#i am using all my willpower to stay standing and not bash my head against the wall no i cannot show you to the cereal aisle sorry

[smalleevee]

it's cool how one day i can have a headache so bad it makes me puke and then i still have to wake up and go to work the next morning

[op-peccatori]

In Hushed Whispers | MLQC Victor

Fandom: Mr Love: Queen’s Choice

Pairing: Victor/Reader

Rating: 18+/Explicit/NSFW

Word Count: 5k

Summary: It started out as a mission, as a wicked game–and then things spiralled out of your control. With a past shrouded in darkness and a need to protect him, will you be strong enough to step into the light?

A/N: I’ve been daydreaming about a Black Swan!MC concept for so long and finally found the willpower write something for it. This was was supposed to be a lot cooler and hateful, but I’m not cool and it’s Victor XD MC’s a producer, but that’s more of a cover, or a surface job. 

the title is a quest from DA: Inquisition! I don’t own it, or any of the characters from Mr Love: Queen’s Choice.

(warnings/tags below the cut)

warnings/tags: explicit sexual content, explicit language (mild), Black Swan!Reader, vaginal sex, oral sex, semi?-public sex, the answer is yes, goodbye black swan cuz that D is too good, too much talking (imo) during sex, slight spoilers for chapters 12-13? (and onwards)

It's clear enough to those look closely.

There was an undercurrent of tension in your interactions, in every traded look, in the eyes that tracked each other through the crowds around them. You can see the inquisitive looks they shoot your way, curious and envious, and you can't control the slight quirk of your lips.

You know what they’re probably thinking. They’re not wrong, but they aren’t quite right.

Even as you mingle with the crowd, greeting the elite of Loveland City with a bashful smile fixed in place, you can feel his gaze boring into the back of your head. For someone with such an impeccable poker face, he really isn't all that subtle.

'Or maybe it's just me.'

You barely stifle a grin at the thought, brushing back soft curls before glancing back over your shoulder once more. He stands there, just barely keeping up with the conversation taking place around him, his eyes smoky with discomfort and temper. A sly smile from you prompts him to finally tear his gaze away, and you turn back to the elder couple who had stopped you for a chat. They’ve been watching you watch him curiously, but they only smile knowingly when you give them your full attention.

"Father always spoke very highly of you, Mrs Waldorf," you recall fondly, the wistful twist of your mouth genuine. "He also said Mr Waldorf was quite lucky you found his attempts at poetry endearing."

"That brat was the one who helped me with them!" The mock offence in the elderly man’s tone had all three of you chuckling. You feel the weight of his gaze on you once more, and a flicker of wicked thrill unfurls in you. This conversation, with people who had so clearly been fond of your late father, isn't a forced one, and your smile is far from strained as you excuse yourself from it.

Your dress, sleek and sequined, sways around your legs as you work the room, avoiding people you're not quite in the mood to interact with, and him. It's not as if that you're afraid to face him, because that would be ridiculous; it's just that the thought of looking into those eyes would require acknowledging everything reflected in them.

Victor has never been one to shy away from confrontations, though, and although you have been expecting it with anticipation bubbling in your throat, your confident stride still falters when he steps into your path.

There’s a clear pause, a slight shift in the air between you as you drink in the sight of him up close. The strong lines of his well-built shoulders, enhanced by his perfectly tailored suit, the all too familiar patrician features set in smooth lines; the tie you had picked out for him yourself.

You hadn’t quite expected the way your breath catches in your throat.

"May I have this dance?" The deep timbre of his voice dissolves any protests you could muster up. You can’t say no, not without raising brows all around the room. You take his proffered hand with a faint smile, allowing him to lead you to the dance floor, all too aware of the people watching you.

There are mostly couples dancing here, you note, trying to keep your mind off the warmth of his hand as it settles on your waist, guiding you into a simple waltz. He's closer than is polite, familiarity and ease clear in his body language.

"Don't you think people might get the wrong idea?" you whisper, glancing up at him as he looks around, seeming to finally notice the others twirling and twisting across the marble.

Victor’s tightening grip on your waist is answer enough. The cut-outs on the waistline of your dress don't seem as cute now, with his thumb stroking your soft skin instinctively. 

"You're being reckless." You don't keep the sharpness out of your voice as a frisson of unease begins to build in your chest. If anything, you'd thought he would do the smart thing and do his best to avoid you tonight.

"I didn't think I'd see you here tonight," Victor finally says, his expression clear and eyes glinting with danger.

"Anna couldn't make it." You shrug lightly; it's true enough, as the older woman had called you with sighed apologies and a lot of crying in the background. One of her kids was sick, and her wife was caught up with other work. "Why, aren't you happy to see me?"

His mouth purses at the feigned hurt in your voice, and he tugs you closer. You ignore the thrilled shivers racing up your spine as he leans in.

"Let me rephrase–I didn't think I'd see you ever again."

Your lips curl into something that almost resembles a smile. "Careful, there. It almost sounds like you didn't want to see me again," you tease, smirking at the way he pulls back to glower at you.

"So you are capable of logical reasoning. And yet, here you are."

"Here I am," you agree. You fall into an easy sort of synchronization, spinning around the floor with effortless grace. This isn’t your first time dancing with him, but it still makes your heart thrum with delight. "It's your own fault. You make it so hard to stay away."

He doesn't roll his eyes the way you know he wants to, his hand flexing around yours the only hint of his agitation, and your eyes dance wickedly at it. If you'd been alone, you have no doubt he would have you pinned against a wall by now.

"Your actions say otherwise," he mutters, drawing you away from the filthy route your mind had taken. "You just-" He cuts himself off, clearly unwilling to say more. But you know what he would have said, and you're irritated by the way your heart lurches painfully in your chest.  

"I thought you needed time to process everything," you murmur, taking in the way his shoulders tense further. "To think things through." All the lies, manipulations and secrets. You remember his expression clearly, and how quiet he'd gone that night. Really, it’s a wonder he’s even speaking to you.

"There's nothing to think about. I've already declined the offer," Victor informs you frostily. You make sure to knit your brows at his words, forcing your lips into a strained smile. It's a nice touch, you think.

