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BIM Modular Technology of Durkduct Flexible Air Duct System — Reshape the future of Intelligent Ventilation System
BIM(Building Information Modeling) technology has played a greater role in the construction industry nowadays. With the increasing scale and complexity of construction projects, the traditional GI duct setup is facing new challenges in design, manufacture, and installation. To get these issues solved, BIM Modular Technology and iDuct software have been adapted to the Fabric Fiber Ductwork, achieving the full-process modularization for traditional non-standard air ducting systems from design, manufacture, and installation to after-sale maintenance. It helps to improve the assembly rate of building and speed up the process of electromechanical modularization.
Features and Advantages of BIM Modular Technology for Durkduct Insulated Air Duct System
Modular Design: BIM Technology is adopted with the concept of modular design, separating the Nanosox Insulated Air Ducting System into independent components, parts, and accessories modules, enabling design, construction, and maintenance more flexible and effective. The modularization greatly increases the reusability and standardization, reducing the construction costs in the meantime.
Data Integration: BIM Modular Technology enables the full-process data integration and sharing for multiple Insusox pre-insulated air duct systems, making information delivery more effective in plans, design, manufacture, assembly, and operation. Through the establishment of database, participants are able to share and update data in real time, decreasing the deviation and latency of information delivery, and improving the project’s effectiveness.
Sustainable Development: BIM Modular Technology focuses on sustainable development, greatly decreasing energy consumption and environmental pollution through design and construction optimization. Modular design optimizes the material and energy utilization, reducing carbon emission of air ducts system. The sustainable development concept matches the demands of Green Construction and Emission-reducing.
The Application of BIM Modular Technology in the HVAC/R Industry
Improve the management effectiveness: BIM Technology fulfills the full-process management in various stages, realizing the information seamless connection and work collaboration from air duct design, flexible manufacture, and onsite assembly to maintenance. That greatly increases the effectiveness of project management and reduces the waste of time and costs.
Accelerate the construction process: Different modules of construction can be designed and manufactured in advance through BIM Technology, then assembled onsite, shortening the construction period, and improving effectiveness. Meanwhile, modular design decreases the workload and crew size, reducing construction risk and potential security hazards.
Enhance the system quality: BIM Technology fulfills the standardization and quality control of the air duct system. The prefabrication advances the air duct integrity, minimizing deviations and issues, and improving the entire quality and reliability of the Flexible Air Duct System.
Optimize the space utilization: The BIM Technology empowers the precise layout of the construction site. The air ducting system could be assembled flexibly according to the actual situation, making the best use of space. It’s especially significant for the construction site where the height is restricted, the utilization and value of the space are highly enhanced.
BIM Modular Technology of Durkee Textile Ventilation System features modular design, data integration, and sustainable development, bringing fresh solutions to the construction industry. The technology can not only improve project management effectiveness, optimize space utilization, and accelerate the construction process, but also advance the building quality greatly. In the near future, BIM Modular Technology will undoubtedly play a more significant role in the construction industry, boosting the development of intelligent construction, and delivering a comfortable environment for the future.
#fabric air duct#hvac duct manufacturers#ventilation#air duct#nanosox#insusox#buildings#bim technology
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PVC Coated Air Duct Fabric PVC Fiber Glass Hose
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HLVDF04 1000DX1000D 12X12 550gsm Factory Mining Tunnel Collapsible PVC Ventilation Air Duct Fabric
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The export order of Flexible Duct Connector to Vietnam began again, this time with two specifications, 45-75-45mm, 75-140-75mm.
#Hvac#ducting#HVAC Ducts#ductwork#fans#ventilation ducts#compensator#fabric compensators#Flexible connectors#air ducts#HVAC systems#pipework
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❥ ENJI TODOROKI X FEM!READER
❥ WORD COUNT: 1.7k
❥ WARNINGS/TAGS: stuckage (aka you get stuck and fucked), major dub-con, some ass play, spitting (on your ass), degradation, creampie, Enji is dirty and mean and he's really not sorry for it
→ Kinktober Masterlist ←
The sink of spandex between your thighs reminds him of why you are such a vexation. Fabric stretches across the mound of your cunt as you struggle, a perfect contour of what lies just out of reach.
“Finally found something you can’t escape, hm?”
Enji hears your scoff echo across the panes of the air duct, elbows pinging the metal as you try to shift your weight.
You won’t slip away. Not this time.
“Pull me out,” your hips arch and shake with your demand.
The hero claws inside his chest, your plea reaching his sensibilities. But the curve of your thick, open legs strokes a more sinister flame in the pit of his stomach.
“Where’s the fun in that? I’ve chased you for long enough.” He deserves a reward.
For a cat burglar, he expected you to be more clever. Yet here you are, stuck at the waist in the old factory’s ventilation, in a hole your thighs were never going to breach no matter how much you struggled.
Now he gets to be the judge and jury of your punishment.
“Almost like you wanted to be caught,” he muses to himself as he finally gives in to the itch to sink his fingers into the fat of your ass.
Your gasp sounds like the hiss of air down the duct, shrill and quick. You’re not a naive villain—you know what’s coming.
Blunt nails scrape against your costume, black threads splitting with just a fraction of the force he can give.
Your skin spreads into view like a ripe fruit being peeled. Sweet flesh is already dripping as he snaps away the spandex over your cunt, a thrill sparking in his cock at the sight of your pussy lips opening as you wiggle yourself in his hold.
“Oh you fucking pervert! Let me go!”
He could. He should. He won’t.
Intentions are made clear when his massive hand cups your cunt, thumb rubbing over your asshole as he grips your body, shoving you tighter into your trap.
You grunt and groan, shoulders thumping against metal. You seem to be testing your flexibility in a guise to rub yourself back against the palm of his hand. Your wetness smears against his skin, labia spreading against callouses.
He presses his hand until he finds the swell of your clit. A muffled moan makes him rub hard, hard enough to have a muscle in your thigh clenching and shaking.
Grinning, he spits a string of saliva to drip down onto your ass, moving his thumb just enough to catch the lubrication and smother it against your puckered hole. He dips his thick digit into your ass and delights at how you buck back against him.
“You’re a better whore than a thief.”
There’s no denial, just short moans against metal at each thrust of his thumb into your ass. He twists the digit in your tight cavern, moving his fingers away from your cunt so he can watch your pussy clench in anticipation of more.
You’re a prettier sight than he imagined, already messy, body begging for his touch. He’s had many frustrated nights fisting his dick to dreams of catching you.
Enji toys with you just long enough to get his cock fully hard and aching.
You whine as he pulls away, hips pushing back like you’re searching for him, desperate and needy.
He keeps quiet as he unbuckles his suit, wrapping his cock in his hand and pumping, squeezing his fingers around the base of his cockhead.
Taking advantage of you shouldn’t turn him on so much, yet his balls feel heavy as he watches you panic, unable to see the world behind you.
Your head clinks against the air duct, your trapped hands slapping against the bottom.
“En…Endeavor? Please. Please don’t leave me like this.”
He hates that he won’t be able to see the look in your eyes when he fucks you, but it’s too much of a risk to let you free. You’ll slip away like every time before.
You purr with comfort when he grips your ass, pulling at the fat until your pussy is spread to hungry, flaming eyes.
He bursts your relief by prodding his cock into your wetness. Your cunt clenches at the feel of him and he can practically smell your fear.
“I’m not going anywhere, little whore.”
It takes a few purposeful thrusts to get his thick cock to push inside you, your cunt stretching and burning at his intrusion. He doesn’t care to hurt you, mean hands wrapping around your thighs and using your weight to pull your pussy down his cock.
He doesn’t want you ready, he wants to feel your struggle, feel the tightness of your pussy as he punishes you.
Whimpering as he finally gets his length inside you, you grind back against him. He can’t tell if you’re trying to push him out or pull him in.
It doesn’t matter what you want; what matters is what you can give him.
Your pussy starts to gush as he begins his pace—quick, deep, balls slapping against your clit.
Enji’s fascinated by the sight of your wet flesh dragging along his length, sucking so securely it’s like you’re afraid he’s going to leave again.
“I’ve got you,” he sneers in some twisted sense of heroism.
Your reply moan is bubbly, as if you’ve resigned yourself to take whatever you can get.
He pulls your hips up, squishing your body to the top of the air duct as he gets into the heat of his stride. He’s blinded by the pleasure of your warm, went cunt, lost to the primal urge to take, to use.
It’s too easy to abuse you. So small, so exposed. You’re putty in his hands as he spreads you apart even wider, shreds of fabric shuddering against the bounce of your ass.
You sound like an animal trapped in the wall, yelping and cooing all the same as his fat cockhead bullies into your depths.
“You like being a cocksleeve,” he grunts, “your cunt’s so fucking wet.”
Cream is building at his base, smearing into red curls. Your stomach flutters at his words and he realizes he can feel himself in your core.
He could break you if he isn’t careful.
Yet he doesn’t slow down, barely breaking a sweat as he pushes harder, faster, jaw clenching as he chases his high.
He drops one of your thighs, pulling the other higher around his waist as he pounds a fist into the brick wall. The new leverage has your body slipping farther down the chute, trapping you more snugly.
“P-please,” you pant, nails scraping against the metal prison, “I c-can’t take it…”
“Don’t fucking care. You’re cunt’s mine.”
Your ass ripples as his muscular thighs slap against yours, slick dripping into the rips of your costume.
“Such a stupid little girl. This is what happens when you, ah, run from me.”
He can’t hear any response over the wet slap of skin against skin, the slurp of your greedy cunt.
Putting his hips flush to yours, he grinds into your cunt, so deep he knows it hurts.
His hand scrapes up your thigh, big fingers searching for your clit. When his index finger swirls against your swollen bud, you scream, the sound reverberating like a confession in your trap.
Enji presses his forehead to the wall, eyes closing as he feels hot pleasure starting to build in his balls, twitching in his cock.
“Go on,” he pinches your clit between his fat fingers, “cum, cum little whore.”
Your body starts to shake as you whimper, thighs quivering as you lose control. He rubs two fingers against your clit as he pushes harder into you, motions getting sloppy.
Enji grunts, “I said cum, fucking cum.”
He slams into you so roughly that he hears the air duct creak from his pressure. He puts his focus into filling you, stretching you, letting you feel his cockhead spear against the abused, gummy spots inside your cunt.
Your orgasm is rough, sputtering, slick gushing against where he invades the tight suck of your pussy. You thrash against his hold and whine like a bitch in heat, rolls and smashes of pleasure fissuring down every nerve, making your legs kick.
Against every lingering heroic instinct, Endeavor lets himself fill your guts with his cum.
