#guide for cleaning concrete floors

[954pressurecleaning]

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[amaranthinespirit]

new neighbor!simon riley whom you bring cookies to as a way to welcome him to the neighborhood, so naturally he has to pay you back, right?

you'd seen the moving trucks pull up at the little house next door, peering through the frilly curtains that frame your window, pulling back the blinds to peek through the cracks at who this new neighbor is.

you couldn't get much of a glimpse, though you saw the tall, looming stature dressed in a dark void for clothes, and a mask over his head that made your tummy writhe with unease.

nonetheless, you turned to your kitchen and decided you'd make a housewarming gift. it was the nice thing to do after all!

so with a warmed plate of fresh cookies in your palms, you tediously stepped down the stones from your little abode to the sidewalk between yours and his new house. your shoes padded along the concrete before approaching his door.

a tender fist knocked knuckles against the firm door, an innocent glint in your eyes as you patiently waited for the man to open the door.

simon wasn't expecting anyone, hell, he hadn't even told anyone he had moved. his ears perked at the shallow knock, his socked feet padding against the wooden floors before peeking in the little peephole.

last thing he was expecting was a sweet little thing such as yourself to be waiting for a brute like him to answer the door, but he didn't want to keep you waiting much longer now.

with a creak, the door opened and revealed his daunting figure that towered over you. you felt his shadow cover you as you look up to him, mumbling a few measly words welcoming him to the neighborhood.

his face, more like his eyes, were stoic, but you noticed a slight crinkle in his skin, the mask shifting ever so slightly as a gruff voice responded to your words, "thanks, luv', why don'ya c'mon in?" he offered.

because the least he could do is invite you in for a cuppa, sit down and chat while you shared the plate of cookies over the island in the kitchen, right?

it felt sinful, leading a little doll like doe into his house, the door slowly creaking shut with a slight push. nonetheless, a large hand splayed across your lower back to guide you to the empty kitchen, boxes scattered along the floors.

your hands gripped the edge of the island tightly, your knuckles turning white as you bite back soft mewls. simon was kneeled, a hand pressing down on your back to keep your stomach against the counter, face buried in your sopping cunt. its compensation, lovie!

he groaned, slick drooling down his chin, nose buried in your pussy. the warm of his breath caused goosebumps to rise along your skin, his other hand full of fatty flesh from your plush rear, pulling the muscle aside to allow himself access to your sweet, drooling pussy.

you were so sweet, just like heaven, how could he refuse! besides, you were dripping for him anyways.

his lips latched to your folds, slurping up your slick with lewd squelches, teeth grazing your clit with soft nips as his tongue pushed past your walls.

your spongy walls contorted around the pink muscle as he coated your pussy in saliva, mumbling almost incoherently, "fuck, s'sweet, luvie. tastier than the damn sweets."

your knees trembled, buckling because of the pleasure as your walls pulsed around his tongue. a convulsing pattern as the heat in your tummy built with rising anticipation of ecstasy. your hips squirmed under him, but his strong hands manhandled you to how he wanted.

come on, lovie, you'll learn he needs quite a few sweets after having been deprived of them so long.

he'll take care of you, wipe you clean with a damp washcloth and throw a warm, definitely too big shirt fresh from the dryer over your body and convince you to stay the night.

give him your key to get your stuff, lovie! but don't question how he managed to get a copy so quick.

[blogport]

EPOXYSHİNE - DRAGON+

Welcome to our comprehensive guide on "Epoxy Shine," where we delve into the transformative power of epoxy flooring solutions. In today’s design-driven world, achieving a polished and durable floor is essential for both residential and commercial spaces. Epoxy coatings not only elevate the aesthetic appeal but also provide long-lasting protection against wear and tear. Whether you’re considering a modern upgrade for your home or a robust flooring solution for a bustling business, epoxy shines as a versatile choice that meets a variety of needs. In the following sections, we’ll explore innovative flooring solutions, focusing on the benefits of epoxy flake flooring, which combines functionality with style for a stunning finish that can withstand the test of time. 

Epoxy Shine

When it comes to achieving a brilliant and long-lasting finish, epoxy shine is the ideal solution for various flooring needs. Known for its incredible durability and aesthetic appeal, epoxy shine enhances the overall beauty of a space while providing a protective layer that withstands wear and tear.

The key to attaining that stunning epoxy shine lies in the application process. Proper surface preparation, quality materials, and skilled application techniques combine to create a glossy finish that can transform mundane concrete floors into vibrant, eye-catching surfaces. This shine doesn’t just elevate the design; it also reflects light, making spaces appear larger and more inviting.

Moreover, epoxy shine is not just about looks; it offers significant functional benefits too. The glossy surface is resistant to stains, chemicals, and moisture, making it an excellent choice for high-traffic areas such as garages, warehouses, and commercial spaces. Whether for aesthetic or practical purposes, ensuring your floors have that perfect epoxy shine can significantly enhance your property's value and appeal.

Floor Solutions

When it comes to choosing the right floor solutions, there are numerous options available that cater to various needs and preferences. Whether you are going for aesthetic appeal, durability, or maintenance ease, understanding the different types of flooring can significantly impact your choice.

One popular choice for many homeowners and businesses is epoxy flooring. This option provides a sleek and modern look while ensuring high durability and resistance to wear and tear. Epoxy shine not only enhances the floor's visual appeal but also makes it easier to clean and maintain over time.

Additionally, epoxy flake floors are gaining traction due to their unique aesthetic and customization options. They allow for a blend of colors and textures, giving homeowners the flexibility to create a more personalized look for their spaces. With such a wide array of flooring solutions, it's essential to consider factors like budget, usage, and design preferences before making a decision.

Flooring Solutions

When it comes to choosing the perfect flooring for your space, the options can be overwhelming. Flooring solutions are essential for both aesthetic and functional purposes, ensuring that your space not only looks great but also serves its intended function. From residential to commercial applications, the right flooring choice can make all the difference.

One popular choice in the realm of flooring solutions is epoxy flake floor systems. This type of flooring combines durability and design flexibility, making it a favorite among many homeowners and business owners. With a wide range of colors and patterns available, epoxy flake flooring can be customized to fit any space, providing a unique look that stands out.

For those seeking a brilliant shine, epoxy shine finishes can elevate your flooring game. These finishes not only provide a glossy look but also protect the flooring from wear and tear. Utilizing a performing solution like epoxy ensures that your floors can handle heavy foot traffic while maintaining their stunning appearance.

Epoxy Flake Floor

When it comes to durable and aesthetically pleasing flooring options, epoxy flake floors stand out as a superior choice. These floors are crafted using an epoxy resin mixed with decorative flakes, resulting in a unique finish that is both functional and visually appealing. The versatility of this flooring solution allows it to be used in various settings, from residential garages to commercial spaces.

The main advantage of epoxy flake floors is their resistance to impacts, chemicals, and stains, making them ideal for high-traffic areas. Their seamless nature prevents dirt and grime accumulation, offering a low-maintenance solution that is easy to clean. Furthermore, the aesthetic flexibility of the colored flakes lets homeowners and business owners customize their floors to match existing designs and personal preferences.

In addition to their durability and style, epoxy flake floors also contribute to improved safety. The texture of the flakes can enhance slip resistance, making them a practical choice for spaces where moisture is common. Whether you're looking to upgrade your garage or create a modern showroom, epoxy flake flooring provides an excellent combination of beauty, resilience, and safety.

[vonlycsnn]

Hello! May I request a Von lycaon x Gn Reader who is blind but has a optimistic personality? One who uses to love the simple things in life like feeling the sun, taking walks and enjoying any meals

Thank you so much! ♡

Have a nice day •u<~☆

♡ — A RAY OF SUNSHINE

~ VON LYCAON X BLIND (GN) READER.

SUMMARY: You spend your usual morning with your lover, Lycaon. He can't help but appreciate how optimistic you are despite your disability.

cw/tw: none.

A/N: I love this idea so much! I tried to do as much research as i possibly could for this, so my sincere apologies if i got anything wrong. Thank you for the kind words and for the request, I hope you enjoy reading this!

Faint footsteps can be heard approaching your bedroom. Soon after, the door gently opened. It made a quiet but noticeable squeak. But you were too deep in your sleep to hear any of it. The footsteps walked across the room and stopped.

 

Clawed hands grabbed the curtains and drew them open, revealing the morning view outside. You were suddenly hit by the sensation of warmth on your bare skin. You whined in protest. Knowing exactly what that meant.

 

You opened your eyes to see the blurry environment around you, folding the pillow you were laying on as a way to tell your beloved butler that you didn't want to get up just yet.

 

You hear a chuckle from your left ear, the bed sheets folded as you felt someone sitting on the edge of the bed. Then you felt someone breathing close to your neck; you couldn't help but giggle at how it feels.

 

"It's time to wake up, dear." Lycaon whispered.

 

You adjusted your position to face him, trying your best find his face with your hands. He chuckled once more and guided your hands to his fluffy cheeks. Immediately after you moved your fingers to feel his fur, he smiled.

 

"Mm...enjoying yourself?" The thiren asked. You merely nodded as you were still too sleepy to say anything just yet. You felt something brush against your legs, assuming that it's Lycaon's tail wagging.

 

You kept running your fingers against his fur for what seemed like minutes until you felt arms behind your back, lifting you up from your land of peace. "Lycaon nooo..." You lazily protested.

 

"Come on now. I've made you breakfast, fresh and warm for you to enjoy." He explains as he approaches the dining room.

 

The dining table was neatly organized, and the floors were spotless—a perfect start to your day. Oh, if only you could appreciate the effort he has put into cleaning this area...

 

He carefully put you down and guided you to your seat. As soon as you sat down, you smelt a delicious scent in front of you. You couldn't help but smile big when you realized what it was.

 

"I've made your favorite; french toast with a few slices of bacon."

 

You heard utensils being grabbed by the thiren; a hand gently moved your head in his direction. All you could see was a blurry white figure in front of you, but nevertheless you smiled softly.

 

"Open your mouth, love."

 

You obliged, happily receiving the food he's feeding you. Once you tasted the sweetness of the French toast and the salty bacon, you felt like you were sent to heaven. Lycaon's cooking is always so good.

 

As he was feeding you, he begins to reminisce about the past. Back when the two of you were merely friends.

 

—

 

"Master, you mustn't walk too far."

 

You heard him warning you; all you gave him was a smile and a giggle. One step...two step...You walked forward. Shoes removed to feel the concrete floor beneath your foot, and the cold air touched your face gently...It was soothing.

 

"Don't worry, Lycaon. I'm just going to stay right here." You assured him. His mouth opened, clearly wanting to say something, but he didn't. He merely stood there, waiting for you to finish your moment.

 

"The rooftop of this building...it's my favorite. Open spaces like these in general are a delight to be in."

 

You closed your eyes, strengthening your other senses. Being blind is not easy by any means. You remember the day you cried your eyes out as a child over the fact that you couldn't recognize simple shapes and figures. 

 

Your parents did everything in their power to help you; of course you were grateful for their efforts. But they knew that someday they couldn't help you anymore; that's why they hired the best servant they know: Von Lycaon from Victoria Housekeeping Co.

 

Someone who could help you with everyday needs, someone who could keep you safe from the dangers of the outside world—you were truly thankful for all he has done.

 

Despite your early disappointments and everyday struggles, you learned to accept how you are and enjoy your life with the things you already had. You were born with this condition. You couldn't change anything, and that's okay, even if you wanted to enjoy life like the rest of the world.

 

The thiren stayed silent, admiring you from afar. You were always the cheerful type, but hearing you say such optimistic words despite the disability you were given with...it was inspiring.

 

Lycaon smiled, and he walked towards you. You felt a hand on your shoulder.