"It's an open one, there’s no expiration date. We're quite generous, don't you think?" You wonder if the words sound as bitter as they taste in your tongue. Generous is not the word you would use to describe yourself or your 'friends.' While it’s true that they’re reluctant to kill him because of his EVOL and influence, the option isn’t completely off the table, much to your personal displeasure.

"Quite generous. I'm afraid it's still a waste of your time, though. I won't be changing my mind." The firmness in his tone leaves little room for doubt, and you know he means it. But the people you work for haven't spent hours in his company, studying him, touching him, working with him, shivering at the things he whispered in their ears. They don't know how infuriatingly stubborn he is, and how deeply you admire him for it.

But what crawls from your heart and into your veins isn’t admiration, and it’s on that note that you decide you’ve put on enough of a show.

You slip your palm from his grip, stepping away from him as the progressively lighter notes of the song fade and your dance comes to an end. "Well, then, I think we're done here for now. I'll see you around, Mr CEO." Your smile feels syrupy in how sickeningly sweet it is, contrasting greatly with the yearning that twists your insides, demanding that you do whatever it takes to feel his touch once more.

With a quick wink, you spin on your heel and walk away, grabbing a flute of sparkling champagne off a passing waiter as you go.

‘That should be good enough to keep them off my back.’

You wait until you've exited the ballroom to drain the glass completely, leaving it on a table outside. You don’t think, sweeping past random corners until you're in a deserted hallway, the sound of your heart thumping madly blocking out most sounds, even of your heels clicking against the marble floor sharply.

Still, you hear the heavy footsteps as they grow closer, echoing in the empty halls. You're not surprised when a hand seizes your wrist, jerking you around to face the perpetrator. You glare at Victor even through the elated satisfaction coursing through you.

"We're not done." You should be more discomfited by his fury; instead, as it often does in his presence, a certain kind of hunger pools in your belly. His grip is unyielding, his determination even more so.

It makes you want to purr.

"Oh, I’m sorry. Did you have more to say?" you ask casually, eyes wide and breath hitching when he squeezes your wrist tighter. His steps closer in response, moving into your space and prompting you to back up until your back hits the wall. Your senses are overwhelmed by the scent of his cologne, his warm breath tinged with alcohol, growing heavier as he struggles with his words. The space between you is negligible and all the confidence you'd adorned yourself with before coming here seems to have fallen somewhere.

“A thing or two, yeah.”

Victor tugs at your wrist, pulling it up to press it into the wall above your head, his touch gentler as his thumb rubs the skin over your racing pulse. He takes your other hand in his free one, pressing his lips to your wrist as you watch, skin tingling pleasantly. He pushes it to join its captive counterpart, pressing them into the wall with one hand while the other comes to rest on your hip.

"For someone so prone to running, you seem to be doing rather well in this position," Victor murmurs, lips hovering over your ear as you try to maintain control over your expression. He has you trapped, and you've never felt more on edge and desperately turned on.

"You make an enticing captor." He's got you, but you could get out of this position if you really tried. That makes you think he's not really trying. Does he have more questions? You can't think of any you would want to answer here, where anybody could stumble across you, which begs the question: what does he want?

Victor's lips press into the skin behind your ear and your stomach tenses.

"That didn't stop you the last time." He traces the shell of your ear with the tip of his tongue, his nose brushing your temple as he inhales deeply. “You vanished into thin air.”

"For someone who doesn't want anything to do with us, you sure seem to be complaining about being left alone a lot," you taunt. But you deflate when he doesn't rise to the bait, only pulling back slightly to observe you. You’re close enough to count every single one of his thick lashes, to see the tiny mole on his right earlobe. There is none of the hate you've been expecting, not a hint of the fury you'd glimpsed earlier. It leaves you scrambling because you don't know what to expect now.

"I don't want anything to do with them," he agrees, pressing his forehead to yours. Something in your chest trembles at the action and you feel so raw, so vulnerable, you don’t know what to do with it. "I never said anything about you."

"I-if you refuse them, you refuse me." His lips brush yours and you realize he doesn't have to use force to keep you here after all. "We're kind of a package deal."

"Are you?" Uncertainty sprouts in your mind at the way he smirks, as if your words amused him. "It didn't seem like it when we were together."

You can't bring yourself to respond; you begin to struggle against his grip, but he pushes his hips into yours, pinning you in place. He’s too close, and it’s messing with your head. It would be so easy to just give in, to sink into him and let him in. You want it so badly it frightens you.

"In fact, it almost seemed like you were happy to forget all about them. Isn't that why you never even attempted to convince me to join them?"

Them, them, them. But he was right. You had known, within a few weeks of your acquaintance, that Victor would never join Black Swan. You had convinced yourself that growing closer to him was the smart thing to do. It was the classic seduction. He's stubborn, but he's loyal.

It's just that once you got a taste of it, you wanted to keep that loyalty for yourself and not share it with anybody else, least of all your charming colleagues. Your greed had won out over everything; with every meal he cooked you, with every scathing word followed by encouragement, with every warm kissed pressed to your fingertips and the arches of your feet–you were in too deep, and you still are, and you’re still fucked.

It had been a happy dream while it lasted, but you had to come back to reality eventually. Could you really give everything up for this man?

The answer scares you, it’s implications terrifying and Artemis was right, you are an idiot. 

"Do you understand now?" he whispers, lips dragging along the length of your jaw, your eyelids fluttering at the way he nips at your skin.

"I do." It tastes like defeat, like something broke and you're choking on the pieces, but you get it out. For him, you’ll swallow every bitter piece. It's not the pleasant realization they write about in books. "I'll...I'll let them know your answer won't be changing."

He pauses. "And?"

"And I'll stay away. I won't bother you again." The words are said so quietly you wonder if he even heard them, something in you wilting as you say them; you get your answer when Victor begins to laugh–at least that’s what you think he does. Now this, this strikes fear in your heart because it's not the startled laughter you pull out with silly words, no. This is a breathy sound edged with jagged fury–it's caustic and you feel his chest vibrate with it as he nearly collapses against you, chuckling like you've said something stupid and for once, he doesn't find it cute.

"Stay away? y/n," he stops laughing abruptly and bares his teeth at you in a very unsettling attempt at a smile, "you're a fool if you think I'm letting you walk away from me tonight."