He feels like a volcanic eruption, spewing flames from his skin and molten cum from his balls. You keep him sucked tight as he unloads, cum spilling from the tight squeeze and down your thighs.
His chest heaves with deep breaths, blue eyes opening to stare down at the havoc he’s wrecked.
Your poor body is limp, lodged around his impaling cock. Sweat, cum, and slick drip down your thighs, his fingerprints bruised into your skin. Your costume has come apart even more, peeling down your legs like he’s ripped you apart.
He wonders for a moment if you’ve suffocated; if he’s fucked you to death.
After a few moments, you stir, one weak hand knocking against the air duct.
“For the love of god…” you choke.
Heating the metal just enough to make it malleable, he bends the air duct away from your sweaty, shaking body. Then he tugs you without care, letting you fall onto the floor before his feet.
“Suck me clean.”
A dumb girl would’ve run on shaky, messy legs. But like the smart girl you are, you get on your knees and pop his heavy cock between your lips.
He smirks at the mess of makeup on your face as you look up at him, tongue flat as you lick his cum from underneath his shaft.
Enji grips the hair on the back of your head, shoving your face down to his balls for you to suck the mess you’ve made.
“Not gonna run again, are you?”
“I might,” your moan vibrates against oversensitive skin, “if it means I get your cock again.”
#kinktober#endeavor smut#endeavor x reader#tw.stuckage#tw.dubcon#bnha x reader#enji todoroki smut#mha x reader#enji todoroki x reader#bnha smut#enji todoroki#endeavor#bnha fanfiction#dripping banner by @/adorenedwithlight
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Flexible Fabric Duct Hose Pipe & Hot Air Hoses
Flexible Duct hose pipe manufacturer and supplier by Shreeji Techno Innovations. Fabric Duct Hose Pipe and Flexible Hot Air Hoses are part of Silicone coated hose pipe. Shreeji Techno Innovations is known as the most reliable brand having expertise in manufacturing most innovative Flexible Hoses. Constructed and designed flexible hoses with the use of ultra-modern equipments, they provide excellent output.
The standard flexible hoses have high tensile strength. The compact design renders them superiority. Apart from being incredibly rigid, they are both vibration and tearing resistant.
The futuristic hoses are easily the most flexible as they are compressible up to 10.1. Their ultra-elasticity makes them stand out. They have comparatively very small bending radius.
The flexible duct hoses comes in a variety of all new designs, sizes and models. The plethora of models provides ample options to clients to choose what is best suited for their industrial needs.
Our product is also know as Flexible Hoses, Flexible Duct Hose, Flexible Hot Air Hoses, and Fabric Hoses.
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Title: Loving Suffocation.
A Continuation Of This Piece.
Written for a very lovely, very indulgent anonymous commissioner.
Pairing: Yandere!Loid x Reader x Yandere!Yor (SxF).
Word Count: 4k.
TW: Non/Con, AFAB!Reader, Slight Somnophilia, Spanking, Sex Toys, Breeding, Mentions of Pregnancy, Medical Malpractice, Oral Sex, Obsessive Behavior, Slight Gaslighting, Bruising/Marking, and Overstimulation.
You never did get to see your opera. A lack of oxygen turned your cramped world blurry and abstract, and you faded in and out of consciousness while Yor fussed over your ruined dress and gathered you up in her arms, the strip of fabric she’d tied around your neck and stuffed in your mouth – not quite a gag, but enough to convince your uncooperative vocal cords that calling for help wouldn’t be worth the effort. Sometime between being pulled against Yor’s chest and slipping out of that sex-saturated storage closet, you blinked and by the time you could find the strength to open your eyes again, you were in your apartment, in your own bed, your makeshift gag gone and your wrists bound behind your back with a generous amount of duct tape. You briefly considered calling for help, but you were past the point of screaming. Even if you tried, the Forgers were your only neighbors close enough to hear, and you’d seen enough of enough of that family for a lifetime.
Just as exhaustion began to overwhelm your better judgement, you caught stifled footsteps in the near distance, heard the door to your bedroom creak open and shut with enough force to shake the drywall. This time, when you closed your eyes, it was in a deliberate effort to will yourself to sleep. An effort that was, of course, rendered futile by Yor’s hand on your forehead, a soft hum too tender to be purposefully deceptive. “I think they might be asleep. The poor thing could barely hold their eyes open.”
“That’s fine.” Instantly, your heart dropped into the pit of your stomach. He spoke quietly, keeping his voice low and airy, but even in worst dreams, Loid seemed to be able to carve out a place for himself. It made sense for him to make an appearance in this nightmare, too. “Can you show me where the damage is?”
You held your breath as Yor’s hand drifted from your face to your thigh. After a moment of hesitation, she nudged you onto your back, pulling the ragged remains of your skirt up to your waist. You fought not to bolt up as cold air washed over your exposed, abused cunt – not to ball your fists as you felt Loid’s narrowed eyes pry into you the way they always seemed to when you passed each other in the hall, when he got home before you could find a reason to get out of the Forgers’ suffocating apartment. You managed to hold yourself still as he clicked his tongue, edging that much closer to the foot of your bed. You could picture him leaning over you, perfectly styled blonde hair falling ever so slightly out of place as he took long, agonizing seconds to evaluate the bruises lining the inside of your thighs, the crescent-shaped marks Yor’s nails had left pressed in your hips, your waist. Calloused fingertips brushed over your ankle, but further restraint was deemed unnecessary as his attention shifted back to his wife. “And you said you found them…?”
“Unconscious,” she filled in. You could hear her shifting her weight, feigning concern as her husband evaluated you. “In front of our building. I tried to wake them up, but they panicked, and I remembered the treatment you told me about for—for hysteria.” She paused, swallowed. “I thought I could help, but I’m afraid I might’ve just made things worse…”
Loid’s response was delayed, put off in favor of inching that much closer to you. The mattress dipped as he rested a knee on the foot of your bed. Don’t move, you repeated to yourself, despite the ever-growing urge to get up and run gnawing violently at the back of your mind. If you pretended to be asleep, you’d only have to tolerate a few minutes of his attention before he got tired of leering at your conscious body. If you pretended to be asleep, they’d leave and you could start to forget this ever happened.
It got harder to be so rational as he reached out, running two fingers over your slit and splitting apart the lips of your pussy, giving himself a better view of your abused clit, your entrance – still pitifully drooling slick. You tried to remember what kind of doctor he was, but any specialties that might’ve come to mind were immediately forgotten as his gloved fingers slipped inside of you. You had to bite back a quiet hiss as he scissored open the sore walls of your cunt, his touch probing and experimental. At least Yor had the decency not to draw it out. “You reacted swiftly and efficiently. Even trained paramedics leave residual damage.” He drew back suddenly, and you fought not to jolt at his callousness. “Can you show me what exactly your…” He trailed off. You could practically hear the curiosity in his voice. “…your treatment entailed?”
Yor made a noise you couldn’t decipher. Loid moved away from you entirely, but Yor was quick to take his place. She settled into the space between your legs, her hands – shaking ever so slightly – taking up your hips, her fingertips near-perfectly aligned with the dark bruises pressed into your skin. You felt her breath ghost over the inside of your thighs, the flat of her tongue run gingerly over your slit, and you bolted upward on instinct, mouth open and ready to—
—ready to have your scream stifled and suffocated by Loid’s palm as he forced his hand over your mouth and shoved you back into the mattress. Unable to claw at his arm, to pry him off of you, you thrashed under his steadfast hold, but he didn’t seem to pay you any mind. Rather, his eyes met yours for all of half a second before flickering to his wife, sparing her a slight nod. “Patients usually react with some level of resistance. You can go on.”
Yor’s eyes widened, but any shock she might’ve felt seemed to melt away at her husband’s assurance. She was more nervous, now that she was performing for an audience rather than assaulting you in the privacy of her chosen hideaway, but the little, tentative movements of her tongue got braver over time, her eyes closing as her hands drifted from your waist to your thighs. She nudged your legs onto her shoulders and latched onto your clit, suckling with just enough force to draw a reaction out of your burnt-out nerves, to leave you trembling and struggling to swallow back pained moans and pathetic whimpers. It hurt – more than anything, it hurt – but she had your body trained, knew just what points to hit to get what she wanted out of you. More than that, your body knew that it wasn’t going to end until she reached her goal, until she had you cumming on her tongue for the— god, how many times would this make? You’d lost track after the first dozen, but even if you hadn’t, it would’ve been impossible to tell, impossible to know what she’d accomplished the first time reality started to blur and consciousness was rendered more of revokable privilege than something you’d ever be capable of holding on to without help. In less than a minute, you were grinding against her tongue involuntarily, the movement of your hips stilted and jerky. You couldn’t have called it a real orgasm, not when any pleasure you could’ve felt was so overshadowed by a searing sort of ache, but Yor seemed satisfied – drawing the back of her hand over her chin as she lifted her head, sending Loid a sheepish smile.
“I just, uh,” she started, drumming her fingers over your thigh. “I just did that until they calmed down. I’m not sure if it helped.”
“I see.” Loid, for his part, failed to let his air of stoic professionalism so much as waver. “And how many times did the patient reach climax?”
“…thirty?” Yor let out an airy, nervous laugh. “Maybe more. It… It was a little hard to keep track, in the moment.”
“And they’re still so unruly.” He was kind enough to feign concern, to let his tone soften and purse his lips into a thin frown. For a second, you let yourself believe that you’d just stumbled into a bad situation – that he and his wife were under some shared delusion and genuinely thought they might’ve been helping you, but then you caught a spec of crimson on the collar of Yor’s dress out of the corner of your eye and thought better of trying to humanize them. “Would you mind if I took a closer look?”
The question was posed to Yor, not you. “Please do, you’re the doctor here,” she spouted, hurrying to get out of Loid’s way. Loid was more hesitant, his palm lingering over your mouth as his eyes found yours. He was cold at the best of times – his expression often hollow when he thought your attention was elsewhere, his touch enough to send a chill down your spine on the rare occasion he found an excuse to put his hands on you – but the look he sent you as he uncovered your mouth was nothing short of frigid. The threat was clear, albeit ambiguous. You had no idea what Loid was capable of, let alone what extremes he was willing to go to.
But, you knew what Yor could do – you’d caught her in the act.
And you weren’t eager to find out what’d she’d do to you at her husband’s request.
