered mouth stretches at the corners. "Which one will you be, then? Broken or killed?"

You look down at the knife in your hand, the one you've been using to carve the arrow for the bow he's made you. The blade is dulled. You drag a thumb over it, shrugging. "I guess only time will tell."

"I suggest deciding for yourself, Twix."

You look back at him. "What did you call me?"

He responds, but his voice slurs into something unintelligible. 

White sunlight catches on his knife’s blade, almost blinding you. You close your eyes against the glare, but the light doesn’t fade when you reopen them—it grows, washing out the blue sky until it shifts into a stark white ceiling. Paul is gone. The birds have been silenced. The crisp scent of fresh linen reaches you. Is this a new dream, or the kaleidoscope rolling before the surrender to death? Your body feels like a borrowed shell, your mind straining to instruct your fingertips to move. They manage a weak press into the soft sheets below, rubbing against the fabric as if to convince yourself it’s truly there.

You are alive, then. Or the brain is incredible at tricking you into thinking so. 

Moving your neck feels like a daunting task, as if the vertebrae in your spine have been rewired, so you shift your eyes, searching for clues, but your memory is faulty at best. The walls are all white and bare. There is a dark wood table at the far corner, and a single shut door to your right. Then, there are...bars. Metal bars stripe the view, and you realize with a sudden jolt in your chest that you are enclosed by them, kept in a confined rectangle at one part of the room. 

Awareness strikes as you realize you're nearly naked, clad only in a thin, white shift. Someone has changed you. You ignore the lingering ache as you crane your neck upward and steal leverage from your elbows. The small bed below you creaks with the shift in your muscles. 

There are two other cots in the enclosure, and in them lay two unconscious figures. One lays flat, limbs spread in an unnatural way, while her black hair curtains over the white linen like splats of ink. The other is a smaller girl, her body curled into a haphazard fetal position.

There is no one else in the room.

Only you, Nereida, and Blue.

Audibly dry breaths stagger up your throat. Your mouth feels like painful sandpaper no matter how much spit you try to gather. You try to sit up more, but your legs won't move the way you tell them to, and you end up almost crumpling onto your back again. 

"F...uck."

They are still asleep, or knocked out, or whatever it is that has been done to you. They are alive, though. This much you know, based on the steady movement in their chests. Still, you want to reach them. You try to lift up once more, managing to lean your back against the wall for support, but just when you are ready to throw your weight into swinging a leg over, a gentle creak comes from the door.

"Tu es réveillée!"

Your gaze snaps to a young woman—a stranger—dressed in a long white cloak with a hood and veil. She might look like a ghost if not for the faint shimmer of her features on the other side of the veil: soft cheeks, a slightly crooked nose, but still pretty. She can't be older than you. In her hands is a tray with three mugs of what appears to be a porridge. Nothing about her emits a threat except for the fact she is on the other side of the metal bars. A sharp intake floods your lungs, a scream caught in your throat as she approaches, tilting her head in a look that feigns concern.

"Forgive me, I forget you speak anglaise. Please, do not be afraid. My name is Salome." The accent is thick but ignorable. She glances at the other two with a gentle smile. "I am happy you are awake. Your friends will be awake soon, as well. Are you hurting?"

When you say nothing, frozen, she reaches a mug through the bars and sets it on the floor. "Here. For you. Eat it slowly. Your body is still recovering."

A stretch of silence hangs between you, broken only by your uneven breathing. The understanding sinks in with full force as you glance between her, the other two, and the mug. It’s an understanding spliced with confusion—missing pieces. All you know is that your nostrils twitch, and you have no desire to move an inch toward the offering of food.

You observe her in more detail. The cloak hangs loosely on her frame, but she isn't boney, in fact a distinguishable swell shifts under it when she adjusts the tray in her hands. She is pregnant. A pregnant woman is your kidnapper. No, that's not right. She couldn't have carried the three of you, nor could she have done whatever the hell has been done to the four males who are clearly not present. There has to be others. The thought digs your nails into the soft mattress. 

She looks ready to say something again when her eyes dart to the side. You follow her gaze to see that Blue is moving her leg, eyes still closed, but she is moving.

The sight gives the rush of adrenaline needed to rip the sheet off your body and bring your feet to the floor. On wobbly legs, you rush to her cot, ignoring the woman's presence in favor of cupping Blue's cheeks, checking her pulse. Her skin is warm and the artery is beating steadily. You give her a little shake, but her eyes won't flutter. 

"She might not wake for longer than you. Do not be worried. The dosage has a stronger effect on children."

You stiffen.

A snarl cuts through you as anger surges, ripping free from the pit in your chest.

"Dosage?" 

You whirl around, careening toward the bars, gripping them when you almost lose your balance. "Do not be worried? You drugged a fucking child and shoved us in a cage." Your hands tighten, the metal biting into your skin. You don't care that your voice hurts from disuse. "Where are the others? Why aren't they here?" She startles back a step, her soft eyes downcast.

"I see you are upset," she says, her tone soft and careful. "I know this is... much for you. Sometimes God works in ways we do not understand right away, but I promise, He has blessed you. You are safe here." A light touch to her belly. Whispering now, she adds, "You are coveted." 

Then, she lowers the other two mugs through the bars and slips out of the room, cloak silently brushing her feet. 

Breathing hard, the energy deflates.

You half-crawl back to Blue's bed.

Staring at her pink cheeks.

Head pounding.

She claims you are safe. The lack of hostility might suggest that, but the enclosure and fact that she could not answer your question about the others say different. 

You spend a strange amount of time sifting through the recesses in your brain, plucking the memories out, from the bloody chapel to the smoke to this, before Nereida shifts in her bed. Her eyes actually open, and then she is gazing around, the same process of understanding contorting on her face. 

"Twix," she breathes. "What is—where are we?"

You tell her about Salome and everything you know, which is next to nothing. 

"But the guys—"

"I don't know where they are. She wouldn't tell me anything."

The mugs of porridge go cold. 

You hear movement outside in the distance—someone stepping through the grass, a passing exchange between French-speaking men—but the window is on the other side of the bars.

"Maybe if we try to just..."

Nereida attempts to poke half of her face through the bars to look out, but by the way she claws at her hairline in frustration, you don't need to ask to know she can't see a thing. 

Your muscles feel mostly in control now, and despite the howl in your stomach, you refuse to eat.

Nereida does, too. She does some silent prayer—if that's what you could call closing her eyes and humming hypnotically to herself—and when she is done, she reopens them and says, "John will come soon. He will."

"They could be dead."

"We would know if they were."

"No, we wouldn't."

"I would know," she whispers, and circles her arms around her knees, thumbing the scar on her shoulder. "He isn't dead."

Neither of you speak for some time. 

You watch Blue, her pulse steadying you, even if by a little. Absently, you stroke her hair. The pieces of the puzzle fall together with grim clarity. No weapons. Ghost, Price, Kyle, and Ari could be dead. The thought is a weight you can barely carry. You shove it away, refusing to let it consume you. If you let yourself linger too long on the possibility, you'll break down. You can't—merely for Blue's sake, not when you're holding onto the fragile thread keeping you together.

As the sunlight through the window starts to fade, you try to determine whether it's been a day or more since you were knocked out, and when exactly Salome will return. That's when Blue finally wakes up.

"Twix?"

Her lashes flicker.

"Blue. Blue, I'm here." You carefully scoop her in a tight hug, breathing her in closely. 

"What... what happened?" She lamely pulls away, shoulders sagging, and trembles in confusion. "I can't—I don't remember anything."

"We were drugged. Someone—I don't know who or why—but someone is keeping us in here."

"Are they going to kill us?" she whispers.

"I think they would have by now if they wanted to."

Her breath staggers. "But where is—why isn't Ghost here?"

You swallow. "I don't know if he... I don't know where he is."

Her eyes dart around.

"You mean my dad—he could be..."

She clutches at the shift on her chest.

At first, when you see her eyes begin to gloss over, you fear she is in pain. But then the panic becomes palpable, tearing through her ability to breathe, and she starts clawing at her own skin. 

"My dad is dead! My dad is fucking dead! He's not here. Why isn't he here!"

Her screams pierce the room.

You grab her wrists to stop the damage from her nails, welts already beating red on her neck.

"Blue, stop! Stop it!"

But she won't stop. She grabs the pillow and stuffs it in her mouth, howling into it, her face red and wet.

She begins to rock violently.

"I can't survive without him."

You watch helplessly, trying to hold her. 

"Please, just—breathe. We don't know if he's—"

The door opens. Salome rushes in beside an older woman similarly dressed in white. 

"Le pauvre enfant a peur! Dieu montre ta grâce." The other woman carries the tray this time, with what looks to be more food along with a syringe. She hands it to Salome. "Dites-leur que cela aidera."

Salome offers the needle through the bars as you glare at her, tightening your arms around Blue. "This will help her calm down."

"I am not giving her that. Stay the fuck away."

Blue is shaking so hard she bumps her skull into your jaw. Nereida touches your arm. "Twix, it could help her."

"You don't know what the fuck they put in that thing," you hiss at her. "I'm not drugging her even more."

"I will leave it here for your choosing. Your dinner will not be hot for long. Please, all of you, eat." Salome bows her head as she places the syringe and tray on the floor in front of the cell, and leaves with the other woman before you can demand more from them. 

It is only after minutes of listening to Blue scream, unable to stop her from scratching herself any longer, that you concede and ask Nereida to bring it to you. Carefully, you sweep the hair from her face, steadying the tremble in your hand as you sink the needle into a vein in her arm, with Nereida helping to keep it extended.

"There. Please, Blue, please calm down. We cannot think the worst. Not yet, okay?" Your eyes threaten moisture but you blink hard to keep it at bay.

Whatever it was acts the moment it seeps into her bloodstream. She sags into you, face turning sticky as the tears are given time to dry, and her wailing dies down to silence. 

"Are you hungry?" 

She shakes her head.

That first night is spent without sleeping. 

You entangle yourself with Blue in the cot, watching the evening turn to a sliver of moonlight across the floor. She doesn't fall asleep, either, oscillating between silent tears and a void stare at the ceiling. Nereida stays in her own bed, humming here and there in that way that she does. At one point, you hear her whisper into the pillow: "John, give me strength. You always do."

You keep your emotions steady by counting the notches in Blue's spine, one by one, then starting back at the top. As you do, you think about what Salome said. You are not just safe, you are coveted. They want you to eat. They are not trying to harm you. Coveted. She's touched her stomach when she said it. The connection between it all grows starker in your mind. 

You share this with Nereida at the break of dawn when Blue seems to finally have succumbed to fatigue.

"They want us because we are women. That's why the others aren't here."

She nods, whispering. "I was thinking the same."

"Then we use that to our advantage."

"How?"

You palm your temple. "I don't know. I mean, we have some standing here. They value us in some way, right?"

"But we don't even know who 'they' includes," she murmurs, leaning her forehead briefly against the wall, then sitting straighter. "There are men here, too. That much we know. And if they were able to take out all of us at once, then there could be many."

"But none have come to see us," you point out. "Why is that?"

"Because they aren't allowed to." She places a finger on the wall, drawing it around, as if it helps her think. "Why would they be? We are coveted, remember? Something to be protected. Why else would they bother feeding us and keeping us tucked away in here."

"So maybe the guys aren't dead yet," you exhale, wishfully. "Maybe they are just in separate... housing or something. Another cell of their own. Kept away from the women, that's all."

Based on the interior of the room, this feels it was once a small, detached home. Maybe on a farm. The walls are painted stone; cold to the touch. All of the buildings you recall seeing on your way here were old, little farmhouses. Perhaps they have an established settlement. 

Mewling it over, you finally touch the cold food, taking a small bite of the cut-up meat to confirm it's something you haven't tasted in years: beef. They have cattle. What else do they have? Drugs, apparently. Or at least some type of sedatives extracted from plants. They are well-versed in the land. They are religious. And women are coveted for reproduction. 

"But then what was the shit in that chapel for?" you whisper to yourself, the image of the mangled body staining the backs of your lids when you close them.

When they reopen, Salome is at the doorway.

"Bonjour, mesdames. I have some oatmeal—" she frowns at the tray on the floor. "Oh... my. You have not eaten for two days. This is not the Lord's wishes. Your bodies are chosen, and they are in need of—"

"Tell us where they are, and we’ll eat," you cut her off, rising to your feet. You grip the bars tightly. "Tell us if they're still alive. One of them is her father. If you don't want her screaming again, you will tell us if he's okay."

She stares at you, then nods. "Eat first. All of you."

The oatmeal is sweetened with ripe blackberries that burst on your tongue. Blue awakens just when you and Nereida finish scarfing the last bite. You hand her the last bowl of oatmeal and urge her to eat, knowing that Salome won't cooperate if she doesn't. Blue takes minuscule bites. She hacks some of it back up, but with a sip of water passed through the cage, she is able to finish the rest.

She wipes a hand over her mouth and looks at Salome. "My dad. Where is he?" Her voice is low.

"He is alive. Of course, he is. They all are." A tremendous sense of relief washed over you. She cups her belly, her fingers tracing the shape. "Life is sacred... and so is death. We must be careful not to let more death come than is needed. The world... it has already seen too much of it."

Your brow scrunches. "Bullshit. I saw that corpse you guys left in the—"

Nereida gives your wrist a light squeeze, a reminder to hold back. You bite your tongue, knowing this woman is the only one who might give you any answers.

Salome tilts her head slightly, her expression unreadable. "I do not mean the world does not deserve the plague it bears. Men... they grew too sinful. Strayed far from God's will. It was His plan for them to atone for it." Her lips stretch into a faint smile, a thin, almost sad expression. "Your friends—they cannot come closer to God until they make amends. They must atone before they can be worthy of the future we will bring."

You blanch. "What the hell does that mean? 'They must atone?'"

Her gaze drifts to the left, and she mutters something under her breath in French, her words faint, then lowers her head to collect the tray, her back to you. You can’t hold yourself back any longer, pushing your face between the bars. "Don’t you fucking dare. You’ve hardly told us anything!"

"I... I fear I cannot say more." She pauses, glancing over her shoulder. "You are in a delicate state, and Maman will see to you today. Please... trust me, this is the way it must be."

Maman?

The door quietly clicks shut and you growl at it.

A hand cups your shoulder. 

"She told us they're alive. That's what matters, right?'

You face Blue, leaning your spine into the metal. "Yeah. But we still have no way of getting to them."

The red rim around her eyes has faded to the same flush as her lips. She takes a slow breath through her chest, clenching and unclenching her hands, before asking, "What do you think they are doing to them?"

"I don't know," you say with a heavy exhale, your tongue pressing between your cheek and teeth.

G

Pennies.

When Ghost swims to the surface of semiconsciousness, the smell of pennies wafts up his nose first, then the feel of icy, hard restraints around his wrists hits him second. It is the kind of smell that is deeply woven into the floors and walls. Old blood calling for new. He could remember smelling it for the first time in Mexico when he'd awoken in a cell, stripped. The flush of air against his chest suggests this time is now different, but upon forcing his lids apart, a glance downward reveals he still has jeans on.

Ghost thinks he hears someone scream his name—Simon!—but it is merely a memory from right before the world went dark. He'd fought against it all he could, keeping the tail of Twix's shirt in one hand, and trying to seek Blue with the other, but then he had to choose one to let go of to grab his gun. The memory swims up to the forefront; the fumbling of his fingers at his belt loop, seeking the pistol, the loss of motor function as something pricked his neck. The pistol slipped from his grasp, and so did they.

He forces the reel of Twix's screams to the back of his mind where they play in a distant loop. Through hazy vision, he looks around, taking in the lack of light. No windows. It is a small room, with grey stone walls, and only one door at the far end. None of the others are here. Not the girls or Price or Gaz. There wouldn't even be space for all of them to fit in here. The shackles on his wrists are rusty, nicking his skin when he tries to shift around. His heart thumps steady and slow between his ears. Whatever they drugged him with is fading with each shake of his head and forced blink of his eyes.

He tugs on the manacles once more in vain when there is a voice from the other side of the wall.

It is muffled through stone, but grows crisper as booted footsteps close in.

Then they stop.

The door creaks open.

The man who steps in is cloaked in grey.

He waves a metal bar, whistling lowly, and kicking the door shut behind him. 

"You must be an early riser." His chuckle is wry. "Up before your friends. Tell me, Brit. What brings you all the way to l'Hexagone? Not a fun trip over the water, is it?"

The man circles him. A light tap of the bar on his bare shoulder blade. 

"No? Not much of a sharer?" The end of the bar presses in, just slightly, but the pain doesn't register. Only the cold wetness of a trickle of blood on his back when it pulls away. A hand fists his hair, and yanks his head back. "Nous allons régler ça, sale racaille. Je me ferai un plaisir de t'aider à retrouver la lumière."

His head is thrown forward with force. Ghost blinks down at the floor, teeth grinding. Through them, he breathes hard—

"Where are they?"

"Which ones? The pretty ones?" The accented voice lowers to the shell of his ear. "I would not get your hopes up of seeing them again. They will be saved for the most worthy of us."

- Nous devons expier nos péchés...We must atone for our sins. - Tu es réveillée!...You're awake! - Le pauvre enfant a peur! Dieu montre ta grâce....The poor child is afraid. God show your grace. - Dites-leur que cela aidera...Tell them it will help. - Nous allons régler ça, sale racaille. Je me ferai un plaisir de t'aider à retrouver la lumière...We'll sort this out, you dirty scum. I'll be happy to help you get back to the light.