For a moment, there's a strange buzzing in your mind. Your emotions pull you in different directions. A part of you wants to rip into him, to make him bleed and show him what you do to people who threaten you. Another, bigger, part of you wants to moan and plaster yourself to his side and beg him to say that again.

All you really do is stare at him, speechless.

"And they're fools if they think they can take you away from me," Victor adds, and crashes his mouth against yours, hungry and careless with it. Once again, in a concerning trend, any resistance you wanted to play at dissolves. It’s not gentle. You squirm against his grip on your wrists, trembling with the need to run your fingers through his dark hair and hold him against you. You moan when his tongue brushes yours, wiggling until you feel and hear the amused sound in the back of his throat before he releases you.

It's easy to twist and manoeuvre your bodies until you're pressing him into the wall, rising on the tips of your toes to lick into his mouth fervently, reacquainting yourself with the taste of his tongue.

It's a little too easy to lose yourself in his touch, to let everything else fade and fill your senses with just him.

His hands smooth down your back to cup the swell of your ass, pulling you flush against him. Almost every inch of him is pressed against you and you’re starving, with a terrible ache that weeps for him, and a part of you curses him for ruining you. Your blunt fingernails curl into his hair, digging into his scalp, and you will never get enough of the little groan he lets out.

Your hands rove across his torso greedily, your teeth sink into his lip and your breath stutters when you feel his hardness pressing against your stomach.

You freeze, shaken by how completely you lost your composure, and with the way Victor seems to be smirking you know he’s thinking along the same lines. His tousled hair and blown out pupils are an effective deterrent against the part of you that thinks this is a terrible idea; your hair is wilder than it had been before Victor got his hands in it, your lipstick smeared over your mouth and his.

“Come home with me, y/n.”

A tempting offer. You glance behind you, peering down the dark hallway. You don’t think this fear will ever leave you completely, of looking into the darkness and wondering who’s watching you from within.

You know what happens to those who stray. Helios is the greatest example of it, and you firmly steer your thoughts away from that particular pit.

“I took a different route. They didn’t see me," he nuzzles the juncture of your neck before sinking his teeth into soft skin.

You're mortified by your startled yelp, and can't help but look back again reflexively. “They're not here. I wouldn't put you in that position."

You snort, but the effect is ruined by the soft moan you let out when he soothes the stinging skin with his tongue. "I didn't think you cared."

“Wouldn’t be the first time you were wrong,” he retorts, not missing a beat, his fingers massaging the base of your scalp while the other draws nonsensical patterns on your waist. Although you know he meant what he said, with how handsy he’s being it’s clear Victor’s going to be difficult about this; he wants you in his bed tonight.

'And many other nights, apparently.'

You’re more than a little unnerved by the sheer warmth that sends through you.

“Is it just the sex?” you ask carefully, locking eyes with him, battling with the urge to blush at the way he’s looking at you.

“No.” He doesn’t even pretend to think about it, doesn’t consider anything other than the simple truth. He doesn’t say another word, but his eyes were always his most expressive feature–along with his hands. 

You nod slowly, because as delightful as that is, you’re not ready to dig deeper. Into his feelings or yours. And you have no idea what to do here; you've lost control over your own actions. You know what the smart thing to do would be–but that would result in losing Victor. For good. There is no part of you that finds that acceptable.

Or you could continue the mission. Get close to him. Keep trying to convince him. It’s unlikely he’ll change his mind about that but it’ll give you time.

“This is a terrible idea,” you say anyway, because you should at least try to put a stop to it. You can’t believe you’re trying to be the sensible one in a situation that involves Victor Li.

He flicks his tongue against your bottom lip, swift and teasing. “I don’t give a fuck.”

‘Seriously, who seduced who here?’

You lace your fingers through his, stepping away and pulling him along hurriedly. It would be best to continue this in the bedroom, for now. Just for tonight, you'll do what he wants. You'll do the smart thing later.

But, as is apparently the recent trend in your life, your plans don’t quite work out.

It wasn’t your fault, as your teasing was mostly innocent while Victor drove at uncharacteristic speeds. Just a squeeze of his thigh, a few careless whispers of how much you had really missed him. Hiking your dress up and letting out a loud mewl when he cupped your clothed sex possessively.

You end up in an empty parking lot near his building; with his suit jacket thrown onto the back seat, you sprawled over it, your mouths meeting frantically as he pushes the hem of your dress up until it bunches up over your waist. He shifts back, opening the door and stepping one leg out, the other folding on the floor of the car.

The cool breeze has goosebumps erupting all over your skin; you shiver from it, and the way the moonlight highlights his dark hair and torrid gaze. 

Warm hands curl around the back of your thighs, pulling you closer to the edge of the seat, and you let one foot drop to rest on the floor as he watches in approval. The other is pushed up into your chest, leaving you spread shamelessly for his consumption.

Control was never really an option, you had realised sometime when his hands had slipped beneath the edge of your dress to rub your cunt through your soaked panties, which now hang precariously from one ankle. He knows where to touch you, and you know it’s only been a few months, but it still brings a stinging feeling to the back of your eyes.

You’re desperate to feel his mouth on you, to work you open with his talented tongue; his lips find the tender skin of your inner thighs instead, kissing and sucking blushing tokens of his affection across them. You twitch and moan as he fixates on this, his possessiveness clear in his actions, and a distant part of your mind thinks it’s not going to be as easy as giving yourselves this one night.

Its voice is suppressed by a long, languorous lick along your slit.

‘Oh-‘

“Fuck.” Your back arches as he presses the flat of his tongue against your clit and a steady hand on your folded knee pushes you back down. He laps at you with a zeal he only ever displays when his head is between your thighs, his mouth slurping every drop of your arousal, and you writhe beneath his touch, failing to suppress your moans.

A hand reaches for the edge of the seat, clutching it for dear life, while the other slides into his silken hair as you rock your hips into his mouth with an urgency that takes over every part of your brain.

He works you closer to it, swirling his tongue around your swollen nub; your gaze is unfocused, all you need is to reach the edge, and if he groans like that again you might just come-

A pitiful whine escapes you as he pulls back, his smirking mouth glistening with your arousal you tug at his hair insistently. Your angry motions still when he reaches for the buckle of his belt, sliding the accessory out of the loops.

Before he can even think about tying you up, you snatch it out of his hands and throw it behind you. It hits the door with a sharp clack that sounds jarring in the silence of the car and its surroundings.