When his hand finally fell away from your mouth, you didn’t make a sound. Rather, you dug your teeth into the inside of your cheek as Loid wrapped an arm around your waist and hauled you onto his lap – his thighs cutting harshly into your stomach. The position was enough to leave your cheeks burning and humiliation tying knots in the back of your throat, but whatever embarrassment you might’ve felt was multiplied ten-fold as his hand ghosted over the buttons lining the back of your dress and your only remaining protective barrier fell away – mutilated fabric now limp and useless beneath you. You started to writhe, but the heel of Loid’s palm found the small of your back, pressing into the base of your spine with just enough force a pained whimper past your lips. Reflectively, Yor moved to reach towards you, but Loid shook his head. “It’s important to test for reactiveness,” he explained, tone flat and steely. “I can take care of bruises and cuts, but lasting nerve damage will make things—” He paused, clicked his tongue. “—difficult.”
“Oh!” Yor clapped her hands together. At least she seemed to sincerely believe that, even if she wasn’t helping you, her husband might be. You couldn’t tell what Loid was thinking, but it couldn’t have been so benevolent. “Is that what you’re doing now? Testing for reactiveness?”
“Exactly.” Loid flashed her a smile. You felt him shift, fish something out of the pocket of his suit jacket. Aching numbness had put you at a distance from his invasive touch before, but Yor’s mouth had done away with that – resurrecting the buzzing sort of hyper-sensitivity that meant you weren’t able to hide the way your hips bucked against his thigh as he slid something sleek and metallic into your drenched pussy. It was oddly shaped – one end tapered and the other flat, small enough to fit in the palm of your hand but still big enough to leave you squirming uncomfortably as Loid pulled back. “Normally, I’d use more intricate equipment, but there are a few experiments I can run on my own.”
You heard nails against metal, a soft click muffled by stiff machinery. After a second of delay, the object inside of you let out an abrupt pulse of pure vibration – harsh and sudden and awful. Your reaction was reflexive, undisguisable. You threw your head forward as you bit back a bubbling, broken moan; waves of intense reverberation beating at the walls of your cunt. There was no time to brace yourself, to grow into the piercing sting – it was already too much. The walls of your pussy clenched around the source of your agony, and before you could think to stifle your reactions, to give them as little as you possibly could, tears were blurring your vision, dripping down your cheeks. Yor cooed, kneeling in front of you and cupping your cheeks. “Poor thing…” she mumbled, before looking up towards Loid. “I don’t think they’re enjoying it.”
Another wave of pulsing reverberation, a jagged cry forced past your lips. “P-please, turn it off, take it out, I can’t—”
It took you a second to process the sound of a palm against flesh, how it might’ve been connected to the bright flash of pain just below the curve of your ass. When you could bring yourself to glance over your shoulder, his hand was raised, his expression stern. The sight was enough to make your heart ache in your chest – a sensitivity which surprised you. You hadn’t thought there was anything the Forgers could do to hurt you more than they already had.
��We’re going out of our way to help you.” It was the same tone he used with Anya when she refused to do her homework or threatened to drop out of her upper-crust academy. Whatever genuine sympathy he might’ve had for you was buried beneath a heavy layer of practiced stoicism and nearly totalitarian authority, turning the words cold where they should’ve been comforting. “It’s unfair to be so ungrateful when Yor’s already sacrificed so much of her time for the sake of your health. Why don’t you apologize to her?”
Again, you heard that same soft click, and the vibrations pulsing out of the object in your cunt doubled in intensity. You let your head fall forward, clenching your eyes shut as you struggled to spit something out. “I… I’m sorry, Yor, I didn’t mean to—”
You were cut off by a sharp moan, the feeling of Loid’s fingers tracing over your slit. Soon, the pad of his thumb found your clit, pushing dull circles into the sensitive bundle of nerves. He let out an airy chuckle as you withered into yourself, your legs spreading involuntarily as your feet struggled to find purchase on carpeting that seemed to be just an inch too far, to ground yourself on something that Loid didn’t even have to try to keep just out of your grasp. “Don’t strain yourself,” he muttered, your unwanted reward for your easy compliance. “How does this—” He pushed a rough pattern into your clit, drawing out a wavering cry. “—feel?”
Miserable. Torturous. The worst thing that’d ever been inflected onto your poor, spent body. You deflated, your chest flattening against Loid’s thighs. “…it hurts.”
This time, he let you finish before pulling back, his palm striking your ass with twice the force he’d used before. You cried out, the noise uneven and anguished, but your pain didn’t seem to rank very high on his nebulous list of concerns. “I’ve already told you not to be so ungrateful,” he said, shaking his head. “Do you know what would’ve happened if we weren’t here to help you?” Another strike, another ragged sob. “You’d be suffering on your own, in excruciating pain and spiraling into your own delusions. If we hadn’t been there to correct you so quickly, you would’ve been unrecoverable.”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” You were babbling, now, your apologies clumped together and nearly unintelligible. Loid cut in, pointed as ever.
“You’ve already apologized.” Two digits slipped into you, splitting your pussy open. Somehow, the added stimulation only seemed to make his device’s vibration more unbearable. “Now, it’s time to tell Yor how thankful you are.”
“Thank you—” There was no hesitation, no resistance. If you’d been able to, if you hands hadn’t been bound, you would’ve clung to her, dug your nails into her shoulder and your teeth into Loid’s thigh, anything to feel like you weren’t about to fall apart altogether. “Thank you, I’m so— I can’t— Thank you—”
It was Yor, this time – her mouth crashing against yours as her hand found the back of your head. Her tongue slipped past your lips, raking over yours with a ginger sort of tenderness and raking her fingers through your hair, drinking down every little moan and whimper her husband forced out of you with enthusiasm. She lingered there, lips moving gently against yours, as you reached your next climax – the number completely lost on you, now. When she pulled away, eyes glazed over and a dark blush painted over her cheeks, Loid hummed approvingly, fishing his bullet-shaped device out of your pussy and switching it off. Slick dripped down the inside of your thighs, your chest heaving stiltedly against his lap, and you noticed, for the first time, something large and stiff pressing into your stomach. For your own sake, you decided you weren’t going to think about it.
But, like always, Loid was quick to tear even the comfort you found in your own mind away from you.
“You did what you could,” Loid started, with heavy sigh. “But their condition is worse than I thought. It might take more than the usual treatment to set them back on the right path.” A lengthy pause, an arm looped underneath you. With more care than he’d seen fit to show you all night, Loid repositioned you on your back in the center of your bed. You were too exhausted to so much as try to protest. “For cases like this, insemination is the only known cure.”
Yor blinked up at him, more curious than confused. “Insemination?”
“Pregnancy,” Loid filled in. “It can be done artificially, but for cases this severe…”
Your heart dropped into your stomach. Weakly, you tried to sit up, but it was Yor that stopped you, this time, pressing her hand flat against your shoulder and pinning you down effortlessly. “If that’s what’s best,” she chimed, her smile wide and brilliant. “Can I help?”
For the first time, Loid’s expression seemed to warm. “Of course.”
Less than a full minute later, you were slotted against Yor, your head resting on her chest and her arms loosely wrapped around your midriff. Loid had reclaimed his position in the space between your open legs, one hand on your hip and the other toying with his clothes, shifting the waist of his now-wrinkled dress pants down just far enough to free his flush cock – already hard, already leaking pearls of arousal. The sight, paired with the breathy sigh he let out as he wrapped his fist around his shaft, was enough to dash any hopes you might’ve had of a last-minute change of heart.
You squirmed in Yor’s hold, your fists balling around your own near ruined sheets as Loid aligned himself with your entrance. You didn’t realize you were talking until you heard your own voice, fragile and desperate, nearly too broken to be comprehensible. “Please don’t, I—I’m not sick, please don’t—”
It was Yor who hushed you, this time, smiling as she pressed a fleeting kiss into your cheek. “He’s going to help you,” she whispered, tone simpering where you wished it would be sterile. “You can just sit back and relax while we—” She paused, squeezed you against her playfully. “—make sure you’re alright.”
There was a beat of silence, of stillness. Eventually, you managed to stutter out, “I don’t want your help.”
Loid let out an airy chuckle, tracing the flushed tipped of his cock over your slit. “You don’t have to want anything.” He bowed his head, leaning down far enough to rest his lips against the top of your head. “You’ll need all the help you can get, in a few weeks.”
You didn’t have time to protest, not before he thrust into you – sheathing himself to the hilt in a single stroke.
You tried to scream, but Yor’s mouth found yours in a moment, swallowing any fractured noises you might’ve been able to make. Loid didn’t seem interested in giving you time to adjust; immediately falling into a rhythm just as forceful and just as cruel as anything else he’d done to you. It wasn’t a question of if it would hurt, anymore, but how badly. The feeling of his not inconsiderably length splitting open your aching pussy alone was enough to bring tears to your eyes, and his rough thrusts, his shattering pace – all of it only working to agitate the few parts of you that hadn’t already gone numb to his assult. You clenched your eyes shut, willing yourself to go completely numb, but Yor cooed, one of her hands falling away from you only to find its way to the curve of your stomach, her palm soon pressed flat against your skin. “Miss Anya did mention wanting a younger sister,” she muttered, nuzzling into the dip of your shoulder. “It’ll be difficult to hide, ‘till it’s over with. There used to be a single mother working at city hall, but the State Security Service paid her a visit and…” She trailed off, shaking her head. “But I’m sure that won’t be an issue for you!”
“Of course not.” Loid’s voice was breathy, his attention mostly elsewhere. He did his best to stay composed, to maintain that painstakingly professionally air, but you could feel him twitch inside of you, feel his hips stutter as his pace grew that much more brutal. “We’ll be taking care of you. When you start to show, you’ll move in with us, and—” A groan, a pair of tired eyes allowed to close. “—and if you cooperate, we’ll make it so you don’t have to worry about anything aside from the baby. Any added stress will only make the pregnancy more difficult.”
Loid’s hips pressed against yours, Yor’s mouth on the curve of your neck. “Our little family is growing so quickly.” You could feel her grin against your throat, fangs ready to clamp down at the first sign of resistance. “I can’t wait until you’re better. You’ll be so happy, when you’re in your right mind again.”
Your mouth fell open, but anything you might’ve said died in your throat long before it could ever reach your tongue. There was no pleasure to it, no stimulation other than the same grating sensation and the pinpoints of pressure where Loid’s fingertips dug into your waist, but if your comfort mattered to Loid, he would’ve stopped as soon as he saw what his wife did to you. He cursed under his breath, throwing his hand forward and hauling your rigid body that much closer to his. You didn’t have a chance to brace yourself, to trick your pain-addled mind into believing there was anything you could possibly do to get away from him before he went still, something thick and searing flooding into your unprotected cunt. He lingered there, his cum leaking out of you despite your pussy’s futile attempts to cling to his cock, and for the first time, you let yourself think about what they were taking about – insemination, pregnancy, growing families and new siblings. You let yourself acknowledge the weight of Yor’s hand against your stomach, Loid’s hips against yours. You let yourself breath in, holding the air in your lungs for a moment before exhaling and going limp against Yor.