 

"Then I'll bring you here more frequently if you'd like." Lycaon suggested.

 

You smiled big, nodding vigorously.

You couldn't be happier.

[small-sinclair]

Possessed

Obsessed!Bo Sinclair x fem!reader

NSFW. 18+. No minors!!!!!!🔞

Tw: being eaten out, face fucking, nakedness, bottom/needy Bo, obsessed Bo, fluffy aftercare

I love obsessed Bo. He’s my favorite to write.

He practically stormed into the house at the end of the day. He wasn’t mad about his day or anything, he just needed you. He wanted your love in his heart and filling his mouth. Bo needs you in more ways he could say. Once he found you in the parlor, putting away some board games, all beats were off.

He tossed his hat to the floor and kicked off his boots. “Sweetheart,” he breathed desperately. His eyes had hearts and it swirled around like a storm. “I need you—no,” he pressed you against the pool table, practically cornering you, “want you. I wanted ya so bad it hurt today jus’ t’do work.” He kissed your neck then shoulder.

His eyes locked with yours, and he admired you the same way a stone carved admired a block. “Bo?” You whispered, kissing his cheek. “What gotten into you today?”

“You, cherie,” he breathed. “Always been you.”

Bo pressed his lips against yours hungrily. His hands were too busy ripping your clothes off and letting it go the ground until you stood naked and bare in front of him. Before he could give you much of a chance to respond and protest, he feel to his knees and pulled your hips closer, spreading your legs out.

He was like a possessed man as his tongue pressed inside you, his heavy, blown out eyes softening. He felt as if he hadn’t ate in days as he lapped you up. His tongue swirled with every breath and moan you made. He melted as your hands pulled his hair slightly, earning a deep growl from the back off his throat. He pushes up on his knees, needing more of you in his mouth, more of your taste. There was a type of freedom that came with it, a type of comfort which he couldn’t quite name. Bo loves you, but the way your would moan his name and fight against him only to fail…something bloomed in his chest and through the cracks of his concrete heart.

“B-Bo!”

He held your hips down as his nose buried into your clint, taking deep breaths, as he retraced the letter again and again. Turns out, you got off on the letters ‘Q, R, S’, but he’ll never complain. He loved the sweet music pouring from your lips. You sounded like a siren from some story he read. If that’s the case, let him be the sailor, your harbor, and your home.

He drank you dry and ate you starved over and over again, never slowing for a second. He was obsessed with the noises you made. He was in love with the smell of your body and the taste on his tongue. As you trembled to his touch, he loved every bit of you. As your rocked your hips against his face, he only licked and sucked deeper. Every inch of him was screaming for him to hit that spot, but his hands held your legs and thighs tightly. The friction made it too tight as he felt himself grow more and more desperate for your touch and approval, but he didn’t touch himself. He wouldn’t do it until you command it. For now, he let your hips roll over his cheeks and face, letting you get lost, letting you use him as a tool and a vice at your disposal. He savored your body and taste as his tongue swirled.

When he felt you clenched around his tongue, he felt his eyes closing and roll as he drank every drop of your organism, pure ambrosia of the gods. He felt thankful, felt blessed, felt blissfully at peace.

He felt you grow limp above him, and he caught you in his arms in a moment. Your legs were shaking as he guided you to the couch and laid you on the sofa, setting up on pillow, and slid down to your thighs. He his hair was soaked and he looked like some type of beautiful mess. He kissed your lips gently, shivering at the mere touch.

He began licking you clean, kissing your skin numb as he whispered gentle praises of you, telling you everything he loved about you from your thighs to your stretch marks. His hands racked over the aching muscles as he kisses up your stomach. He let you unbutton his shirt so you could touch his chest and trace his scars lightly.

“More,” he whispers, unraveling. “Want more, darlin’. Please, let me have more?” He’s not one to beg, not one to say out loud what he wanted, so this was a rare moment. Bo shudders as your hand ghosts his cheek. “Been leavin’ ya alone in dis house for too long. Ain’t fair, cher, ‘at I can’t have ya in the shop. It ain’t fair I can’t have ya at all.” He lift your head up slightly and began to suck and kiss a part on your skin. Your gasps turned into him moaning his name.

“Please,” came from your lips, causing him to groan and bite down on your skin, deepening the color on your neck. “Beauregard, have me.”

His real name on your lips made his heart ache. His hands played with the mounds on your chest, rolling them with every breath he took of you. Bo kisses the bruise on your neck as your back arched to his touch.

“Yes, of course, sweetheart,” he says, capturing your lips. “Anything you desire,” he leaned close and kiss your beside ear, “will be yours.”

[nurse-floyd]

Beyond the Finish Line

Pairing: Daniel Ricciardo x driver!reader

Prompt: driver!reader and gets attacked during race weekend for @pretzelcat4-blog

Tag List: @pretzelcat4-blog @vivwritesfics @faithshouseofchaos @biancathecool @adventuringblind @danielshouseofwhores

The paddock had buzzed with activity and bodies after the race, a mixture of celebration and exhaustion as the pit crews began to pack up and media crews scrambled to get last-minute interviews. You had had a decent race, earning points alongside Daniel for the team. You had been eager to get to the debriefing to review your progress and see what you could improve on for the next race. You had made your way through the back of the motorhomes, hoping to avoid the large crowds of people when you had felt a blow to the back of your head. It had caught you unaware as you fell forward to the ground, your head bouncing off the concrete. There had been a few more blows before your attacker had run off, leaving you stunned and disoriented as you tried to pick yourself up off the ground.

You had stumbled up the stairs, trying to hide the bruises you were sure were forming on your face as best as you could with your baseball cap as you entered the debriefing room. The room had fallen silent as you had entered, all eyes turning towards you.

“Nice of you to join us,” your team boss had spat from his spot at the front of the room, his irritation clear.

“I-I’m sorry…” you had tried to keep your voice steady, but it had cracked.

As soon as his gaze had met your battered appearance, his anger had dissipated. “What the hell happened to you?” His eyes had widened as he took in the sight of your ripped clothing and split lip that had slowly oozed with blood.

Daniel had been at your side immediately, his chair almost crashing to the floor in his attempt to get to you. His face had been full of concern as his hands had hovered above your body, afraid to touch and hurt you more. “You’re hurt! What happened?”

“I-I’m fine,” you had protested weakly, trying to stay upright despite the dizziness that had overwhelmed your senses. Your voice had been barely above a whisper, clearly still shocked by the attack.

Danny had shot your team principal a desperate look before his full attention had returned to you. “You’re not fine, sweetheart. We need to get you looked at, now.”

Your team principal’s expression had changed, his annoyance turning into concern. “Get her out of here; we’ll deal with this later. Y/N, we need to make sure you’re okay.”

With Danny’s help, he had guided you out of the briefing room. He had guided you through the paddock toward the medical center, his arm securely around your shoulders, offering both physical support and a comforting presence. The paddock had been a blur as people had seemed to stare while Danny had carefully guided you towards the medical center, but you could barely focus on your surroundings, the pain in your head and wrist overwhelming your senses.

As the two of you had reached the building, Danny had quickly spoken with the staff, his urgency apparent. “We need some help. She’s been attacked.” He hadn’t left your side, even as the team of medical staff had tried to push him away. Not that you’d let go of the death grip you had on his hand, not wanting to be alone either. The medical team had sprung into action. They had guided you to a cubicle, where they had helped you up onto the bed.

Danny had remained close, his hand in yours. “I’ll be right here,” he had said softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You’re doing great, sweetheart,” he had praised as one of the medics had tended to your swollen wrist and another had begun to clean up the split in your lip. He had watched, his eyes never leaving you, his hands occasionally brushing against yours in a reassuring gesture. “How are you feeling?”

“Dizzy… sore,” you had admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Danny had nodded. “That’s to be expected with a concussion. Just keep focusing on me, yeah? We’ll get you through this.”

As the medic had finished wrapping your sprained wrist and checked your vital signs, Danny had continued to provide quiet reassurances. “You’re doing great. They’re almost done.”

When the medical team had finally been satisfied they’d stabilized you, they had left to update your manager, leaving you alone with Danny.

“Do you need anything?” he had asked. “Water? A snack?

You had shaken your head slightly. “Just… you being here. It helps.”

Danny had smiled, though his eyes had still been filled with concern. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He had pulled up a chair next to the bed and sat down, his presence a steadying comfort. As you had rested and the medication you had been given had kicked in, the pain and dizziness had begun to ease a little. Daniel’s support and his being at your side throughout had made the situation just that little bit more bearable. Despite the events of the day, his kindness and presence had provided relief in the midst of the commotion.

News of the attack had spread through the paddock, and your phone had begun blowing up with messages from other drivers. The atmosphere had shifted from the excitement of the race to shock and concern over what had happened to you. Drivers, pit crews, and journalists had begun to discuss the incident, various rumors about what had happened flying around. Your phone had been vibrating incessantly from where it had sat on the side table as messages and calls came through. Eventually, Danny had turned it off, saying you needed your rest and didn’t need the stress.

First to arrive was Lando. His face had been a mixture of worry and then relief when he had burst into the medical center. “Shit, I heard what happened but I didn’t believe it. Are you okay?” He had rushed to your side, his eyes scanning you for injuries and widening as he saw the multiple bruises on your face and strapped-up wrist.

“I’m fine, honestly,” you had replied, “just been a bit of a shit day.”

Lando took the other seat opposite Danny as he had gently grabbed hold of your uninjured hand. “You had us all worried,” he had glanced towards your teammate, who had nodded in agreement, his expression reflecting the severity of the situation. He sat with you for a few hours until he had to leave for his own team commitments.

Max had joined next with Charles; they both looked shaken as they entered the room, not knowing what to expect as they had heard all of the rumors surrounding your accident flying around the paddock. “We’re going to make sure we find who did this. We’ve got you,” Charles had reassured.

Max gave you one of his comforting hugs, the ones he knew you liked so much, seeking them out from your opponent whenever you could. “We’re all here for you, Y/N.”

The pair had stayed with you and Danny for a few hours, helping to keep your mind off things, which had been a welcome distraction from the pain.

Your team boss had been briefed by the medics and had arrived shortly after Max, Lando, and Charles had taken their leave. “We’ve got the police involved and they’ll want to talk to you when you’re feeling better. They’re reviewing security footage and security is being briefed for the next race to ensure this doesn’t happen to anyone else. For now, you need to take time to recover, and if that means skipping the next race, that’s what we need to do.”

You had known he wouldn’t address how he had spoken to you earlier, before he had realized you were hurt. No, he was too proud for that and had an image to uphold. While you were observed for a couple of hours, you had had a few other visitors, but Danny had been the one who had stayed by you the whole time, never leaving your side. You had eventually been allowed back your phone, albeit only for a moment as Danny had briefly left for the bathroom and you had been able to sneak a look. The influx of messages had been overwhelming, but the support and concern from everyone had been a small comfort in what had been an awful day.

As the hours had passed, the media had obviously gotten hold of what had happened, and your boss had ended up releasing a statement you knew you’d have to follow up on to show everyone you were okay. The doctors had been happy with your progress but had told you they still wanted to transfer you to the hospital for observation and a few more tests, so you had known you’d have to release something yourself before prying eyes and the media saw you.

Max had snapped a picture of the two of you, Danny stroking your hair back as he comforted you, and you both had thought this was a good photo to accompany your own statement for social media. Maybe it hadn’t been the soft launch the two of you had planned, but something good had to come out of the day you’d had.

[sleepyspudbrainrot]

Say My Name

Randy Orton x OC (Currently Unnamed) | 18+, NSFW, smut | 803 words

Had inspiration to write a bit of Randy Orton smut based on a prompt my friend had picked out for me ages ago. Hope y'all enjoy this little one shot !