He climbs over you carefully, keeping one foot on the floor of the car while the other leg comes to rest on the seat. It’s a tight fit, and you could giggle at how he moves around so cautiously to avoid bumping his head on the ceiling. He reaches for his zipper and your amusement flees quickly as you reach out and shoo his hands away eagerly.

Your teeth dig into the pale expanse of his neck as you pull his straining cock out, wrapping a hand around its base, pumping it slowly; he doesn’t even attempt to control the mouth-watering groans escaping his mouth, his hands braced against the seat on either side of your head.

Stopping was never really an option either, you acknowledge, as you tease your slit with the swollen head of his cock, your lips parting with anticipation. His shirt is unbuttoned halfway, tie hanging loose, marks peppered over his chest, his dark hair in disarray.

You try to maintain the eye contact as you guide his cock through your entrance, engulfing it with your heat, walls clenching around him as your head tips back involuntarily. It’s one of the best sensations in the world–feeling Victor’s cock push through your tight cunt, and you wouldn’t give him up for any power in the world.

Victor leans in, slotting his mouth over yours, a hand urging your knees up while the other tugs the straps of your dress down, baring your breasts. His hand, warm and trembling ever so slightly as he bottoms out, cups your breast gently, thumb stroking over a taut nipple.

As you try to get him to move, he stops you, keeping you still as his fingers dig into your skin.

“V-Victor?” You wiggle your hips and he squeezes your breast firmly, as if warning you to cease your attempts. “Wha-“

He shushes you quickly again, pressing his forehead to your shoulder; you’re quite annoyed for just a second and then you notice the tension coiled in his muscles as he tries to keep his bearings; he moves his hand from your skin to the headrest, knuckles white from his right grip, to keep from drilling into you violently and ending this quickly.

You card your fingers through his hair before tugging on it, until he lifts his head so you can kiss him sloppily. He relaxes as you wrap your arms around him, holding him close for a moment as you place one last kiss on the corner of his mouth, nuzzling his cheek soothingly.

“There were moments,” Victor begins, hoarsely and slowly, “when I thought I would never get to feel this again.”

He presses his lips to your forehead. 

“It was foolish, because I knew you would come to me eventually. But I was forced to acknowledge that there was a chance that my rejection had...consequences I would rather not think of.” He looks down at you, a tiny smile dancing along his lips. “So, please, y/n–” Don’t leave. Don’t run. Stay.

You still, meeting his gaze, pained and unwavering in it–and it hurts. It hurts so deeply you can’t breathe for a moment, because he’s letting his guard down and letting you see how much you hurt him. All those games, all those moments spent cursing yourself for falling so hard–it was real for you, but it was real for him too. And maybe he’d known who you were from the start, or maybe he hadn’t; your mission had hit a roadblock once he found out, and you’d taken that chance to disappear, to pretend you were reevaluating things. You thought the distance would do your aching heart some good while BS decided whether further pursual was required.

You’d never thought, even for a moment, that he would want you to stay.

Victor doesn’t resist when you push him back, watching as you slip out of your dress and drape it over the front seat, until he’s sitting with you in his lap, holding on to you as you reach for his cock and sink down over it. With your hands braced against his chest, you begin a slow grind against his pelvis. Your lips twitch with the urge to smile at Victor's near blissful expression, his hands stroking along your waist and thighs fervently.

You can't help but lean over him, one hand coming to rest on the seat, smiling slightly at the way his lips part as you lift your hips and drop down, repeating the motions languidly. You press a kiss to his cheek, and another, repeating the action all over his face until he catches you in a kiss that has your heart throbbing harder.

"I'm sorry," you whisper. He looks at you through half-lidded eyes, a flush riding high across his cheeks. You clench your walls around him and his hips buck involuntarily, prompting a quick glare from him. “I never meant t-to leave like that.”

"Or take your sweet time to come out of hiding?" he mutters, and you laugh shakily, kissing the top of his head. “Ah-don’t laugh. I couldn’t find you anywhere.”

“I’m good at hiding,” you quip with a breathless smile, rocking your hips faster, now determined to see him in pieces underneath you. His hands hold onto your hips just as you get into it, keeping you from moving faster, and you nearly hiss at him in your frustration.

"Just don’t hide from me.” His eyes glitter dangerously, daring you to argue.

"Don’t give me a reason to,” you snap, only for your scowl to be wiped off your face when his hand wraps around your throat, yanking you forward until you're eye to eye.

"I will never give you a reason to leave me," he promises darkly, squeezing until a strangled protest escapes you. “I take care of what’s mine, sweetheart.” He doesn't release you, adjusting his body beneath you until he gains a solid foothold, and within the next second he's snapping his hips up into yours, all traces of gentility vanished.

Your eyes roll back, skin flushed and sweating; with every thrust, he seems to be obliterating your entire thought process. You meet his unwavering gaze, your eyes teary as you try to match his pace; you watch him soften slightly, only for him to tighten his grip on your windpipe and reach between your bodies with his free hand.

Bright spots start to appear on the edges of your vision. Your head starts to feel light and a part of you is once more delighted by the practised way his fingers work your clit–and then you stop thinking. For a long moment, you're floating, drifting, quaking, and then you tune back in time to see Victor's pace start to falter, hand unwrapping from around your throat, his eyes alternating between unfocusing and staying fixated on you as he bounces you in his lap.

He spills into you with a throaty groan, unaware of your hungry eyes committing the sight and feeling to memory. He pulls you in, holding you close, and you sag against him tiredly.

His thumb strokes the tender skin across your throat in a silent apology as you both lay there panting, your head falling to rest on his shoulder as you relax completely. It terrifies you, letting your guard down so thoroughly when you’re not even in his bed. It’s just for a moment, though. You want to give yourself this moment to relax.

“It’s not going to be easy,” you murmur because you’re a fool who can’t relax when there’s danger lurking in every corner.

He hums, in agreement you think, tugging his jacket out from under him to wrap it around your shivering form. He reaches for the door, pulling it shut as you wonder how you’ve been here for this long without getting caught. “We’ll deal with it. Whatever comes our way.”

There’s a lot to consider, a lot of plans to be scraped and a lot of people to be contacted. But sitting here, in the silence of his car with his arms tight around you, you think you can do it. You think it might just be possible to protect both of you from Black Swan.