Fuck.
If you never saw the Forgers again, it’d still be a day too soon.
Yor started to pull away from you, but Loid stopped her. “Conception can be fickle,” he started, fighting not to pant audibly. “It’d be for the best if we were…” His eyes dropped to you. “…thorough.”
“Do you hear that?” Her hold grew that much tighter, her smile that much brighter. Her lips ghosted over the shell of your ear. The feeling might’ve sent a chill down your spine, if you still had the strength to be afraid of them.
“Loid’s going to take very good care of you.”
#yandere#yandere x reader#yandere x you#yandere imagines#yandere oneshot#spy x family#spy x family imagines#yandere spy x family#yandere loid forger#loid forger x reader#twilight x reader#yor forger x reader#yor x reader#yandere yor#yanderecore#yancore
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Bucky gently wiping his girl’s never ending tears as she tries to apologize for trying to escape a third time, promising him she’ll never do it again only for him to chain her back up for the rest of the night but he knows that she’ll be his perfect little Stockholm princess in no time, especially when the winter soldier is there to help sort her out💞
fuckkkkkk.
warnings; fem!reader, kidnapping, early stages of stockholm syndrome, soft but manipulative bucky, mentions of the winter soldier coming out to play (😏), (perhaps opportunity for an au here!!!)
Your cheeks are glossy with the seemingly never ending wave of tears that portend their descent over your flushed cheeks. Your pulse thrums against your neck, skittering like a nervous doe when Bucky's thumb slides over the tender spot beneath your jaw. His amorous touch only serves to have you sobbing harder, tearing at the loose fitting tee that hangs around your neck as though the fabric is suffocating you.
"Shh, shh," Bucky coos, a thumb coasting the length of your waterline – a futile attempt to plug your tear ducts and slow the second onslaught of frantic tears. "Take it easy."
"I'm sorry," you wail. "I'm sorry. Shouldn't have done it."
Your breath comes in wheezing pants, voice petering out into a whisper as terror's icy grip clamps around your throat and you start to sob in earnest. Bucky sighs, scooping you up tight against his chest and pressing a chaste peck to your sweat-slick temple.
You thrash and cant away from the touch, your body poised tightly and waiting for the punishing blow that is no doubt on its way. His arms tighten over your frame, biceps bulging with the effort it's taking to keep you from squirming out of his grip.
"I'm not gonna hurt you, baby. Stop," he growls, his voice a harsh, grating bite against your fragile ears. Bucky's cadence had come out crueller than he would have liked, and he pets your hair in an effort to dissuade you from panicking beneath his firm grasp.
"Please, I won't do it again. You have to believe me, I'll never do it again," you snivel, bowing your head low until your features are obscured.
"You said that last time, sweetheart," he murmurs. "You can't keep doin' this. I don't know what I'd do without you."
Bile crawls up your throat, hot and fast. Your chest burns.
"I feel sick."
"I know." He pulls the hair back from your balmy cheeks as you start to retch and heave, sobs still clawing from your chest all the while. You know what comes next, as does he.
"Please don't- don't put me down there. Please, I'm sorry."
"Do you need me to let Winter out, hm? You want him to take you down there, or me?"
You go stock still. Everything slows, Bucky's voice sticking to your ears like syrup. "No, no. I'll be good, I'm sorry," you croak, lips filling with air as you suppress another retch.
The mere mention of the soldier is enough to halt every ounce of defiance in your body. Winter is far less forgiving than Bucky, and you're not willing to take your chances.
Not tonight.
"There's my good girl," he murmurs, smearing a sticky kiss along your cheekbone. "You stay down there tonight and be good for me, and we'll do something nice tomorrow, how about that?" he bargains. "I'll let you pick a movie to watch, and you can sleep in bed with me for as long as you want, yeah?"
You sag like dead weight against Bucky's chest, seeping up the warmth of the skin-on-skin contact while you still have the chance. You're in for a very long - very cold - night.
"Please don't do this to me," you whisper. Desperation clings to your every syllable, weighs down every word you speak until your voice is thick with tears.
"You know I have to, sweetheart."
His kindness makes it worse, you think. If he was cruel, if he didn't show you this... softness, maybe you could find it in yourself to hate him.
But the way he lets you cling to him, kisses the top of your head as he delivers your punishment, murmuring soft, adoring affirmations all the while... You just can't.
And you know when he lets you out in the morning, you'll be good for him. You'll accept him, in his entirety. You'll let him kiss you and tuck you into his side like you've always been there. You'll let him love you.
Maybe you can learn to love him, too.
Bucky knows you can. He just has to give it time.
#dark!bucky barnes#dark!bucky x reader#soft!dark bucky barnes#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes#bucky barnes x you#bucky barnes x y/n#bucky barnes x female reader#james bucky barnes#james bucky barnes x reader#bucky x reader#bucky x y/n#bucky x you#bucky x female reader#mcu fanfiction#mcu fandom#marvel fanfiction#marvel fic#bucky barnes drabble#bucky barnes angst#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky barnes fic#bucky barnes imagine#bucky barnes blurb#james buchanan barnes#bucky fic#bucky fanfic#the winter solider x reader#the winter soldier#winter soldier
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pairing: quinn hughes x reader, fluff!
content: you and quinn share a fun moment despite rough circumstances, mention of hockeyplayer!reader
the sun sets quickly in the orange sky, its last bright rays obscured by the city skyline off in the near distance. your breath comes out in puffs in the frigid air as you watch quinn shoot puck after puck into an old, dingy net placed out on a frozen over lake, probably left out by someone’s parent or a peewee coach. despite having access to roger’s area after hours, quinn always preferred an outdoor rink, the lake being his favorite; it brought nostalgia into the sport he loved, encouraging him to continue going regardless of his team’s standing and reminding him of where he started back on that lake in elementary school.
you can tell he’s upset, incredibly frustrated with his coaches and managers for attempting a rebuild to a team that he held all of his faith in. you watch as he pulls his stick back, lining up for a shot, and swings down at a blinding speed. the puck arcs through the air and ricochets off the net’s paint-peeled bar with a loud clang into the back corner in the opposite side.
quinn lets out a breath and you notice that his stick lay in two pieces, the strength behind his shot having put too much bend to the poor thing.
“quinny, let’s go home,” you call to him, your voice gentle but without the pity that he’s so tired of hearing.
quinn shakes his head, skating over to you in long and graceful strides. he hands you the two broken pieces of his stick, your fingers brushing the coarse fabric of his gloves. “just a few more, baby,” he says, exhausted eyes roaming your face. “can you grab me my other stick from the car?”
you give him a gentle smile and take the broken stick into your hands, “yeah,” you say gently, “is it alright if i get my skates on and join you? i’ll stay out of your way, jus’ wanna skate a bit.”
you watch as the corner of quinn’s lips quirk upward just briefly before he nods and skates away from you, running through skate drills by himself. as you turn your back and make your way over to the back of his car, you listen to the scrape of his blades on the frozen lake, sound filling the darkening night sky.
the back of quinn’s porsche is jam-packed with hockey gear. an old opened gear bag he snagged from the lake house in michigan sits against the wall of the car’s trunk, an old piece of duct tape stuck to it with his name on it in ellen’s faded handwriting from years of childhood hockey practices. next to it are three hockey sticks stuffed haphazardly into the vehicle, the middles of them hanging over the back seats.
you toss the broken stick into the car and snag two sticks, quinn’s extra one and one of your own quinn brought along in the slim chance he could convince you to shoot pucks with him. you dig your cold fingers through the gear bag with a wrinkle of your nose and fish out a pair of hockey gloves in your size and your own skates, the gloves being second-hand from quinn himself when he was younger.
you quickly tie your skates on and walk through the packed down snow to the lake, hockey sticks in your gloved hands. when you approach, quinn skates over to you and takes the sticks before taking your arm into his and guiding you onto the lake—even knowing the two of you started skating at similar ages. you thank him quietly and loosen your grip from his and take your stick.
“race ya’ to the puck,” you tease and shoot off toward the puck before quinn can respond.
quinn chuckles softly at your words and the sound of his blades fills your ears, his body close behind you as you round the net and fish the puck out from the corner. muscle memory kicks in as you handle the puck, your arms aching a little from having quit hockey after your senior year in high school. you look up and smile at quinn as he positions himself in front of the old net, cheeks flushed from the winter air. he drops his chest forward a little and takes in your form, his tired eyes sweeping over the grin on your face, the mottled skin under his eyes adding a sharpness to his features. the frustration in quinn’s chest melts away and his eyes soften under your gaze, a sense of calm and joy warming his body—thats when you take the chance to advance onto him.
you skate in jagged lines toward quinn’s hunched form, stick pushing the puck along the ice. “they advance toward the net,” you announce into the night air, “and…” you draw your stick back and swing down, sending the puck across the ice and toward quinn, “they shoot!” quinn laughs and easily deflects the puck.
“shot on goal stopped by hughes,” he calls toward you as he skates away from the net and you race after him with a giggle.
you settle yourself a few feet away from quinn and stare him down with a grin. quinn’s lips twitch just a little and he quickly skates around you, driving his body closer to the open net.
“hughes skates around y/n and races toward the net!” he calls behind him.
you let out a loud laugh and go after him, “y/n is in pursuit of hughes—“ you watch as quinn draws back his stick and shoots the puck. “—but is unable to stop him; hughes scores!” you hoot and launch yourself into his arms, stick above your head.
quinn laughs, “i thought we were playing against each other,” he says, his chest rising and falling steadily against your heaving one. he squeezes your hips with his hands, eyes drawn to the joyous look on your face.
“we’re teammates now, duh!” you giggle, pressing your forehead to his. “how do you feel?”
quinn smiles softly and cants his lips onto yours in a soft kiss, “better,” he mumbles and smiles wider when you grin into the kiss. “much better.”
all photos from pinterest
#val’s writing 🧃#quinn hughes x reader#quinn hughes x y/n#quinn hughes x you#quinn hughes imagine#quinn hughes blurb#quinn hughes#nhl x reader#nhl imagine#nhl blurb#nhl fanfiction#nhl fic#hockey x reader
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ARE YOU DEATH OR PARADISE? ft. Dazai Osamu
synopsis ; He thought he could prevent your inevitable death. How foolish he was to believe that he'd succeed where he failed in every world.
cw ; beast!zai, character death, angst/no comfort, gn!reader, not proofread (it's me.), someone needs to take Billie Ellish away from me.
Death.
Humans fear two things. The inevitable, and what they dont know. The first thing is what most humans tend to try and avoid, knowing that it's impossible. Some fear it, some wish for it. To Dazai, it was something that he felt the duality of. He feared it– only when it prayed and caught onto those he cherished most, yet he wished for it to the point it was not sane.