“Your heart is beating so fast right now…”

Randy’s head was a pleasant weight against her bare chest.  His breath leaving a trail of goosebumps in it’s wake as he stopped to listen to the cadence of her heart.  “Someone could walk in at any minute… isn’t yours?”  Her words were a hushed whisper, her hands resting against the swell of his bicep.  “I doubt anyone’s going to be looking in here… for another hour or so?”  She could feel his smirk against her skin, his tongue darting out to tease at the swell of her breast.  So close and yet so far from her nipple, the bud still sensitive from his earlier onslaught.  “Yes but if they do… all they’re going to see is…”

“You really think I’d leave you exposed like that?”

He was an all encompassing presence, his head removed from her chest.  He stared down at her, his sheer size enough to keep her hidden if the door were to open.  “I’ve got you sweetheart, don’t worry your pretty little head about it.”  He captured her lips in a searing kiss.  He invaded her senses, her eyes drifting closed as his tongue slid between her lips.  She moaned softly, hands moving from the swell of his biceps to his shoulders.  Her nails clawing at his tattooed skin.  “You like that baby?” His smirk was evident against her lips, just before his lips moved away.  She gasped at the loss of contact.  Her skin chilled as she watched him lower himself in front of her.  “I think you’ll like this so much more.” Her skirt was nothing to the man’s large hands, pushed up and out of the way to reveal the thin fabric of her panties.  His breath fanned across the fabric.  “How much do you like these?”  

Her eyes widened, “Umm…”  It was too late.  The fabric tore, the two halves falling to the concrete floor beneath them.  His nose brushed against her lips, his eyes fluttering as he inhaled her scent.  

“Already so wet for me…” He nuzzled between the lips, tongue darting out to tease at her bud.  Her hips bucked forward at the sensation.  Her own eyes fluttered now and she found herself moaning.  “Easy does it… would hate to get us caught yeah?”  One large hand trailed up her front, twisting her pert nipples between his fingers before his palm encompassed her mouth.  “Be good for me alright sweetheart?”  She didn’t have a chance to respond.  His tongue began moving, dipping in and out of her core, then teasing at her clit.  Each stroke and swirl had her hips moving, muffled moans bouncing against his palm.

It didn’t take her long to reach the edge, for her legs to tremble and for the only thing holding her up was the man in front of her.  He kept the pace, seeming to sense the near orgasm.  Perhaps it had something to do with each dip of his tongue inside of her, the tightening of her walls around the intrusion.  She groaned again, his hand dampening the sound.  Another few strokes from the flat of his tongue and she was tumbling over the edge.  Tears gathering in the corners of her eyes as she cried out. His name a symbol of worship as it fell from her lips over and over again. His hand did little to muffle that, especially as he continued to kiss and lick over and over until she was slumped against the wall behind her.

“So good for me sweetheart… and would you look at that, we didn’t get caught.”

Once she’d stopped shaking, he helped her dress.  Her shirt was still in one piece although a bit more wrinkled than it had been only an hour prior.  Then, he was the first out, looking this way and that before guiding her out with his hand on the small of her back.  She wondered briefly if they should’ve taken a bit longer to clean up, to address the dripping mess between her legs.  Though some part of her knew that Randy loved seeing her like that. 

They made it to the mens locker room, Randy stopping them just outside of it.  “This is where we part sweetheart… but don’t worry, I’ll be by tonight to clean you up.  Don’t miss me too much alright?”  A tender brush of lips against hers before he’s swallowed up by the hustle and bustle of the locker room.  The nights match’s had yet to begin and she still had preparation of her own to get to.  However, first a stop to her hotel room was at the top of her list.  She was not about to go out to the ring with no panties, especially not knowing what sort of participation was expected from her tonight.

[captainlondonman]

Skin Cage

Luke was desperate for a shit. He knew he’d never get home on time and he hated the idea of going into the bushes. As he rounded a corner to his relief he saw a public toilet set back slightly from the road. Generally these days they are all boarded up but he could see this one was open. He rushed in and saw that there were 3 cubicles but the one on the left and the right had a sign saying Out of Order and only the middle one seemed to be in use.

‘Thank God’ he said out loud. As he went to the cubicle he saw out of the corner of his eye two guys in jeans at the urinals but he couldn’t care what they might be doing as all he needed to do was have a crap. He shut the door and went to lock but the lock had been ripped off. Somehow he was able to sit on the loo and keep one foot pressed against the door.

After a few minutes he felt so relieved as he wiped himself clean. What he hadn’t noticed as he sat down and got on with his shit was that on each side of the cubicle was a hole in the partition. As he started to stand to hoist up his boxers he could see a shadow through one of the holes and a pair of shiny boots facing him on the other side of the partition. Seconds later a hard long cock was being put through the hole. Luke had heard about Glory Holes and cruising in toilets but had never had the experience. Sometimes when he had heard guys talk about it he had found his own cock stirring in excitement. Now here he was with a good 8 inch dick all the way through the hole. The head was fully exposed, the foreskin pulled back. It was gleaming with some precum showing. Luke pulled his boxers down to reveal his own erect cock.

Suddenly he heard a voice on the other side.

‘What the fuck are doing mate. Me dick is there for a suck, get your mouth around and make sure you give me a bloody good blow job.’

Luke was at once scared but also so worked up at the command and seeing  the prick waiting for his mouth. He got down on his knees, feeling the cold concrete pissed stained floor and tentatively put his hand around the cock.

‘Forget the fucking hand, gimme yer mouth.’

Still holding the end of the guys dick Luke put his mouth around the head and licked the precum.

‘Like the taste boy eh?’

Luke did like the taste and the smell of a prick that hadn’t been washed for a couple of days and he could taste some piss as well. He opened his mouth wider and let the cock slip down further into his throat. The size was perfect and there was no need to gag. He kept pushing his mouth further towards the partition until he was tight up against it with the guys cock all the way down.

‘You’ve done this before, boy, getting a cock all the way down that gob of yours. So start sucking. I want you to swallow all my cum. ‘

Luke slowly took his mouth back up the shaft savouring the smell of piss and let it guide itself back down. He was getting off on this this sleaze in a public toilet. Why had he never down this before. He was always afraid of cottaging but the thrill was so great.

‘Get yer mouth going up and down quicker mate, I’ve a load of spunk to get out of me balls.’

Hearing the guy sound so dirty made Luke slide his mouth ever faster up and down the shaft whilst keeping his hand firmly clenched at the opening. He could hear the guy grunting on the other side, and the more Luke sucked the more he could feel the precum in his mouth.

‘Yer a fucking horny little bastard,’ the guy said’ making me so ready mate. I’m about to explode my cum down yer throat.’

Luke could feel the guy pressing tight against the hole and he could feel the cock veins throbbing as he sucked.

‘Get ready boy its coming. Fuckin hell’ and with that as he pushed his cock back and forth against the hole so his balls erupted creamy cum all the way down Luke’s throat

‘Shit man that’s what I call cum. Yer fucking great boy.’

As Luke was wiping the cum off his chin he realised he had not wanked himself off and as he went to sit on the bog to masturbate he suddenly saw another rigid hard cock sliding through the hole on the other side and again a pair of shiny boots facing into the partition.

‘Hearin the noise of me mate coming boy, you can do the same for me. Sucking him was a good first but as you can see mine’s bigger and thicker and will just about choke yer fucking throat. Put yer hand round it first and feel the thickness and the size of these dick veins.’

Luke didn’t know what to do but seeing this massive dick being offered up to him made his cock so hard he thought he might cum without wanking

‘Lick me head first. I like the feel man before you gag.’

Luke let his tongue get covered in spit and slowly started on the head which was pink and shiny and like a helmet. Judging by the slit there would be a heap load of cum to swallow. Opening his mouth as wide as possible he started to let the cock enter his throat but at first the size was too much and he started gagging.

‘I told you boy. Relax a bit and you’ll find it goes in easier. Take yer time as I want to feel it go right to the back of your throat.’

Luke did as he was told and inch by inch he changed his breathing and the shaft went further and further in, sliding easily with all Luke’s spit which was spilling out his mouth and down his chin.

‘That’s better boy you’ve got the hang of it. Let me feel yer lips rubbing against this filthy partition. Let me feel as if it’s not there and your mouth is tight in against me pubes.’

Luke kept his hand over the end of the shaft so he could balance to take in the full length. He had never taken such a cock as this but its massiveness was such a turn on he wanted the full length. He was not going to miss out  and this time  his own load of spunk erupt. As he started to let his hand move up and down his own shaft so the need to take the full length of the guys cock was more desperate.  He was sliding his mouth up and down the shaft quicker and quicker and as he did so he hand worked his own good sized dick.

‘I know yer fucking wanking boy I can hear your breathing but shit mate its making me so fucking ready and that mouth of yours is the best suck I’ve had in ages. I want you to come at the same time and hear your jism. Go on spunk it boy I’m ready.’

Luke could not contain it any longer and as his own cum shot out splatting against the partition so he let out a mighty orgasmic sound.

‘That’s it boy I’m coming now.’

Whilst Luke’s spunk was still hitting the partition so the guy let rip an avalanche of cum almost choking Luke who could not swallow quick enough with great wads spilling down his chin.

The guy withdrew his cock and the boots moved away. There seemed quietness as Luke took out his hankie to wipe his chin and the remainder of his own cum from his cock. He leant forward to pull up his trousers and that was the last he remembered as he blanked out as something hit his head with such force.

As Luke had stood up the two guys had kicked the door with their boots with full force smashing into Luke’s head.

The next thing Luke knew as he started to come round was that he felt cold and could hardly move his head. Slowly his eyes began to focus and open more. He firstly realised that he was totally naked and in a cage. The reason he could hardly move his head was that there was a hole in the cage that allowed his head through but was too small for him to remove it. The room he was in was dark and smelt of piss and damp. His hands were free but as his head was clamped there was very little he could do. As he looked down there was a bowl of water that he could just reach to drink out of.

‘Christ my head is so sore. I must be bruised to hell and I can feel blood in my mouth. Where the hell am I? What have I done to deserve this? Someone has to hear me.’

Luke started shouting at the top of his voice

‘Help me, help me will someone come and get me out of this?’

After shouting for several minutes and starting to feel hoarse, there was a blinding light. For several seconds he could see nothing and before he could open his eyes there was a thundering noise over his head.

As he opened his eyes slowly the noise was as loud as ever. With the head still looking down he made out a pair of shiny black high laced boots. He felt he had seen them before, yes that was it he saw them under the partition in the toilet block.He was just able to look upwards as to what was going on above him.  A guy with a baseball bat was banging it over the bars, and thumping the bat up and down, grinning from one side of his face to the other.

‘Wakey wakey you cock sucker.’

‘Stop it, stop it please’ Luke screamed over the noise, his ear drums almost bursting.

‘Oh we have a nice little gay guy here don’t we. Stop it please,’ the guy said trying to imitate Luke.

‘Why have you done this to me?’

Another guy in the corner said

‘Well you gave us a great blow job we thought we would keep you a bit longer. But you need to change your look a bit mate.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘A bit preppy for us.’

 Luke looked more closely at the two guys. He had noticed as he rushed in for his shit that both were wearing boots and jeans but had not looked enough.

The two guys were in tight fitting bleachers as if the bleachers had been sprayed on they were so tight and not just their legs and thighs but their cocks and balls showed a huge package stuffed down one leg. They both had their high boots , one with red laces and one with yellow. Both had braces to match their laces with black Fred Perry T shirts. One wore a green A1 jacket the other was black Their heads were shaved and one had a scar all the way down one cheek. Skin 1 and Skin 2.

‘Time to leave you in the dark for a bit but don’t worry we will be back every hour.’ And with that they turned off the lights and left locking the door.