[megalony]

Another Life Lost

It's been quite a while, but I've finally managed a Buddie x reader imagine and I'm rather happy with this one.

Please let me know what you all think.

Taglist: @justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyje @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @classyunknownlover @jayyeahthatsme @sp1ritssz @dumb-fawkin-bitch @oliverstarksbae @gimatida @heart-35 @supernaturalstilinski @kyky9103 @wutheringhearts2275 @gay4hotmilfs @itshamleth @chaoticnosleepinfluencer @gs29 @wh0reforsmutstuff @mel-vaz @natashamea18 @chrisevansdaughter @alexandra848484 @deena-beena-weena @targaryenluvs @kpoplover-19 @marvelmenarebeautiful @gillybear17

@zoeybennett @mrspeacem1nusone @zephyrmonkey @estella-novella @eleventhdoctorsangel @kniselle @senjoritanana @shauna-carsley @dottierose @cfdhouse51 @darkfemme1 @rainechase45 @lolalolsstuff @jupiter1700 @ashdoctor @an-aliens-ghost @lunaroserites @houseoftwistedspirits @callsignwidow @winterreader-nowwriter @reneinii @bellsbomb @western-pyro @itsgigikay @harry-satellite @midsummereve1993 @babyqueen17 @buckyyyismahhlife @sammiejane22 @mrsyixingunicorn10

Buddie Masterlist

Part 2

Summary: Eddie, (Y/n) and Evan want to start a family together, but it doesn't seem to be going the way they planned.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A grunt passed through Eddie's lips, followed by a hiss when he leaned to the left. A sizzling pain seared in his left side like he had been prodded with a hot poker and he could feel his muscles twisting and tightening when he leaned further until he was stretching over the passenger side.

He took the envelope that he had thrown carelessly on his jacket on the spare seat and clenched it with such a grip that the envelope crumpled beneath his tense fingers.

With a huff, Eddie opened the glove box and tossed the envelope in there, hearing it clatter against the CDs before he slammed it shut. He could deal with it later.

Walking into the house with an envelope full of tainted money would only give away what Eddie had been doing tonight, and he didn't want to do that. He hadn't even thought up an excuse for the bruises on his torso, the black eye he was going to have in the morning and the split knuckles on both hands. He was going to have to get creative.

Once the envelope was safely forgotten about, he grabbed his jacket and slung it on his shoulders, bearing another grunt and a choked moan when his chest stretched and his muscles seized up at the movement.

He had changed out of his shorts back into his joggers, but he hadn't bothered with his jacket. He drove home shirtless with the windows down to try and cool down.

Fighting always riled him up.

He heaved himself out the jeep and shut the door as quietly as possible while he leaned back and clicked his spine into place. He grimaced. Oh, he was going to feel beat and broken in the morning.

His head hung down as he trudged up the path towards the house, but when he happened to look to the left, his brows furrowed. He hadn't noticed when he pulled up on the drive. Evan's jeep was where it always was, parked right up near the bay window, and Eddie had parked behind him on the drive as normal.

But pulled up on the lawn in front of their house was another car. Eddie recognised the car but he couldn't put his finger on who it belonged to. It was someone he knew, it had to be. Who was here at their house at midnight?

His brows furrowed as he continued to trudge up the path, but a shiver coursed down his spine just as he zipped up his jacket.

The lights were on.

Both his partners and his son should be fast asleep by now. Eddie had been counting on (Y/n) and Evan being asleep so he could crawl into bed and not be questioned about where he'd been or why he was groaning or stiff with pain. If they were awake, what were they doing around the house at this time?

The front door was open. Eddie could feel his nerves going haywire when he walked inside and nudged the door shut behind him.

The hallway light was on, the living room lamp was on. The lights were illuminating in the kitchen and he could hear raised voices and clattering items from various areas of the house. What on Earth were they doing?

"Babe?" Eddie reached into his jacket pocket and grabbed his wallet and phone which he dumped on the cabinet in the hallway. He kicked off his shoes and trudged past the living room, aiming for the corridor that led to the bedrooms.

But he took a step back when a figure loomed at the end of the hall near the bathroom.

Evan stalked out into the hallway like a demon crawling from Hell. His shoulders raised high near his neck, his hands were clenching and twitching at his sides and his chest was heaving. But when he turned, the light behind him seemed to cast a dark halo around him that made Eddie's upper lip twitch and had him taking a sharp breath which hurt his chest.

The way Evan sped down the hall implied something was drastically wrong and it made Eddie's gut tense and tighten like a rope knotting up in his abdomen.

He watched with panicked eyes as Evan stormed his way and he didn't even reach Eddie before he was speaking with venom dripping from his voice.

"Where the Hell have you been?!"

"What?" Eddie couldn't help but lean his head to one side and tense his own shoulders like he was squaring up for another fight.

Had he missed something? There had been nothing special about tonight. (Y/n) had the day off, Evan had worked a night shift last night and Eddie had just pulled a double. He didn't specify what time his shift finished and he didn't always come straight home, although ninety percent of the time he did because he was tired and he didn't go far without his partners.

The fights were the only thing Eddie seemed to do on his own, and he didn't do them often. But when he got the call this morning, he couldn't pass up the opportunity. He won those fights; they allowed him to let off steam better than he could at the gym or when he was on shift. He could let loose and it didn't matter who he punched or how hard he hit them.

And the money he won was always a good bonus.

He hadn't been gone that long since the end of his shift. What had happened tonight, why was the house so alive and hectic?

"I've been calling you. I called Bobby to see if you were at work, but your shift ended four hours ago and no one's seen you. Where were you?" Evan seemed to point his finger near Eddie's chest before he changed to curl his trembling hand into a fist.

He had called. He called dozens of times, he left voicemails and texts but he got no response. Evan had been going out of his mind tonight and not being able to get hold of Eddie had made things ten times worse.

Where had he been? What had he been doing? What if he got into a crash or got attacked or something happened? If he didn't tell Evan or (Y/n) he was going out somewhere, they couldn't get hold of him in an emergency like this. And they wouldn't know where he was if he got hurt or something bad happened to him. They would be frantic, just like tonight.

Eddie rolled his lips together and lifted his chin to meet his partner's stern gaze which he did not favour tonight. His pointed chin jutted out and his cheeks hollowed as he took a deep breath, ignoring the pain it ignited in his chest as he did so.

"I was out." He didn't like the way Evan threw out a sarcastic laugh and held his hands out at his sides like he was about to pray. "Buck what's going on, who's here?"

He was taken back when Evan's hand suddenly cupped his chin. Neither of them were strangers to a heavy kiss mid-argument or just after a row, it was something common in their relationship with (Y/n). And for a moment, Eddie thought he was going to get the kiss of a lifetime with the grip Evan had on his chin.

But when Evan twisted his head to the side and his eyes narrowed, Eddie shuddered beneath that firm gaze. He knew exactly what his boyfriend was looking at. He was looking at the discolourment starting to form beneath Eddie's left eye.

He let go of Eddie's chin a bit roughly which made Eddie's head jerk down from the loss of touch, and he swallowed down a growl when Evan grabbed his wrist to inspect his knuckles.

"You promised."

He sneered. Evan actually sneered the words at him and the disappointment was clear in his eyes. Neither of them needed to speak to voice the fact that they both knew where Eddie had been tonight. He had been to the illegal fights he had been caught up in these last few months. The fights he promised not to attend anymore once Evan found out where he was going and subsequently told (Y/n) why their boyfriend was coming home battered and bruised.

Eddie tutted and rolled his eyes, instantly regretting it when he saw the way Evan's brows rose and his nostrils flared. He tried to walk around his boyfriend, but Eddie stopped abruptly when something caught his eye.

Blood.

Reaching down, he snagged Evan's wrists and pulled both hands up for inspection. Arguments and fights always got put on pause or on the back burner if any one of them were ill and this was no different. Why did Evan have blood on his hands? What had he been up to? Where was he hurt?

"What's going on?" Eddie raked his hands up and down Evan's bare arms that were clear of blood.

He took in what his boyfriend was wearing. A grey lounge shirt and matching grey slacks, usual attire for going to bed. And Eddie could see specks of blood around the knees on the slacks and one or two drops on the shirt, but nothing significant. No point of contact, no wound or cut or scratch to imply where it had come from.

He ignored the way Evan tried to tear out of his embrace and he revelled with inner glee when Evan stopped abruptly the moment Eddie cupped his face in his hands. His thumbs brushed across Evan's cheekbones, something that always short-circuited his brain and he tilted his head down so he could inspect him closely.

"Are you okay-"

Eddie could of cried when Evan reached his arms up between them and bashed his arms into Eddie's wrists, effectively making him let go and drop his touch.

"It's not mine." The way Evan's voice broke caused Eddie's heart to drop down to his gut like a ten ton stone and the feeling almost had his knees caving in.

He knew.

He knew Evan's every facial expression, and the look in his eyes wasn't glassy or paranoid or uncertain like it was when Chris was involved. In the beginning of their relationship, Evan would always feel horrible if Chris was sick or scraped his knee when he was under Evan's care. He felt like he was letting Eddie down somehow. It wasn't much better now, even when Evan and (Y/n) were classed as his legal guardians which made them just as much Chris's parents as Eddie.

That look in his eyes wasn't fear for Chris, it was sorrow and pain and torture and panic about their girlfriend. Something had happened with (Y/n) tonight.

"(Y/n)." Her name passed through Eddie's lips like a whisper on the wind and he found himself pushing into Evan's chest, trying to get him to move. But he wouldn't. Evan stood in his path like a boulder that wouldn't be moved. "Evan what's happened?!"

Evan visibly cringed, coiling his arms near his chest for a moment when he heard his name. Although it was common for (Y/n) to call him that, Eddie always stuck to Buck. He seemed to have a certain way of saying Buck that held love and a flare that got the fire going within Evan.

He only ever heard his name pass through Eddie's lips if Eddie was asking him something very serious or if something was wrong. Like this whole situation. Every aspect of it was wrong, and there was nothing Evan could do about it.

"She miscarried."

His words were finally enough to stop Eddie from trying to push him out the way. Eddie's head began to shake before he really knew what he was doing or what he was trying to process.

"No,"

That wasn't right. That couldn't be right.

Eddie had seen both his partners yesterday. He had kissed (Y/n) goodbye before he went to work in the morning. He kissed her stomach and felt the baby move as if they were saying goodbye to him. He kissed Evan when they passed at work as Evan was on his way home and Eddie was beginning his shift.

Everything had been fine this morning; couldn't they go back to that moment? Couldn't they replay this day again and make it work out properly?

They were nineteen weeks along. Everything had been fine. They had their scan last week and the baby was fine, healthy, the perfect size and always moving and kicking like they never slept at all.

(Y/n) couldn't have miscarried, that just wasn't right. She was okay, she was healthy, no complications or problems before now. Nothing had been wrong. She couldn't have lost their baby when Eddie wasn't here, when he was out being selfish and not thinking that any situation was arising back home.

Tears streaked down Eddie's face as he looked at his boyfriend who was grimacing and becoming desperate for air.

"While you were out fighting, we lost a girl."

Trembles set out in Evan's body and he went to clutch his hands at his face until a sea of red was all he could focus on. His hands were smeared with blood. (Y/n)'s blood. He raised his clenched hands above his head and smothered his forearms into his face until his nose felt like it was breaking and spit gathered at his lips as he wheezed for breath.

Tears streaked down his face as he gasped and began to shake.

He tried. He tried to stop it. He tried to console (Y/n), to make her feel better and control the situation. He tried to call Eddie and find out where he was when (Y/n) began to wail for their other partner to come home. Evan couldn't seem to do anything. He couldn't stop the miscarriage. He couldn't console (Y/n). He couldn't get hold of Eddie. All he managed to do was call his sister so she could come round and sit with Chris so Evan could stay with (Y/n). Even the ambulance he called hadn't turned up yet.

"I'm- I- baby I'm sorry." A broken sound emitted past Eddie's lips as he reached out for his partner.

His hand cupped the back of Evan's head while his other arm secured around his waist. He reeled Evan into his chest and smothered his lips into his curls, trying to breathe but it wasn't going very well. Eddie was just relieved that Evan didn't try and push him away. Instead, he dropped his arms from his face and bound them around Eddie.

He finally stopped fighting to push him away and clutched at him instead, drawing him closer as if he thought he might just fall apart if Eddie let him go.

"Maddie's with Chris- I called an ambulance." Evan's words were muffled against Eddie's shoulder, but he heard him all the same.

He hummed against Evan's hair and took another moment to kiss the top of his head and squeeze him tightly into his embrace before he tried to separate them. They had to get back to (Y/n). They had wasted enough time talking and arguing out here. If Eddie knew what had happened he would of run straight in and gone to find (Y/n) instead of wasting precious time out here.

He had to get to (Y/n). He had to apologise and make sure she was okay and somehow try and rectify this situation.

"E- Evan? Evan…" The meek sound of (Y/n)'s voice and the desperation clawing at her tone made both men shiver.

Evan felt like his legs were going to give way on him when he bustled down the hall and headed back into the bathroom. He could feel the distance growing between him and Eddie and he knew that meant Eddie was peeking his head into Chris's room just to check he and Maddie were okay.

"I'm here, I'm here." He bustled back into the bathroom, expertly remembering which way to walk to avoid the blood splatters on the floor and the mess of towels, piles of clothing and tissues scattered about.

His knees tremored when he bashed down to the floor and reached his arms back out for (Y/n).

She was sat in the small gap between the bath and the toilet as she kept feeling sick, but so far all she did was hyperventilate rather than throw up.

As soon as he was within reach, (Y/n) weakly held out her arms until Evan reached out for her. He enveloped his arms around her and reeled her into his chest, letting her hands scrunch up in his shirt and her face smother into the middle of his chest until her nose was crushing against his sternum.

He could feel each shaking breath she took which felt like she was wheezing into his chest rather than breathing.

His nose buried in her hair and he started peppering kisses to the top of her head as he swayed back and forth, rocking (Y/n) in his arms to see if it would do anything to calm them both down.

"It's okay- baby… (Y/n)?" Evan could feel his heart lurching up into his throat when (Y/n) leaned into him enough to set him off balance and have him tilting backwards. He strained his legs and tensed his back to hold them both up while one hand curved around to cup the side of her face which he tilted back so he could look down at her.

The way her eyes were rolling in her head made Evan's stomach clench like he had been punched and he watched her pupils blow up until black was the only colour he could see.

"Eddie? Eddie!"

A croaky "Oh Jesus," scraped past Eddie's lips when he swung around the corner and skidded into the bathroom.

His hand fell onto Evan's shoulder as he crouched down behind him and leaned over his shoulder to reach out for (Y/n). His hand cupped the side of her neck, pressing his fingers down over her pulse to mentally tally each beat per minute and feel how deeply she was breathing.

"Lay her down, she's starting to burn up."

Eddie swiped his sleeve beneath his nose before he rolled both sleeves up past his elbows until it felt like his circulation was being cut off. He didn't want to strip off his jacket and expose the bruises littering his chest. He didn't need to panic Evan with that right now or (Y/n) if she came back around soon.

He swiped his hand out for one of the flannels beside the bath and soaked it in cold water until his fingers went numb and began to shake.

He perched down on the side of the bath so he was level with Evan and he helped him lay (Y/n) down until her upper half was laid over Evan's lap. Eddie placed the flannel over (Y/n)'s temple and stooped over, keeping one hand on her temple while he shakily pressed his other hand around her abdomen.

They had no idea whether she was bleeding internally or if part of the miscarriage was retained and causing problems or infection.

Tears sparked in Eddie's eyes again and began to silently flush his face when he watched Evan hunch over and start to card his fingers through (Y/n)'s hair. He kept his hand on (Y/n)'s neck while he hunched forward, parting his knees to the sides so he could press a kiss to the back of Evan's head.

Why didn't he come home? Why didn't he have that sense of foreboding or an inkling of intuition that something was wrong? He should have been here with them.

~One~

***

(Y/n) couldn't refrain from tapping her feet against the bed from the moment she sat down. Her hands were running up and down her thighs, unsure what to do with herself until Eddie reached down and tangled their fingers together.

Both men could see the uncertainty written across her face, and they understood why.

Eddie began to glide his thumb up and down the back of her hand while Evan folded his arms over his chest and leaned into Eddie's side.

It almost seemed strange to be back in this position over a year after the miscarriage. Evan and Eddie hadn't managed to make it to (Y/n)'s first appointment for this pregnancy, they had both been scheduled to work and neither of them could swap or get off for an hour to come with her.

It left them both anxious all day because they knew (Y/n) would be panicking and they didn't want to leave her to attend the appointment alone. The only upside was that everything had been fine and the baby was fine.

This time they had both managed to come down and they were glad they were here because (Y/n) was anxious. They had been nineteen weeks when (Y/n) had the miscarriage and she was roughly twenty-one weeks now. For the last month she had been on edge almost every day and both men knew why, even if none of them voiced it.

This appointment was going to calm them all down.

"Okay, let's take a look."

(Y/n) rolled her shirt up and when the gel was placed on her stomach, she leaned her head on Eddie's arm and looked up at him and Evan. She could see the faraway look in Evan's eyes, he looked like he was in another world but the delicate smile on his face was soothing. He had one arm across his chest and his other hand was curled into a fist and pressed against his mouth, slightly obscuring his smile.