In this world, the very one he fabricated every tiny detail down to the wire, he assured himself that nothing could truly avoid his watchful eye. He even brought you along with him to ensure that fact. You're something precious, possibly even otherworldly, to Dazai, even in the realities that he's a mere spectator of. The memories of you that plague his mind like flies swarming food.
He wanted to believe that, even just for a moment, you were his. That you didn't belong to the versions of him from another world– you were solely his. Dazai protected you, he has the resources in this world to save you from the very fate that found you in every universe– death. You were supposed to be safe. You were not supposed to be lost. This wasn't supposed to happen again. Then again, Dazai knew better.
So why did he hope that you were any different?
Why did he believe that when he witnessed you die on the CCTV footage, killed by a threat greater than himself, you were merely playing a game? Why did he, for once, pray to a God that this was not the horrid reality it was meant to be? Why was life so far away from fair, taking away the only string of sanity that kept him going in this world?
It was simple, really. He was Dazai Osamu. Everything he wants is lost the moment he obtains it.
Which led him here, hovering over your body, clutching you tightly in his grasp as if you'd vanish the moment he let you go. He was trembling, your blood was staining his hands, tainting the bandages he wore a deep shade of scarlet. Dazai had never cried before, but he could feel his tear ducts stinging, his vision blurring.
Chuuya’s shouts were ignored, all Dazai could focus on was how at peace you looked. Your hair was disheveled, yet it framed your face with the upmost delicacy, your lifeless eyes were closed, thick lashes mocking him, causing him to ponder that you might just be toying with him. Unfortunately, the lack of a heartbeat in your ribs, the paleness of your skin, and the way no air entered nor left your body, said otherwise.
The pages of that godforsaken book tunneled his vision, the sentences that spelt out your death tantalizing him. He knows, so stop it. Stop reminding him of what he lost. Dazai knew he was reckless, stupid for bringing you into this life when he should have left you alone. He should have learned from those other versions him that it's best not to become attached. The original version learned from Oda, so how come he just had not learned his lesson from you?
It could have been that he did not want to accept the truth of your demise. You had loved him so tenderly, accepted every one of his flaws, remained patient with him no matter what occurred. You were practically his safe-haven in each universe. Maybe it was your understanding that led him to forgetting the reason why he told himself to stay away. Or possibly it was the sheer love that he refused to acknowledge until the last minute.
.
.
In the next life, he'll try again. You'll stay safe, you'll stay alive. He'll do whatever it takes for you to stay by his side.
Next time, he'll do things differently.
divider by @kodaswrld
#♧ranpazz#bsd#bungou stray dogs#bsd dazai#dazai x reader#dazai angst#beast!dazai#beastzai#i wrote this with my tears#while listening to billie ellish
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Taken
STAYC Isa × Multiple Guys
[Commissioned]
No warning, read at your own risk!
4,040 Words
The evening air was a stark contrast to the energetic atmosphere inside the rehearsal studio, and Isa welcomed the cool breeze on her flushed skin as she stepped outside.
Her heart, still racing from the intense dance routine, now quickened for a different reason as she noticed a van parked across the street, its engine idling.
A sense of unease crept up her spine, but she brushed it off, attributing it to post-performance jitters.
As Isa strolled towards the alley, hoping to find a quiet spot to gather her thoughts, the van's side door slid open, and four men emerged with lightning speed.
Two of them were tall and muscular with dark skin, their eyes glowing with an unsettling intensity. The other two, pale-skinned with sharp features, had a feral look about them.
"Gotcha, you teasing slut!" one of the black men stated, his deep voice cutting through the night.
Isa's scream was cut short as a meaty hand clamped over her mouth, while another arm wrapped around her waist, lifting her off the ground.
She kicked and struggled, her small frame no match for their brute strength. The white men joined in, their rough hands groping her thighs, leaving red fingerprints on her pale skin.
"Help... Someone..." Isa whimpered, her voice muffled by the strong hand.
"Shut the fuck up, bitch!" The other black man delivered a brutal punch to her stomach, causing her to double over and retch.
The man holding her released his grip on her mouth, only to replace it with a drugged cloth, forcing her to inhale the potent chemical.
“Breathe it in, you fucking tease," one of the white men hissed, his hot breath on her neck sending shivers of terror down her spine.
Isa's limbs grew heavy as the drug took effect, but her mind remained alert, aware of the horror unfolding. She felt herself being thrown into the van, her head hitting the metal floor with a sickening thud. The world spun as the men climbed in, their laughter filling the confined space.
"Look at this pretty thing, all drugged up and helpless," one of the black men said, his deep voice laced with cruel amusement. "Let's have some fun, baby."
Isa's eyes widened as she saw the men's faces contorting with lust. The black men, with their powerful builds, loomed over her, while the white men crawled closer.
"These thighs though..." The other white man reached out and squeezed her thigh, his fingers digging into the soft flesh. "So thick and milky, holy fuck."
Isa let out a pained moan as his nails scratched down her sensitive skin, leaving trails of fire. The black man nearest to her face grabbed a fistful of her hair, yanking her head back.
"You're gonna take what we give ya, you hear?" he snarled, his breath washing over her face. "Scream all you want, ain't nobody comin' to save ya."
Her cries were muffled by the rough hand covering her mouth, as the other black man ripped at her clothes, tearing the fabric away from her body. The white men joined in, their hands rough and relentless, leaving her naked and vulnerable.
"Oh, she's a feisty one," one man remarked as Isa kicked out, her legs flailing in a desperate attempt to fend them off.
A heavy boot connected with her thigh, making her scream into the hand covering her mouth. "That's for trying to fight back, ya stupid bitch."
Isa's body jerked with each brutal impact, her legs becoming their primary target. The men took turns raining slaps and squeezes on her thighs, their laughter filling the van as they reveled in her pain.
"Please don't hurt me… I'm s-sorry..." she begged although she did nothing wrong.
"Shut her up, I can't stand that whining," a tattooed white man said, grabbing a length of duct tape and roughly covering her mouth, securing her cries of agony.
The van came to a screeching halt, and Isa's body slid across the floor, leaving a trail of sweat behind. The men's excitement grew as they reached their destination, their hands moving with renewed fervor over her trembling form.
"This is just the beginning, sweet Isa," a black man whispered, sending shivers of fear through her drugged body. "You're gonna learn to love every second of this ride."
The van doors flung open, revealing a desolate industrial area, bathed in the eerie glow of a single streetlight. Isa's dazed eyes struggled to focus as one black dude loomed over her.
"You won't be singing those sweet songs anymore, bitch," he spat, ripping the tape from her mouth with a cruel smile.
The sudden pain made Isa cry out, only to be silenced by a stinging slap across her cheek, leaving her reeling.
As she struggled to regain her senses, her eyes widened in horror as the same man unzipped his pants, releasing a monstrous black cock. It was thick and veiny, its size rivaling the width of her forearm.
Her breath hitched as he grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him. "You will take this down your pretty throat, and you better not bite," he warned. "Gonna fuck that mouth and ruin it for anyone else."
Before Isa could process his words, the other black man grabbed her from behind, his strong arms wrapping around her, holding her in place. “No, let me, ugh, go…”
She felt the cold, hard length of the cock pressing against her lips, and despite her efforts to resist, it forced its way in, stretching her mouth painfully.
Saliva dripped from the corners of her mouth as the black cock invaded, her eyes wide with shock. The man behind her held her head in a vice-like grip, allowing his friend to thrust forward, driving his cock down her throat.
She gagged and choked, her eyes watering as she struggled for breath.
"Look at her go," the man behind her laughed. "She's loving it, can't get enough of that black dick!"
Isa's eyes rolled back as he withdrew only to thrust again, each push sending his cock deeper, triggering her gag reflex.
Her throat burned and her nose ran as he face-fucked her with abandon, his balls almost slapping against her chin with each forward.
The two remaining men held her arms and legs, their hands digging into her tender flesh, leaving extra bruises that would serve as reminders of this night. They laughed, their voices echoing in her throbbing head.
"She's such a good little cock-sucker, ain't she?" a white man taunted, his hand tightening on her thigh.
The man fucking her throat grunted with pleasure, his hips moving at a relentless tempo. He pushed deeper, lowering himself until he was sitting on her face.
His cock bulged inside her throat, stretching her to the limit. Isa's eyes jutted out, her face turning red as she choked, her body convulsing in an attempt to breathe.
Snot and tears mixed on her face, her eyes pleading for mercy as she struggled against the men holding her down. The room spun, her vision blurring as she teetered on the edge of consciousness.
The white man holding her legs landed his eyes on the wet patch spreading between Isa's thighs. Licking his lip, he yanked her shorts down her thick thighs, exposing her glistening pussy lips.
"Aw, look at that. She's so scared, she pissed herself. What a fucking mess."
Isa's body trembled, her shame compounded by the men's laughter and crude remarks. The man holding her legs ran his fingers through the wetness, smearing it across her sensitive skin.
"Bet that pussy tastes as sweet as she looks," he said, his voice dripping with mockery. "Might just have to find out.”
The black man on Isa’s face picked up his momentum, his hips snapping forward with increased urgency. Isa's throat constricted around his black cock, providing a tight, wet sheath for him to plow into deeper.
Each thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure through his body, his balls tightening with impending release. "Fuck, yeah, swallow it, slut!" he grunted, his eyes rolling back as he reveled in the sensation of her mouth and throat massaging his cock.
Isa's eyes watered, her vision blurred as she choked on his length, her body convulsing in a desperate attempt to draw breath. The man behind her held her head in a merciless grip, ensuring she couldn't escape the assault on her throat.
The squelching slurping sounds of his cock pounding her face filled the van, mingling with her trembling muffled cries and the men's groans.
Meanwhile, the white man attending to her pussy grew bolder. He worked his fingers roughly along her slit, gathering her fluids before pushing a thick finger into her tight, virgin hole.
Isa's body tensed, her legs straining against the man holding them as she groaned in surprise around the cock in her throat.
"Ah, she's so fucking tight," the man grunted. “Need to stretch this pussy until it's ready for our cocks."
He added another finger, scissoring them inside her, eliciting a strangled cry from Isa as he stretched her virgin walls, his rough nails scraping against her sensitive insides.
Her body squirmed, her hips bucking involuntarily as he violated her with his fingers, preparing her for the impending penetration.
The second white man hugged Isa's leg to his chest, exposing her soft inner thigh. He rubbed his engorged cock along her smooth skin, his precum leaving a sticky trail.
His hand moved to her calf, squeezing and kneading before he bent down and licked a wet stripe along her calf, his hot tongue leaving a wet, sloppy imprint.
"Taste so good, I could eat you up, babe," he commented.
