#iron chin bitch!

[subtlewhirlwind]

My rib bruises are finally coming in! They feel like a warm embrace from an old friend. And they are, in a way.

[robin374]

𝕺𝖓𝖑𝖞 𝖆 𝖋𝖔𝖔𝖑 𝖜𝖔𝖚𝖑𝖉 𝖉𝖗𝖔𝖕 𝖆 𝖌𝖎𝖗𝖑 𝖑𝖎𝖐𝖊 𝖞𝖔𝖚

ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔯𝔞𝔠𝔱𝔢𝔯; Alastor x reader, romatic

𝔑𝔬𝔱𝔢𝔰: I think we all agree that Alastor would say this phrase. Maybe I got too carried away, sorry if it's too long. Unedited

Carmilla waited for all the overlords to arrive and take their respective seats. Her silver eyes serenely observed the situation, while she prepared her probable monologue in her mind. A war would be one of the worst options to choose. They had already lost many souls since the last extermination, and losing even more would serve no purpose, except to amuse the angels. All the powerful demons sat down and Carmilla waited a few seconds for the various conversations between them to end, seeing that she got nothing waiting she coughed to get the attention of her companions. "I have gathered you here today to discuss this year's brutal extermination..." She began to explain, her eyes full of determination with a subtle light of hatred, which was directed towards the cruel exterminators up there. 

Suddenly, the door opened with a loud bang and two shadows appeared; one taller than the other. The little fashionista Velvette, a member of the Vees, appeared first with a superior smile on her face. With her back stretched and chin held high, she pulled the metal chain around her hand, causing the other shadow to walk involuntarily. However, the big difference between the two demons was that one of them was walking with her head down, as if she had been defeated and humiliated in front of all Hell, as if she was going to be sacrificed. Carmilla scowled at Velvette which diverted the attention of the other overlords and they looked towards the fashionista. Y/N didn't look up, she had already felt too ridiculed on the way there to feel even more so under the gaze of the other overlords. Especially under his gaze, under that smile that conveyed no feelings at all. 

"Speaking of the exterminators..." Velvette's distinctive accent echoed through the room, no overlord daring to speak. Anyone could cut the tension in that room with a butter knife. Y/N didn't even flinch at the confident sound of the voice, she was now as vulnerable as a puppy just abandoned on a highway. A few thumps accompanied the fashionista's small laugh, thumps that sounded too soft to be a blow from a fist but too hard to be a single piece of flesh. A golden drop landed on Y/N's slipper, she swallowed dryly, feeling closer and closer to the permanent presence of eternal death. Ironic, isn't it? A dead girl being afraid to die. She didn't hear the next sentences of the argument between the two overlords, she was too focused on the pain of the silver chains around her wrists behind her back. Never in eternity had she thought that being in hell she would burn, let's just say those holy chains silenced those thoughts for her. 

Velvette needed only a single tug on the chain to smash Y/N's face into the long table in the living room. Her hand pressed her face against the hard material, it looked like she wanted to put her face through the table. Y/N's gaze jumped from overlord to overlord, she knew full well that none of them would help her. "She was the one who killed that flying rat." Velvette began. "If those...Things can die, we're in a whole different situation." She paused for a moment, "we could start a war..." She turned to look at Y/N, her gaze as callous as her actions. "Not without killing this bitch first, it wouldn't suit us well for a girl as normal as you to get all the fame, what would my fans say?" His voice became a bit sharper, clearly seeking more attention than he already had.

Y/N looked away, her eyes fell on a spot between the ceiling and the window of the room, she didn't want to see how the overlords looked at her as if she was a mere bug, which they had no intention of keeping alive. She noticed her vision blurring, she knew these would be her last moments, as Velvette kept her word whenever it would do her good. "Who's for killing her and dropping her body in the nearest trash? Right where she deserves." The room was filled with murmurs and different conversations, some agreed with the fashionista, while others did not. Y/N had stopped listening long ago, she had accepted her permanent death since Velvette found her near the angel's body. She hadn't done it, she was just being more noisy than she normally was, not everyone gets the chance to see a dead exterminator, no? It was just bad luck, she wasn't the culprit, "It wasn't me..." She whispered in an attempt to get someone to listen to her, but these were overlords we're talking about, they wouldn't hesitate to kill someone. That's how ambitious they could be to have more power in their hands.

The sound of radio static came on, which was getting closer and closer. The pressure on Y/N's head disappeared in less than a second, and for a moment she thought she had finally been killed and her thoughts were slowly leaving her head as she completely lost consciousness. However, one hand helped her up, and even with her hands still tied she met those red eyes she loved to stare into so often in the hotel. With the other hand, Alastor pushed Velvette away from her, "I'll take care of it." 

The last thing to go. That demon Y/N thought she loved was going to betray her as soon as she left the building. She felt his hand brush against her back as he silently guided her through the halls of the building until he was outside. Once there he began to walk towards a particular direction. Y/N stopped in her tracks, confused. Maybe what she was about to say would be a big mistake, maybe she shouldn't say anything to stay alive, though curiosity killed the cat, right?