For a few moments, (Y/n) closed her eyes while she felt Eddie kissing the top of her head. Although she was sure his eyes were intently focused on the screen that was slightly angled away from (Y/n) so it was aimed towards the midwife. They all wanted to know how their girl was doing.

She tried not to wriggle or shift around at the uncomfortable feeling of the sonogram pressing down on her bladder. She tried to focus on the baby instead; what their girl was going to look like on the screen. How she was going to be laid this time, how cosy she was going to seem.

It took a few moments for (Y/n) to realise that the sonogram was still roaming her stomach rather than staying in one place. Usually the midwife stopped after a while and turned the screen so they could see the baby. What was she searching for?

She gingerly tugged on Eddie's hand and opened her eyes to look between him and the midwife.

Eddie's head was tilted to one side and his narrowed eyes were darting between the screen and the midwife with perplexion hidden in his eyes. And Evan's smile had faded as one brow arched up. They were all confused.

"Is everything okay?" Evan dropped his hand from his mouth so both arms were folded over his chest again and his fingers began tapping against his biceps.

None of them liked the look on her face. The midwife looked stricken. She wasn't looking at them, her head was leant forward towards the monitor and she tapped a few keys on the keyboard while she focused on something. But when she finally stopped moving the sonogram, (Y/n) felt a small slither of relief now the uncomfortable movement had stopped. But it was replaced with dread.

Something must be wrong, she wasn't speaking to them. It didn't usually take this long for them to talk and point out what their baby was doing on the screen.

"I'm very sorry… I can't find a heartbeat."

(Y/n) couldn't breathe.

She couldn't feel her hand that Eddie had suddenly clenched into his fist like he was trying to squeeze all the blood out of her fingers. She couldn't feel anything but the thumping of her heartbeat- a beat which should be providing for her baby too.

This wasn't right. (Y/n) couldn't do this again. She wouldn't be told she'd failed for a second time. Not another baby. She wasn't going to wait and see blood trickling down her legs. She wasn't going to sit in agony and lose a life she was desperate to protect.

She didn't want to see the way she broke both her partners when they realised what had happened. She didn't want Evan crying into her hair or Eddie at a loss for words, trying to console her but not knowing how.

"No… no, please. Check again." She didn't care how frantic her voice became when she dropped Eddie's hand and moved both trembling palms to cradle either side of her stomach.

The midwife did as asked, presumably because she saw the way (Y/n) leaned forward and was two seconds away from taking the sonogram and searching for herself. She finally nudged the screen in their direction, but if anything, seeing their baby on the screen made all three of them more frantic.

She was right there!

She was there on the screen. (Y/n) could sense and feel her. She had to be okay. She had been kicking and moving about all night. There hadn't been much movement today, but that was normal. It had to be. She was sleeping, she was just sleeping and the midwife was having a hard time waking her up.

"I'm afraid there isn't a heartbeat, and baby isn't moving." The midwife tried to rest her hand on (Y/n)'s thigh, but she retracted her touch when (Y/n) started to shake.

This was never the kind of news she liked to give and it was always heart-wrenching to have to be the one to tell people. And she never knew what kind of reaction she was going to get.

Evan's hand moved back to cover his mouth, pressing his palm as tightly as he could against his lips so no noise broke the atmosphere that was becoming suffocating. While his other arm bound around his torso so tightly he was starting to compress his abdomen into a contorted shape.

Not again. His eyes glanced over at Eddie as if watching him to try and make him do something. Make him rectify this mistake, because that was what it had to be, and Eddie always made things right.

But his boyfriend looked hollow. His eyes were vacant of anything but sorrow. His lips were screwed shut into a contorted shape and his trembling hands were curled into fists, shaking at his sides.

"No!"

"Shh, shh, okay." Eddie lunged forward and bound his arms around (Y/n) before she had chance to try and scramble off the bed or grab the sonogram; he wasn't quite sure what she had been aiming for.

His arm pinned across her chest and his other arm curved around her waist as he reeled her back onto the bed and tugged her into his chest so he could curve around her like a blanket. His lips attached to the back of her head and he felt her shoulder pinning into his sternum as he started to sway her back and forth.

There was nothing else he could do. There was nothing he or Evan could do to make this situation any better. Just like last time.

Eddie cringed at the sadistic thought that at least he was here this time. He wouldn't have known what to do or where to turn if he or Evan had missed this appointment or God forbid, if both of them couldn't turn up. (Y/n) wouldn't of dealt with this news on her own, she shouldn't have to either.

After last time, Eddie stupidly hoped and prayed that they would never have to go through that again. He tried to bargain and he even prayed, something he hadn't done in a long time, that if he stopped fighting, could they get another chance. Could things work out better this time.

Eddie stopped the fights. He hadn't been to one since that night because the memory of both partners curled up on the bathroom floor, splattered with blood was burned into Eddie's mind whenever he thought about those fights. He would never be doing that again. He shouldn't have gone in the first place, he knew (Y/n) and Evan didn't like him fighting and he wouldn't want Chris to find out either.

He thought that something like this wouldn't happen again. Maybe he stupidly believed it had been a punishment for the way he had been acting and what he had been doing. Clearly not.

"Shh, shh."

He could feel (Y/n)'s nails scratching into his arm that was strapped across her chest like a belt. And he felt her sobs wracking through his blood with her face meshed into his bicep like she was trying to use him to suffocate herself.

Eddie moved his hand up from (Y/n)'s back to cradle the base of her neck and his fingers wove into her hair while he continued to kiss the top of her head. He could feel tears burning behind his eyes and he was surprised he hadn't shed any yet, especially when he looked to the left and saw the gaunt expression on Evan's face.

Evan shakily sat down on the edge of the bed level with (Y/n)'s knees and he reached his hand down to curl around her thigh. Gripping as tightly as he could to see if it would make a blind bit of difference for either of them.

"I'll go and fetch doctor, to talk you through the next steps. I'm so sorry."

(Y/n)'s head started to shake and wheezing breaths became staggered past her lips as she began to hyperventilate. Her body started to rock back and forth into Eddie's arm while he curved himself around her and squeezed her more firmly, praying it would do something to comfort her.

As soon as the door closed and the three of them were alone, (Y/n) tried to lift her head. She didn't care about the wheezing breaths she was taking or the spots dancing in front of her eyes.

All she cared about was trying to get her boys to do something. She needed them to make this right. To do something to take the pain away and rectify this horrid situation because it wasn't right. Every aspect of this was wrong and (Y/n) wanted it to stop.

Her watering eyes made Evan's heart clench and pause and had him coiling in on himself as tears finally started to well up in his eyes.

When (Y/n) let go of his arms, Eddie stayed holding her into his chest just in case she tried to get up. He didn't want her moving right now, not when she was in shock and they needed the doctor to come in and confirm things and talk them through the next steps.

But when her hands moved to shakily cradle her stomach, Eddie's eyes fell closed and his head tilted back to stop himself from bursting into floods of tears. And he could hear the way Evan had taken to heavy breathing to try and calm himself down.

Evan let go of her thigh and opened his arms when (Y/n) flopped forward. She buried her face against his thigh, pinning both her hands into her stomach that didn't feel any different than it did yesterday. No pains. No crippling agony like last time. No blood. No cramps. No premature baby to show for the pains. Everything was supposed to be fine.

Neither of them heard what she tried to mutter into Evan's thigh while Eddie resolved to crouch down beside both partners.

He crouched beside the bed, one hand on Evan's knee and the other hand gently caressing the back of (Y/n)'s neck. He brushed his thumb across her cheek and tried to tilt her head in their direction.

"What, mi amor?"

"A-another one." She couldn't bring herself to look at either of them. Her cheek meshed into Evan's thigh but she closed her eyes so she didn't have to face them. "I lo- I lost another girl."

Two girls. Both pregnancies had been with girls, and (Y/n) had gone and lost them both.

Why couldn't she give them a daughter?

~Two~

***

Twisting to the side, (Y/n) bound her arms tight around her waist and coiled her knees up towards her abdomen. Her nose scrunched up as her face twisted into a grimace and she huffed, trying her best to tuck her face up against Evan's back.

Her breaths mingled with his bare skin and she tried to concentrate on the lulling sound of Evan's deep breathing, rather than the sickness welling up inside of her.

She didn't know what time it was and she wasn't sure she wanted to find out either. Not when all three of them had work soon and would have to be up early in the morning.

Usually, lying in between both her partners made (Y/n) sleep better. Unless one of them was at work on a night shift, (Y/n) was always laid in between the boys. It was just the way they functioned, they way they always slept, and it always made (Y/n) feel loved and protected, like two shields surrounding her.

But right now, (Y/n) felt like she was being penned in; more specifically, like she was starting to overheat between them. And being warm usually made (Y/n) feel better when she was feeling unwell, but right now, the heat was making her feel sick.

She coiled her knees up a bit tighter to her stomach, but it seemed to be the wrong move because her stomach twisted and her throat started to clench and tighten.

(Y/n) tried to twist the other way. She pulled away from being tucked up into Evan's back and shuffled onto her back, but the movement jostled her stomach and she knew. She knew she was going to be sick.

Her arms flung at the covers, trying to free herself from being penned in the middle of the bed and her legs shook as she scrambled to sit up.

Sitting upright made (Y/n)'s head spin and her hands flapped out to the right, trying to wake and nudge Eddie because he was in the way. He didn't move quick enough.

(Y/n) clamped her hand over her mouth while her free hand pressed down into Eddie's chest. She could feel tears burning up in her eyes and spilling down her face as bile rose in the back of her throat. She winced when Eddie groaned as her legs tangled with his and she leaned her weight onto his abdomen, forcefully jolting him awake.

Both Eddie's hands clamped down on (Y/n)'s hips and his eyes shot open and blinked furiously. His head lifted and shook from side to side to try and figure out which partner was now sitting on his lap in the middle of the night.

"Baby-"

One of Eddie's legs flung off the side of the bed when (Y/n) scrambled across his lap to get off the bed. His hands stayed on her hips until his body twisted to the right and he had to let her go or face falling off the bed.

He watched with a wince as (Y/n) stumbled and crashed to the floor with enough of a bang to jolt Evan awake, but it didn't stop her from hurrying.

(Y/n) kept one hand over her mouth and the other reached out for the door which she flung open, trying to hurry to the bathroom.

Tears burned down her face and she coiled over, clinging to the wall as she threw up in the hall. Both her knees quaked together and her body shuddered before sliding down the wall until she was sat in a heap on the floor. Legs coiled beneath her awkwardly, an arm around her waist and her other hand on the wall as she threw up everything she ate for tea.

"Baby- oh mi amor. Buck, she's been sick."

Shivers coursed up and down (Y/n)'s body and she whimpered when Eddie's hands found her arms and he crouched down behind her. His thighs curved around her with his knees pressing into her waist and he gathered her hair in his hand when she leaned forward and spewed again.

"Deep breaths… breathe amor, that's it." His lips attached to her shoulder and he switched to running his hand up and down her back when she started to gag.

She threw up so much that her throat burned and she could feel her stomach and throat clenching, desperate to keep throwing up but she was losing air. Eddie's hand on her back helped kick start her lungs and get them working to take in large gulps of air.

Evan swiftly grabbed the bucket they kept under the bed for emergencies like this and jogged out into the hall. Whenever one of them was ill, Chris included, they got the 'sick bucket' out in case they couldn't make it to the bathroom in time.

Evan would have gotten it out earlier if he knew (Y/n) hadn't been feeling well, but she had seemed fine this evening. She hadn't complained of feeling sick or a headache or any ailment.

He set the bucket down beside Eddie, grimacing at the sight of the hallway as he flicked the light on to see where he was going. Mainly to avoid the sick as he trailed into the bathroom.

"Okay?" Eddie murmured into her neck when it seemed like she had finished and (Y/n) tried to nod before she gave up and tossed her head back on Eddie's shoulder.

"Here," Evan leaned over and handed a bottle of mouthwash out to (Y/n) while he set down a bottle of bleach spray and some wipes on the floor ready to clean up.

He gratefully smiled when Eddie looked over at him and motioned to the wipes. He knew Evan wasn't the best when it came to cleaning up sick, whereas Eddie was used to it from the amount of times Chris had been ill over the years.

He waited patiently for (Y/n) to swirl her mouth out and spit the mouthwash into the bucket. And when she groggily lifted her head, Evan crouched down in front of her and gently reached out for her arms. He looped them around his neck and slid his hands down until he gripped the back of her thighs and effortlessly lifted her up. He loved the way her legs instantly curved over his hips and she clung to him like a monkey.

Her face tucked into the crook of his neck while Evan headed back down the hall and into their room. He crawled up onto the bed and gently laid (Y/n) down in her spot in the middle and moved to sit next to her.

His arm looped over the back of her shoulders and he pressed his lips to her temple when she curled up into his chest like a child seeking protection.

(Y/n) coiled her arms around her waist as she closed her eyes and tried to tuck herself more into Evan until he was practically surrounding her. The way he kissed her head made her feel a warmth spreading all over and when he pulled the covers up so it was draped around their legs, (Y/n) pinned it into her abdomen.

"You never said you felt sick," He murmured into her hair while he rubbed his hand up and down her arm and sank back into the pillows.

Both their head turned in the direction of the doorway when Eddie walked back into the room. Evan turned the bedside lamp on so Eddie could flick the hallway light off and come back to bed. He looked around the room for a moment before placing the sick bucket down on his bedside table. If (Y/n) needed it during the night she could just shake him and he would grab it for her.

"All sorted. How you feeling, mi amor?" Eddie climbed back into bed and leaned over so he could gently take her chin in his hand and tilt her head in his direction.

He could see the wary look hiding within her eyes and the way she pursed her lips told him she didn't feel great. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her temple, noting that she wasn't burning up or flushed or going through a cold swat, all good signs.

"Come lay down." Eddie dragged the cover over his frame and looped his arm around (Y/n)'s waist. He was about to shuffle down and lay on the pillow, but he stiffened in place when (Y/n) shook her head. The tears that started to trickle down her face broke his heart and made his chest tighten at the same time.

They both felt the way she started to shake and when her trembling hands moved to cover her face, Eddie sank his teeth down into his lip. He locked eyes with Evan, both unsure what to do as Eddie shuffled back up and twisted so he was sat the same as Evan, with his back against the headboard.

"Try and sleep, baby, you'll feel better soon." Evan's lips smothered her temple and he tried to glide his hand up and down (Y/n)'s thigh but she shook her head again.

She seemed to burrow down in between them both and when Eddie gently held her wrists and pulled her hands away from her face, she whimpered.

"No I- I won't." (Y/n) couldn't help the way she hiccupped through her words and she tried to wipe her eyes, but she couldn't stop crying. Even as Evan tried to shush her and Eddie leaned over and pressed his lips into her shoulder while he let go of her wrists in favour of looping his arm around her waist.

"What makes you say that?" Eddie peppered kisses against her exposed shoulder, but he couldn't help how unnerved he felt.

"Because I'm pregnant."

The way she wailed the words made both men cringe and coil around her tighter like they were afraid if they didn't hold her together, she would fall to pieces.

Leaning up a little more, Eddie bound his arm higher around (Y/n)'s waist with his hand clamped down into the curve of her waist and he burrowed his face into the crook of her neck so his lips could attach to the soft skin beneath her jaw. He felt (Y/n) leaning her cheek on top of his head while Evan turned to curve his chest over her back while his hand glided up and down her arm to try and calm her down. Panicking and getting upset wasn't going to do any of them any good.

"So that was morning sickness?" Eddie murmured against her neck which vibrated with his voice, feeling her nod as she sniffed and tried to take deep breaths to calm down.

"Baby, please don't cry." Evan practically pleaded as he moved his arms to loop them around (Y/n)'s waist. He gently eased her back with him until she was leaning into his chest again and he slouched down into the pillows to try and get them all to relax.

His lips meshed into her hair as he shuffled down so he was leant up against the pillows just a little, with (Y/n) adjusted between his legs. And Eddie huddled at their side, laid on his front so he could look up at the pair of them.

Eddie had his arm looped around (Y/n)'s middle again but he pressed a shallow kiss to Evan's shoulder when (Y/n) took Evan's hands that were around her waist and pressed them into her abdomen. He could feel the shudder that tore through Evan who didn't quite know what to do now.

This wasn't like the last two times she gave them this news.

The first time they had all been so excited, so happy and over the moon. Eddie thought Evan was going to explode with happiness when they found out. The second time (Y/n) gave them each a small box with a pair of baby boots in and they all shed some tears at the news.

This was different. Somehow, it didn't feel like another chance at having a baby together. It felt like another dreadful chance of losing a baby.

(Y/n) couldn't face another loss like that again.

When they lost their first girl, (Y/n) had felt a kind of desperation she had never felt before. She wanted a baby. She wanted to feel their baby moving and kicking and have her child in her arms. Getting pregnant a second time had been frightening but also came with such a sense of relief because she wanted a baby, and so did the boys.

She could see their yearning when her bump started to show again. She could see the look in their eyes and feel the desperation in the way they held and kissed her and lavished her bump with feverish touches.

(Y/n) didn't want to get halfway through again only to fail and lose another child. They couldn't grieve for another life lost.

(Y/n) tilted her head down to look at Eddie when he shakily placed his hand on top of Evan's that was resting on her stomach. His chin perched on her shoulder again and he kissed her neck lovingly.