And if not you, then him. Because just as he can’t let you go, you can’t let them sink their claws into him. You’ll destroy every single one of them before that happens.

‘Guess I really am a fool.’

[thunderbird-one-ai]

Compromised Chapter 1 Part 3

Chapter 1 Part 1 Chapter 1 Part 2

This is the final section of Chapter 1. As of right now I am slowly making my way through chapter 2 where things might get a little spicy. 

part 3: Scott

The prison was a mess, fires littered one side of the building bellowing smoke, making it easy to spot from far away. The walls were at least one metre thick with reinforced concrete to make simply drilling or even using mass produced explosives would not have much effect on the building itself. Scott thought back to Kayos words that the explosives were specially made to affect the building this badly. As Thunderbird One flew across the area, he was made aware of the coast not too far from the prison. Maybe that was The Hoods plan, to escape by sea by means of a boat or submarine. His sensors might not be able to reach the bottom of the coast and there was only one person or machine that could in this short time.

“Thunderbird One to Thunderbird Two,” Scott said through comms, he’d rather inform them now before Thunderbird Two got here, the less time they spent changing plans meaning the better chance they have of finding escapees, finding The Hood.

“Thunderbird Two to Thunderbird One, go ahead,”

“I think we are going to need Thunderbird Four around the coast to see if anyone is escaping via the water, if this is a planned assault they might have thought to use the water as their escape,” Scott said firmly. He could practically hear Gordon smiling.

“F.A.B Thunderbird One,” Gordon replied.

The mission was straight forward. Gordon had indeed been able to find some criminals trying to swim to freedom. However, there were no boats or underwater vehicles waiting for those prisoners. Virgil landed Thunderbird Two and Alan controlled one of Brain’s machines to help with the containment of the fires and aid in restoring some infrastructure to the worst affected parts of the building. Scott and Kayo had also worked together to locate some other missing inmates that had got a little further into the mainland.

John was tasked with keeping the relations with the GDF members and International Rescue on good grounds. It had always been rocky even with their dad’s miracle return to the head of IR. Scott mentally reminded himself to check in on John when he landed Thunderbird One to make sure his younger brother was handling the GDF well. He knew his brother much preferred talking to the GDF through pixels than rather being there in person.

“Everyone this is John,” he began, “All of the staff members are accounted for, but some prisoners aren’t. With the information Gordon has sent me I doubt they are trying to escape by sea still. The same can be said for them being near the prison itself since myself, Virgil and Alan have it covered. I’d suggest Thunderbird One and Shadow should widen their search, going to the small groups of GDF near the more remote areas,”

“Is one of the prisoners The Hood?” Scott asked

“I’ve only got prison numbers so I’m unsure,” John replied. Scott couldn’t completely agree on himself on whether this was a true statement or a false one.

“Maybe run the numbers over the files and see if you can figure it out,”

“The GDF wouldn’t give me permission for that,”

Scott let out a quiet groan of frustration. Of course. They wouldn’t give John any access to their network since they didn’t like International Rescue at all. This lack of trust is what let so many people like The Hood get away with so many attacks in the first place. “I’ll check the North east area see if I can find anything,” he closed the comms before letting John finish his F.A.B statement.

 Scott landed his Bird near the furthest post the GDF has set up, making sure they had the area within covered. To call it a post was an exaggeration since it was merely two armoured trucks, blocking a dirt road, and not even a handful of GDF members. The forest wasn’t too much further and the ground before that was overgrown with small hills poking through the grass. A perfect place if one wanted to hide. He would have to do another fly over and scan the area. This post was the furthest away from the prison, with the least amount of security, if The Hood wanted a quick getaway this would be the place. Scott sighed. There were too many open areas, too many places that someone like The Hood could escape to.

As he started moving back to Thunderbird One, a young boy ran out of the forest crying and calling for help. Scott stopped the boy telling him to calm down and that it would be okay. These words seem to have little effect as the younger one in front of him gulped in air, telling Scott that someone had hurt his dad and wouldn’t let him go. Throughout this entire commotion, the GDF members seemed to have their back conveniently turned away. He wasn’t surprised that The Hood was able to escape the GDF’s grasp and be compromised by the Chaos crew all those months ago with this lack of consideration.

“It’s okay, we’ll get him back, show me where you last saw him,” Scott said sternly. The public were already getting hurt. Maybe this attack on this father and son was The Hood trying to cause mayhem and pain already. The kid started running into the overgrown grass, Scott followed closely behind. He had to stay alert and ready for a possible ambush, something The Hood was well known for. Still, it would be best to update his brothers on the situation. “John I’m in pursuit of some more stowaways. It looks like they’ve taken someone hostage whilst they made a break for it. Going to see if I can spot them,” there was silence, no one responded. “Virgil can you get hold of John?” again nothing but silence, not a good sign, something couldn’t have possibly gone wrong at the prison site, right? He did a quick once over with this communicator, it was working fine, no faults in the system meaning that something or someone was stopping him from sending out the transmission. Scott was becoming more convinced this was The Hoods work. He must have been right in suspecting he would get away. Finally, he saw three figures in the opening, not great odds. The boy ran forward, shouting and waving his arms, making it impossible to even try and surprise them. As he walked into the opening, he could see the man who must have been the father on the floor looking worried whilst two orange clad prisoners looked forward almost shocked. They were opposites to one another. The inmate to the fathers left was tall and lanky whereas the other was short and portly.

“We told you to not bring a GDF person kid!” the taller inmate shouted, sounding a little less angry than Scott was expecting.

“Well I’m not exactly GDF though am I?” Scott replied quickly, although that really didn’t help the situation from an individual who had made it this far from the prison.

“We’re going to be let free you hear! Or this old man gets it!” One of the prisoners grabbed the boy’s father by the collar lifting him roughly.

Scott glanced between the two prisoners trying to figure out which one of them was more likely to be The Hood in disguise. Neither inmate looked like The Hood but that was nothing new with the technology available to him in the past. “Look you’re not going to make it far with two hostages. Let the father go, they’ve done nothing wrong.”