Sure enough one hour later they came back each with their baseball bat and started thumping them across the bars of the cage

‘Stop stop for Gods sake stop.’ Luke screamed

‘You need to get used to this boy.’

Out they went and sure enough every hour they came back  and ran the bats across the bars.

‘This is fucking great. The boy hates it.’

After 8 hours of this they returned again and started up.

‘I’m fucking loving this mate,’ Skin 1 shouted as he beat the bars

‘Fucking stop that fucking noise now.’ Luke shouted.

The skins stopped immediately.

‘Now that’s what we want to hear, a big of aggro in the voice. Say it again.’

‘Fucking stop it.’

‘Good boy.’

‘Now what’s this I see boy. A nice big piss puddle you have made.’

Luke hadn’t noticed but the noise had made him so worked up that he had peed himself and his piss was in a puddle under him.

‘Yer luck’s in boy. We just downed a few cans of lager and both of us are desperate for a piss. Seeing you’ve just pissed yerself then you won’t mind some of ours. A right golden shower is coming your way.’

Skin 1 and 2 unzipped their bleachers and pulled out their cocks. Luke could see they were the two pricks he had so enthusiastically sucked earlier. They stood in front of Luke and took aim at his head with their cocks.

‘Fuck I have a right load of piss here for you mate.’

And with that they both let rip with a heavy stream of bright yellow piss aiming it at Luke’s head and face.

‘Drink it up boy. You loved our cum so swallow our piss.’

Luke could not move his head in the cage as a torrent of pee cascaded down his face. He had no option but to lick it as it poured over his lips. At first it tasted acidic but after some had gone down the back of his throat there was something about being a sub, unable to escape with so much piss that he found himself starting to swallow. The Skins seeing this made sure their stream was directed at his mouth.

‘He fucking loves it. As good as our cum eh boy? Shit look at his cock he’s getting a bloody hard on. Getting a bit more like us and Christ me cock’s starting a boner seeing him. Need to get rid of this pee first.’

Both the Skins shook their cocks and stuffed them back into their bleachers, Skin 1 having more difficulty as he was the one with the thick cock and now semi hard.

‘Got some work to do now. Go get the clippers mate.’

His mate went out the room and came back with a shaver, razor and shaving cream.

‘Your hair is now stinking of our piss so best for you if you get rid’

‘No please don’t do anything to my hair’

‘We’ll fucking do what we want. You ain’t got much option in that cage and don’t fucking shake your head while I have me razor on you.’

Skin 1 got down on his knees in front of Luke who knew he had to obey in his cage. He took the shaver and started on Luke’s head working from the back to the front. Luke could see his hair falling on to the floor and was helpless.

It seemed no time until most had been removed. Skin 1 then sprayed the shaving foam all over his head.

‘Need to get rid of all this fucking stubble you got there.’

Luke could feel the razor tight against his head and a couple of times felt the razor cut his scalp.

‘A couple of cuts wont do you any harm. In fact better for a skin.’

After half an hour Skin 1 sat back and looked

‘I’ve done a fucking great job there boy. Have a look. He walked over and picked up a mirror putting in front of Luke.

 ‘Oh my God I look just like the two of you.’

Fucking right mate what did you think. You’re gonna be one of us. Need to clean you up a bit. He walked over to the wall where a hose was hung on the wall. Unravelling he brought over to the cage and then walked back and turned on the water. He aimed the cold water at Luke at full power and Luke almost froze as the water splashed against him.

‘Stop please, I’m clean now.’

 The water was turned off

‘So now we are gonna leave you for a while. Time to get dressed. Your clothes are on that chair. I’m gonna unlock the cage and let you out. We’ll lock the door so you won’t be getting out. Luke could feel the cage door’s padlocked being undone and the padlock that had made his headstuck in the round opening.

Luke felt he had no strength to do anything and just laid  there at the open cage door.

‘See you later boy’ the Skins said as they went out locking the door

Luke slowly clambered out the cage feeling stiff and slightly disorientated. As he stood up, naked he saw clothes piled on the chair and in front a pair of high lace up boots, It all looked the same gear as the skins.

Luke was cold from the blasting of water and wanted to get into the clothes quickly no matter what he might look like. At the top of the pile was a black Fred Perry T shirt like the other two which was a tight fit but showed off his torso well. They must have had some idea of his size. Next the bleachers. He saw they had a zip back and front. As he pulled them on they were tight to his legs and thighs and as he pulled them up it felt good, so good that his cock started hardening. He pushed it down the inside of his leg making a large obvious bulge. The more it rubbed against the bleached denim the more it got bigger. He attached the black braces which seem to pull up the bleachers even more . ‘Christ what a package I have’ Luke thought staring down at his fully hard cock. He then pulled on the thick white socks which came up to almost his knees and sitting on the chair he forced his feet into the shiny black boots carefully lacing up as though he had done it many times before. Finally he put on the A1 green bomber jacket. He felt so great.

‘Where was that mirror?’ He picked it up from the floor and made sure he ran it over his body so he could see himself. Something suddenly snapped inside him. ‘I’m fucking Luke the skin.’  He had a large bruise down one side of his face from the cubicle door being rammed into him but now it made him even more like a  fucking rough skin. “No more fucking pansy boy for me. I’m up for some action and time those guys got what’s coming to them. He rubbed his crotch examining the bulge. Shit man just hope I can pull this out for my revenge.’

He heard the key turn in the door and jumped back behind it ready for anyone to walk in and be dealt with. Skin 2 marched into the room expecting to see Luke wandering around the space. Luke closed in behind quickly putting his arm around Skin 2 in complete stranglehold, the guy chocking and unable to release the vice like grip. His head was skewered back and he was desperately trying to get air as the grip tightened. The guys arse was tight against Luke’s boner and the slight rubbing made his dick even harder.

‘Not so much a fucking boss now are you. What did you expect doing all this to me and making me dress like you. You wanted a fucking skin and let me tell you mate you’ve got one and one much harder than you. Can’t talk can you. I’d like to fucking strangle you.’ Skin 2 could only splutter and was at the point of passing out.

‘Don’t fucking think about it mate’ Luke shouted as he pushed Skin2 towards the cage. With his other arm he pushed the skins head downwards until it was pressed against the bars of the cage.

‘Gonna make a nice imprint of these bars on that fucking face of yours.’ He then ran the arm over the guys arse.

‘Nice bum you’ve got there and you know what that for. Right a good fuck and I see you have a rear zip so you’ve had it done before. This time my cock will split that arse of yours.’

Luke quickly undid the zip and the bleachers immediately parted revealing a nice dark hairy arse. Luke gave it a couple of sharp slaps making the skin wince with pain.

 ‘Shit you little fairy that ain’t painful’ and with that he slammed his hand with full force over his buttocks. ‘I wanna see that arse of yours tingling red for my cock.’

‘So you ain’t moving much. What that means  it you do wanna be fucked. Now get your legs nice an wide.’

As the skin did what he was told Luke undid his zip and pulled out his cock which was straining inside as it was so hard.

‘To make it easier for you let me gob some nice spit down my shaft’ Luke said and he released a huge gob onto his cock and then he rubbed it.

‘That’s nice nothing better than a slimy cock ready to fuck.’

With one hand firmly of the skin’s back keeping him fully bent over the cage, Luke used his other hand to direct his cock into the crack and loosening up the hole with a couple of his fingers.

‘Christ that hole of yours is desperate for my dick and by the feel of it you have had a few cocks up there in the past.’

 Luke took both hands and spread the skins cheeks apart ready to ram his cock in. The hole widened and Luke’s head slipped in the skin letting out a squeal of pain.

‘Fuck it man it’s not even all the way in. Now this is. With one great push Luke pushed his cock all the way up to the hilt..

‘Nice and juicy that hole of yours. Hope for your sake there’s no shit in there. Can you feel my pubes right up against that hairy arse of yours?’

The skin squealed but a squeal of delight.

‘Knew you’d love that you fucking little whore.’

As Luke said that the door opened and Skin 1 walked in.

‘Well you’ve changed you hungry skin. You look the part. Knew you would when you walked in to that bog. You are right up there mate so let’s see you get the rythmn going and fuck him hard.’ As he said this he was rubbing his crotch which was now half way down his legs and bulging thick.

‘I remember that dick of yours. Go on get it out and let’s see you wank while I roger your mate.’

‘We’re all mates now boy.’

‘or a start you can bloody well stop calling me boy if that’s the case.’

‘Ok man give it to him

‘Seeing that meaty cock of your mate has me even more ready to shoot my load inside him.’

‘Then go on really slide it in and out.’

 Luke started ramming his prick in and out, faster and faster his breathing rapidly increasing, skin 2 grunting more and more, while skin 1’s hand was working his shaft faster having let a big gob of spit grease him up.

‘Ride him man, I’m ready’

With one final push Luke shot his hot spunk in fierce spurts right up Skin 2 arse. Skin one arched back and sprayed the floor with his cum. As Luke let Skin 2 move the bloke had come in his bleachers with a great wet patch showing and some cum oozing through.

‘That’s what I call a fuck man’ Skin 2 said.

‘You’ll have to stay here mate’ he said to Skin 2, ‘you cannae come out with all that cum showing on yer bleachers.’

‘So man stuff that dick back it but shake off the left overs first. We have a job to do.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Follow me we have to go and do some cottaging.’

The two went back to the same toilet where it had first all happened. This time Luke and Skin 1 stood facing the urinal. Skin 1 moved his hand over to rub Luke’s cock and it was no time until his shaft was a full boner.

‘That’s you ready now. You can go first.’

As he said this, so a young guy walked in and quickly looked at the two blokes at the urinal and went into the middle cubicle and shut the door.

‘I’m ready ‘Luke said unzipping his bleachers, ‘just hope he is’

 and the two walked into the left and right cubicle.

[storm-angel989]

can I request Valentino x daughter reader who unalived someone? How would he deal/react? Sorry if it's too much, you don't have to do it

💣anon

There are few things in this world that sober us faster than death. 

Around me, the city continued to buzzed with the sounds of the night. Cars honking, people yelling, the hum of electricity. Two hours ago I had been in the thicket of it, laughing and drinking. The flash of smiles across the dance floor, the movement of bodies under the flashing lights, the too loud music obscuring any outside noises. After all, no one wants to be interrupted while they’re having a good time. 

The events of the night began the way all bad relationships start. A brought drink late in the night. Sweet, sloppy kisses back and forth to the beat of the music, sweating in the heat on the dance floor. My father owned the majority, if not all of,  the clubs within the pride ring, and he’d tell you himself it was simple math. The more you dance, the more you drink. 

At first I thought I downed the last drink too quickly. His arm around my shoulder, a suggestion to get some fresh air. Ducking away from my friends, and the coolness of the back alleyway. More kisses, and the same sweetness on my tongue. 

I couldn’t be sure how long I had been out there, but something shifted as suddenly as it came on. Gentle hands turned rough, the feeling of gritty concrete against the bareskin of my back turned to dirt and hard ground. A sharp pain, a tug, and the sound of fabric as it tore from my body.

Growing up Valentino’s kid, Vox and Velvette’s niece, I had been taught to defend myself. When I turned eighteen and started going out to clubs, I had been properly outfitted with firm lectures on club safety and armed with the most advanced concealed protection.  The decision was instinctual at this point.  

My brain didn’t register reaching for the gun. Nor did I stop to think before I fired. His body collapsed onto mine and I scrambled away as quickly as I could. Around me, the night moved, oblivious to the actions in the alleyway. My mind raced and for the first time in my life,  I hit the SOS button on my VoxTech watch and sank down to the ground. My mind went numb and wrapped my arms around my knees as I stared at the would-be rapist.