Isa's body shook, her pupils vanished as the black man above her buried his cock deep into her esophagus, holding himself there as he pumped his hot cum down her throat.
Her airway completely blocked, she gagged and choked, her body convulsing as she struggled, her nails scratching at his thighs in a futile attempt to escape. The man's cock twitched, emptying his load, his pleasure heightened by her misery.
As he pulled out, his cock sliding from her mouth with a wet, sucking sound, his thick cum spilled from her lips and nose.
Isa's body, overwhelmed by the assault on her senses, went into shock as she slumped limply, passing out with the taste of cum and the violation of fingers still fresh in her pussy.
The men grabbed her unconscious form and tossed her further into the abandoned brick building, her body landing with a sickening thud on the broken and dirty concrete floor, illuminated by a single flickering bulb.
The men’s eyes gleaming with lust and cruelty, were not satisfied with the extent of Isa's suffering. They wanted to push her to the brink, reveling in her pain and despair.
One of the men, his eyes alight with sadistic glee, snatched a half-empty beer bottle from the corner of the dilapidated room and approached the trembling idol.
"Wake up, baby," he sneered, his voice dripping with mockery. "Time to join the party again."
Isa's body jerked as the cold liquid was poured down in her mouth, her abused throat burning as she choked and spluttered, gasping for air. Her eyes flew open, taking in the grinning faces of her captors, and the horror of her situation came crashing down on her.
Mustering what little strength she had left, Isa pushed herself onto her hands and knees, her body trembling violently. Her once pristine skin was now wounded and soiled, her hair a tangled mess, and her makeup streaked with tears and cum.
"Please... have mercy..." her voice rasp and raw from the abuse. "I can't take any more... I'll do anything, just let me go."
Her pleas were met with laughter and crude remarks, the men's desire only heightened by her vulnerable position.
"Look at you, on your knees, begging like a dog," one black man said, his deep voice laced with scorn. “You should know your place. You're our thing now."
Isa's eyes darted from one man to the next, her hands weakly attempting to cover her exposed tits and pussy, a futile effort to preserve some dignity.
"Please... I won't tell anyone... Just let me go..." she sobbed, her body shaking with the force of her tears. "I feel sick... I can't..."
Her words were cut off by a sharp kick to her side, sending her sprawling onto her stomach.
"Shut the fuck up with your begging!" the man who had face-fucked her spat, his eyes dark with rage. "I wanna see you suffer, bitch. We do whatever we want, and there's nothing you can do to stop it."
He stepped forward, his sole pressing down on the back of Isa's head, forcing her face into the dirty floor. "No! No! Please!" She struggled, her hands scrabbling at his foot, her screams echoing off the brick walls.
"Who's first?" a white man asked, a hint of eagerness in his voice.
"Don't matter," the black man who had stepped on her head replied, his voice calm but menacing. "We all gonna have our turns anyway. She's ours and she's gonna learn her fucking place soon enough."
The white man who had fingered Isa's pussy stepped forward, his thick cock jutting out proudly. "I will stretch her out nice and good for ya. She won't be walking straight after I'm done."
Isa's cries intensified as she realized there would be no escape, no mercy from these ruthless men. Her body, once a vessel for her art, was now a plaything for their darkest desires.
The first white man positioned himself behind Isa, his hands gripping her soft, round ass. He lifted her, aligning her with his throbbing cock, which stood rigid and swollen, eager to claim her.
Isa's cries intensified as she begged for mercy, her head still pinned to the ground by the black man's boot.
"No! Get away— Ahhh!!!” she sobbed, her body trembling uncontrollably.
The second black man, not one to be left out of the action, climbed onto Isa's back. He twisted her arms behind her, bending them at an agonizing angle, causing her to scream in fresh pain, her saliva mixing with her tears on the dirty floor.
As the white man held her hips, his cock poised at her entrance, Isa's body tensed, every muscle screaming in protest. The head of his cock pushed past her tight pussy lips, stretching her, invading her most intimate canal. Her body vibrated, nausea rising as the trauma of her situation hit her anew.
The big white cock, relentless in its pursuit of pleasure, slid further inside, inch by inch. Isa's eyes rolled back, her mouth opening in a silent scream as her body tried to adjust to the invasion.
With each push, he sank deeper, his cockhead bumping against her cervix, arousing a fresh wave of pain. Isa's body shuddered with the force of his penetration, her muscles clenching involuntarily, providing a grippy, wet glove.
He gripped her hips, holding her in place as he began to pound into her, his balls kissing against her clit. Her pussy, and untouched, now molded around his cock, her inner walls gripping and massaging his length with each withdrawal and penetration.
"You like that, don't ya?" he growled, slapping her ass cheek hard, leaving a red imprint. "Bet you love getting fucked by a big white cock, you Asian slut. Scream for me, tell me how much you love it."
Isa's body shook with the force of his pounding, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. Her arms, twisted painfully behind her, prevented her from forming coherent words, but the white man wasn't satisfied.
"Tell me, filthy bitch!" he demanded, his voice harsh as he slammed into her, his hips meeting hers with a violent rhythm.
Isa's mouth opened, her throat working as she tried to form words, but all that escaped was a pained, “It hurts… It hurts so much... Help me… everyone… manager-nim…”
"You're a stupid bitch, can't even give me what I want," he snapped.
He drove into her angrily until he heaved and cummed inside her, his cock twitching as he filled her wounded pussy with his seed. Isa's body jerked with the force of his release, the burning sensation of his cum adding to the agony coursing through her.
He then pulled out, his spent cock slick and sticky with their mixed fluids, leaving Isa's weak body trembling on the hard floor.
The black man crouching on Isa’s back released her arms, letting them dangle by her sides. He positioned himself behind her, dropping to his knees and grasping her plump ass cheeks, pulling them apart to expose her tiny fluttering asshole.
"Go on, bro, tear that ass up," urged the white dude who creampied her. "Show her who's in charge."
The black bastard leaned forward, his breath washing over Isa's exposed rosebud, making her tremble and whimper. He spat on her sensitive hole, the wetness dripping down her cleft.
The other black dude stepped off Isa's head, he grabbed a fistful of her matted hair, yanking her face up from the filthy floor. Tears streaked her cheeks, mixing with the dirt and smeared snot.
"You belong to us now, cunt," his foul breath washed over her face. "Say goodbye to your idol life, because from now on, you're our sex slave. And many more."
Isa's body shook with silent sobs, her eyes pleading, reflecting the shattered remnants of her former self.
"We ain't stopping till we've had our fill," he continued. "So, stop your whimpering and accept your new life as our bitch."
He delivered a sharp backhand across her mouth. "And don't play dumb, we know you understand every fucking word. You're gonna get bred daily, even when that belly of yours starts swelling. We would still fuck the baby out of you, got it?"
Isa's eyes widened in horror, her mind struggling to comprehend the endless violation they intended to subject her to.
The black man stepped aside, his work of breaking her spirit momentarily complete. In his place stepped another white degenerate, a length of cord dangling from his hand.
"My turn to loosen that throat of yours, baby," he announced, filled with anticipation.
Isa weakly shook her head, her eyes pleading for mercy, but the white dude yanked her hair, forcing her head back, exposing her throat, vulnerable and exposed.
With swift efficiency, he wrapped the cord around her slender neck before pulling the ends tight, cutting off her air supply. Isa's mouth fell open in a silent cry, her eyes bulging as she clawed at the cord digging her skin, her face turning blue.
Seizing the opportunity, he shoved his cock past her trembling lips, the head hitting the back of her throat instantly, triggering a violent gag reflex. He hissed in pleasure, his hips swaying, fucking her mouth as he maintained his grip on the cord.
Isa's body convulsed, her hands clawing at the cord - more like on her own neck in an attempt to hook her fingers into the cord as she stifled around his invading cock, her saliva mixing with her cries.
The white dude's cock invaded her throat, stretching her mouth wide, while the black bastard's thick shaft breached her tight asshole, tearing through her sphincter.
The cord around her neck tightened, cutting off her air supply, making the penetration even more severe and sickening.
Isa's sphincter screamed in protest as his thick cockhead forced its way past the resistant muscle, producing a scream that was instantly muffled by the cock pounding her throat.
Her body stiffened, every muscle clenching as her ass was stretched to its limits, accommodating the brutal invasion.
The black man’s hips surged forward, driving his cock deeper into her bowels. "Feel it in your fucking guts, right?”
Isa's eyes rolled back, her vision tunneling as her body struggled. The white man's cock pumped in and out of her mouth, his thick shaft sliding past her gag reflex, hitting the back of her throat.
"Look at her, loving it, stupid cunt. Can't get enough of our cocks, can you?"
The black man's cock, now buried balls-deep in her ass, began pounding, his hips slamming against her bruised ass. Her insides burned and stretched, her sphincter clenching and unclenching involuntarily around his shaft.
"You're mine, bitch, screaming for my cock in that ass of yours.”
Isa's body trembled, her nerves curling as her consciousness threatened to slip away into the sweet oblivion of unconsciousness. The dual penetration, the choking cord, and the nonstop battering pushed her to the brink of endurance.
Her hands fell limp, her fingers scraping the dirty floor, her face turning an alarming shade of blue, her eyes pleading silently for an end to the torment.
Sensing her distress, the white man released the cord, allowing her to gasp for air, her lungs heaving. But the respite was fleeting as his cock continued its assault on her face, his pace wild.
Her throat ached and abused, tears mixing with the sweat and filth on her face. Her body shamed her, leaking urine from her neglected pussy, the warm yellow liquid mixing with the dirt on the floor, a testament to her broken spirit.
"Fuck, she's pissing herself, can't handle our cocks," the white man laughed.
Isa's mind screamed for release, her body yearning for the sweet escape of death, the violation too much to bear. The men showed no mercy, their pleasure heightened by her suffering, their cocks throbbing as they claimed every inch of her.
Black man unleashed a torrent of thick cum deep into her ass, his hips jerking as he filled her ruined bowels with his seed. White man's cock twitched and pulsed before firing his load down her throat, his pelvic slamming into her face.
Isa's throat worked to expel the cum from her mouth, a mixture of gagging and retching as she struggled to breathe and swallow at the same time.
Black man withdrew his spent cock from her ass, and the cum that had been bubbling at her stretched hole now leaked out, mixing with the filth she produced down her thighs.
Her body twitched and spasmed, her limbs splayed out like a dying fish, but the peace lived a second. The two remaining men, their hard cocks ticking, stepped forward.
"Time to double-stuff this K-pop cunt," white man suggested.
Isa's eyes widened in horror as she realized their intention. They positioned themselves, one at her ass and the other at her pussy, their cocks poised to invade her ravaged holes.