"If it's a girl, I'll lose her."

"Baby don't say that."

(Y/n) shuddered at the dark, demanding tone in Evan's voice that had her rattled to her core. She couldn't help it. That was what she was afraid of, even if she didn't want to believe it. She didn't want to believe that she couldn't have a little girl, but that was what it felt like. Twice, they'd tried for a baby. Twice, (Y/n) had lost their little girls. Maybe if she had a boy, she might be able to get through the pregnancy.

She felt even worse when she thought back to those pregnancies. The first time, (Y/n) remembered Evan kissing her stomach and telling her he was certain they were going to have a girl. She remembered what he whispered against her bump.

"I want a baby girl to spoil."

(Y/n) almost got it right. She almost gave him a girl, if she could of held on a few more weeks, they might have gotten a chance to save her.

She remembered finding out the second time that they were having a daughter. She remembered the apprehension she felt but also the love because she could remember Eddie's voice whispering in her ear.

"We've got a girl to cherish, I can't wait to meet her."

They all wanted a girl. Both boys wanted a girl to spoil and love and hold, and (Y/n) lost them both. If this was another girl too then she didn't stand a chance with (Y/n) as her mother.

She didn't realise more tears were pouring down her face until Evan suddenly started to hum and shush into her hair.

He inched down the bed again until he was properly laid down which eased (Y/n) down with him. She was still laid between his legs with her head on his chest and Eddie practically lying on top of them both. As soon as Evan reached over and turned out the light, (Y/n) shuddered until Eddie's lips were on hers and Evan was kissing the top of her head.

She could feel their hands roaming around her body, trying to wrap her up in their embrace and keep her calm and comforted and loved.

"It's gonna be okay."

Eddie cupped the side of her neck and kissed her cheek before he laid his head on Evan's shoulder and hooked a leg over his and (Y/n)'s thighs. He felt Evan kiss his temple while they both stayed quiet and tried to see if (Y/n) was calming down at all. They had a feeling none of them were going to be able to sleep tonight with this news.

"It has to be a boy… I might- I might be able to carry a boy." (Y/n) tried to hover her hand over her stomach again while she felt Evan become bold and slide his hand beneath her shirt to cradle her stomach.

"No, mi amor. Whatever we have, they'll be okay this time. We'll make sure of it."

"Yeah, we're gonna look after you, both of you."

They weren't just words. They were vows; promises. Whatever Eddie and Evan could do, they would do it. They would make sure that this time it turned out differently, whether they had a girl or a boy.

[grenadehearts]

18+

Satoru Gojo is a cruel man.

Despite already plunging his cock deep inside your needy, soaked cunt, it’s not enough for him. Not when your mouth is just as desperate—crying out his name, gasping for him. One of his hands presses firmly against your lower stomach, feeling every ruthless thrust, relishing the way his cock bulges inside of you. That sight alone, the proof of how deep he is, makes his cock twitch, sending a sharp pulse of pleasure through your core.

Just when he feels your walls fluttering, squeezing around him, so close to unraveling—he pulls out.

A sob rips from your throat as he leaves you empty, aching, desperate, but he’s already toying with you again, dragging the flushed, leaking tip of his cock along your drenched entrance. Teasing. Prodding. Slapping.

The fat head of his cock smacks against your swollen clit, sending jolts of overstimulation through you, and you thrash against the sheets, knuckles white as you clutch the fabric.

“S’toru—too much—mphm—”

You’re barely coherent, voice shaking, but he’s just above you, towering, looking down with those crystalline, narrowed eyes. His silver-white hair is a mess, strands sticking to his forehead, a wild halo framing his sharp features.

And then he sucks in a breath through his teeth, exhaling a cruel, amused chuckle—low, mocking, mean.

“Oh?” He tilts his head, a smirk curling on his lips, all sharp canines and cocky arrogance mixed with a childish tone.

“‘S’toru, too much, mphm—’” he mimics, voice sickly sweet, mocking the way you just begged for him, his hips lazily rolling forward, his cock rubbing against your dripping entrance in slow, agonizing circles.

Your body trembles beneath him, the teasing unbearable, the emptiness torturous. So fuck it—you reach for him, wrapping your trembling fingers around the thick base of his cock, trying to guide him back inside yourself.

But he’s Satoru Gojo.

And he’s faster.

With one strong hand, he grabs your wrists, pinning them above your head in a tight grip, his strength making your heart race. His breath is hot against your ear, sending shivers down your spine, his lips trailing lower as he spits, then bites along the stretch of your neck.

His cock hovers at your entrance, so close—one plunge away from stretching you open again.

Then, in a voice so dark, so sultry, so wickedly cruel, he whispers, “Patient girls get rewarded. Bad girls get—”

Before you can even process his words, smack—

A sharp, stinging slap lands against the plush flesh of your ass, jolting you forward with a whimper that shatters your pride—and your already ruined panties.

Gojo hums in satisfaction, large hands gripping, kneading the soft curves of your hips, his touch possessive. Then, without warning, he flips you onto your stomach, pushing your face into the plush pillows. But not completely—no, he adjusts you just right, tilting your head enough so he can still hear every gasp, every cry, every broken moan spilling from your pretty, desperate mouth.

And then he drives his cock back inside you—no warning, no mercy.

The room fills with the sickeningly wet squelch of your cunt taking him back in, the heavy slap of his balls hitting against your clit in a merciless, rhythmic pace. One hand fists your hair, pulling, keeping you exactly where he wants you—while the other lands another sharp slap on your ass, making you jolt, making you wail into the pillow.

You’re a whimpering, moaning, pathetic mess beneath him.

And Gojo?

He’s there with that stupid fucking grin, eyes dark with lust, voice thick with amusement, mocking every desperate, ruined sound you make—his cock still buried deep inside your dripping, sopping cunt.

[kyuuviix]

first time posting el oh el!!!

NSFW warning!!! laios from dunmeshi x reader type beat

im nowhere near used to the format so ill get there but this is just a lil blurb i wrote in maybe 30ish minutes??

tw: cunnilingus, def ooc laios, he's horny as hell 😞

enjoy i hope

-

-

another orgasm bubbled out of your sopping slit, thighs trembling as your high, reedy moans crumbled into low, broken cries as tears ran down your face.

"my lord- fuck, please...!"

you wept, sweat trailing down your neck and making your skin stick to the filled-out parts of your messy silk button-up.

the king- or rather, your husband had come back from his dealings hungry, and with his limit of preferred food, (monsters no longer being on the roster) you were the next best thing.

"still talking with such formality when i'm eating this pretty little pussy of yours? hope all of that royalty talk didn't fog your brain while i was away."

your eyes were on the verge of rolling into the abyss of your eyelids, chest quickly falling and rising as his grip tightened around your thighs.

your lips felt bludgeoned, a tingling feeling rippling over your face, your spine- and especially between your legs.

his tongue flayed against your messy cunt, prodding and thrusting the slick muscle against your folds, suckling down onto your warm bud as his lips trickled out a deep groan in response.

"but don't worry, you'll call me by my name soon enough."

as soon as he came home to the castle, he was quick to locate you in your usual spot, demanding everyone leave to a different floor, as he needed time to 'debrief' everything to the queen. as you could easily tell, he needed his fix.

he dragged you to your shared bedroom, which you were more than ecstatic to follow along with, after all, it's been far too long since you two were intimate.

and here you are now, only in your unkempt button-up with your thighs held apart, sweat dotting every inch of your skin as your husband happily nestled his head between your legs, lapping at your cunt fervently.

his hips pressed against the comforter of the bed, sucking your sweet liquids into his mouth, pulling an uneven whine out of you- which made him grin.

"you just love what my tongue does to you, huh?"

his lidded gaze was scoped on you, laying his tongue flat against your clit and gently caving it inside of your tight slit.

your back arched upwards with a defeated cry, head pressing into the silk comforters, legs instinctively trying to writhe out of his grip.

but the way your hand tussled and messily gripped at his ash-blonde tufts told him otherwise, your spare hand gathering in the covers.

his pupils dilated further as his tongue dipped into your warm, velvety walls yet again- a coy grin eating at his lower jaw. he was teasing you, he knew you were close to cumming again, he just wanted you to beg for it.

and beg, you'd do.

-

sorry this is so half-assed lol

[heytheredelulu]

I was wondering if you could do maybe a like feral Bucky? Like maybe they trigger the soldat and instead of him fallowing their orders he goes after the shy curvy little intern of Tony’s? They’ve both been too shy to make a move. I’m cool with whatever spin you put on it, I LOVE your writing.

(Love all your normal kinks so feel free to add those too as you see fit! )

Thank you lovely 🥰 Can’t wait to drool over more of your writing lol

I took this and RAN with it.

It ended up becoming much longer than I had anticipated so this one will be broken up into two parts.

I struggled with trying to incorporate Bucky being triggered after the reader already being somewhat aquatinted with him, pining after him, etc. so I went the route I did and I hope it fulfills your request!

Part one will be mostly just plot building with a spicy cliff hanger leading us into a part two of pure smut.

Ready to Comply - Part One - Anon Request

Bucky Barnes x Plus Size Reader

ALL OF MY WORK IS 18+

Word Count: 2.5k

C/W: Language, discussion/implications of violence and murder, choking, blood (Bucky is strugglin’ and bites his own hand), a lil sexual tension in prep for part two, he sniffs her coochie, okay?

“Okay, stop. Stop that.” Tony whispered out of the corner of his mouth. You shot him a glance and tugged at your skirt one more time for good measure. He lets out an exasperated sigh and rolls his eyes. “You look fine, Rookie. Very professional. Is that what you needed to hear?”

You scoff and shake your head. “That’s no- I’m not fishing for compliments, I genuinely hate dressing like a fucking secretary.” You grumble, drawing a laugh out of Tony. “And don’t call me ‘Rookie.’” You add with a prod to his chest. He brushes the front of his suit jacket sarcastically in response to your poke and raises his hands defensively, a soft chuckle rising from his throat.

“A fucking secretary? Really? It’s business professional. Did you think I could let you stand next to me in a press conference wearing an old t-shirt and some torn up jeans? We need to create a semblance of professionalism.” He gestures to his own attire with a grin and there’s a teasing glint in his eye as he continues.

“And what’s wrong with ‘Rookie’? You’re my little protégé.” He jests, reaching like he’s going to pinch your cheek as if you were some adorable little toddler. You frown, swatting his hand away and brings it to his chest, clutching it dramatically. “Wow, you’re going to assault your friend, mentor and extremely rich and handsome boss?” He jokes, feigning offense.

“The only accurate adjective in that sentence is ‘boss’, Sir.” You reply dryly, crossing your arms. The corners of his lips twitch into a sly smile and he nudges you with his elbow. “I’ll accept if you don’t agree with friend and mentor.” He starts, pressing his lips into a pout. “But I might actually get a little offended if you refuse to acknowledge how devastatingly handsome I am.”

You groan in annoyance and roll your eyes, preparing a witty comeback when Pepper Potts rounds the corner with a tablet cradled in her arm, a phone nestled between her ear and shoulder and an expression of concern written across her face.

“Everything alright?” Tony asks, placing a hand on his wife’s shoulder. “Don’t tell me.. another offer for People’s ‘sexiest man alive’? I keep telling them, I can’t be on the cover every ye-“ Tony stops mid sentence as Pepper’s manicured forefinger lands on his lips, effectively silencing him.

“Yes. Okay. Understood. Thank you.” She says curtly into the phone before disconnecting the call. “That was Fury. We have an issue. A Barnes issue.”

Your brows furrow at this. “What’s happened with Bucky?” You ask, a sense of dread creeping up your spine. He’d been all but isolated since he’d moved into the Avenger’s tower alongside his best friend Steve Rogers and you couldn’t imagine him being the source of an issue with how reserved this man was. You weren’t at all oblivious to his past- it had been global wide news after all, but in the months since his de-conditioning in Wakanda he had been making great strides towards recovery, working to make amends.

Though your interactions with the ex-assassin had been few, he’d always been polite and kind towards you. You’d felt so out of place among the Avengers, being Tony’s intern. You weren’t on the team, hell, a few of them didn’t even know your name despite you having been trailing behind Tony for the last year. Maybe it was your own fault, considering you hadn’t really made an effort to talk to any of them but aside from the fact that they were all extremely intimidating, you were naturally a shy and quiet person.

You quickly push the self deprecating thoughts from your head. You didn’t care about any of that. You shouldn’t. It wasn’t as if you wanted to be on the team, or were there to make friends, you were here as an engineer, to learn from who was arguably the most intelligent man on the planet. Perhaps that’s why Bucky had always been cordial to you more than some of the others living here. Maybe he gravitated towards you, as someone who constantly felt so out of place, because he felt that way here as well.

Or maybe he thought you were cute.

Oh fuck, if only.

You couldn’t deny your attraction to the man or that you’d been quietly crushing on him practically since you’d started your internship. Every small interaction with Bucky left a blush on your cheeks and a kaleidoscope of butterflies flitting about your belly.

The thought of someone as absurdly good looking as Bucky fucking Barnes finding you attractive was enough to spark a surge of heat straight to your abdomen.

No, get it together. Now’s not the time.

You mentally scold your vagina for having the nerve to throb at the mere mention of Bucky Barnes regardless of the context and turn your attention back to Pepper and Tony as they argued in hushed whispers.

“What’s happened with Bucky?” You repeat, knowing they likely won’t clue you in if it’s related to Avenger’s business.

Tony offers a nervous smile and exchanges a quick glance with his wife before he checks his watch. “Terminator? He’s fine. I’m sure it’s nothing. Probably holed up with security for setting off the metal detector.” He pauses and then snaps his fingers. “Or maybe he walked past the junkyard on fifth and got snatched up by the hydraulic magnet.” He says, lifting a hand and miming a crane.

Pepper lets out a soft sigh and your gaze flicks to her. “Yeah, a big magnet or something.” She mumbles, turning her attention back to her tablet. “I don’t think that’s-“ Your cut off by Tony’s hand on the small of your back, urging you forward. “Enough about Robocop. We’re on, Rookie.” He says, his nervous expression falling away and quickly being replaced with a mask of professionalism. “Let’s go unveil our project to the press.” Pepper moves to open the door for you both and before you can open your mouth to tell Tony that if he calls you ‘rookie’ one more time you were going to strangle him with his overpriced tie, your senses are overwhelmed with an onslaught of overlapping voices and camera shutters.

You toss your blazer over the desk in your quaint office and slump over into the chair, trying not to let your mind run wild with anxious thoughts about the press conference. Despite your best efforts you couldn’t help but worry that you probably looked like a deer in headlights up at the podium alongside Tony.

You huff and rest your chin on the back of your hand, glancing over at the computer screens. Your attention is immediately drawn to security footage from one of the conference rooms when you see movement on the monitor. You lean in with your brows furrowed. It’s late and no one should be in the conference room. You expand the image and can clearly make out Tony and Steve moving about the room with tense body language.

You hover over the footage with your mouse and hesitate. You know that you absolutely should not eavesdrop on the two men but once Tony’s hands begin angrily gesturing around you give in to temptation and turn on the audio.

“What the hell do you mean, ‘back up?’” Tony shouts, beginning to pace the room.

Steve leans forward with his palms on the table and his head bowed slightly. “It’s exactly what I said, Tony.” He replies, his biceps flexing as he grips the table. “HYDRA had a fail safe. They’d planted a back up activation incase he would ever manage to be deprogrammed.” He looks up at Tony with a solemn expression. “They got to him. I should’ve been there, I should’ve-“

Tony holds out a hand, his other resting against his temple as he tries to comprehend what Steve is telling him. “Well you weren’t and they did so know we have to figure out how the fuck we navigate this.” He says firmly, shaking his head. “Do we have eyes on him? Is he in the building?”

Steve sighed and stood upright from the table. “No. He’s in the wind. We lost contact with him a few hours ago.” He admits, running a hand through his hair. “But there’s something you need to know.” He adds, looking at Tony with concern as he begins to pace again.

“Well spit it out, Rogers!” Tony yells, stopping and turning back to Steve.

“Nat received some intel. The hit HYDRA ordered is on you and your intern.” He says so quietly you can barely pick it up on the audio. Fear crawls up your spine and your hand trembles as you increase the volume on the security feed, while your heartbeat in your ears becomes near deafening.

Tony stiffens, slowly approaching Steve. “You wanna tell me why?” He asks, his voice low and dangerous. Steve nods. “The new tech you unveiled today.“ He explains.

Tony sighs, understanding why one of their enemies would be threatened by what the two of you had been working on and reaches to loosen his tie. “I’ll take Pepper and move her to the safe house before I meet you at a rendezvous point. Send someone to get my Rookie and get her off the grid. I don’t want her alone for a single second.” He says in an exasperated tone, reaching into his suit jacket and pulling out his cell phone as he stalks towards the door.

“And Rogers?” He asks, turning around one last time, his hand curled tight around the doorknob. Steve’s head snaps up and he looks at Tony with guilt ridden eyes. “Yeah?”

“Find Barnes.”

Find Barnes.

The statement echoes in your ears, sending your thoughts spinning as if a category five hurricane were waging inside your head.

No. No, no, no.

There’s a hit out on you?

To be carried out by the fucking Winter Soldier.

Oh you were so fucked.

You scoot your chair back, bracing your hands on the desk to stand with wobbly knees.