To be the only child in the lives of the three most powerful beings in Pentagram city, it felt like forever before I heard my father’s voice booming voice from the street.

“Reader? Reader!” Valentino yelled. “God fucking damn it, bebita where are you?”

I tried to open my mouth but the words to answer caught in my throat. To my relief, his head turned and he raced towards me. Some part of me knew he was speaking, but my brain couldn’t make sense of it. 

Behind him, my Uncle Vox and Aunt Velvette stood, surveying the scene. Neither looked particularly bothered by the fact that there was a body in the middle of the alleyway, or my gun on the ground next to it. 

“She’s in shock, Val. And probably still drunk. Or drugged,” my Aunt Velvette said as she knelt down next to me. “Come on baby, let’s get you home. Valentino, you get her home. Vox, let’s clean this shit up.” 

My father wrapped his arms under mine and pulled me to my feet. A silent limo ride home and as he stepped into the elevator, he hit the button for his studio. I glanced at him. 

“We’re going to get you cleaned up downstairs,” he said by way of explanation. “Housekeeping already brought down clean clothes. They’re in the nurses office. I want you to shower in one of the bedrooms and make your way down there, alright?”

I didn’t respond. As soon as the elevator door opened, I let him guide me into the eerily silent studio, down the dimly lit hallway to one of the countless hotel rooms. As soon as I was inside, he shut the door and locked it. 

“You’re going to strip all of your clothes, put them in the garbage. You’re going to shower with every product in that bathroom and wrap yourself in the bathrobe hanging behind the door. Do you understand me?” Valentino asked, not unkindly. “Daddy will take care of it, but I need you to do your part.” 

I nodded and stepped into the spotlessly clean bathroom. Numbly, I did exactly as he instructed. As I wrapped the robe around myself I caught my reflection in the mirror.

The eyes of a murderer stared back at me.

My stomach turned and I coughed bile and vodka into the sink. I heard the door knob turn and felt my father pull back my damp hair. 

“It’s alright honey, get it out,” he said softly. 

“Daddy, I killed someone,” I choked out as I turned to face him. “Daddy, I…”

“Shussh,bebita,” he interrupted gently. His hand cupped my chin in his hands and gently wiped my mouth. “It’s okay. Daddy took care of it.” 

“Daddy, he-”

“Your Uncle Vox caught it all on camera,” he continued. “The drugging. The almost rape. You did nothing more than defend yourself. Not that anyone will ever know that you had any involvement.”  He walked over to the garbage and tied the bag that contained the remains of my clothes. “Not that anyone will ask questions, but if they do sweetheart, you know nothing. The tapes from the surrounding areas are gone, understood? Now let’s go get you checked out, hm?” 

I let him guide me out of the bathroom and down the hall. Unlike all the other times I had been in there, the nurses office was completely empty of everyone except us. 

“Sit on the bed,” Valentino instructed. “I’m going to take a blood sample. See what’s in your system.”

I obeyed and a few seconds later, the door opened as Vox and Velvette walked in. 

“How’s our sweet girl doing?” Vox asked as he sat down on the bed next to me. He ran a hand down my back. “Honey?”

“Val, is she out of it or just in shock still?” Velvette asked as she locked the door behind her. 

“I’ll know in a moment, is it all taken care of?” Valentino asked as he walked over to me. 

Vox stood up and crossed his arms. “Of course it is, I…” his voice trailed off and he looked at me. “We can talk about it later.”

“Bebé Muñeca, give me your arm,” Valentino told me. 

I offered him both and he tugged up the sleeve of my left arm. A quick pinch later, he had a vial in his hand. He turned away and I watched as he added several droplets of my blood to a card. Instantly, a line turned bright green, purple and pink. 

“Interesting mix. Had to be in his salvia. Did you see them kissing or sharing drinks?” 

“Both,” Vox replied. “I’m sure he slipped it under the tongue. She wouldn’t have noticed anyway, it’s so sweet.”

Sweet. I thought the kisses tasted that way because of the drinks. Guess now I knew better. 

“Baby, do you want a shot or a drink?” Valentino asked as he turned to me. “I can give you the drugs to counteract it either way, but you choose.” 

I swallowed and looked at the three of them. “Daddy, I killed someone.”

I watched them exchange glances and a strange expression crossed my fathers face. Sadness? Concern? Slowly, he nodded. 

“Reader,” my Uncle Vox said softly. “Honey, look at me. Your daddy asked you a question.”

I turned my head back towards Vox and our eyes met. Warmness washed over me and my mind turned from numb to a peaceful mix of relaxation and happiness. Flashes of the night, dancing with friends, taking shots of vodka and climbing in the limo as I waved goodbye to my friends. My Aunt Velvette helping me into the shower and wrapping myself in my bathrobe. 

“I’m sorry, what was the question?” I asked.

“Babygirl, do you want a shot to help your hangover or do you want to drink it from a cup?” Vox asked. “What would feel better to your body?”

“Probably the shot? I feel tired. Auntie Vel, what time is it?” I asked. 

“It’s late,” she replied simply. “Almost bedtime. Once your Daddy gives you the shot, we’ll go up to bed.” She sat down next to me. 

“I don’t remember the car ride home,” I said as my father pulled my arm towards him. “How much did I have to drink?”

“Too much, sweetheart,” Valentino replied as he slid the needle into me. “But this will make you feel so much better.”

I felt the cool liquid slide into me and tiredness washed over my body. I leaned onto my Aunt Velvette’s shoulder and closed my eyes. I felt my fathers hands lift me up and the movement of his body as he carried me out of the room. 

“Don’t worry bebita,” I heard my father whisper.  “Daddy will always take care of you.”

[trulybetty]

october | 06 x falling leaves

pairing: frankie x f!reader word count: 895 warnings: none, as always unbeta'd summary: Tom's funeral. ao3: linked

{ x. series masterlist }

author note: prompts are not in chronological order, the story is told throughout the life span of the relationship. once all are posted, I'll post a list of the prompts in chronological order.

06 x Falling Leaves

The humid air clung lightly to your skin, and the late afternoon sun cast long shadows over the neatly trimmed grass of the cemetery. Palm fronds rustling gently in the mild breeze, the only sound besides the soft murmur of mourners gathered around Tom’s gravesite. You stood beside Frankie, his hand loosely holding yours, though the warmth between the two of was best described as having cooled.

Tom’s ex-wife, Molly, stood across the way, her eyes hidden behind large dark sunglasses, their two young daughters clinging to her sides. You offered a small sympathetic smile when you felt her gaze meet yours briefly. You’d avoided her for the most part, afraid she’d ask you if you knew what had really happened. But you were just as much in the dark about what had actually gone down in Colombia.

Frankie was uncharacteristically clean-shaven still, his jawline sharp and exposed. The sight unsettled you; he had always worn a stubbled beard for the entirety of your relationship. Now, he seemed distant, a stranger in familiar clothing. Even though you’d seen him in military dress many a time before he retired from service, the sight of him in his formal suit was jarring. Since returning from Colombia he’d been a closed book. The four-day trip had stretched into weeks without explanation, bringing back a sombre entourage and Tom in a casket.

The priest spoke solemn words, but your mind was replying the fight of the night before. A futile attempt to breach the walls Frankie had built up around himself. “What happened out there?” you’d demanded, the desperation in your voice thick. He’d stared past you, his silence louder than any refusal. Frustration had boiled over, the glass in your hand had met the wall with a shattering force, the irony of the fragments on the floor mirroring the fractures of your relationship not lost on you.

Now you played the dutiful partner, exchanging polite condolences and engaging in hollow small talk. “He was a good man,” you’d told a fellow mourner who’d mentioned he’d worked with Tom in the past, the words had felt empty on your tongue.

As the ceremony concluded, people began to disperse. The soft crunch of gravel under tires as cars left the cemetery mingled with the subdued conversations of those who lingered. You watched as Molly guided her daughters away, the girls clutching folded flags to their chests.

Frankie stood a few steps away, speaking in sharp whispers with Santiago and Benny. Their faces were tense and you caught snippets of their conversation but couldn’t take anything concrete away from what was being said.

Approaching them, you placed a gentle hand on Frankie’s arm, “Ready to go?” you asked softly.

He glanced at you, distance in his eyes, “In a minute,” he replied turning back to Santiago.

Benny offered you a sympathetic smile, “It was good to see you,” he said before glancing at Frankie who was talking quietly and quickly in Spanish with Santiago, “take care of one another.”

You nodded, forcing a smile, not forgetting that he was a part of all this also and just as quiet as the others on the truth, “We will.”

Walking back to the car alone, you felt the weight of solitude despite the crowd around you. The Spanish moss hanging from the oak tree looked like ghostly fingers as it swayed in the breeze, unsettling you as you climbed into the car.

The drive home was steeped in silence, the radio remained off, and the usual hum of conversation was absent. You watched the scenery blur past—familiar palm trees and pastel buildings bathed in the golden hue of sunset.

“We can’t keep going on like this,” you finally said, your voice barely above a whisper as you kept your eyes on the passing landscape.

Frankie’s grip tightened on the steering wheel, “Not now,” he muttered.

“Then when?” you pressed, whipping your head around to look at him, “You won’t talk to me. I don’t know how to help you if you shut me out.”

He exhaled sharply, “There’s nothing to talk about.”

You laughed darkly, “Tom is dead Frankie. You come back different and I’m supposed to pretend everything’s fine?”

He didn’t respond, his gaze fixed firmly on the road ahead. 

Back at home, the tension was palpable. You moved through the motions—kicking off your shoes, setting your purse on the sideboard—while unspoken words hung heavy in the air and you couldn’t help the words that left your mouth unable to stand the silence.

“Please,” you implored turning to face him, “just let me in, please?”

He met your eyes briefly before looking away, “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me,” you challenged taking a step closer.

He shook his head, the shadows under his eyes more pronounced. “It's done. Talking won't change anything.”

Defeated, you felt the sting of tears but brushed them away. “I don't know how much longer I can do this,” you confessed.

Frankie looked at you then, a flicker of pain crossing his features. But just as quickly, his expression hardened. “I'm going to bed,” he said quietly before retreating down the hallway.

Left alone in the dimly lit living room, you listened to the sound of the spare bedroom door opening and closing. The silence that followed was deafening. You sank onto the couch, the weight of the day—and the widening gap between you—settling heavily on your shoulders.

[954pressurecleaning]

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[falling-star-cygnus]

HI HIII HELLO!!! -> your request has been moved over here, and i sincerely hope you enjoy!!

and i really like these ideas!! so thank you ever so much for the request, dear anonymous

i toyed with an idea like this before in my head, but i couldn't quite figure out how to articulate it ~so~ hopefully this'll help me out with Nekomata's characterization more

Spending so much time in Hollows, it's easy to forget that Billy can be harmed by things that aren't Ethereals.

Badly harmed.

Nekomata hadn't been a member of the Cunning Hares' for long, hardly long enough to be allowed into the tightly knit circle shared between the two Demara's and the android, but it's almost like that didn't matter. Especially not to Billy.

Even before she was a member, it was like he had already decided she deserved his kindness. It was a sort of bright-eyed, literally, brand of naivete that infuriated her. How dare he be so nice to her? How dare he show such kindness to the thiren that was leading them to their deaths.

How dare he make her feel so guilty, when he- when the Hares'-

Except it wasn't really the Hares' that had killed Miguel in the end, was it?

It was PubSec. And every drop of guilt Nekomata had felt was well deserved.

"Nekomata-!"

Back in the present, nowhere near a Hollow this time, she remembers being bodily shoved aside. Remembers clearly the choked down sound of pain and the crunch of metal that happened all in the blink of an eye.

Billy stood tall in front of Nekomata, stance squared as the jaws of this- yellow mutilated construction vehicle clamped around his left arm. It shook with the effort of keeping the thing from throwing him around like a chew toy- but he didn't falter.