“We need him to escap-“

“Look I know one of you is The Hood,” Scott snapped, his blood rushing through his veins “ Just give up you’re not going to make it far,” with the alteration between his father not an hour ago, Scott’s emotions reached their boiling point. “Which ever one of you isn’t The Hood, why work for someone who doesn’t care. He’s destroyed some families and tried to break others apart. Why would he care about someone he met in a prison cell?”

Both prisoners look to each other unsure on what to say still having a firm hold on the father between them who began to groan softly. “Please, just let me go to see my boy,” the father sounded desperate. Scott couldn’t help but have a flash of parallel to how he felt when his dad went missing all those years ago. It was at this point Scott realised he was way more emotionally invested in this situation then they were.

He took a step forward, “Just let him go!” he tried to force himself to stop sounding so desperate and to keep level-headed.

Again, both inmates looked at each other. Scott could tell that they were going through their fight or flight moment. Either they were going to start to drag the father away or leave the father and make a run for it. He hoped for the latter. Thankfully he was right. As if on cue, the inmates roughly pushed the poor father forward. He would have had a nasty bash to the head is Scott hadn’t moved a split second after, to slow and cushion the older mans fall.

Scott breathed a heavy sigh of relief as he helped the fallen man sit up straight. That was far too close, he got too emotional during that situation. Heck, he’d been emotional during this entire mission. Maybe after all this, it was time to have a proper conversation with his father. He was sure to add his apologies for how he acted today during that talk as well. As that thought came to mind, he did not notice the fathers hand moving around the back of his neck. A sharp sting caused him to physically react and pull away from the father’s hand, gripping the back of his neck defensively.

“I was expecting someone to come and rescue the poor boy’s father. But you, Scott Tracy got here in record time,” Scott watched in disbelief, as the supposed injured father standing up, hand going to his neck to pull away a metallic band. As if looking at an old hologram buffer, the fathers face changed to one he knew all to well.

“H-Hood…” Scott couldn’t even think straight let alone speak straight. As he tried to use his remaining willpower to concentrate, he didn’t even notice the world moving sideways until his face smacked against the ground.

[captainkurosolaire]

Prompt #15: At Rope’s End!

18+ Extremely graphical and gory torture scene Several years in the past Leading Character -- Captain Kuro Solaire

  Sanguine nectar dripped down below an old creaking floorboard raining down from chin a singular fastened set of ropes dangled in a lean line from where a silhouette hands on opposite sides lazily relaxed tightly sailor knotted the squeeze leaving intense abrasion markings to the figure. Hair scraggly and drawn out, body malnourished exposing but rib cage and little layer of skin, lips dry cut like a prune. Eyes leaving trails of stained tears from excruciating pain, lacerations on the eyebrow draping an injury from being bashed with a blunt object. Each fingernail pried off and tossed in small buckets with piss, sweat, blood drained into it and only additional droplets from the nails left seeping more. The man was broken, battered, tortured, a telling sign of a prisoner. Perspiration ran down from the humidity in the room, feverish cold sweats internally took over. Shackles on his ankles with iron-ball and chains draped across weighing him down while suspending upwards painfully messing up the alignment in his frame and displeasure of resting only by succumbing to unconscious or death would relief be felt. Fresh cleaved cuts were carved lightly into the melded flesh the smell was putrid as could be imagined. The figure was once a promising pirate, who struck the cords of the free. Though a traumatic series event left him with mourning the traversal woman who brought his soul back from Black Shrouds only to be wrought from curved lips of happiness that were once bright. Recklessness, vengeance, arrogance took over for wishing to rectify those dismemberment soft fingers brought to his ship side with sparkling engagement ring... Twice, in a row... History had repeated itself causing identity to fade into the abyss there was nothing but emptiness a vessel which maneuvered on it’s own wishing acceptance to pass there on the spot. Jolly chattering was heard idly mingling above as contest were held never caring what they had below decks. Pirates, against Pirates. Nothing uncommon or unusual, one seemed to be more occupied in the luxuries of greed and was paid off by the same target that was searched for the same tortured victims consciousness to be salivated upon invoking righteousness. A word, not meant for a pirate. But one with the loss of treasure, aye. Irreplaceable... How? How do you ask? From all this does one survive? Endure? What could possibly...? ~ The answer ~ Former obligations a pact with death, that was but regretted. <I wish to stand.> <Taller than the Rest!> These were not something bestowed simply upon whim one had to grow dire. If a mentality is weak, one cannot create change or influence another. They cannot seize opportunities or formulate plans without conviction. Still you ask? Despite being foggy currently and hazed in obscurity, ambitions laid dormant within that suit of skin that was still smoldering from fresh interrogator pokers. The Captain of the ship foul in mouth from brew and dining on unsavory desserts extended upon the stench and stood before his captured prize with his banded crew. “Ye kiddin’ me, lad. Scallywags once called ye a Captain o’ th’ Seas? Pathetic, ye aren’t even worth half a gil or pint o’ ale!” Punching him square in the face there was no protection his jaw chattering from the impact before returning back dangling into its hung down state. “Where ye keep yer loot? Won’t be needn’t that any more, while ye at it where is yer own crew? Shouldn’t they be making th’ save? Can’t you command them? Didn’t even find yer ship on th’ coast wha’ is wrong wit’ ye? Inked to the brim like a pirate, has a crest. You smell of sea...Or did!” The slavers all laughing in ringing tune, no response was given back. Showing a serious expression making his other fellow crews mute with furrowed brows the Sea Wolf flashed his sharked teeth and whistled sharply as a hooded torturer brought out from a burning brazier a branding iron with a stamp to take his ownership and place it right above the heart at this point either he’d die here... Or be owned. As this currently went onward something else was transpiring in that distorted psyche. Curled up was the same anguished and broken pirate. Lost within a forest with upside down floating trees where logic didn’t need to make sense as it was his own scrambled up reality. The realm blended upon emotions of the heart and souls weaving together substance. <What’s the point? All I do is accompany misery. None who come close with me stay alive, my crew is dead. I’ve reached my mental plateau with being a seafarer...> He’d ponder with shivering bumps rocking back and forth, <My heart It’s ripped out, I’ve got nothing... There’s no fight left in me anymore. I’m about to be a bitch to some trashy sorry excuse of some pirates. I can’t even pull the trigger where it’s needed. Why am I soft!” Pounding and clenching his fists and brawling out against the soils that broke against his knuckles but didn’t feel pain to far numb at this point. Suddenly something startled that took form of a shadowy loin masked and covered an intangible source of raging energy that felt anguish equally his other counterpart. It’s stare looked on intensely looking ready to pounce and devour the weakened soul but not before something unexpected intervened, tugging against the skin of the pirate from behind. A smaller more youthful presence one identical to the same man in his form as a boy. <Come on! You promised us! We made a deal! Are you going to leave us all alone again? Remember our destination, you promised! Promised! Promised!> Repeating dozens of times to get it’s point out. The elder of the two, <Shut the hell up kid! Don’t you see it’s over, I’ve got nothing left. I’m drowned there’s not much. They’ve got us and there’s to many.> This child was more persistent as you see it was the embodiment of the spirit where willpower was strung. <Loser! Ye giving up like that. You’re boring! Aren’t you hungry? Aren’t you wanting to fight? You’re just another boring grown-up! You aren’t deserving to be us.> Pouting angrily and twisted their head the opposite direction from their weakened soul. This angered him and lit a fire, <LOSER? You damn brat, I’ll have you anchored down...>  Unknowingly in the built up emotions he started to stir and stand, <HUNGRY? I’M FUCKING STARVING. LIKE YOU’D KNOW WHAT THAT’S LIKE! FIGHT? I WANT TO... MURDER THEM, I’LL CONSUME THEM FOR  MY CLAIM!  I’LL RECOLLECT MY FREEDOM AND SHOW YOU, DAMN IT!> Lashing out with a ferocity. The body that once was quelled in coldness... Had engulfed, spiritually, emotionally, angrily, resolved, a bursting inferno of aether charging out the same lion that once crossed stare pounced into the other active soul giving into the most core emotions of what it felt... awakening. On the outside the hot branded iron prepared to sink into flesh for the last strike before the skin started smelling up the room burning on it’s own destructiveness. The head that was hung lifted lightly up as eyes glowed with ever ferociousness and a thunderous roar boomed throughout the entire ship as the clinking of chains broke off their hinges and support beams holding where the rope begun twisted in a frenzy. Screams and devastation and uproars heard as the same courtesy of the monster had generously given back to it’s kind. Until flesh was ripped and fed upon to sustain what was once emptied to replenish it.