Bile rises in your throat as you take a slow step backwards, bumping the chair in your state of panic and knocking your jacket off the workbench. You jump at the sound of it slipping to the floor and clutch your chest as a result of inducing your own jumpscare and take slow breaths to steel your nerves before you bend down to pick it up. As you rise back upright, your gaze connects with a pair of vacant, icy blue eyes in the shadows across the room and your entire body seizes in terror.

He’s not in the wind.

He’s been in here with you this entire goddamned time.

“B-Bucky?” You stutter, bringing your jacket to your chest and grasping it until your knuckles turn white. Maybe Steve and Tony were wrong. Maybe Nat’s intel was wrong. Maybe this was all a huge misunderstanding and you weren’t about to die at the hands of the ex-assassin you’ve been pining over for nearly a year.

He takes a step forward from the shadows, his face expressionless and his eyes unblinking without a single trace of emotion behind them.

Okay, yeah. You’re fucked.

“Sergeant Barnes?” You whisper, almost a plea to the man you knew, locked away somewhere in the brain of the cold and calculated killer standing in front of you.

He doesn’t speak, doesn’t register your words, as he crosses the lab in a few quick strides and catches your throat in his cybernetic hand.

Oh god.

The air leaves your lungs, his grip tightening around your windpipe as his face remains blank.

You’re going to die.

So why are you so fucking turned on?

Heat pools low in your abdomen, your core flooding with arousal, coupled with fear and unbridled lust.

Your mouth falls open in a silent cry as you gasp and thrash in his grip, your thick thighs rubbing together with every kick and flail, doing nothing to alleviate the throbbing ache in your cunt.

God this is so wrong.

His brows furrow, the first hint of emotion since he stepped out of the shadows. His head tilts inquisitively and his grip slackens around your throat as he leans in, tracing his nose across your jaw line and inhaling deeply. You still, your face contorting in confusion as you swallow hard against his palm, leaning your body into his hold.

His eyes narrow as he pulls away from you and you take the opportunity to suck in a breath, massaging your neck gently while your gaze drops to observe his hands clenching and unclenching into fists at his sides.

“Bucky?” You ask, wondering what’s caused the sudden shift in his demeanor, wondering if maybe he’s somehow snapped out of the trance he’d been in. He’s still and silent for a long moment, his head bowed as his chest rises and falls heavily with every breath.

“Sergeant Barnes, are yo-“

His head snaps up, effectively silencing you.

Your mouth remains agape, stuck on your last word and as he watches you with predatory eyes, taking menacing steps toward you, you can’t seem to find your voice any longer. You stumble backwards, losing your balance and falling back against the desk, unable to regain your footing before his hands grip the flesh of your bare thighs.

He tilts you backwards, your back colliding hard with the surface of the desk, stealing the breath out of your chest. He drops to his knees, splaying his palms against your thighs, the hem of your dress rising up to expose your panties as he spreads your legs wide before him and drags his nose across the fabric.

He groans.

He fucking groans.

“You’re my mission.” He breathes out, eyes wild and fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs as if he were fighting to physically restrain himself.

“I know.” You whimper, lifting your head to look down at him over the soft curve of your stomach.

“I’ve been ordered to kill you.” He chokes out, pressing his forehead against your inner thigh and drawing in a deep and shuddering breath.

“Then why haven’t you?” You ask in a broken whisper.

He turns his head and mumbles something incoherently, his breath ghosting against the damp fabric of your underwear and sending a wave of arousal crashing through your core. He stiffens, curling his flesh hand into a fist and bringing it to his mouth, biting down on his knuckles as he swallows back a moan.

He shakes his head, his teeth pressing into his skin hard enough to draw blood and you move to sit up, leaning on your palms as you look down at him where he’s slotted between your legs, visibly trembling.

He rises quickly to his feet, his left hand shooting out to curl around your neck again and he drops his bloodied flesh hand to his side.

“Because..” He says through clenched teeth, inhaling sharply as the cool metal of his thumb strokes the column of your throat.

“I can’t fucking focus when all I can smell-“

His free hand roughly cups your pussy over your panties, his voice trailing off as he kneads his palm against the thin, wet fabric.

He growls, tightening his grip around your throat and jerking you up to him, forcing you to meet his threatening gaze.

His expression grows pained and he whimpers, dipping his head to meet your forehead with his own, his breath fanning across your face with every heave of his chest.

“All I can smell is how wet you are.”

Taglist (Taglist is open):

@suz7days @blackbirdwitch22 @truthfulliarr @lilacka

Part two

[ma1dita]

love spells evol

wc: 1.7k summary: [sylus qin x reader based on nightplumes] there’s an ancient myth about seeing the first snow of the season with someone you (might) love; based on the crash landing on you k-drama plot a/n: here’s a gift after not being able to put any creative words to paper for months. fluff! kinda angst? title from evol by adrienne lenker

—

A myriad of colors reflect in your eyes as the night sky booms with color. Despite the noise, a peaceful silence occupies the space between you and Sylus at the Linkon riverwalk tonight, the wind swirling around you as if trying to push you closer. 

But you resist.

You can barely call him a friend, after all. 

You’re not sure if he’d let you even if you tried. The words roll around in your mouth— a confidant, perhaps? An ally, for sure at the very least. You’ve both come far from your initial faceoff with the big and bad Onychinus leader. Now, he’s just…. you still can’t find the right words. He’s not just anything to you—that, you’re sure of.

Right now though, he’s as still as a statue watching the fireworks display while you get knocked around by gusts of cold air. You bear down, grabbing onto his solid arm briefly, before realizing you’re tugging at the wool of his sleeve like a petulant child. So, you decide to hold onto the metal railing instead.

“Hmm?” he murmurs, still not looking at you. Sylus is almost picturesque under splashes of iridescent light as if an artist let loose to make a masterpiece of him. And you can’t do anything but watch, mesmerized by all of him, from the sweep of his silver hair, down the steep slope of his cheekbones, and the small smirk that always seems to surface when he’s about to taunt you.

“There she goes. Without even looking back. How ungrateful,” he jokes, lining up his pointer finger with your viewpoint so you can spot the feathered friend you imposed upon him days earlier. He’s gentle, you realize—- when he wants to be. Protective when it matters. Despite the chill that races up your spine, you feel warm huddled close to him, chin against his sleeve as you see your dove flap its wings in the sky, getting smaller as she flies away from Linkon. 

“Bye-bye, my dove. Do you think she’ll remember me?”

He looks down at you with something softer now, as you wave at the white speck in the sky, realizing that you’re nestled against his body heat. No matter how cold-blooded you say he is, his cheeks admittedly warm at your proximity to him. He clears his throat, finding his nerve as he says, “Well who would want to forget you, kitten?”

A smile spreads across your face before you realize it, instead, glancing at the flicker of sincerity that crosses his gaze. 

You catch him looking at you like this a lot when he thinks you don’t notice—like how someone tries to remember the melody of a song; subtly in broken parts and then intensely, all at once. Sylus’ stare is equal parts wistful and affectionate, if he would only let himself be caught by you—but at the last moment, right when your eyes catch a glimpse of garnet, he always looks away. 

“We could’ve gotten Mephisto a girlfriend,” you bite back a smile, and now he’s chuckling, eyes shut and turning away from you. He would never admit it anyway. There’s a part of him that stays locked where your hands still cannot reach. Like a hidden treasure you have to scavenge for. Maybe one of these days he’ll let you in on the secret. 

But you are nothing if not persistent.

“That’s impossible. You do know that Mephisto’s made of metal right? And your dove…is real. Down to the bone.”

“But he can feel, right? You programmed him to feel—I swear he laughs at me when I get lost at the base,” you reason. Your mitten prods at his side, wanting him to continue the banter. Only you can do this to him, and Sylus rolls his eyes almost grumpily because he knows it too.

“Dove,” he calls you, “They’re incompatible. It’s impossible for them to be together.”

Your brow furrows, “Can’t you pick already? Am I a dove or a kitten?” 

He doesn’t answer.

You’re everything.

“Ugh. But they were happy together. Right, Sylus?” you prod again, wanting to pull him back from wherever his mind has escaped to. Whenever you’re together, his focus is always on you, except in tiny moments where his eyes get glassy and contemplative, like he can see something you don’t. And then even when he’s next to you, he’s not fully there. Sylus goes somewhere far away, somewhere you could only dream to be. 

You wonder what he could be thinking of wherever he goes. 

He blinks, coming back down to reality and seeing the hope in your eyes. It tethers him more than the linkage you both unwillingly share. 

“Yes, they were. Even for a short moment.” 

A beat of silence passes again. It’s not uncomfortable at all, and you find yourself leaning against his bicep before something catches your attention. A white speck. Could your dove have come back? But there’s more of them, dotting the sky, falling slowly towards the both of you.

You gasp then, quite dramatically. 

It’s snowing.

“Oh no…” you sigh dreamily, cheek against his thick coat. Of course, this had to happen with Sylus here.

“What’s wrong? Are you cold, kitten?” Sylus pipes up, slinging an arm around to wrap your scarf around the base of your neck, up until it covers your head.

“Sylus!”

The sound of his laughter stokes the fire burning inside of you. It’s a nice, velvety tone. You think he should laugh more often, even if it’s usually at your expense. When you free yourself from the woolen trap, the softness hasn’t left his face.

“Is this the first snow? We’re in trouble…”

Your words confuse him a lot—sometimes he wonders if you do it on purpose, or if your words are intentionally reactionary. 

He’s never met a girl like you, ever. And he’s been around for a while. 

Sylus scoffs, poking at a puffed-up cheek, “Compared to everything we go through on the daily, Miss Hunter—I never thought you’d be scared of a little snow.”

“Am not! Just you know how the story goes…”

“Do tell,” he drones, remembering he shouldn’t be so… vulnerable in his actions towards you. His hand lowers back to his side like he’s burned himself. 

Can’t get ahead of yourself, Qin. Just a while back, she was repulsed by you.

But your face inches as close as it can towards his, hands on his chest and tippy-toes in the snow as you speak as if it’s a big secret no one else can find out about. Despite the fact that there’s no one else out on the riverwalk, your voice is hushed, “Well, there’s a story…actually, I think it’s a myth, that whoever you watch the first snow of the year with will be destined for great love.” Your eyelashes are dusted with snowflakes, and Sylus has to restrain himself from brushing them away. And then your mitten extends upward and pats his hair clean like it’s nothing of the sort. Taking a step away and falling back to your natural height, you chuckle listlessly, “But well, it’s not supposed to work between us anyway,” you sniff, stating it like fact, “I mean, with what we both do for work and all.”

Eyes falling closed, you take a deep breath in of frozen air.

“Yeah. We would never work. It’d be a mess.”

One eye snaps open to stare up at Sylus nodding to himself, hand scratching his neck as he looks off into the distance again. His expression is unreadable, and the weight in his throat feels like lead.

“Wait a minute. I said we wouldn’t work, but why would YOU say we wouldn’t work?”

It feels like walking into a trap. Or better yet, a minefield with a blindfold on. Sylus blinks, trying to navigate through this conversation and he’s still unsure of how you feel.

“You’re one of the good ones. The best hunter in Linkon City. And I’m…”

Where should we begin? A convicted criminal, most wanted in all of Philos, actually. THE bad guy, head of Onychinus, and the list can go on…

“---My friend.”

Blood red eyes meet yours in surprise, but you show no fear. Not then, and not now. He looks at you like he doesn’t believe you, but you dust fresh snow off the lapels of his coat even as it continues to fall. Honestly, you just need something to do with your hands.

“Sylus, you know I trust you with my life right?”

It’s hard to read you sometimes. You chastise him on his way of life and criminal activity, and he can’t tell if it’s because you take your job seriously, or out of concern for his wellbeing. He doesn’t answer, letting you continue, “I wouldn’t have resonated with you if I didn’t.” And his signature smirk creeps back onto his face, any previous softness gone as you watch him build his walls up. He doesn’t take kindness very well, and some can say he even reacts badly to it. Sylus Qin is a man who loves to be in control, and that’s the truth. But two things can be true at the same time—the other is that when he’s with you, he can relinquish all of it so easily. 

You set the pace. 

You call the shots.

“Sure, kitten,” he drawls, “be honest. You’ve just been dying to get rid of me.” Your body vibrates underneath the coat you have pulled tight around your waist, and from where Sylus is standing, he’s unsure of if he’s said the wrong thing until you look up at him again and the sound of your laughter catches up with the rest of you. Sticking your tongue out, you say, “You wish! You can’t get rid of me that easily, you crow!” He grins now, shaking his head and turning away to start walking back to the car, because with everything in him he hopes that’s true.

“Hey! Sylus, wait up! Your legs are too long!”

No matter which way you choose to look at him— friend, or foe, you find yourself falling slowly, just like the snow that settles upon Linkon City.

—

“Deep in my enemy I find the lover.” -Pierre Corneille

[revelboo]

May I ask for some scraps of TFP Wheeljack goodness? ;w;

Sure!

Crooked Ways Pt 3

TFP Wheeljack x Reader

• “You know I don’t like this game,” he growls and your shoulders hunch. And that he hates it is exactly why you’re ignoring him. Passively getting some revenge on the kidnapping alien. Trying to make him as miserable as you are. Shivering when he retaliates by cranking how cold it is inside his interior, chilling your damp skin and hair until you curl on your side in his seat. “All you have to do is behave.” Like it’s that easy. Like you’re the one being problematic. Like this is your fault.

• Hates as you shiver against him, almost relenting when you press your face against his seat. Hiding your eyes from him to snub him. Driving back to the Jackhammer, he opens the door and transforms as soon as you slide out, grabbing you around the middle and carrying you inside the cloaked ship. You really think not talking to him is changing anything? Trying to hurt him the only way you can. Venting he sits on the berth and lays back, servos pinning you against his chassis over his spark. “I hate you,” you mutter as he presses a servo between your shoulders and rubs.

• “So, you’ve told me.” Head falling back against his berth, legs dangling over the edge, he tries to figure out why he can’t let you go. Why he needs you here despite knowing you despise him. Remembering the day he’d stumbled across you, the sound of your voice singing to yourself. Not a care in the world as you’d hung clothes on a line in your yard in the heat of the day. Finding the secluded house a surprise while patrolling. And your voice had snared him, for the first time in a long time he’d remembered home. His carrier singing to him, gentle hands cupping his face and telling him how proud she was of him. You’re not her. Nothing like her, but your voice had echoed through him, reminded him of a time before the war. “Sing for me, little bird.” A time when he was actually happy, not just pretending.

• Eyes closed, you’re tempted to pretend to be asleep, but know he’s likely to start prodding at you if you do. Get angry and insist. Blowing out a breath, you sing the first song that comes to mind. Know he doesn’t actually care what you sing as his optics shutter and his servo slides lazily up and down your spine. Can’t look at him right now, because that scarred mouth will be twisted into a smile. For a while anyway. Asks you to sing even though it always just ends up putting him in a worse mood after. But he’ll leave you alone for a while after like he can’t stand to look at you. And you can try to find a way to escape even though you know you’re never escaping him.

• Denta gritting, he stares at the ceiling of the Jackhammer and vents as you fall silent. “You’d end me if you could, wouldn’t you?” He asks and waits for your tired, little ‘yes.’ And of course, you would. You hate him. He hates you. It works even as it leaves him feeling so oddly empty. That brokenness all jagged edges that hurts a little more every day. “Say my name.” Still can’t look at you as you whisper it to him, voice angry and tired, making it a curse. “Again. Say it again.”

Previous

[evil-lovergirl]

req. by melxiqz on wattpad .  .  . can i get a uh... dazai x gn reader reader....nsfw...reader has spine... tattoo..

!    short nsfw drabble . . . dazai osamu . . . >> includes thigh-fucking [char. giving], begging [char. giving], hickeys [char. giving], dazai is very touch-starved, he really likes your tattoo, like he licks it and shit, he's just a wet cat </3, reader sleeps shirtless and pantless (still wearing shorts/boxers),n dazai is sleeping nude, lowercase intended >> sorry thigh-fucking was literally the only way i could think of where he sees your tattoo. also "laurel" refers to the poisonous laurel flower. i was a little tired of dazai calling reader belladonna every story and the laurel flower is really pretty

"it's late, 'samu." he hears you attempt to reason with him as he presses his chest against your back, his slender hands already pressing against your chest.

"pleasee? jus' for a little bit, jus' tonight.." he whines as he presses his bulge against your legs, dick already hard and weeping pathetically as he pressed his cheek against your back.

"just for tonight," you relent eventually, knowing that you'd both do this another night again anyway. he lets out a happy sound before one of his hands fall from your chest and down to your thigh as he carefully slips his cock between your thighs, letting out a quiet huff as he slowly begins to move. 

he keeps his eyes shut for a moment before he looks at the back of your head, then his gaze traces down to your tattoo. his eyes traces each inch of the ink-stained skin on your back, hand on your thigh tightening as he speed his thrusts up a bit more.

 his mouth lets out another moan or two before he latched onto your shoulder blade with it, teeth gently pressing against your skin before your hand moved to gently swat him off. "don't do that. i can't hear you, then."

he huffs as he lets go before a whine interrupts him, your hand having retreated and gently prodded at his tip between your thighs with each of his thrusts. his fingers are basically clawing at you, even though his nails were much too short and blunt to reach your skin, anyway. he pants, tounge lolling out like a dog before he glanced back at the tattoo.

deciding that, in his fuzzy mind, licking your inked skin was the second best thing he could do if he couldn't suck, he dragged his tounge across your tattoo with whines escaping hing him as his thrusts between your thighs grew faster yet sloppier, mewling whenever the palm of your hand met the sensitive tip of his dick.