"Kitty- you okay?" the android calls over his shoulder, his voice tight with strain and worry, "I didn't push you too hard, did I?"

"M-Me? What about you-?"

At worst her palms were a bit scraped up from hitting the asphalt, but that was more a result of the thiren's instinctual flailing than his protective insert. And he was the one in the jaws of the beast! Literally!

Care about yourself first, dummy-! Nekomata thinks venomously, shooting up to her paws as the mechanical thingamajig nearly throws her new teammate to the ground. She doesn't know what she was planning on doing, exactly, but Billy takes the decision out of her hands anyway.

He lines up a shot, somewhere between the shoulder and the armpit, and fires!

The bullet pierces the joint in a clean arc, and removes the limb with a sharp 'ting!' and a 'thud!' as it hits the concrete! It's jaws- is it the jaws? It looks more like a hand now that Nekomata isn't fearing for her life- they don't release Billy's arm until he's been nearly dragged to the floor with it.

Foolishly, the thiren had been hoping that the crunch of metal she heard was the teeth breaking on the android's build.

It wasn't.

It most definitely wasn't.

The plates of the android's arm tear like butter under the drag- ripping his red sleeve to ribbons and causing sparks to fly in firework-esque bursts. Billy brings his other hand up to one of the deeply bit teeth and tries to wrench it out without causing more damage.

Nekomata leaps to help, finally shaken out of her stupor by a startled mip of pain that Billy looses when one of the clamps catches on some wiring.

"Wait- Nekomata, your hands-"

Ah- right, the scrapes. She'd honestly forgotten about them, her gloves had absorbed most of the damage, after all- even if they'd been torn to shreds in the process.

The android tries to gently guide her hands away by the wrists, but Nekomata bullies her way closer with a hiss.

A familiar rush of anger clouds her head. His damn- friendliness. Why couldn't he just be mean?

"Billy, your arm," the thiren snaps back, tails lashing to better show her infuriation, "What're you worrying about me for, huh!? Look at you!"

"Wh- huh? But I'm fine," he exclaims, like a liar, "This can be fixed no problem! You can't!"

"That's not the point, dummy!"

Seriously! Not! The! Point! Nekomata punctuates each thought with a bap to his fluffy hair. How dare he! How. Dare. He! How dare he imply his injuries mattered any less! The nerve!

...huh. It was surprisingly soft.

Before she even realizes what she's doing, her hand simply- ruffles it from side to side. The android sputters in confusion under her ministrations.

"Nekomata!?"

"Shut up!"

Billy shuts up.

The two stay there in silence for a few more minutes, and eventually the thiren moves back to help him free what's left of his arm. He doesn't push her away this time, even though he's clearly not happy with the agitation of her scrapes.

He could be missing a limb- and he's worried about her. Her, who hasn't even been a member of the Hares' a full three months!

Stupid, big hearted, stupid android.

"You know," Nekomata starts, even though she doesn't really know where she's going with this, she just wants him to get it already, "it doesn't matter that you can be put together again. It still happened."

Billy stills under her hands with a surprised little noise, but she just tightens her grip and barrels on.

"You'll still remember it happened."

The last clamp finally gets pulled free, but it snips right through a wire on it's way out, and the android bites back a yelp as he stumbles forward. Nekomata is quick to wrap her arms around his shoulders and hold tight- half to keep him upright and half to keep him close.

"So please," she begs, burying her face into his jacket collar, "Please don't pretend that it didn't."

She can feel him jolt in her impromptu hug, and for a terrifying moment she's scared he might pull away and brush it all off again, the thiren couldn't really stop him if he truly wanted to- but Billy just brings his arm up to hug Nekomata back.

His grip is so unbelievably soft- feeble.

"...okay." he says, not a promise but an acknowledgement, "okay."

[eluxcastar]

A guide to surviving the House of the Hearth

── ୨୧：arlecchino & reader

୨୧﹑synopsis :: as the newest addition to the ever-growing house of the hearth, it is important that you are very acquainted with the rules of living there and what it means for your life from now on, for better and for worse

୨୧﹑genre :: I still don't know what this is

୨୧﹑content :: gn reader, child reader, reader doesn't explicitly show up but is referenced as if they are being spoken to, reader is implied to be mute

୨୧﹑words :: 1k

I promise you honeys I am not dead but I did like go through the wringer a bit like I was PROPER living the a/n life I like got sick for a whole week then I fell and slid on concrete and it was a whole thing yet somehow my glasses stayed on?? anyway you did not come to hear about what an accident waiting to happen I am have this food

I started working on two separate fics that require the House of the Hearth recently which means that I had to come up with hcs for it. So, little one, I bring you the rulebook on how to survive your stint in the Tenth Harbinger's orphanage.

How did you even find your way there? Well, you were far too young to remember it, but it was something that caused Arlecchino to find you, uneager to be seen and hardly enthusiastic about conversation. Somehow she had managed to make herself seem more inviting than the underside of the bed you were hiding under, soft and inviting—a gentle guiding light holding out her hand to lead you to safety.

Rule one. While all children may be messy, they are not to leave their messes about. Any toys should be packed away, any spills should be cleaned, as should any utensils that happen to find their way into the hands of children. Nothing should be dirtier than it was when you found it, even if that means asking one of the matrons how to get blood out of fabric and the hardwood floors.

Rule two. You're to eat as much of your food as you can at the table. Not liking it is hardly an excuse, especially if you won't even try it. Receiving food at all is a luxury for orphans who would otherwise be uncared for and on their own. Picky eating will only get you in trouble. Even if you don't like it, stomaching it with a grimace is a break in your composure that will only be a detriment to you in the future.

Rule three. All children should be blessed with the ability to read and write. It is just as valuable as the skill to fight. Silent communication is very useful, also a reason to be familiar with sign language. The importance of knowledge should not be understated, because once you learn to read and write, you have access to anything and everything in literature, even things people don't want you to know as you peek quietly over their shoulder.

Rule four. It's a pivotal skill to know how to play nice even in the face of spats and disagreements with your playmates. If you can't, people won't like you, and you'll be all alone. Everyone is family, and family puts each other first, even if not related by blood. You have no family anymore and are in most desperate need of one. Everything else was just like you once, and they're always happy to accept a new little bird like you.

Rule five. Honestly is important, but only to the right people. Outsiders don't know the luxury of the House of the Hearth the way those inside do. They don't know how wonderful your childhood is now compared to before and they're raring to send you back to that. You shouldn't allow anyone to learn too much and shouldn't let someone ignorant of that speak on your behalf. The people should only know lies, while the matrons should know everything.

Rule six. Your bedtime is the same as everyone else's, and you are to sleep when told. A good night's rest is important when you spend the next day hard at work running and jumping. You need lots of energy to lug heavy weaponry around and it's always nice to have a bit more rest to get you through the day.

Rule seven. Slackers who don't so their chores are sent to timeout, and there no joy in timeout. No fidgeting, no sitting, no noises out of you, even the ones you make when you need something. You will have to stand in the corner and wait until a matron decides you're ready to cooperate and contribute like everyone else. But you won't need to be warned that way, will you?

Rule eight. Playtime is a gruelling thing sometimes and that's good. Children push, and adults are not easy to face. The world you will grow into will not be kind to you, and in return you mustn't be kind to it either. You should know how to handle yourself, and how to survive when the situation is against you, especially if you can't call for help. Those who can't play shouldn't expect to know how to live in a world that doesn't want them.

Rule nine. Fatui affairs are not for the eyes of children, and you shouldn't stick your nose in them. Once you know too much, there's no way to have your little mind, and the consequences are…well, you shouldn't listen to how bad it can be, even that is more than enough to scare you. You won't break that one, will you?

Rule ten. It is because of Father that you are able to live this life and treasure your childhood, and her word is more important than anything else. Arlecchino is your overseer and the one who enables you to live such a spoiled life as you do now that you live in the House of the Hearth. You must repay her generosity handsomely.

Children who don't make the cut are sent off to the Doctor, children who disobey the rules are sent off to the Doctor, and children who aren't grateful for the new lives they've been given are sent off to the Doctor and it is not to get a checkup. You don't want that, do you?

Arlecchino is a lenient Harbinger by the standard of the Fatui, generous enough to believe that every child has its own uses, even those with what would seem like drawbacks to the untrained eye at a glance. The children must give back in return, and you will surely be doing a lot of giving from now on.

[serzhantkris]

Dance with the Devil- 9

Summary: When a new threat turns into something much bigger, Matt Murdock finds help in the form of a woman with a very different moral code, and struggles to choose between himself and the Devil. Matt Murdock x Reader // Past!Winter Soldier x Reader

Masterlist

Taglist Open.

Word count: 2141

Author's Note: So, I got stuck on how I wanted this chapter to go, but I finally powered through it and made some decisions, so I'm going to go ahead and move forward. I know it's been a while since I updated, like, any of my stories, but I want to make more of an effort to getting back to writing. The taglist for this story IS OPEN, but I will be cleaning out before too long so if you are already getting tagged and still wish to be, or if you would like to be added to the taglist, please let me know (DMs, Asks, comments, reblogs, however, I promise I'll see it)

Then

Blood drips steadily on the concrete. A leaky tap, it runs smoothly down your nose in tiny beads and splatters against the smooth surface. Erupting in little splotches, it leaves stains between where your shaking hands hold your weight off the ground. You stare at the bubbles of red, blinking the sweat out of your eyes. Some little girls find shapes in clouds: horses and faces and castles dancing across the sky. All you see is red splotches that might be knives and guns and rage burned into the floor. 

“Vstavat’.”

Blood rolls down the inside of your nose, kissing you as it rolls off your top lip. When it lands, it becomes a Cheburkov. 

“Seychas.”

Your arms are heavy as you push off the ground, feet finding purchase beneath you. Your boot slides against the ground, smearing the still wet blood as you rise to full height. There’s a cut on your knee that’s made its own bloody art on another patch of concrete, and your bruised knuckles ache when you’re finally standing and flexing your fingers. 

The Madame looks down her nose at you, predatory eyes scrutinizing your form as you wait for your next instruction. She was all sharp, jagged edges, and when she jerks her chin to the side, her chin is as threatening as a knife. You step aside, following her silent direction, and put yourself out of her line of sight. She stalks forward to the center of the room, eyeing your handiwork. The dull, lifeless thing at her feet had a name, but she prods at it with a toe and tuts under her breath as she gestures for the men to clean it up like she’s more disappointed about the bloodstains than the dead body. 

She turns back towards you while they’re dragging it out, her lips pressed in a fine line as she beckons you over. When you’re close, she reaches out and tucks a lock of hair behind your ear. 

“You are ready,” she says, in English, her accent thick as her tongue presses against her teeth. To the men, she says, “Bring him in.”

She turns back to you as the metal doors slide open, the shrieking of metal pounding against the inside of your skull. “You have proven yourself, little ptitsa,” she continues, placing her hand at the small of your back and guiding you towards the door. “Now that we have selected which girls will continue with the program-“ her voice is as sharp as her face, drawing the words out slowly, the meaning of her words not lost on you- “It is time you advanced in your training. And, lucky you, you will be the first to meet our new instructor. He’s, how you say, ‘on loan,’ from our friends at Hydra.”

The footsteps are heavy as a broad, imposing figure steps out of the darkness through the doors. He’s clad in tactical gear, heavy black boots stopping him just steps inside the door. A black vest constricts his torso, buckling over his chest to hold several knives against his body. His hair is kept long, a tangled mess at his ears and licking his shoulders. A black mask covers the bottom half of his face, and blue, cloudy eyes stare back at you as you drink him in. You have no time to recognize that he is evaluating you, counting the injuries dotting your body and analyzing the blood on your face and knee. You’re too enthralled by the sleek, silver metal of his left arm, too mesmerized by the way the light glints off of it to realize that he’s already calculating ways you need to improve.