To survive one had to succumb to hunger,

In doing so then it could remember what it thrived.

For being alive.

[greennightspider]

A Drunk Time, A Fun Morning After Part 2

When you say it’s going to be a oneshot and out comes a sequel oml WELL I hope you guys enjoy this continuation, this part does get more intimate and serious real quick *but spoiler alert, no smut warning needed* (...yet). This part is also twice as long as the last one and yet I regret nothiiiiiiiiiiiiiing Ivar x Reader

@laketaj24 @cbouvier23 

The rest of the day Ivar didn’t so much and as look in your direction. It was clear he was avoiding you, and while it was a great source of entertainment for Ubbe and the rest of the brothers, it was starting to grow tiring. So, you decided to confront him about it that evening.

“Ohohoho, is someone trying to give our brother a private viewing?” Hvitserk smirks, as he catches you walking towards Ivar’s bedroom. Ivar had taken to dinner in his room, and so no one had seen even a glimpse of Ivar tonight. 

“Jealous Hvitserk?” You smirk back, wiggling your eyebrow at him, to which Ubbe and Bjorn holler and laugh, still seated at the dinner table. 

Hvitserk mock acts like he has just been struck in the chest. Ubbe then pipes up from where he’s sitting as Bjorn finishes his plate. “Leave Y/N to her workings brother, at least maybe she can fix Ivar, since she has clearly broken our war machine.”

You roll your eyes with a smile and give the brothers a passing wave as you continue to walk down the hallway towards Ivar’s room, knocking twice before announcing yourself. “Ivar? Its Y/N. Can I come in?”

“That depends, are you decent?” A distrusting voice asks from the other side. Trying to stifle a laugh, you slyly answer “Well Ivar, is not my chest decent enough?” as you quickly whip open the door, startling Ivar and making him jump in his seat, not exactly looking for a round two of this morning. Ivar was sitting next to the fire in his room and he had turned his back fully in his seat in an attempt to shield his eyes from the ambush. However as soon as Ivar peeked over his shoulder towards you and realizes you’re clothed he threw his water pitcher at you, which you promptly dodge. “Disappointed my prince?” You couldn’t help teasing Ivar, it was so different to see the boy who would usually fly into a hysteric rage silently simmering under hot flushed cheeks. “That was underhanded.” He grumbles.

“Well isn’t that rich, coming from you.” You retort, still staring at the clearly uncomfortable prince. You sigh, and decide that the time for teasing is passed. “Ivar, you’ve been avoiding me all day. And not very subtly I might add.” Ivar was concentrating his stare towards the fire, but you saw your comments crawl their way under his armour. Even though he didn’t lock eyes with you, you keep your gaze trained on him as you close the door behind you. Slowly you make your way towards him, saying softly, “And Ivar… I do think I have a solution.”

“And what is that?” Ivar asks in a condescending tone before his face freezes up as he sees you lift your shirt up over your head and throw it on the bed. Immediately his eyes dart back to the fire, only this time they were each as round as the full moon.

“Ivar, look at me.”

Ivar continues to stare at the fire intently, not moving a muscle.

“Ivar.” You say in a commanding tone, one he could not ignore. He dragged his eyes from the fire, resting his eyes on yours. “Ivar, in order for us to work well together, not only here in Kattegat but also in battle, you need to be comfortable with me. And that means..” Taking a few slow steps towards Ivar until you were a foot apart. “All of me.”

Ivar did well to keep his gaze up. His eyes were more confident now, but still held apprehension, as if he was nervous to admit that for once he did not know how to proceed. He also looked like he was looking for… permission?

“Ivar, it’s okay, you can look at me, I’m not ashamed.” You chuckle a bit and stretch your arms out before resting your hands on your hips. Ivar takes a gulp and then shifts his gaze. You watch as Ivar’s eyes travelled from shoulder to shoulder, where your armour had left small indents near each end of your clavicle. His gaze moves lower towards your hips and taught stomach, which had hardened substantially after years of training. He then slowly brings his gaze up to rest lastly on your breasts. They weren’t what one would consider small, but they did not get in the way of battle, which was of course your main concern. As Ivar stared your nipples started to become hard due to the cold of the night, to which Ivar tilted his head curiously. And to add to this display the roaring fire gave your whole body a warm glow that was matched in the reflection of your hazel eyes. “So, what do you think, prince?” Ivar didn’t respond, almost hypnotized.