White man at her ass lined up his thick shaft with her gaping hole, now slick with cum and blood, and thrust forward, his cock sliding into her with ease, stretching her anus once more.
At the same time, the black man at her pussy plunged his cock into her swollen, cum-dried cunt, his length sliding past her battered canal with ruthless force. Isa's body arched, her back bowing as she screamed around the new cock in her gaping mouth.
"Won't let you pass out, bitch," one man said, bringing another a syringe filled with a clear liquid. "You have to keep awake for every second of the fun."
The needle pierced her skin, injecting the drug into her system, forcing her eyes open, her body alert despite the overwhelming exhaustion and pain.
Her ass and pussy were now gaping, stretched beyond recognition. Her asshole, red and raw, twitched with each pulse of the cock inside her, her sphincter loose and unresponsive.
Her pussy, swollen and bruised, leaked cum and blood, her inner walls pummeled and bruised from the continuous pounding.
Time lost all meaning for Isa. Days bled into weeks, and weeks into months. Her life now revolved around the cocks that invaded her body, her once vibrant self reduced to a shell, existing solely to envelop their cocks.
The pain, once excruciating, had faded to a dull numbness, her body broken and desensitized. Her eyes, once full of life and hope, now held only darkness and despair as her body jerked and spasmed, a living testament to their cruelty.
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Durkee Flexible Air Ducting System Integrated Solution for New Energy Battery Industry
On April 9, CATL Energy released a new energy storage product - the Tianheng standard 20-foot container-type energy storage system. The system features in the 4-dimensional true safety, 5 years 0 attenuation, with the total capacity of 6MWh, the energy density per unit improved by 30% while covering area decreased by 20%.
With the increasing growth of the new energy vehicle market, the new energy battery industry is also developing rapidly. Durkee foresees the future trends of the new energy battery industry and has innovated the flexible air duct system solution to meet the needs of different manufacturing scenarios. This has earned us high recognition from leading customers in the domestic and global new energy industry, including CATL, Svolt Energy, CALB Lithium Battery, BYD, and Tesla.
In the manufacturing workshop of lithium battery raw materials, the traditional setup of stainless steel air ducts system is commonly used. However, some obvious disadvantages should be noted, including air supply dead zones, uneven airflow, installation difficulty, and high costs.
In high space ranging from 10m-20m, Durkduct pre-insulated air ducts are applied as the transmission ducts, and the fabric nozzles are connected to supply the air. The precise design of the nozzle structure and taper enables the air delivered to the targeting area at high velocity.
As for lithium battery cell manufacturing, traditional solutions commonly possess the following cons: complex installation, long construction period, high costs, and zinc pollution caused by GI ducts.
Nanosox Fabric Air Duct Systems are designed to fulfill the uniform air supply for the Setup & Module PACK workshop. Through axially uniform perforations, and radially linear, forming a fan-shaped three-dimensional airflow, is even and comfortable, bringing an excellent airflow effect for the production lines or working spots. Meanwhile, Durkduct Air Ducting System is ultra-lightweight, has low construction costs, a short installation period, and easy cleaning & maintenance.
Part of our clients
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HOLYYY SHEET
YOU'RE THE AUTHOR OF BLOODLUST? THAT ONE OF MY FAVORITE DARK TOBY FIC!! MY FAVORITE PART WAS HIM KISSING US THROUGH THE FABRIC. (IDK WHY THAT WOKE SOMETHING INSIDE ME) MAYBE WRITE SOMETHING SIMILAR THAT-😈😈😈😈
yes, it is i. hheehe thank you! you ask, i write.
Toby Rogers x Fem!Reader. Short.
Wordcount; 1.1k.
Content/Warnings; mentions of non-con, blood, non-consensual kissing, hyperventilating, feelings of suffocation.
Those kidnappings you read on the news happened frequently, too frequent and you felt uncomfortable knowing that these people were winding up dead. Everyone was on their toes, your mayor even enforcing a curfew to ensure the safety of his citizens. It was a good idea, at least it was; the number count continuing to pile up. Your Mom begged you to come home, to stay with them until things simmered down but you knew you were more than capable of looking after yourself. You ensured your doors and windows were locked, there was a handgun in the bedside table and your landlord made sure to tighten security for the coming weeks. Despite the fear, the panic - you knew that this wouldn't happen to you. You read this shit a lot, people got murdered every day and never once did you think that this would happen to you? Why would it?
Well, that was your mindset, a shitty mindset to have as you struggled against the grip on your wrists. You were unsure what had happened, one moment you were in bed, the next you were fighting a figure much larger and more muscular than you. You tried to fight, to scream, but his trained hands knew how to shut you up within minutes. There was a throb in your head, a throb that pulsated around your skull and squeezing your brain in a deadly grip. You had no idea where you were because when you awoke, you were enveloped in complete darkness. Wiggling around, you tried to get a feel of your surroundings. Your wrists and ankles were tied by what felt like duct tape and there was a hood over your head, a blanket of some sorts that made the small space around your head suffocating. It didn't help that now you were panicking as you tried to steady your breathing, as you tried to figure out what to do. A part of you was convinced you were already dead, that this was the afterlife and it was cruel and unwelcoming but the blood that tainted your forehead felt real enough. You were certain it were blood, as it had that metallic taste and smell to it and the pain was becoming unbearable.
With a grunt you shuffled, trying to rip the duct tape or wiggle free but it was useless. There was a chair beneath you and suddenly a light flicked on, alerting you and causing you to freeze. With your sight stripped from you, you focused on using your ears as aid. There was a shuffle a couple feet in front of you, it approached you, walked around you and then stopped in front of you again. Despite the urge to remain still, you were shaking and a part of you feared that you might even piss yourself; not that it was that big of a deal in this moment.
"Now, I know you're ss-scared-" the voice started, it was gruff and it seemed the person was struggling to form words as there was a motion before you. Your chest heaved up and down, desperate for some fresh air and to be home; under the warmth of your blankets. You were on the brink of hyperventilation as you tried to remain calm. The voice continued; "I get it. So, f-fforgive me." This male voice did not sound apologetic, smug perhaps and suddenly you felt some hands atop your knees. They were gloved, leather? They squeezed the flesh of your thigh, making you feel nauseous at the touch. The gloves were cold, making you shiver at the touch as you whimpered softly. You wanted to speak, to scream even but you only remained silent as you prayed to whatever God there was that you made it out of here alive.
Suddenly one of the gloved hands moved, his weight distributing to the other hand on your knee as you felt fingertips touch you through the fabric of the hood. A touch unwelcomed as you flinched, trying to steer your head away.
"No, no, don't shy," he uttered as he grabbed your chin and forced you back close to him. You couldn't see him, only a shadow loomed through the stitching of the hood as you grunted out. The touch sending all kinds of shockwaves through your system, your body telling you to do something, to fight!
A gloved thumb caressed your cheek tenderly through the cotton, appreciating how beautiful you face must be, how scared you must look right now. Perhaps he had covered your face in your favour, or maybe even his own. Regardless, you hated this, you hated him. Nothing stopped him from ripping it off your face and exposing you to his own features and surroundings, but you knew any maniac as skilled as he wouldn't make any risks. Then his thumb trailed to the bottom of your lip, pressing firmly against the hood. Your breath becoming even hotter under the fabric, unsure how to think or feel; knowing you were nothing but a part of his perverted games.
"A part of m-mme doesn't want to kill you," he purred, chuckling softly. Those words made your heart drop and immediately you began to sob, wanting nothing more to live this life.
"Please- don't.. I won't tell anyone about you, please-" you begged, shaking your head softly which only resulted in him grabbing your chin once again, holding your head firmly between his fingers.
"Shut up," he spat, the sudden humour in his voice replaced with hate. Then there was a beat of silence as he cleared his throat to speak again. "Don't be so pathetic. Please." There was a hint of desperation in his voice, a sound of woe himself. Regret in his words, regret in how he spoke to you. Before you could cry and plead, his mouth crashed against your own. The cloth acted as a barrier between your lips, the warmth of his breath creating the small space within the hood even more suffocating. It was a kiss stolen, unwelcome as you fought the grip on your chin. A fight deemed useless as his tongue grazed over the fabric of the hood, wetting only the cloth; desperation in his breath at the temptation to kiss your naked lips.
It was over as quickly as it had happened and finally he released your head, allowing your head to hang in shame. There was a shuffle of footsteps, another person approaching and any hope you had of surviving this now vanishing into nothing but disappointment. You accepted that whatever day it was, you would die.
"Not her, we need her," the voice spoke in the doorway and you felt your brows twist in horror, confused by the statement. The man who had kissed you sighed.
"Well, that's gonna be awk-awkward.." he grumbled.
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if ur still taking prompts :3 “silent fury” but make it h/c? maybe one of leon’s boys goes on a “rampage” to save him orrr maybe someone is angry at the dso for almost killing him again or ya know whatever strikes your fancy
OHHHH I LIKE THIS!! (Prompts)
7. Silent Fury
Chris coughs frantically as the gas invades his lungs, throwing his oxygen-starved body at the sealed metal laboratory door with enough force that he can practically feel his shoulder bruising upon impact. Beside him, Leon sags against the wall with half-lidded eyes, gun hanging from limp fingers.
"Fight it," Chris chokes, but Leon's body has already succumbed, knees buckling beneath him as he collapses bodily to the floor and doesn't move again. Chris grits his teeth, ignoring another wave of dizzy lightheadedness in order to redouble his assault against the locked door. The room has no other exit, round and filled with glass tanks that Chris can't make out when his vision is blurring so badly but knows are filled with half-formed specimens suspended in bubbling liquid. The green glow makes him nauseous, casting the walls and his skin alike in eerie neon.
Chris throws himself into the wall with one last desperate effort and drops to his knees, heaving for air. His throat hurts from breathing in chemicals and god knows what else, muscles aching and spasming as it attacks his body. Leon doesn't move when Chris drops the rest of the way to lie beside him, weakening arms reaching out to scoop up the other man and pull his unconscious body close. Chris presses their foreheads together and blacks out an instant later.
-~-
When Leon wakes, it's to harsh light and a hand in his air, eyelashes fluttering as he struggles to make sense of the figures towering around him. An experimental shift reveals that his hands have been tied behind him, the hardness of a chair pressing into his back as his head is stretched backwards to expose his throat. He coughs.
"With us, again?" an accented voice drawls, one of the figures stalking towards him to reveal a tall man in militaristic clothes, a blade in his hand. Flinty eyes stare Leon down as he tries and fails to think of who this wannabe tough-guy could possibly be, the man's calloused fingers twining around the knife in a delicate way that reminds Leon of Krauser and his knife tricks---and tells him that the man knows how to handle it. He leans in close, drawing the sharp tip very gently down the curve of Leon's bottom lip. "We're very pleased to have you as our guests today, Mr. Kennedy."