“Here we are, ptitsa. Meet your new teacher. Hydra calls him ‘The Winter Soldier.’”

Now

“So, what you’re saying is we’re fucked, then.”

Any other time, Bucky would have laughed. He’d have let your sarcastic humor ease the anxiety he felt when faced with a difficult enemy, would have thrown back his own wise-ass comment or tried to lighten the mood, for your sake. But with a stranger standing three feet away, arms crossed as he leaned against the window to keep watch, he was on edge.

Bucky never liked strangers, and he definitely didn’t trust them, especially the ones who ran around in costumes and masks.

His eyes shifted from the masked Devil to you. You were crouched in front of the door, arms wrapped around your knees as you stared ahead, tracing shapes in the tile. The coffee shop would be opening in a few hours, and you were no closer to finding the man who’d attacked you.

“Taskmaster,” the Devil repeated Bucky’s revelation, the word tasting sour on his tongue. “He’s a super soldier? Like you?”

Bucky’s jaw clenched, and the Devil must have noticed his ire, because he held up a defensive hand. “No,” Bucky’s teeth ground at the back of his jaw and he shook his head. “He’s… different. He’s strong, and fast, sure- but he can do… Something. He can copy any technique he’s seen before. Mine. Yours.”

“Black Swan,” Matt finished, nodding along. Bucky’s gaze burned into him.

Matt had done a lot of reading over the years. He read the articles about Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes: how he had been wanted for allegedly killing the King of Wakanda, along with several other members of the United Nations, in a bombing. It was an event that inspired division in the Avengers. The facts and rumors were indistinguishable, but if there was one thing Matthew Murdock excelled at, it was telling the difference between the guilty and the innocent.

“He’s a mercenary,” Bucky said, shifting the gun strapped to his back. “Doesn’t care who he’s working for as long as he gets paid.”

“So, he’s not after them, exactly.” You frowned, tapping your fingers on your arms as you crossed one foot over the other. “Someone else is. Who?”

“Last time anyone saw him, he was working for Dreykov,” Bucky said. His lips drew into a fine line, and as his eyes slid away from the Devil and landed on your face, Matt felt Bucky’s heart rate tick.

Oh. Oh.

“But why?” Matt cleared his throat, and Bucky tore his eyes away from your face. “And what about the others? Petrova and Kalashnik? Drugova?”

Bucky held his breath, looking to you to answer. You didn’t look at the Devil. Matt listened, hard, but your heart beat as steady as if he’d asked for the time. It was odd, almost frightening, how well you could hide your emotions from him. He had never met anyone with so much control before.

Finally, your tongue pressed against the inside of your teeth, and you looked up at him as though trying to see through the red lenses on his mask. “They were Black Widows.”

Everything seemed to click into place at once. Petrova’s guns, how well she had fought for her life until it was taken. All of them coming to the Americas at the same time, the lack of information about their lives before then. Not just their lives, but yours.

The Devil turned his face toward you with purpose, and Bucky’s fingers twitched like he was ready to go for his gun.

“And you, you’re one of them.”

In a courtroom, accusations carry a certain tone. An intentional, poignant punctuation that demands attention to specific words, carries the meaning of questions not asked. Inflections meant everything; emphasis on one word or another could change the whole meaning of a phrase. It could mean the difference between you did this, you did this, you did this. 

Matt’s words carried none of this. He wasn’t here to place judgment. His job was not one of presenting a guilty verdict but one of evidence, and he did not have enough to stand on one side or another. He knew about Black Widows- one Black Widow. Natasha Romanov had made her file public, and Matt had read and read and read the things she had done, both good and bad. Sins of one Widow, however, were not the sins of them all, nor were their graces. 

“Not anymore. None of them were. They- we- just wanted to take back our lives.”

And sins were not Matt’s business to judge, either. What they were doing, in this kitchen, on the snowy streets, was beyond law. It was God’s jurisdiction to decide the fate of the Black Widows, of Black Swan. Of Daredevil. If you were telling the truth, then these women had rehabilitated themselves, not in the eyes of the law but perhaps indeed in the eyes of God, and though they may have never paid for their crimes in a legal sense, it wasn’t his- or Taskmaster’s- place to take their lives. One couldn’t stand trial after execution. 

Bucky was staring hard at Matt’s helmeted face, threatening him to make a move against their companion. His hand tightened around the rifle, but otherwise, he remained still, waiting. He would protect you if he had to. He would die if he had to. Matt was sure of that.

“So,” Matt said, tilting his head to listen as a car passed through a stoplight on the street. “Someone hired Taskmaster to kill ex-Black Widows. You said this.. Dreykov? He’s dead? Who was he?”

“The leader of the Widows,” you mumbled. Your eyes were trained firmly at the concrete between your feet, not looking at either of the men. Matt turned his face toward you for answers, but Bucky’s heartbeat betrayed his concern. It was clearly a touchy subject, but feelings mattered very little when lives were on the line. “He was our… Overseer. The Red Room was his dollhouse.”

Matt couldn’t suppress the recoil that shot through him at your choice of language. It sent a cold chill up his spine. “And you’re sure he’s dead?”

You were quiet for a long moment. Your heart faltered, just a fraction of a moment, and a sigh of defeat fell from your lips. “A building fell on him, and we scattered like myshi. He’s dead, and we’re just trying to rebuild.”

“A building fell on me once, too.” You blinked up at the Devil, brows tugged together in confusion. Bucky’s brow rose curiously. “I’m still standing, so maybe Dreykov is, too.”

“You think he’s out for revenge?”

“Makes sense,” Bucky added, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Maybe he felt betrayed. All his operatives gone, his only option becomes hiring somebody who can track them down. Make them pay for leaving him to die.”

Silence fell over the room- or, at least, as close to silence as can get for Matt. He could still make out the muffled sounds of the occasional car on the street, of racoons burrowing in the trash for warmth. Someone honked their horn two blocks east.

“How do we find Taskmaster? Or Dreykov?” Your gaze flickered between the men, searching for answers none of you had. “More importantly, how do we stop them before more Widows are killed?”

“Where was he when the building fell?”

Your eyes landed on the Devil, and even though you could only see the bottom of his face, contemplation sat heavy in his features. 

“From what I heard, he’d recreated the Red Room. I was-“ you paused, steadying your heart. The Devil’s lips pressed into a fine line, as though he could hear it. “Not present at the time. Budapest. He was in Budapest.”

“If I were Dreykov,” Bucky let go of the rifle, shifting uncomfortably. “I’d leave Russia. Get far away from wherever any Widows could find me.”

“So, that’s our plan? Find Dreykov before Taskmaster kills the rest of the Widows?” The cold air of the kitchen sent a shiver up your spine, and your hands wrapped around your biceps as you looked between the two men. “We don’t even know where to start.”

Bucky lifted his face to the ceiling, cursing under his breath. “We could try Shield.”

You and the Devil looked at him expectantly, but he closed his eyes as though praying to God there was another option, but one did not present itself as he pinched his nose between his fingers. “Shield has a file on both of them. But Fury is MIA, and they won’t hand that stuff over willingly. Not to us. And with Steve gone…”

The weight of Bucky’s implication was heavy in Matt’s gut. “You’re saying we go to the Shield headquarters, break into a high-tech, high-security building, steal classified documents from their database, fight our way out, and hope that we don’t become federal criminals?”

Bucky said nothing.

You let out a long sigh, shrugging the blanket to the floor and kicking it under a prep table. “Okay, but I need to change. This dress is absolutely ruined.”

Tags:

@hotleaf-juice @mcueveryday @nemtodd-barnes1923 @jurpng @you-bleed-just-toknowyouarealive @morganaah @julietweasley @simonsbluee @gothicxbarbie @dark-night-sky-99 @iknowrocknroll @madwitch7 @angelhxneyy @zer0luck @cheeseman

[gumnut-logic]

Thunderbird One shuddered as she slid into dock, her whole fuselage groaning as if in relief. As she relaxed, her airframe creaked, losing heat to the cool of the hangar and for a moment everything was still.

Scott let his shoulders loosen, his whole body slumping in his pilot’s chair. One by one, he uncurled his fingers from the controls, his joints stiff from holding them so tight.

His head dropped back against the headrest and his eyes closed.

God, damn.

Breath hissed between his teeth as he let it out as if he had been holding it in all afternoon.

It certainly felt like he had.

They couldn’t save everyone.

They couldn’t.

But god, how he tried.

He drew the breath back in and activated pilot retrieval. One’s main viewing hatch folded back and the platform extended out from the dock as his chair unfolded to meet it.

Even then it took him a long moment to move.

“Scott?” John startled him. “You okay?”

He drew his shoulders up, straightening automatically. “Perfectly fine, Thunderbird Five.”

There was a grunt from orbit. John didn’t believe him.

Scott was not surprised.

A sigh and he pushed himself out of his seat and onto the delivery platform, forcing the correct stance so he didn’t abruptly end his career on the concrete floor far below.

Machinery that had no concept of emotional state hummed smoothly and retrieved him back to solid ground. He took the last step.

Scott stared at his elevator for a solid minute before turning to the stairs and taking them instead.

He needed to move. Needed start his heart beating again. Needed to rescue himself from that vast hole that was sucking him down into its depths. That same empty hole those dead eyes had lured him to once the boy’s life had fluttered away and…

He closed his eyes and rubbed his face with a gloved hand.

It was always the eyes that got him.

These ones had been brown, somewhere between Virgil’s and Gordon’s and…oh god.

Move.

He threw himself up the stairs. Fortunately, there was a lot of them and they made his body work hard. By the time he made it to the locker room, he was panting.

His own breath was harsh in his ears and had a helplessness to it he didn’t want to acknowledge.

He shed uniform. His gloves hit the bench, followed by his baldric, his boots skidding across the floor. Struggling not to think, he unzipped his flight suit and shed the thick material, barely acknowledging the cool air as it hit the bare skin of his arms.

Another moment and he flung off his undershirt and shorts and padded over to a shower cubicle naked as the day he was born.

Goose pimples raised on his arms.

The shower was as hot as he could get it. But not hot enough to wash away the bruises he had no doubt Virgil would be targeting the moment he laid eyes on his eldest brother.

Scott’s sigh couldn’t be heard above the water spray.

Body scrubbed clean…ever so clean…red raw in places…the Commander of International Rescue stood under the steaming shower and closed his eyes.

You can’t save everyone.

It was his father’s voice. The same voice that came to him in all difficult moments. Grey eyes, reassuring smile and a strength Scott wished daily that he had. Jeff Tracy was a legend, bigger than life. Jeff Tracy was his father.

Jeff Tracy was a voice that guided him, that saved him, held him tight and prevented him from falling into that pit of despair that sometimes just loomed.

He turned the water off and let the remains drip off his body.

His left thigh was turning an ugly purple.

Damn.

Another sigh and he pushed aside the cubicle door and grabbed a towel.

It was big, extra fluffy, sky blue and all Virgil’s idea. He could still see his brother making his case for luxury towels in the locker room where they were needed. Mental health, he claimed.

Scott, Air Force to the core, had used abrasive cardboard squares masquerading as towels enough times to acknowledge the difference and how right his little brother was. It wasn’t a luxury; it was a necessity.

Scott buried his face in deep cotton as the cool air wrapped around him. Another moment and he was rubbing himself dry, his thigh, left ribcage and arm complained. The ache was creeping up on him. He hadn’t really noticed other than the sharp collision when he had initially fallen.

But he hadn’t had time. Arms full of dying rescuee with a building on its way down…he did what he had to do.