“Ivar?” A second calling snapped Ivar out of his trance. “It is- I mean, you are, um.” Ivar struggled to find words, not only because of the subject matter, but because you knew he wasn’t used to giving genuine (not sarcastic) compliments. And at this point, you decided to up the game.

“Ivar, you can touch me if you want.”

Ivar’s eyes grew wider (if that was even possible), trying to figure out whether you actually meant what you said. “Lucky for you Ivar, I am in a VERY generous mood.” You remark, as you stretch your arms out, leaning back all the while smiling playfully at the bashful prince. He looked so uncomfortable, which was interesting considering YOU were the one half naked.

You watch as he wrestles with himself until finally straightening up in his chair and giving his answer. “Well, if you insist.” He had tried to sound like his usually cocky self, but his nervousness had made its way to his voice box, making his voice crack. And you were loving every minute of it.

Ivar then grabs his crutch from the floor beside him and props himself up. You were expecting to be summoned to his lap, but it seems as though Ivar wants as much high ground as he can get right now. Ivar pushes himself up and stands tall. When standing, Ivar is half a head taller than you, which was a great viewpoint for him as he was now looking down at you. Or more specifically, at everything below your neck.

“Well then.” Attempting to clear his throat, Ivar slowly brings his free hand around your waist. His fingers tracing the curve of your hips, travelling up your back almost ghostlike. He then brought his hand back down and around to your midriff, his hands not leaving your skin, his eyes not leaving his hands. Meanwhile your eyes never left his face, never imagining that the most ruthless warrior you had ever faced could have the softest of strokes. You enjoyed seeing him like this, not helpless but definitely guard down, and curiosity out.

Ivar wasn’t the only one feasting his eyes tonight, as you studied Ivar’s tight braids, still a bit bloody from the raid. His brow was furrowed as he studied you, clearly concentrating on his task. His rugged jawline was hinged on his clenched jaw, making sure he showed no emotion, no weakness. You continued to stare at Ivar as his hand slowly made its way to your breasts. He casually brushed against one of your hardened nipples, almost earning from you a small yelp. He then cups the same breast in his hands, feeling the weight of it, as he slowly lifts it up and down. Ivar then started moving your breast in a circular motion, his fingers mimicking the same motion around your nipple. It took all the strength you had not to moan, and all the willpower you could muster not to lean into his touch. Ivar didn’t seem to notice, and if you wanted to keep him in his calm curious state it needed to stay that way. You knew as soon as Ivar knew he was giving you pleasure he wouldn’t hesitate holding it over you, quickly transforming back into the cocky dominating Ivar everyone knew.

But damn, for someone who had never even seen a woman before, Ivar was doing pretty well turning you the fuck on. Ivar’s slow and careful touch teased you, baiting your body for more. You were wondering how such small ministrations could turn you on so much, and then realised your mistake: Coming to the room of an inexperienced Ivar who was so very much your type, in the middle of the night, while you can’t remember the last time you had sex. 

Which explained why your body was so extra sensitive. 

Thankfully Ivar stopped his ministrations on your chest before you could let out a lust-filled moan, but at the same time you had to stifle a whimper at the absence of his hand. However instead his hand had found his way up to your neck and cupped your cheeks, tilting your face up to his. Conflict dances in Ivar’s blue eyes, which are once again searching your face for any sign, any hint of reluctance or - hell forbid - joking. He then tilts your face higher and almost in a whisper he says, “What are you playing at, Y/N?”

You attempt to sound half as confident as Ivar on a regular day. “Trying to make sure that you are used to a pair of pretty eyes, and as well as a pretty chest.” You smirk, although the smirk is mostly due to you imagining topping the bloodthirsty Viking on the floor. “Oh really?” Ivar quips, “Because I think this is some dirty trick you and my brothers wanted to pull on the cri-

As soon as you started hearing Ivar’s voice get low and his eyes darken, without thinking you grab the back of his head and pull him towards you. You catch his lips mid-sentence, and you can feel Ivar freeze up like a stunned deer. You made sure your grip on his head was strong as you gently caress his lips with yours, willing him to calm down, willing him to believe you. His lips were cold from the night air, but you could taste the ale on them as you gently continued playfully lapping up all the ale you find with the tip of your tongue. Ivar was stiff, but he wasn’t frigidly reluctant, as he let you continue the kiss. You don’t dare open your eyes lest you see his dark angry gaze piercing your soul. But also…. partly… because you’re so fully getting lost in Ivar. You gently bit on his bottom lip before gradually pulling yourself away, slowly opening your eyes to find that Ivar’s were now starting to glaze over. "Still think this is a game?” You ask, obviously still in a haze yourself. You look down at the ground, and before you know it you softly mutter, “Do you really think I would have shown myself to you if I did not want you to see me?” Of all the warriors you knew, Ivar was definitely the cruelest, and the most cunning, but he was also the most tenacious and steadfast man you had ever come across. In short, you had realized early on that there was no way you would ever settle for anyone less. On top of that, Ivar’s taste was addictive, and damn everything to hell you wanted more. But, you need to know if he wanted more as well.

“Well Ivar, it seems as though my work here is done. You seem plenty used to seeing a woman now eh?” You try to smile and catch Ivar’s eye, but his eyes are glued to the floor. You look for any noticeable hints of pleasure, enjoyment, just any sign that he doesn’t want you to leave. But he says nothing, and you take that as your cue that he isn’t interested. As you start to turn around, trying hard not to let the disappointment and longing in your voice show, you remark, “Well I guess I had better-

Suddenly you feel a hand grab your arm and whip you around so that you’re face to face with Ivar again, his hand that once held your arm now around your waist, gripping you against his chest. His eyes have darkened slightly, but you see resolve in his face now. Not questioning. Not doubting. Just wanting. Leaning in closely to the nape of your neck he lets his lips softly brush against your skin until he reaches your ear, making you shiver as he tentatively utters one word.

"Stay.”