"i love you, i lov-e y-youu, soo muc-- ah, ah..!- so much," he whines out, repeating the words like a broken record on repeat, nearing his climax as his fingers dragged across your chest pathetically and his hand tightened and shook against your thigh, leaving behind red marks in their wake.

"i love you too, osamu. won't you cum for me?" and that's what sends him over the edge, loud mix of a mewl and a moan escaping him as he came all over your thighs and the bedsheets, head buried in your back.

"looks like you had fun," you mused as your hand moved away from his spent tip before gently intertwining with his hand on your chest still, but now much weaker.

"i love you, my laurel," he mumbled softly, chest rising and falling as he breathed heavily before kissing your back rather gently.

"i love you too, 'samu. go to sleep, unless you wanna clean up now?"

"noooo..."

[angstywaifu]

I Just Want To Talk To Them - Garrick Tavis x Reader

Prompt - “Who did this to you? I just want to talk to them” @fw-gt A/N: This is for the Garrick girls who love the cocky flirty side of him. Enjoy. Masterlist

I winced as the healer prodded around my now very broken nose. Cleaning up what she could of the blood that had run down my face. Which was a lot. The mender had fixed most of the damage, but had to use their abilities on other cadets. Meaning I still had some bruising and tenderness where I had taken the full force of an elbow to the face during a challenge.

It had been a stupid mistake. One I knew Garrick and Xaden would lecture me about later. I had dropped my guard and my opponent had seen it. I had lost the challenge because of it. My first one this year. Wrecking my streak of going undefeated for two years. So close to a perfect three year streak. Luckily neither had been at challenges to see what had happened. But there was no way I could hide what had happened. One cause my nose had been broken and couldn’t be fully healed. Two it would be the talk of the quadrant.

“Use this a few times a day, should clear up the bruising and tenderness in no time. If you have any trouble breathing or any issues just come back.” She says with a smile as she holds the healing balm out to me.

I nod a thanks and take it from her hands before pushing off the bed. I was half expecting Garrick or Xaden to be waiting for me as I leave. But I don’t see them anywhere. Meaning they hadn’t heard yet. Or they were waiting for me somewhere. Due to the last class of the day still being on the corridors are quiet. Meaning the bathrooms would be as well. I decide to head there, knowing the healer would have only got some of the blood off my face and clothes. And my suspicions are correct as I stare into the mirror in the bathroom. Most of the blood around my nose and mouth is gone, but the blood that had worked its way down my neck hadn’t been touched. It almost looked like I had bathed in blood if the rest of my skin and clothes weren’t free of blood. That would be a sight to see. I quickly scrub the blood off my neck. I should have gone to my room and grabbed new clothes and showered. But with training with the other marked ones tonight, showering now probably wasn’t my smartest idea. As I leave the bathroom the corridors are filled with people and chatter. The last class of the day clearly done. I quickly rush over to my room, avoiding any stares that might feed any rumours that had started. I open my door, quickly shutting it behind me as I lean up against it, closing my eyes and sighing in relief.

”Who did this to you?” A gruff stern voice says from my desk.

I jump and nearly drop the healing balm in my hands, awkwardly juggling it till I catch it. I look over to meet Garrick’s gaze. Garrick who is leaning back in my desk chair, his feet resting on the desk as he twirls a dagger between his fingers. If it wasn’t for the words that had left his mouth I would find it attractive. And honestly still did. But with the fire and anger in his eyes, a chill runs down my spine. Garrick had clearly heard I had lost my challenge and ended up in the healers quadrant, but not to who. His eyes lower to my neck and uniform where some of the blood still lingers.

”It was just a challenge. It doesn’t matter.” I tell him as I go to walk behind him and place the healing balm on my bedside table.

But Garrick moves with a speed I’ve never seen before as his feet drop from the desk, turning the chair to grab my wrist, pulling me to a stop. Despite him sitting, I feel small under his gaze. His eyes commanding me to give up the information. This was why he was a section leader. He embodied leadership and authority without even trying.

”It. Matters.” He emphasises each word. “Now, who did this to you?”

”Why does it matter?” I say back as sternly as I can.

With the look in his eyes I know if I give up the name it wont end well for them. Even if it was a challenge where the goal was to fight each other and come out the other side the victor. Garrick didn’t care. He had always been protective of me. More so than any other marked cadet.

”I just want to talk to them.” He says with a smile, a smile that showed he did not want to just talk to them.

”We both know that is not what you are going to do.” I tell him before removing my arm from his grip and walking over to my bedside table.

I hear his slight chuckle at my words. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I turn to find him staring at me as I narrow my eyes at him. Garrick does his best attempt at a sweet smile, but with the anger still burning in his eyes contradicts it.

”You do. I can see it in your eyes. You do not want to just talk to them Gar. It was a challenge, they did what they were meant to do.”

”They hurt what I care about most.” He says as he stands, the chair sounding like it sighs in relief. He walks over and stands in front of me, grasping my chin between his fingers, forcing my face to look up at his. “So I will ask again sweet heart before I go find them another way. Who did this to you?”

My mind goes blank. Did… did Garrick just call me sweet heart? Wait. What he cares about most? I must look at him confused, as he smiles and chuckles at me He leans down, placing his mouth next to my ear.

”If you tell me who it is, I may just come back and reward you for it once I’m done talking.”

Before I can even think or register what I’ve done I blurt out the name of the cadet who I had been put up against for challenges. A sinister smirk gracing Garrick’s lips that has my heart fluttering.

”Good girl.” He whisper before kissing my cheek and walking out the door. Part 2

[cloudnineminusnine]

dear anon, we're on the same boat 😮‍💨

i hope you're doing good! 💖

better late than never, so here we go.

!NSFW CONTENT AHEAD NO MINORS ALLOWED!

sun wukong

"wait, wait! no need to hide from me!" he gives you a roguish smile as both his hands draw your wobbling knees away from each other preventing you from hiding yourself, curious eyes darting directly to your drenched aching core, where your fingers incessantly deepen despite the embarrassment"it's all to me, ain't it? then don't hide it, love." he makes sure that you're aware of the effect your little show has on him, rutting his hardening clothed cock against the velvety skin of your trembling thigh, prodding insistently.

there's a wildness to his thirsty eyes that hits it just right for you, nearly animalistic, blowing intense shivers all over your heated body. a promiscuous cry elapse through your swollen glistening lips as you can only thrust further between your slicked folds. his grip on your bent knees open you up even more, making it easier for your soaked fingers to dig themselves into your core. you're no longer the reasoned, composed being that he's used to have beside him, no, now you're just a tantalizing mess and you need him to see just how broken he made you to be, pleading for a pleasure only him can concede you.

witnessing the power he holds over you, he feels more than delighted, flattered at how lewd your body becomes at the mere thought of him touching you "moaning my name out like that? you're so filthy..." your teary eyes goes straight to his complacent face, fingers sinking deeper when his tongue drags slowly over his pointy teeth"i bet those tiny fingers can't reach the places i will" clumsily he takes his erection out of it's confinement, thrusting into the tightness of his own calloused hand so you have a clear proof of how much trouble you're causing him "i can do it so much better, all you gotta do is beg me to" he inhales strongly once your eyes meet, biting down his thin lip, submerged by the vicious symphony caused by your candy-like groaning in unison with the wet noises of your desperate hand drowning into your greedy hole.

"wukong!" his turgid red tip drips in desire at your pain filled call, throbbing fueled by fury when you moan wantonly "please, put it inside...- need you inside me, pretty please!" you drag your fingers out and spread your juices all over the puffy lips, opening your pussy with no shame for him to see, smiling slyly in between a lip bite while he surrenders himself promptly, rubbing his thickness at your deprived entrance. he's so big and it feels so overwhelmingly hot as the tip kisses teasingly your gaping soaked cunt.

his half lidded eyes squint a bit as he suppresses a growl "thinking about it..." faking an elaborated thought, he clears his throat "first i want you to cum from your fingers alone," he warns harshly as the swollen head slides a little inside, enough to earn a helpless sob from you "then i'll put it inside you and make you cum again, harder, filling you up so good that you'll never want anything other than my cock inside that pathetic needy cunt of yours." with a mouth full he spits his ill intentions, savoring the sight of your lovely eyes shedding fat tears as you plead him religiously to fuck you.

you're so pitiful that the mere suggestion of what he's going to do makes you cum on point, spine arching as your breath get caught, toes curling to knots, whole body vibrating as you go higher than ever, sucking in the moisty tip while you're middle orgasm, barely able to keep your legs open for him to watch you being washed by immense waves of pleasure.

hovering over your partially nude body he kisses your mouth lecherously through your orgasm, sloppy and wet, tongue all over the place as he fed his ego on your frustrated adorable whines "so obedient..." his furry hands dive into your body going straight do your silky chest so he can give a little attention to your neglected nips, until your slutty waist begs him to hold you still in place so that your hips relax. he drags his hard rock member among your folds, going back and forth in a torturing pace, mixing your fluids altogether while hitting your sensitive clit aimfully "you're ruining me, you know that?"

destined one

"keep going..." comes a plead muffled by your neck, quietly in a way that makes you twitch in desire — juices dripping all over your bottom as your hand keep going."are you feeling good, hm?" he clasps your nipples enthusiastically between the rough fingertips, planting smooches in every hickey caused to your neck by his famine mouth, almost out of his mind, messy and desperate do feel more of you, to see more of your lewd behavior.

as he presses his sturdy body against your back you can feel his hardness throbbing at the end of your spine, begging for attention. "want you inside me..." you purr mellowly, looking down to where your fingers work their way in and out of you, sloshing wet sounds growing louder just like your tender voice"it's so greedy... my fingers aren't enough to reach deeper inside, babe" his hands snakes anxiously under the fabric of your clothes, finding their way to your exposed inner thighs, separating them furthermore and exposing you completely. you mewl in surprise, fidgeting between his well built hairy arms as he kneads your ass hungrily.

"you were calling my name so beautifully..." his heavy breath fan over your ear shell, spreading chills down your back as his sharp nails scratch your sweat-glimmering skin, fingers digging against it, leaving fresh traces of his possessiveness. his voice takes over your clouded mind, coming hot against your exposed shoulder "wanna see you pleasuring yourself." there's a pout on his lips, you can tell by the spoiled tone he's using against you.

slowly scissoring your hot cave open, you mumble "you're so mean to me." turning your head to the side your moist lips brush right against his sensitive reddish ear, earning a aroused whine from him that makes your legs wobble and your digits drown further inside you. as much alluring as it is, you will have to break that bratty attitude of him."look at how wet i am... and that's all your fault." when a third finger join in with the other two he bite down on your shoulder repressing a guttural moan, the combination making your eyes roll back in pleasure. "hng... i- i can't stop thinking about you pounding me hard and deep." in between angustiated sobs you blurt out, hopeful that he would tear your remaining clothes apart and fuck you senseless against any tree.

two can play a game and he knows very well what you're setting up to him. he refuses to bite the bait, suddenly fueled by the ferocious urge to see you crying loud and clear for him as you can only try to relieve yourself by playing with you thirsty cunt. "you sly little thing, you almost got me." he whispers, licking behind your ear, bringing one of his hands to your face as his tail takes it's place wrapping around your raised thigh. he sounds much more demanding, as if something snapped inside him.

before you can fight back, two girthy fingers invade your lips, toying with your tongue and vibrating instantly as you moan shamelessly around them. at the same time he starts moving behind you, rubbing himself deliberately so you know how close he is to losing his remaining sanity. "be good to me and i shall give you what you want."

his voice shifting from soft spoken and almost bashful to that dark lust-filled tone was dangerously interesting, your pussy agrees as it grips crazily around your shaky fingers, sucking them deeper to remind you that you're on your own, that they're unable to bring more than a crescent frustration while failing at hitting your sensitive spot. you're on the verge of crying as you hopelessly suck his fingers soaked, saliva dripping from the corners of your swollen lips.

[hitomisuzuya]

Scara should play with my boobs 🥺🙏

Scaramouche x fem!reader. Smut. Cock warming. Nipple play. Scara with a tongue piercing. Praise.

Felt this 😳

Scaramouche kept his eyes focused on your face, his tongue shaking out to slowly lick one of your nipples. The ball of his tongue drug across your nipple. You exhaled a shaky sigh, arching your back to move your chest further against his mouth.

He'd called you into his lap to cock warm him while he played with your nipples. He knew how sensitive they were, and he loved watching you squirm in his lap, your cunt drooling and clenching on his cock.

You let out a whine, moving up and down on his cock a little. You yelped feeling a rough grope before the sting of his hand smacking across your ass. You immediately stilled your movements.

Scaramouche's hands settled on your hips. "I told you to stay still like a good girl," He chided, smirking as he tapped his fingers on your hips as if to tempt you to bounce.

Your fingers dug into his shoulders as he returned his attention to your nipples. Delicious broken moans and whines keened from your throat, your nipple further hardening and twice as sensitive under the ball of his piercing.

Scaramouche groaned, sucking on your nipple as his hands slide up the length of your body. "Such a good girl," He swirled his tongue around your nipple, each suck sending a stronger jolt of pleasure right to your clit.

It was exhausting you resisting the urge to fuck yourself stupid on his cock. You cried out, your pussy clenching harder hearing his praise.

You were an absolute vision to him slowly falling apart on his cock.

His hand found your other nipple, the pads of his fingers rubbing and pinching it to harden before tracing his finger slowly up your spine. Goosebumps prickled on your skin. "So soft," He moaned, sucking harder on your nipple, "my good, sweet girl." A pliable, obedient plaything all for him.

The only one for him.

He rutted his cock up inside you, holding you still in his lap. "Always, I'll always be a good girl for you," You whimpered, his eyes soaking in the way your face contorted in pleasure.

You looked so sweet that he was determined to make you cum hard just from sucking and playing with your nipples.

Moving his mouth to your other nipple, he reached down to rub your clit in attempt to soothe you when you started whining and squirming again. "My good girl deserves to cum and fucked full," He prodded his piercing on your nipple, "just be patient."

[shiyorin]

#Repost because i accidentally deleted it due to typo

#Yandere au comeback. Angron x F!Reader (Reader is Nuceria noble)

#Don't ask, I just want to cook it.

#Warning: Yandere, dark, a little gore,....

(actually I think it is funny)

Nuceria’s Arena. The air stank. Blood-rust and the sweet rot of corpses left too long under sun. Chains rattled. Crowd roared. Angron’s skull screamed. The Nails bit, chewed, thrilled as he split a man’s ribcage with his bare hands. Red mist. Always red. But through it, you.

You sat high in the shaded tiers, silk draped over sharp shoulders, wine cup dangling from fingers that had never held anything rougher than a jeweled fork. You. Noble. Poison. Eyes like cold glass, never looking at him, only through him. As if he were part of the sand, the gore, the mess of this pit.

He hated you.

(Lie.)

The Nails sparked, white-hot claws raking his brain. Another body at his feet. Another roar from the crowd. His lungs burned. Muscles shook. But you, you didn’t clap. Didn’t smile. Just… sipped. Like the death below was a boring play. Angron’s axe slipped in his grip, slick with entrails. He wanted to hurl it up, up, up into that pristine balcony, watch your silks stain crimson—

(No. No. Want you to see. Want you to look.)

A guard prodded him with a shock-spear. “Move, beast.” The Nails hummed. He almost ripped the man’s spine out. Almost. But then your chair shifted. A flick of wrist. A sigh. Were you…. bored?

******

Night. Chains in the dark. The Nails never slept. They whispered. Kill. Tear. Blood. But underneath, softer, weaker—a whimper. Your face. Your eyes. Why won’t you look?

He’d seen you before, in glimpses. Paraded through streets in a litter, nose turned up at the filth. Once, your sandal slipped, and a slave scrambled to catch it. You’d laughed. High, cruel. Angron had vomited bile that night, Nails chewing his thoughts to pulp.

Now, fever-dreams: your hand, cool on his brow. Your voice, soft: “You’re more than this.”

(Stupid. Stupid. You’d never touch him. He’s nothing .)

******

Dawn. Back in the sands. A fresh batch of prisoners, starving, wide-eyed. Angron’s axe trembled. The Nails screeched: “KILL!” But his eyes dragged upward. There. Silk canopy. Your perfume somehow cut through the stench. Today, your hair was braided with gold wire. It glinted, mocked.

One prisoner charged him, a boy, maybe sixteen, armed with a broken sword. Angron sidestepped. The crowd booed. “Fight, beast! Fight!”

The boy sobbed, swinging wildly. Angron’s fist snapped his neck. Quick. Clean. The crowd hissed.

But you… leaned forward. Just a fraction.

(Look at me. Look at me. LOOK AT—)

Your lips moved, saying something to the slave beside you. Laughing. Always laughing.

******

They brought him to you.

A mistake. A guard’s drunken gamble. “The lady wants a closer view of the beast!”

Angron’s chains clanked. They’d hosed him down, but blood crusted his nails, his teeth. The Nails sang as they led him up, up, up to your private box.

Closer.

Your scent, jasmine, ozone, richness, hit him like a hammer. You didn’t turn. Just waved a hand. “Leave us.”