Still, it hadn’t been enough.

First John and then Virgil yelling at him over comms. He was fine. The teenage boy was dead, but Scott Tracy was fine.

Just fine.

He scrubbed his hair dry, trying his best to ignore the fact his left arm hated being lifted above his shoulders.

Hair hung in his eyes and he brushed it aside, irritably.

Somewhere outside the rock walls of the locker room a familiar roar swelled and he knew Thunderbird Two and his three brothers were moments away from invading this quiet space.

Scott straightened. It was inevitable. Virgil would not let him escape again, but there might be a few more minutes alone if he got his shit together.

One of the advantages of flying the fast ‘bird. First dibs at the showers and that moment to gather himself before his brothers cornered him.

Digging through his locker, he found some underwear, loose pants and an old t-shirt. His usual casual wear beckoned, but even he knew he wasn’t fit to go out again, even if Virgil hadn’t grounded him yet.

He wasn’t stupid.

Tomorrow, yes. Today? He needed a stiff drink and time to himself.

So that is exactly what he did. Detouring to the drinks cabinet, he nabbed himself a bottle of scotch and two tumblers. Two, because he was a realist.

Hair still a damp mess, he skipped up to his rooms, grabbed his tablet, and hid on his own private balcony. From here, he could see the Island, the villa below and the sky to the south. Mateo had birds hovering over it like it always did in the early evening as the day started winding down.

His eyes randomly tracked a lone bird, different from the others, coasting past high above the Island.

He threw himself into an overly plush lounger. Again, a sky blue and Virgil-instigated. Scott had returned from a mission several years ago to find it sitting on his balcony. Not a word had been said, but he knew it was Virgil. Just like the towels, it wasn’t extravagance, it was mental health and Scott had to admit to curling up in the contraption on many an occasion since.

The tablet, bottle of whisky and tumblers landed with a thud on the wooden table beside it.

His body creaked as he folded into the chair and he was reminded that he would likely have a medic brother on his ass sometime soon.

He lay back and closed his eyes and forced every to muscle relax.

And tried to ignore the eyes etched into his mind.

Only to be startled awake as someone loomed over him.

“Hey, hey, it’s only me.” Familiar, soft baritone and deep brown eyes, Virgil was crouched down beside him. His brother’s hair was still curly damp from the shower and he was frowning…at the bruises on Scott’s arm. “Just chasing you up after that fall.”

Scott shifted on the lounger and his whole body protested. Damnit. “I’m fine, Virgil.”

“I’ll decide that.” That prompted the ghastly yellow scanner light to flicker across his body.

“Virgil!”

His brother’s lips thinned to a line as he read the scanner’s readout. “You’re off rota at least twenty-four hours, possibly more.”

“I know that.”

“I’ll note that against your diagnosis of ‘fine’.”

Scott glared at his brother.

Virgil rolled back on his heels, eyes assessing in that damned medical way of his.

“Virgil, I’m okay. A few bruises. I’ll live. Stop worrying.” He hated being the source of anxiety.

Still, his brother stared, his frown emphasizing that scar between his eyebrows.

“What?!”

Virgil’s eyes didn’t waver. “Sit up.”

“Why?”

“Scott…”

Fine. He pushed himself up out of the lounger and sat on its side, frustrated as all hell as to why his brother was being such a pain.

Virgil rolled onto his knees and before Scott could do anything, he found himself wrapped in a massive hug.

His brother’s arms, ever so strong, built for heavy lifting, held him tight, but gently, Virgil’s damp hair brushing his cheek as his head rested on Scott’s shoulder.

Startled, it took Scott a blink to return the gesture, his longer arms flailing for just that moment of surprise before curling around red flannel. “Virgil? You okay?”

His brother’s only answer was to tighten his hold a little more.

Scott frowned, unsure what the hell was going on, but Virgil didn’t let go and Scott could only stay tensed up for so long before he was forced to relax into his brother’s embrace.

“What are you doing?” It was asked against flannel and his own breath was warm against his lips.

Virgil still didn’t answer, but one large hand crept onto the back of Scott’s head, fingers stroking hair.

What?

But somehow the question never made it to his lips. Somehow, his body began to melt, each muscle falling limp, those strong arms taking the place of the tension in his body.

Fingers carded through his hair.

“Virg…” But it was little more than breath and he found himself blinking rapidly.

No.

Still, Virgil didn’t stop. Scott could feel his brother’s steady pulse, thrumming against his neck, his chest moving with each breath.

Scott closed his eyes.

Ever so warm.

He could have struggled, fought, pushed his brother away. But…

Brown eyes vacant and hollow. The image had him flinching and the arms around him reacted, shifting just a little. His brother’s baritone rumbled a reassurance he didn’t quite hear.

But still Virgil held him.

Held him.

Scott had no resistance left.

That baritone rumbled again and his brother’s free hand began stroking his back.

Nonsense words. His brother was spouting nonsense words.

But Scott’s eyes were closed and his body spent. He wilted into his brother’s arms and found himself breaking on the inside.

Vacant, hollow eyes.

So young.

So like a little brother.

Scott scrunched up his face, fighting his own reaction. But Virgil was still rumbling, still stroking his hair.

A single tear escaped to dampen red flannel.

No.

No.

He let the wave of grief wash over him, but refused to react, waiting for it to wane away.

His heart beat too fast and it left him exhausted.

And still Virgil held him.

He lost time for a bit there. Eyes closed. Warm flannel. His brother’s voice. A small part of him resisted it. Virgil was a little brother despite their closeness in age. Scott should be the comforter, always…

But the little boy who had lost his mom, the young man who had lost his dad…the commander who lost a young teenager in his arms today…took that moment, grabbing it like a life line and accepting what his brother was trying to give him.

He sat there, he didn’t know how long, just existing, warm and safe.

Perhaps he would have fallen asleep right there in his brother’s arms, whether he would be embarrassed to admit it or not, but there were bruises and aches and eventually he was forced to gently pull away.

Warm brown eyes peered up at him, still worried. Virgil’s hand was on Scott’s knee as if he didn’t want to let go.

“Thanks, Virg.”

That hand squeezed his knee in acknowledgement. “Lie down and get some rest.” His little brother stood up and walked out of sight a moment, only to return hauling another lounger, this one in a deep green. “John’s coming down in the morning. We can debrief then.” Virgil grunted as he put the lounge down. “Grandma has an eye on Gordon and Alan, but the Fish has a new Buddy and Ellie series and Alan is hip deep in that latest game of his. I think they’re good.” He threw himself onto the lounge and the structure creaked under his weight. He lay back, crossed his feet at his ankles and closed his eyes. Virgil was obviously here for the long haul.

Scott wasn’t surprised.

The scanner lay discarded on the table.

A sigh and he lay back just like his brother. The sky was beginning to pink in the east, the echoes of a sunset he couldn’t see lighting up Mateo.

He felt far more relaxed than he had earlier. A tension had been eased, while not entirely, that would take time, lessened considerably.

He eyed his medic brother. The man looked like he was going to fall asleep. The sight of him had Scott yawning.

Damn him.

But it was thought with fondness and with a sudden urge to reach out and hug his brother again.

“Go to sleep, Scott.”

Virgil didn’t even bother to open his eyes.

Scott sighed and looked back up at the sky. It had been a shit day. Not the first. Probably not the last. Vacant eyes still haunted him and probably would for some time, but a pair of rich, brown eyes full of life and not a little love had somehow managed to take the edge off. His brother had filled that cold vacuum of a hole with warmth.

Virgil began to snore and Scott was forced to smile.

The snoring was probably fake, but it was lulling nonetheless. Safe and home.

Loved.

Scott closed his eyes.

And let himself drift away.

-o-o-o-

[imjustabitodd]

"If I were a zombie I'd never eat your brain"

(some gore ig. Not too much or graphic)

"CRUNCH"

You close your eyes as your metal bat hits the skull of a zombie and blood splatters on your face. the undead falling to the broken concrete ground, blood trickling down into the cracks.

Raising your bat to the sky you hit the body again to make sure it's actually finished off. You've had too many experiences where you'd leave after a hit and they'd surprise attack you.

Hearing the ribs make a pop and crunch, you're sure it's dead.. the already mangled corpse laying there unmoving, some of its ribs poking out of the horribly smelling flesh that's been rotten already and the concrete floor now covered in blood. You heave a sigh of relief, thankful for the lack of noise it made.

Catching your breath you start walking back to your hiding spot passing by the usual dull colours and broken buildings. A thick smog making your vision limited on the path ahead, the only thing guiding you being your muscle memory.

As you see the rubble you call "home" you run towards it quickly getting in. Counting the rashons you got from the outside in the wasteland.

*bread

*a few water bottles

*a can of mysterious origin

Sighing you put it down. It would last you only for a day, meaning tomorrow you'll have to go out again.. you curse yourself for not joining your friends back when this whole mess started, you could have had so much more than this.

The sun starts to dip and the moon arrives, the sky going from a beautiful orange to black with white sparkles through. laying down on the makeshift comfortable you close your eyes. not worried about the undead finding you, you found out long ago that they lack a few chromosomes and only go after what they see at the moment.

A peaceful sleep graced you with its presence, a dream of long years passed of before the apocalypse happened, playing on your phone and out with friends.. that phone long since useless since the apocalypse started since most companies shut down. And you have no idea if the electricity would still work.

Waking up when you heard gurgling and pounding on the concrete of your "home" quickly grabbing the metal bat at the corner you prepare to kill the thing that disrupted your sleep. The metal bat being dented and a bit rusted only shows it's use and it's body count.

Opening the door you raise the bat and strike it, hearing a "squish" when you hit it making you cringe, it falls down with a wet thud. Another day another death you guess. And you need more rashons, yesterday in the middle of getting them you were ambushed.

You start walking down the street, the only sound being the thuds of you boot against the sidewalk. Even though today doesn't have any smoke or smog it isn't any less depressing, ruined buildings, cars crashed and ransacked for anything of value. Old posters withered away with time.

You got some rashons and even found a spare shirt lying around, although it'll need a cleaning since you don't know who or what wore it but it's something!

You start walking home, stopping every few minutes to hear if you're being followed but it came out empty, today was rather calm excluding the morning encounter.

As you got closer you heard gurgling, preparing your bat you turn towards the noise, it's one of the undead but tied up to a pole.. they weren't here this morning. Walking to it you prepare to strike it, clearly whoever left it there instead of killing it off was stupid.

The zombie had deathly pale skin that seemed to have been rotting for quite some time since the flesh that's supposed to be on their cheek was rotted away showing the bone of their jaw and teeth, faded hair,dimmed face, patches of skin gone and ragged clothes

As you lifted your bat it flinched away ..

You freeze, this one is sentient..? Every time they take each hit without a care, or without braincells. But this one looked away..

"if you understand me gurgle and if you don't uh.. attack I guess"

The undead person looks at you in a way that makes your stomach turn, or maybe it's just the smell if the corpse, you don't know. But either way it starts to gurgle at you.

"alright, shit stop that it's gross"

It goes deathly quiet real quick after you say that... Now what do you do? You can leave it as it is, probably getting murdered, let it free and get murdered as well or end it's misery right here and now...

You don't have the heart in you to kill it after it showed it can understand you. Maybe you can get some well needed social interaction after years of not having it.

Going behind the metal pole of the light post you untie the rope that was in a tight knot, it seemed like the person had not idea how to tie anything and just did whatever worked, which was affective because your fingers hurt by the end of it.

"there, you're free, now shoo"

the zombie turned to you, didn't attack or anything just.. stared.

"uh, I said shoo!"

They didn't move..

You decide to walk away from them but they followed, every few steps you would reprimand them, it felt like a dog was following you back home even after telling it to stop or tricking it.

..

..

Great what now?