He grins, letting the knife follow the natural line of Leon's jaw and down to a collarbone, where he presses into the skin just enough to make a bead of blood bubble between Leon's clavicles. Leon rolls his eyes. "Is this supposed to be scaring me? Get on with it, will you?"
The man laughs, standing upright. "It's not you that I'm trying to scare." He shifts away so that Leon can see past him into the dingy, cement-floored room he's been placed in---and the other chair several feet in front of his own, one Chris Redfield secured to it with rope around his wrists and ankles. There's blood on his temple, eyes blazing dark with silent rage that would be terrifying if only he weren't looking at Leon with such tender concern at the same time. Leon feels his blood run cold.
"Chris?" he calls. "Don't give them what they want. I'm trained for this, alright? Don't fucking tell---"
A hand grabs Leon's chin with force, a thumb shoved between his lips before he even registers what's happening. He thrashes, about to bite down, before a blow to the side of the face distracts him. Leon reels, attempting to kick one of his bound legs towards the large man who'd been brandishing the knife, but it's no use. He's the one holding Leon's jaw, a large wad of cloth in his other hand. It's all too easy for him to jam it hard into Leon's mouth, pushing so much fabric in that Leon, well, gags.
His eyes water as duct tape is wrapped far too tightly over his lips and around the back of his head, clinging to his cheeks and sparking a wave of panic at the claustrophobic feeling before he forces himself to exhale slowly through his nose. He's okay. He's faced worse. It's going to be---
"Lets begin," the man drawls, and plunges his blade deep into the flesh of Leon's thigh without warning.
Leon doesn't even try to hold back his cry.
He's not sure how long they torture him for, just that the world quickly goes foggy and distant with pain, shouting voices demanding things that Leon can't give. He can't see Chris through the hair that's fallen over his eyes as he lolls his head to his chest and heaves for breath, the wounds on his body, broken fingers, and ribs pulsing in time with his thundering heart. His cheekbone aches where a particularly nasty hook had split the skin, nose damp with blood that makes it even harder to breathe properly. The gag fills his mouth, saliva dampening the heavy fabric and muffling his pathetic whimper of pain as the man who's been beating the shit out of him offers one last slap to the side of the head.
Chris has been yelling incoherently for the past few minutes, but Leon can't hear his voice anymore. Maybe they gagged him, too.
"I'm tired of this, Redfield," the man says, a flash of metal the only warning Leon gets before the edge of his knife is up against Leon's throat, putting pressure on his trachea that makes him cough. The man digs in harder in response, the bright sting of Leon's skin splitting open on the blade's edge enough to make him wince. "Agree to the terms, or I cut his---"
There's a commotion that Leon can't make sense of, the blade leaving his throat so that he can suck in a relieved gasp of air. His eyelids flutter. Fuck, he's tired.
"Leon?" Leon can't open his eyes to see who's calling his name, the fear in their voice nearly tangible. They're talking fast, panicked. Chris, it has to be. Hands tug at the duct tape on his face, an effort that doesn't accomplish much more than wrenching Leon's aching neck. "Leon, don't do this to me. Leon? Open your eyes, Leon."
Pain spikes as Leon obeys, the harsh light upsetting the headache that had exploded into being three or four punches in. Chris's worried gaze appears before him, haloed in the glow.
"Good, that's it. Eyes on me, okay?" His voice is calm, collected, but Leon can hear that he's on the verge of tears, blood shivering down Chris's wrists as he carefully slices open the tape and peels it quickly from Leon's face. His hair is wild, eyes sharp with anger, but his touch is nothing but gentle. Even when Leon grimaces as his hair pulls free of its follicles, he's careful. "I've got you, I've got you."
Leon spits out the gag before Chris can even get to that point, the rag falling into his lap as he coughs and heaves for breath. He's dimly aware that he's trembling, but Leon's certain it's too small of a detail to notice. That is, until Chris pauses in his ministrations to run soothing hands up and down Leon's arms, leaning their foreheads together.
"It's okay. It's okay," he soothes, something dark stealing into his tone. "I took care of them. Let me deal with these cuts and I'll untie you, okay? I've got you."
Leon glances to his left and sees a growing pool of blood. He swallows, letting his eyes fall shut as Chris puts pressure on the deep gouge in his leg. "I trust you," he rasps, and means it.
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Some autistic Sherlock headcanons!!
Based on my own autism
Sherlock hates getting his hair cut. He can’t wear ear defenders and he despises the small talk and how loud the clippers and blow dryers are. So, he generally wears his hair long and/or cuts it himself. Mariana eventually starts cutting it for him, since it equally bothers him when his hair touches his ears or neck. She’s just… not very good at it.
John finds a salon for Sherlock that does sensory appointments. It’s a silent appointment, so he doesn’t have to talk, and John gets him some earplugs to help with the noise. They’re not as good as his ear defenders but they do for the short time it takes to get his hair done. He mostly gets a dry scissor cut so he doesn’t have to be wet and so the clippers don’t touch him. He doesn’t like the vibration. He finds that he actually enjoys the sensation of a blow dryer when the sound isn’t overwhelming him. The heat and the air pressure are soothing.
Sherlock is very particular about fabrics. He despises polyester and other scratchy, synthetic fabrics. Everything he wears has to be 100% cotton. If he got his way, he’d wear an old pair of holey, decade old pajama pants and a jumper everywhere, but he doesn’t. He understands that he has to be presentable. He likes linen, the material doesn’t touch him as much, doesn’t stick to sweat, and allows for plenty of airflow. During spring and summer, and often stretching into fall and winter, he wears a pair of grey linen trousers. When it finally gets too cold, he switches to a pair of cotton ones that have an elastic waist band. He hates when there’s a lot of pressure below his diaphragm, so he keeps it loose. Shirts are mostly tees in the summer, a bit too big so they don’t touch him much. In the winter, he wears big sweatshirts, a half-peacoat, and a green scarf.
He’s been buying men’s high-top converse since he was in middle school and refuses to wear any other shoe. They’re comfortable, allow him to move without being heard, and don’t add to his height. He hates breaking in new ones, and so holds on to the ones he’s wearing for dear life. John has seen him wrap duct tape all the way around his shoe to keep the sole from falling out before.
His bedroom is kept perfectly organized by absolutely agonizing effort. He is particular about that space, since it’s where he rests. He doesn’t work in there. His chemistry equipment is in the living room and he never goes into the room on cases unless John forces him to change clothes. His room is a sensory heaven that he works tirelessly to keep so. Cleaning is difficult for him, but he resets the space every time he leaves it, even when he’s in a rush.
The rest of the apartment is a bust. His executive dysfunction takes over as soon as he crosses the threshold into the hallway. He leaves toothpaste uncapped, cups and plates everywhere, clothes wherever they fall. It drives John insane and he tries to clean up after himself, but it feels like an insurmountable task.
His hyper fixations overtake conversation constantly. Sometimes he and John will engage in conversation that is just… incomprehensible to those around them. John’s talking about the weather and Sherlock’s talking about Pendolino trains. Neither is acknowledging the other’s topic of conversation, but they’re responding to each other in turn and seemingly having a lovely time.
He likes to stim “with” John when something exciting happens. He grabs both of John’s hands so they’re facing each other and has John pull him back and forth quickly. He likes it when John and Mariana mimic a stim back to him, especially vocal ones. When the three of them are in the office together, it’s just an echo chamber of mouth pops and buzzes.
Sherlock respects the fuck out of routine. His in unconventional, but he follows it almost religiously. This means he respects other’s routines just as aggressively. He never moves John’s items, and if he borrows anything, he puts it back exactly where it was, position and all. He noticed John folding laundry in a certain way and now, if he steals one of John’s shirts and washes it after, he folds it in that certain way.
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An Escape.
Hey! Thanks to everyone's answer on the poll I get to make a little addition to the end of s2! (So of course, s2 spoilers <3) Edit: the answer on the poll is different now because I got impatient 😭 the votes changed over time after i posted this, don't come at me 🙏 Depending on how this goes I might make a few more following this one. So tell me if you'd want that :) Contains: Jinx, Warwick/Vander, and a few other side characters every now and then? Enjoy! :)
Lava hot adrenaline pulsed through her shimmer filled veins... the heat from the explosion wafting over her pale skin... Nails clawed into the metal as she wedged herself through the air duct... big enough to let her get enough moving room to crawl... Her palms still felt the lingering touch of Warwick, the way her fingertips had trembled over his cheeks as she'd looked over his face for the last time. Tears dug at her cheeks as burning hot ash rolled in through the small opening she had wedged herself through within seconds, it was all shock and impulse as she managed to bust open the 'exit' on the other end, swinging her legs out first, then the rest of her upper half... It didn't take much sneaking out, everyone's focus was on whatever the hell just happened... families forcing themselves through Piltover, finding their loved ones, either dead or alive... Though judging by the amount of corpses she caught sight of on her way to the aerodrome dock not many would leave overjoyed... per say. The actual part of getting onto a aerodrome however, wasn't a large task. Jinx had done it before numerous times, over Silco's order. Usually to steal cargo of some kind... some extra money for his pocket. Entertaining herself by quietly fiddling with the fabric of her shirt, picking at her cuticles, or just looking out the small crack in the wall; soon the buzzing of the ship's engine began, making her bones tremor. Though, it was especially hard to keep her thoughts from wandering too far, to the fact that everything she'd ever known was- just being left behind... Zaun, Vi, god forbid even Ekko. All whom now probably believed she was dead. It had been her plan, so who was she to feel guilty now? She couldn't just... go back, like some lunatic musician, playing some sick joke. So, she didn't dare move, knees curled to her chest as her gaze wandered around the small room she'd managed herself into. It was the same room where the cargo that the ship was carrying was stored, so she planned to make an exit once the ship stopped so they wouldn't catch her. Her eyes soon landed back on herself, to all the neon markings covering her clothes and skin... the small crosses, little scribbles and splotches of blue and pink paint across her arms. Ekko, a small smile tugged at the sides of her mouth just at the thought of his name. Maybe one day, she'd come back. Just for a while, just to.. see him again. And maybe to see if things really had been better without her...
I really enjoyed writing this! I wasn't too sure how far ahead I should write, so I thought I'd just do a little and see how you guys like it <3 If you think you have any ideas for where this should go or what else I should write... drop me a request! - Sharky 🦈
#arcane#arcanes2#jinx#powder#ekko#vi#warwick#vander#arcaneseason2#arcaneseason2spoilers#spoilers#timebomb#zaun#piltover#leageoflegends#Arcane#ARCANE#au#alternative ending
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