The guards hesitated.

“Now.”

They fled.

Alone.

Angron’s breathing rattled. You finally turned, and—oh. Up close, your eyes weren’t glass. They were voids. Black. Hungry.

“So,” you said, swirling your wine. “The Red Sand’s champion. Do you know why you’re here?”

He growled. The Nails itched.

You stood, hips swaying, and circled him. “They say you’re a demon. A mindless thing. But I see… fear in you.” Your finger trailed his arm, burned where you touched. “Do you fear me, beast?”

(Yes. No. Want)

You slapped him.

Hard.

His head snapped sideways. The Nails shrieked. He lunged—

—and froze.

Your palm pressed to his chest. Not pushing. Feeling. His hearts jackhammered under your touch.

“Interesting,” you murmured. “You want. Even now. Even… this.” Your nails dug into his skin. “Pathetic.”

He snarled, chains clattering. You smiled.

“Shall I give you a secret, beast?” Your lips brushed his ear. “I’ve watched you. Every fight. Every scream. You’re magnificent… when you suffer.”

Your knee jabbed his groin. He choking.

“But you’re still a dog,” you hissed. “And dogs… beg.”

******

He dreamt of you that night.

(Not a dream. The Nails don’t allow dreams.)

Your hands on him. Not cruel. Gentle. Your voice, sweet: “You’re mine.”

(Lies. Lies.)

In the dream, he wept.

******

You came again. And again. Always with wine. Always with cuts disguised as caresses.

“Do you know what they’ll do to you?” you asked once, tracing the Nails embedded in his skull. “When you break? They’ll toss you to the corpse-wyrms. I’ll watch.”

He grabbed your wrist. Too tight. You gasped, finally, finally looking at him, and he…

…let go.

You stared. Then laughed. “Oh, beast. You’re weak.”

******

The last time.

You wore red. Like the sand. Like his dreams.

“They’re selling you,” you said. 

Angron’s chains shook. 

(No. No. Can’t leave. Can’t)

You stepped close. “Beg me to keep you. Beg, and I’ll slit your throat here. Clean. Quick.”

His mouth opened. Words. He hadn’t spoken in years.

“I….”

Your smile froze. “What?”

“You....” Blood dripped from his nose. The Nails blazed.

You recoiled. “Don’t, don’t you dare say that!”

But he did. Again. Again. Guttural. Broken. Your face twisted, disgust? Fear?

You fled.

******

He never saw you again.

But in the dark, chains replaced by a Legion’s armor, the Nails whispered:

“She’s watching. She’s waiting. Find her. Make her look .”

And Angron smiled, grin teeth, and obeyed.

[springsylph]

Touch and Agree | Charles x Reader

charles smith x f! reader | no warnings | 2.1k | ao3 |

was trying to get back into writing but i was struck with an indescribable sadness once i thought about how useless charles must’ve felt after burning his hand in blackwater. so. i raise you unknowingly touchstarved reader versus Charles™

The horses have slowed to a trot by the time you press your cheek to the frosted window.

You hear Arthur shout some muffled declaration of success as he and Charles’ shadows curl around the front of the stable. The gang is likely aware of their return, senses now heightened by hunger and the frigid winds of Colter. But you feel the need to relay the message to the few still silently huddled in the corners:

“If you’ve been praying, today’s your lucky day.”

Tilly, arms crossed tight over her torso, is the first to pipe up from her spot near the fireplace. “Micah finally saw his sorry behind off the nearest cliffside?”

“Miss Tilly!” Grimshaw hisses, scandalized. The only thing stronger than Grimshaw's personal gripes are the exigencies of the gang. “No more of that. You know we need all the hands we can get.”

Karen, squished next to Mary-beth and a now slumbering Sadie on a wooden bench, scoffs. “Didn’t think we counted meat hooks as hands.”

That gets a snort out of John, who realizes too late that his body isn’t quite healed enough to handle said snort. A flick to the forehead from Abigail quiets him down in his cot before she turns to find you still gazing out the window.

“I’m assimin’ Arthur and Charles are back?”

You nod. “With one…two deer, by the looks of it.”

Your inhale is sharp when Charles pulls his catch over his shoulder with a jerk, beckoning Arthur to follow after him to mask his discomfort. The tension leaves your spine only after the last dregs of his shadow disappear into the stable.

Half-turned to Abigail, you mumble, “Does Charles look a little...off to you, these days?"

"Off," she repeats. The darkness under her eyes colors her words. "Off how?"

"You know," and you make as though to say something of substance before your eyebrows pinch together, "off.”

Abigail looks at you like you’ve grown a second head. “If you’re waitin’ on Charles to scream bloody murder, it’s gonna take a hell of a lot more than a burn to do him in.”

Another brick is slotted into a broken wall. 

“I’m just worried.”

“About?”

“Charles. I think his hand is botherin’ him again.”

Abigail’s sigh dusts the cold air with its warmth. “I…suspect most things might look a little off since we've been cooped up like this. But we’ve got O’Driscolls and Pinkertons on the prod." She looks at Jack, now sitting cross legged at her feet and fiddling with the corner of John's blanket. Abigail had given up on herding him toward the fireplace some time ago. She strokes a featherlight hand over his head. "No sense in stressing yourself out over somethin’ Charles would’ve told us ages ago. It's good that he’s up and movin' though, ain't it?"

Your momentum stalls.

It should be. It should be.

Blackwater has left none unchanged. If you weren’t dead, you were shot, and if you weren’t shot, you were waiting for it. Hands bound. Body trammeled by fear and constant surveillance. From anyone else, this haste would be a blessing. A miracle, even, in light of all that'd been lost.

From Charles, it reads more like a warning.

But you don't think your feet have been planted here long enough to question their habits.

You say nothing and return your still numb cheek to the window. Will it always be like this, you wonder? The second guessing. The wary eyes. There’s a certain degree of trust that you aren’t privy to yet. Somehow, it feels worse knowing that everyone is making an effort to be so kind to you despite it. You know plenty who wouldn’t do the same.

Better dead than dead weight. 

The creed still lingers. Subsisting on what little you've gleaned in the short time you've been running with Dutch's group. Perhaps that's the root of this peculiar sense of worry. Of pity. You and Charles don’t speak often—there's a general lack of overlap in duties, for one, and he mostly keeps to himself. But you've always been one for actions over words. Charles was frighteningly capable, and more than willing to prove it time and time again.

To him, the burn he’d suffered may as well have been a bullet to the leg.

Your only issue is that no one else seems to see it.

You’re tracing shapes into the windowpane when movement just outside startles you. Charles, bow in hand, stalks toward one of the smaller cabins before veering off toward the small stream that lies just behind the stables.

You're springing up and stumbling out the front door before your brain has time to temper your heart. Someone shouts after you—likely Grimshaw, from the way it rakes over your ears. But you ignore it in favor of grabbing handfuls of your skirts and pushing through the powdery snow.

When you round the corner of the stables, breath short and chest tight, you find that Charles hasn’t gone very far at all. He's leaning against a crooked tree, face all taut lines as his fingers fumble with the grip on his bow. A frown plays at your lips when you notice the path of his footprints, stretching a few paces farther before it loops back to where he stands.

“Charles?”

You think you hear him exhale through his nose before he meets your gaze with the same smile he usually does. Bright. Unwavering. A little squinty, since the sun is in his eyes. “You good?”

Right. The usual pleasantries. You've conversed with him in your head for much longer than you have in person.

“I’m uh, fine." You blink stupidly. "Are you?"

“Mhm. Right as rain.”

Your eyes can't help but slide to the bow he clutches just out of sight. He doesn’t look ashamed in the slightest.

“…I’m just holding it, for now. Till my hand heals up, at the very least.” Charles holds up the offending appendage. “Not like I have anything better to do."

It's hard to tell if he's intentionally skirting around the point, or if he really does think there aren't any better uses for his time. The frown you'd been fighting off finally gets the better of you once Charles returns to adjusting his injured hand on the bow's grip.

"I don't think you should be doing that," you insist. Because he really shouldn't be. At all.

"Afraid I can't do that," he replies. "I'm one of the few here who can hunt worth a damn in this weather. I get sloppy, we starve.”

“Is that what you think?”

“No.”

“Then—”

“It’s what I know.” He says it with enough certainty to make you almost believe him. “Go back inside and warm yourself up. 'Preciate you checking on me, but if you freeze to death, they’re gonna laugh knowing you came out here without any gloves on.”

You clench your fists. Feel the ice that's settled there begin to splinter under the pressure and breach the thick skin of your palms. Fine, then. You’ll speak to him in a language he can understand.

Though your march over is less than graceful, he parts with the bow with surprising ease. Charles’ warmth, much like the rest of him, is tailored to perfection. Your fingertips graze remnants of the finery on the parts of the parts of the bow that his hands have warmed.

His eyes flick over you. Placid. Confused, too, on account of the ever-tightening grip you have on what you hope isn't a prized possession. His vexation becomes clearer once you step away, full hands now hidden behind your back. You have to take an extra step back for your own peace of mind.

“Charles Smith,” you begin, “I’d like to strike up a deal.”

“A deal.”

“I won’t repeat myself. We’re losin' daylight here.”

Chin tipped upward, you don your favorite facade.

Confidence.

"You focus on takin’ care of that hand, and I won't tell Arthur and Hosea you've been messin' with your bow."

His face belies a slew of unvoiced expletives. But you know Charles to be the—somewhat—gentle sort, so there’s no need to brace yourself. Even if he isn’t entirely convinced, you can at least hope that he’s found a little amusement in all this.

“You said ‘strike a deal,’” he says slowly. “This smells like a threat.”

“Deal, threat, whatever strikes your fancy.” It didn’t matter so long as he stopped stretching himself so thin.

He seems to mull over your words for a bit, no longer leaning up against the tree. There is, however, a small chance that he’s trying to find the right assortment of words to get you off of his back.

“We’ve got two deer.” You continue. “If Pearson is as frugal as I remember, that’ll keep us all for about a week. Should be more than enough time to get your hand back in order, right?”

“Hm.”

There’s a moment where Charles’ uninjured hand begins to stretch towards you. You just barely remember to lean out of the way before he drops his arm with a defeated sigh.

“So no bows—”

“No knives or guns, either. Unless absolutely necessary.”

“—Then how’m I supposed to keep up my strength? Can’t just sit idle, you know. We’ve got people here who need taking care of.” He takes three steps forward, and you take three steps back. “We’ve all got weight to pull out here. I’m of no use to anybody if I’m sitting out over a little burn like this.”

There goes that nasty word again.

Use.

You can joke all you want, but that’s what this boils down to.

“Well, you…just need something to pull on, right? Keep your hands busy?”

You hold out your hand.

The corner of Charles’ lips twitch downward. "I’m keeping my knives on me—"

"Take it."

"…What?"

You laugh. Loud and exaggerated enough to shake the snow off the trees. "Some gentleman you are, lettin’ a lady’s hands grow cold.” You flex your fingers. “My hand. Take it."

You use the awkward silence that follows to explain yourself.

"I figure it's got a little more give than a bow. And it’s got enough resistance to scratch that itch. You ever feel like shooting, ask for me. Hopefully it’ll have you feeling stupid long enough for your hand to heal up."

He brings a hand up to block the sun from his eyes, and you find yourself strangely missing the gold it cast on him. "That's not something I should be asking of you."

"Works out great, don't it? You're not asking, I'm offering, so there's no problem." Or, at least there wouldn't be if things go the way you know they will. It's no well-kept secret that Charles isn't too keen on extra company during his downtime. No one faults him for it, either.

Any chance of him taking you up on your suggestion is slim.

The wind is thunderous where Charles is quiet, snaking through the empty trees.

"Whether you take it or not, I'm walking off with this bow. But I'm not about to let you run yourself into the ground."

You flex your fingers again, and they tremble.

Charles shakes his head, and you're sure you've won—

"Alright. I'll do it."

Well, that's not good.

Violently off track and suddenly very unsure of how to proceed, you drop your hand. Charles, evidently resolute in his decision, says nothing more as he approaches.

You stumble back a bit as his body nears, wishing that the head you house on your shoulders was screwed on a little tighter. You think it's begun to spin when he takes your hand into his own; gently, as if scooping up a wounded bird from the forest floor.

He opens his mouth, then promptly closes it, brows furrowing as he inspects your palm.

Something is loud.

It's your heart, you realize. Stuttering with each squeeze of his bandaged fingers. Consequences are not beneath you, it seems.

You allow him a few more experimental squeezes than you would've liked, but you can't quite shake the strange tremor that races up your throat the longer he holds you.

Nothing is said until he pulls his hand away.

“And I can do this, whenever?”

Your tongue is miles away. “I, uh. No.” Wait. Voice crack. “I mean—yeah. Yes. Whenever.”

Charles makes no note of your vocal blunder, instead taking one last look at the bow you hold before beginning to make his way back to camp.

He taps the hand at your side as he passes. Leans to talk right into your ear. “Keep these wrapped up for me, will you?”

He’s gone before you have a chance to tell him that you would’ve done it without his say-so.

(Damn it, you think. Palm tingling. I’m in some deep shit.)

[undercvrfan444]

PROLOGUE

Warnings! stalking, AFAB, creep satoru behavior, knifes, drugging, kidnapping kinda, manipulation, 18+ mentioned, violence, Stockholm Syndrome, if there’s any more idk so go wild

An! This is kinda sloppy because I’m not sure how I want this to play out yet. I really hope you enjoy it though AND SUGGESTIONS ARE WELCOME!!

Based on this Drabble here !!!

“Thank you! Come again!” You smile sweetly as a mother and her daughter exit your bakery. The day had turned out to be utterly dreary with clouds covering any sunshine that would normally shine light through the large windows at the front of your store.

It was nearing the end of the day. The expansive displays of sweet treats and savory dishes were wiped clean from continuous orders. Normally you’d be ecstatic about the success of your small business, however, it was a bittersweet feeling seeing as you would have to stay late and prepare a big order for the next day.

Your feet hurt and were a little swollen from being on them all day. Despite you wanting to go home and lay down you knew a trip to the grocery store was needed before you could start baking tonight. It only took a few minutes for you to slip your raincoat on and grab an umbrella so you could leave.

The whole trip there and shopping was a blur. You had a mission and list so luckily it didn’t take long in the store for you to check out. The bad thing about the grocery store is they only offer brown paper bags! You had no idea how you’d carry the groceries blocks away to your store but maybe you could find a taxi to help you haul them?

Grabbing your bags, you tuck them under your arm and open your umbrella again. Rain patters lightly on the plastic material above you, the sound taking over your mind and letting reality slip away. In the midst of you being lost in imagination something catches your foot, knocking you off balance.

There’s nothing graceful about the way you fall, all elbows and hip straight into the concrete. A pained groan leaves your lips as you open your eyes, feeling something poking you in your side.

“M-Mr. Gojo!” A loud commotion behind you catches your attention. You jerk your head up and see the cause of your fall.

“Are you alright?”

The velvety smooth voice send shivers down your spine. His face is undoubtedly the most soothing sight you’ve ever seen, all muscle and clean masculinity. He had hair that was cut short in the back with beautifully cut white hair in the front, oh and his eyes. His eyes froze you in place with how snow-like they were. Everything about him screamed elegance and money, you weren’t poor but beside this man anyone would look humble.

He speaks again above you, brows furrowed and his hand coming to smooth over your head to check for damage. “Are you hurt anywhere?”

You suck in a breath when he prods at a particularly sensitive part of your forehead. “Ooow!! I’m so sorry sir! I didn’t see you..” You sit up after remembering you were in the middle of a busy sidewalk. Two big burly men stop beside the man and reach down to help him up but instead he waves them off.

His thumb swipes over your skin and he grimaces when looking down at the red color staining his skin. Not much but enough to make you queasy. “Oh now that isn’t good.” The man stands finally after feeling you move off his leg and extends a hand down towards you. In your shocked state it takes a second for you to register the large hand pulling you up.

Both your elbows burn from where they had met with the pavement and gotten scraped. Small rocks stuck to your sticky skin making you reach down to brush them away. The pain in your hip hasn’t registered quite yet but you know there’s going to be a nasty bruise lingering for a few weeks, it’s a wonder nothings broken.

“Don’t move too much, your head is bleeding sweetheart. You need to let a doctor look at it,” There was a slight pause between his sentences. “Would you mind if I had a private physician look at you? That way i’d at least know you’re taken care of and you won’t have to wait hours at some emergency clinic.” The man holds your jaw lightly in his fingers to get a better look at the wound.

“What’s your name baby?” He was incredibly gentle with you, more so than you had ever experienced from a man before and it caught you off guard for a moment.

You swallow thickly and attempt to regain your composure. “It’s, uhm Y/n. B-But there’s no need for the Ms. part. What’s your name?” The sight of your discarded groceries everywhere has you whimpering sadly at the wasted money and knowing you’d have to close shop tomorrow. “My groceries! I needed those for tonight, I…I need to go back in the store.”

A small laugh comes from beside you. “Y/n, unfortunately you’re hurt and i’m the one that’s responsible. I feel obligated to take you to a health professional, I’ll repay you whatever money you lost for the groceries but please allow me to see to your health. If it makes you feel more comfortable, you can call me Satoru. Now we aren’t strangers are we?”

You try to stand straight without leaning on Satoru and fail. Still hazy and confused from hitting your head it’s hard to think logically. “I guess we a-aren’t. Im very grateful for your kindness Satoru. I’m so sorry for running into you, I swear I’m normally not this clumsy.”

Satoru quietly calls for his bodyguards to clean up the side walk as he wraps an arm around your waist. Every step you take it’s like your leg is on fire from the bruise on your hip. It’s a whirlwind with how quick you’re swept into this strangers car and taken to a “private doctor.” Any other normal human being would have screamed at you and told you that this is how every true crime documentary starts! However, you just can’t get over the way this man seems to hypnotize you into following his words.

Satoru held a certain aura around him. He was like the quiet moments before a horrific storm, something boiled under the surface of his heaven-sent features. His shoulders always looked tight as if he was holding the weight of the world on them. From the material of the clothes he wore to the surely expensive and heady cologne he wore you weren’t entirely sure it was a good idea to go with him.

Upon Satoru opening your door for you it’s evident by the interior of his car he isn’t some ordinary business man. Come to think of it his car had windows so dark you’re not sure how anyone would see out of them. The beautiful leather seats wrap around your smaller body and warm you from where the rain soaked your clothes. Satoru slid in beside you and said something quietly to the driver up front. It felt like everything he did was very hushed in an attempt to keep you at ease.

“Uhm, S-Satoru? I’m sorry to ask this but…you’re not like a bad guy or anything are you? I’d like to know i’m not going to be kidnapped and sold off to some auction.” You smile weakly up at him and listen to his laugh fill the vehicle.

He looks out the window for a second before looking back at you. “I guess it just depends on your definition of bad.” A sudden wave of nausea hits you at his words. There’s a silent shift in the air that has goosebumps raising on the back of your neck. What did you get yourself into? Surely if he’s offering to take you to a doctor then he wouldn’t do anything bad to you right? Right?

The rest of the car ride is quiet until you pull up to a lavishly large house tucked away in a remote wooded area.

Satoru watched you from the side of his eye the entirety of the ride. He couldn’t help but think about what you’d look like if he stole you away from your civilian life and swept you into his. Blue would suit your features perfectly. Your lips moved along absentmindedly to whatever music was playing on the radio and it took everything in his body not to envision them wrapped around his cock.

Not until you stepped inside the house did you realize it sat overlooking the city. A cliff sitting nicely at the back part of the house that adds a certain grandness to the overall view. You get lost in the overwhelming change in scenery that you don’t hear Satoru behind you until he’s leaning down to put his head beside yours.

“What are you looking at sweetheart?” You jump at the sudden whisper and cringe, your head throbbing worse than before.

“The view is so beautiful. I love seeing the city from this view. It shows just how small we all are in the bigger picture.” Your response was sweet. Simple like a line from some sappy movie. Satoru ate it up. He loved how naive you were; so pure to the world’s nasty ways. How has no one corrupted that pretty little head of yours yet?

Just wait until Satoru got his hands on you. He would never let his sweet dove be exposed to the unjust nature of his enemies. And yet…That doesn’t mean he won’t drag you into his own world of sin along the way.

[xerotiny]

Four of Hearts ‪‪❤︎‬ [Teaser]

TEASER ‪‪❤︎ Four of Hearts‬ ‪‬

One night, in the haze of a serious hangover and a heartbreak, you commit to a mistake you should have never made. Now, you’re stuck with the consequences of your actions. You pulled a four of hearts out of the deck of your life; one might say, it was the best of your luck ever.

Four of hearts—the four men made of money, who are solemnly wrapped around your finger. You had never thought your mistake would be a luxury for you.

Warning: smut, masturbation, squirting, etc.

Word Count: 3,046

Back arched. Eyes half-lidded. Ragged breaths making your lungs convulse. Fingers strumming down your glistening wet folds, while the familiar tension coils superficially in the pit of your stomach. You were so close to letting that knot come undone in the passing seconds. Body temperature rises to the rhythmic tension of your fingers prodding at your clit; you were so close to your sweet release, your body almost spasms thinking about the aftermath. You plunge a finger along your slit and trace it down to your cunt before pushing it in, mind determined to get you closer to your edge. A broken whimper parts your lips, your eyes shutting close tightly while the budding pleasure forces you to throw your head back against the cushioned headboard.

The tips of your two fingers jab at your cunt, thrusting in with a tender pace, not wanting to irk your overstimulation any beyond than it already was. You were so sure; this was going to be your breaking point. To have your body attuned to your surroundings was one thing, an attempt full of torment; you grunt when you push your fingers further in, plunging them deep within. Tears stream down the side of your face, trickling past your eyes which were screwed shut at the burning sensation creating a torment in the pit of your stomach. You gasp, fingers strutting against your walls and your cunt clenching with a want.

An ephemeral desire blooms into your chest, tightening every muscle of your body to prepare yourself for the inevitable collapse of your sanity. Hours had passed, whiling and long, torturing your mind in the dark of the room you were trapped in. The mattress under you, soft and comfortable, yet seemingly cold and rock-hard. It was the point in your foreboding daze, when you had realised this was going to fold you and break you apart.

And it would certainly satisfy the man sitting in front of you.

You’re too engrossed in working yourself up, wanting to be done with it in the coming mere seconds; however, you knew the haste of your own would lead to more worse casualties than this one. The pace of your fingers, thrusting deep into your cunt, falters and becomes placid to prolong your release. And the sting of your denied release, spread like a wildfire throughout your body. Gleaming with hope, you crack your eyes open and raise your head to meet the stern gaze of your lover. Your legs give in first, then your body, shuddering and going weak. Meeting his prurient eyes, you swallow down the lump in your throat and wince his name in tongues, incoherent to either of you. At the sight of his stoic and blank expressions, you whine and clasp your legs together, hiding your spasming cunt from him.

“Legs,” he warns, clicking his tongue, “spread them.”

You oblige, spreading your legs apart to expose your pussy back to him. Spread out to him like a buffet, but all he could do was sit in his chair and stare at you, his legs crossed over and spine as straight as a line. Your chest heaves with your thrusts now, listening to gravelly voice had stirred something in you. Other hand fists the sheets on your side, while the one hand busy, starts going knuckles deep in your cunt. You could hear it now, the squelching of your fleshy walls, and your wetness elaborating more on the vile sound of it. Had you increased the pace because you were impatient, or had you only done it to tip yourself off the threshold restraining your release? In your mind, the latter notion spoke out against everything else.

“Yunho—Sir,” you’re about to whimper out his name, but the stone-cold realisation makes you correct yourself. Your tongue grows heavy and your lips tremble, “I can’t do it—I can’t do it anymore.”

Voicing out your truer sentiments was a little terrifying, but the thrill crawling under your skin was pushing you to do and say some things you possibly didn’t have the guts to say to him. Never in your wildest dreams did you think you’d be talking back to him during one of your punishment sessions. Although, your rationality had been deemed to nothing when you were so enthralled by the pleasure taking over your body. At times like these, your mind was better off with no thoughts.

“You can do it, Birdie,” he calls out, voice gentle and encouraging; however, the following grunt sounds from his chest, “hmmm if not, you should’ve thought of the consequences before playing with your tail.”

You shake your head, closing your eyes again, “I—I am so—I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t make the cut, does it?” he says calmly, “eight more to go, Birdie. You don’t want to keep me waiting, do you?”

Fluttering your eyes open, you catch a glimpse of his face; everything remained shrouded in the darkness as he propped himself in the chair positioned in front of the bed. The moonlight cascading through the full-length windows adjacent to the bed grazed a part of his lips. And you could clearly make out the smirk on them. He was enjoying this, delighting in your pain. You were intrigued by his body language: stoic, forbearing, austere, and domineering. Yunho’s clothes were crease free, and still neat; his black blazer hung over at the backrest of the chair, while the buttons of white his shirt were undone to expose his milky and pale chest. He showed no interest in taking off his vest, which still hugged his abdomen and defined more of his lean muscle. If there was anything you wanted from him, it was for him to be dressed in his three-piece suits all the time.

Yunho leans back in the chair, eyes never leaving your figure; licking his lower lip, he smiles at you, patiently waiting for you to continue. You could read it in his eyes, the spark of calm and anticipation. But even with what had been unfolding in front of him, Yunho kept his cool—constraining his own urges. Just like you, he was caught in a torment of his own, a dilemma. The strain in his pants was starting to grow too excruciating to bear. Every fibre in his being ruptured to the dwindling shackles around him. Boring inside his mind and body, his control was overpowering his subdued ambitions—just a tiny tug, or a caress, or perhaps a stroke of his hand across his aching cock would alleviate him off the pain. But no, if he gave in to his urge, it would render this punishment almost useless.

“I can’t do—I can’t do ten,” you whimper yet again, your chest burning with neglected passion and ardor; oh, how much of a pity it is that you’re bound to the bed, all free in your will and nonetheless having no freedom to touch or feel the man sitting in front of you.

“You can,” he smiles, a complete contrast to his baritone which seeped of venom. “Birdie, I assume, you were well-aware in your mind of the repercussions that would follow your defiant actions.” A sigh parts his lips and his eyes blank out on any emotion; he traces the tip of his forefinger along his lower lip, murmuring, “was it that we made it too overbearing for you to abide with our facile rules? Ah, I suppose we gauged your capabilities quite erroneously to believe you could please us.”

Tears pool in your eyes and with that his silhouette distorts in your vision; stupid girl, did you really think he’d be moved by your tears? Come what may, you had it coming for defying his five simple rules. Striking out against any of them had harrowing fruits—punishments. With your past lovers, you were made to believe that punishments were as equally fun as the usual sessions. And to your surprise they were. However, fun punishments were a forgotten memoir in your head after benignly meeting four of them. Punishments with them were sent straight from hell. If anything, you had to sign a few non-disclosure agreements stating they won’t be responsible for any casualties in these circumstances.

“Sorry, I’ll be obedient from now on,” you plead, your words coming out broken because the pleasure was starting to roll into your body again. “I promise I will be, but—but please—please, I can’t do this.”

There’s a minute waver of laughter on his face; almost as if to belittle you and your said remark. “We’ve been through this before too, Birdie. And as it happened then, your hollow promises do not make any affirmative impression on me. What’s done has been done. You had enough time to reflect on your behaviour—let alone, the window for apologies has already been pulled shut.”

“Please, Yun—Sir,” you whine.

Your limits have been stretched to the utmost point of endurance; it stayed behind with you, the shame, the fear, the pain, and the hope. Although, a wretched part of you luxuriated in all the shame and despair you felt—the same part of you pushed your yearning for pleasure to the point of return. And you were back in your zone, your senses aflame with a certain hankering; the warmth of your fingers grazes past your folds, your cunt shuddering and spasming as you pick up the pace of what you were supposed to do. Motions, swift. Fingers, prodding against your fluttering walls. And your lips, quivering with every moan you breathed out.

Yunho scoffs, “is my Birdie back to her senses? I see…” he drags his words, spreading his legs apart further to palm his aching cock against the confines of his trousers; his eyes were so full of lust and craving, an insatiable appetite for you and every vulgar sentiment in his head. “Do you understand now, Birdie? You don’t need our cocks to keep you satisfied anymore; a slut like you could even get off on your fingers, won’t you?”

You whimper, closing your eyes shut and fisting the sheets under you; your fingers pick up their rhythm, thrusting in and out to the beat of your heart. Every time your knuckles stretch out your cunt, the tension coils and clamps on your lower stomach, suddenly becoming ten times more intense. In addition to that, Yunho’s words were providing a sensory whiplash to your body. If he continues riling you up with his words and phrases, you aren’t going to last long.

“Isn’t it true, Birdie?” he gushes, prompting you to peek at him through your squinted eyes, “would you even need us, now? Our warmth, our hands, our souls—all this time, we’ve been striving to ensure your experience is anything but rewarding and fulfilling but you,” he pauses, his tongue darting out to touch his upper lip, “but you don’t seek any satisfaction, do you? Your fingers are enough. Birdie doesn’t need us anymore. Birdie can fulfil her own desires by herself. She’s such a grown up…”

Yunho is silenced by his own grunt; all while he had been stroking his hardened shaft through his trousers, and just a second ago, the threat holding his climax had snapped off. It had never happened before, ruining his own pants, without any physical stimulus—surprise etched on his face soon dissipates to a haughty snicker.

“Look at what you’ve done now,” he mutters, closing his eyes while continuing to ride out his high, palming his cock. “I suppose, I am no better than you. But this is a first. Can you see what you do to me, Birdie? You make me go a little insane and my insanity proves my self-control to be so useless.”

You moan upon comprehending the said situation. A silly girl like you should really have to curse yourself for being so darn stupid; if the situation had turned out differently, you’d be there in front of him, on your knees, cleaning him up like the obedient little girl you are. Regardless, when you hear the click of a second passing by, you resume to your ministrations. Pumping your fingers in and out, you’re chasing your high. It won’t be long till you’re whimpering chants of his name, and your body palpates to delight in the release.

“Come on, Birdie,” he coaxed, unbuckling his belt but keeping himself from doing anything further, “show me how much of a slut you are. Don’t hold back on it, I want to see you tremble and shudder till you’re gasping for more. I’m aching to hear my name from your lips, those cute little chants you do. I love them so much—fuck…” he grumbles when he feels himself getting hard again.

There it was, the hot and tight lump of pleasure simmering in your stomach; Yunho’s words may be crude, but his voice, not so much. A man with such dulcet voice speaks of such lewd notions; it was driving you wild, closer to your release. You ram your fingers into your cunt at a pace that you never thought you’d achieve. Yunho’s ears fill with the sound of your walls squelching so deliciously around your fingers. But his favourite sound were your moans, and the deliberate attempt at gushing his name in between them. He knew you wouldn’t last much longer if you continued with that speed, and so he lets you be, dwelling in the silence.

You stay distracted by your thoughts, focused only on your climax and nothing else. The short and precise thrusts of your fingers start jolting your body against the mattress. With every curt push of your fingers inside, your thumb brushes with your clit and stimulates your building knot even more. Gradually, you slow your pace and steady your fingers by nudging them in and out while they’re still buried knuckles-deep in your cunt; your thumb plays with your clit, pressing and pushing, rubbing circles and flicking it.

“Yunho,” a whimper breaks out and it blends into a hushed chant of his name, dribbling with despair and ache.

Tears stream down the sides of your face, wetting the pillows under you. You could see a striking white flash behind your eyelids, spreading and never dimming down. Chest heaves up and down, and your free hand starts cupping one of your tits; you roll your nipple between your thumb and forefinger, adding to the pleasure. In the coming seconds, your body is convulsing, and your cunt is overwhelmed with tremors; your climax washes over you like a bucket of cold water, and you’re left breathing hard to catch yourself slipping beyond it.

Sadly, you were long gone. Lost to the darkness of your overstimulation, you were chasing the satisfaction of your body—which seemed to only coil and tighten in your stomach. The intense pain in your gut burns through to your stomach, urging you to let go. And you do; taking a deep breath, you cease the warmth building in your stomach. A feathery graze in the pit of your stomach suddenly relaxes you; the same warmth you felt before, now trickles down your thighs and quivering cunt.

You had just squirted. The first time you ever did, by yourself. Yunho was beyond amused.

Silence dawns over you two, while your body tunes out the tension and composes to normal. You let the minutes pass as you stare at the ceiling, wide eyed and contemplating. You pull your fingers out of your cunt and bring your hand to the side; both of your hands rest on your sides, fidgeting with the sheet under you. Your body goes limp, and your legs give in; lying on your back, much properly than before, you take a deep breath and prop yourself on your elbows to meet his face. Yunho seems much unfazed, still stern and relaxed to what you had done.

“Did I just…” your thoughts drag to a whisper and Yunho nods, “yes Birdie, you just squirted.”

He clicks his tongue and offers you a smile, though there are no good intentions behind it, “look at you, squirting on your own fingers, all by yourself. Such a pathetic little whore.”

You sniffle and press your lips together, “I—I—I am so sorry.”

“Why are you apologising, Birdie?” he mumbles, softly. “This is a good thing. And probably one of the hottest things you’ve ever done.”

You nod to him, absentmindedly. And that is when you hear a familiar sound; the sound of a car’s engine dying down to serenity. A curtain of bright light flashes on the window adjacent to the bed, only for a mere second before darkness consumes everything again. You were so sure; someone else had come back home. Judging by the whirring of his car, you could tell it was someone you really didn’t want to see. Most precisely, someone you didn’t want to see you caught in this situation. You’re mulling over the same consequences, when Yunho catches up on your dreadful silence and clears his throat.

“Oh Birdie,” his tone seethes with feigned sweetness, “how do you explain this to him?” Pausing for a second, he listens to the footsteps ascending into the floor, “he won’t be pleased by this. Not at all.”

Yunho crosses his arms over his chest and leans back in the chair; the door to the room is pushed open, the force almost making it come out of its hinges. Shrieking creaks of it linger in your ears, and you turn your attention to the person who had just barged in. He was the last person you wanted to see here. Baek Saemi, you’ve really done it today. The said person smirks, leaning on the doorframe.

“Oh, bunny. Did you get yourself in trouble again?” the man shrugs, his smirk growing, “I guess it’s time for me to teach my bunny a little lesson.”

And the darkness in his eyes, reels you back into your past. And back you go, to that one fateful night, six months ago, when you had pulled out a card and found it to be four of hearts.

MASTERLIST | CHAPTER ONE