"You're not going to kill me? Kill me and then drop me in the middle of the street?" She watched as the Radio Demon's back tensed, and so did his ears. As much as she didn't see his face, she knew that smile twisted into an irritated one. He turned around slowly, and that annoyed smile softened the moment their eyes connected. He laughed softly and moved closer to the girl, his free hand coming to her cheek. "Only a fool would drop a girl like you." He smiled. That sentence made Y/N ironically feel like she was in heaven, a strange warmth rose to her cheeks. She heard the laughter of the overlord who was now offering his arm to walk beside him, "Alastor, my hands are chained." Y/N began, "I can't hold your arm."

[artemisgrayy]

Had this rattling around in the old brain pan- fueled by your incredible writing even more

During the final battle, reader gets badly injured are isolated from the rest of the group. Adam finds her but instead of killing her he offers her a proposition- let him have his way with you (always wondered about demon-strange) and he’ll let you live, decline and he’ll kill you [and maybe still have his way with you]. Alastor overhears and is NOT having it.

Your Unlikely Hero

✨Masterlist✨

Tags: Minors DNI, Alastor x Reader, Adam threatens rape, non-con, gore, violence, fluff, swearing, traumatic events, Alastor is bad at feelings, Alastor to the rescue.

18+ - Minors DO NOT INTERACT

Pain slashes through you like an angelic spear as the fatal wound on your leg gushes streams of crimson across your skin. The smell of iron and cinder invade your senses as you struggle to apply pressure to the seeping gash.

“Well, what do we have here?” A voice cuts through the distant screams and explosions that surround you. Your chest tightens when you lock eyes with Adam who approaches you through the debris, a shit eating grin splayed across his unmasked face. Your heart slams in your throat when you see the look of pure malice in his eyes.

You desperately attempt scramble to your feet, only to feel your leg give out, pain shooting through every nerve ending like dynamite. You're immobilized. You have no way out of this.

“Fuck,” you shriek, shaking uncontrollably from the adrenaline coursing through your veins, fear ripping through you deeper than the wound. He glides towards you effortlessly with malevolent purpose.

“You know,” he laughs, grabbing a fistful of you hair to pull you to eye level, your scalp screaming as individual strands breaking free, “I've always been curious to know what you hell-bent degenerates feel like around my cock.”

You screech, the pain in your leg becoming far less urgent as you kick violently to escape his grasp. The warmth of your tears cut through your dirt-covered cheeks when he smashes his lips against yours. You swallow back the acid building in your throat, nauseous from the unwanted advance.

He rips you backwards, his gaze locking onto yours. You tremble when you observe vile smirk on his face, “How do you like the taste of humanity, bitch?”

“Please stop,” you beg, hopeful for a shred of compassion.

He throws you to the ground and you feel the back of your head connect against the cement with a sickening thud. Everything spins. The crimson sky above you full of screams as the exorcists launch a full scale attack on everyone you've ever loved. Everything closes in around you as Adam stands over you, ready to have his way.

“Adam!” Chimes a radio filtered voice from behind him, “I know you have a penchent for being a nuisance but unfortunately y̴͕̋o̸̫͛u̵̙̚'̷͈̇v̵̪̇ë̶̹́ ̷̻̊f̶͊ͅǘ̴͎c̷̻͆k̸͉̀ẹ̷͐ḑ̴̐ ̶̨̆w̵̠̒ỉ̴̺t̵̹͛h̴͐͜ ̷̜͗t̵͉̾h̴̛̖e̸͓̕ ̵̗̚w̴͚͒r̵̭̅õ̷̡ń̴̦g̵̭̾ ̵̘͂p̴̪͠e̷̲̊r̸͖͗s̵̤̎o̴͖͐n̷̦̿.̶̱̈”

You peak around the angel and see Alastor standing there, his blood red eyes glowing with a rage you had never seen before. Both of his hands are overlapped casually on his cane in front of him — though his stance and expression are anything but casual. His smile holds firm but fury bleeds from his gaze like the saliva dripping down his chin. The furious demon's squared shoulders raise with every irritate breath as he stares down the first man with murderous intent.

A wave of relief flushes through your chest at the sight of him, tears line your eyes but the state of shock you're in prevents them from going further.

“Not yet I haven't.” Adam cackles, standing his ground over his prey.

“Ha ha ha, cute” guffaws the Radio Demon, tilting his head. He slams the bottom of his cane against the cement. Swirls of shadowy demons and tendrils explode violently from the ground, spawning all around him. His eyes narrow, daring the angel to make a move.

Adam turns toward you and his hand shoots down towards your throat. You choke out a stutter as he drags you up in the air by your jugular. Wind whips the hair free from your tear soaked face as you hang 20 feet over the roof of the hotel.

“You want your bitch? Come and get her, you fucking pussy.” Adam beckons as you fight for breath, his nails digging into your skin when his hand tightens. You claw desperately at his grasp, fighting to stay conscious as a dark vignette clouds your vision.

“Gladly.” Alastor promises, “though that's an appalling way to talk about a lady.”

Sharp peaks of shadow laced with an electric storm of green fire from Alastor’s position, slamming into Adam, breaking you free from his grasp. You stutter and gasp, your lungs awarded with the sweet taste of oxygen as your airways shoot open — but the relief is short lived when your body begins free falling.

You close your eyes, ready to accept your fate as you plummet towards the scene below you.

To your surprise it wasn't the cement that broke your fall, but instead something much softer. When you open your eyes you find Alastor's face looking down at you, his eyebrows furrowed with concern. You're enveloped by the feeling of security as he holds you tight against his body.

“It appears as though I'm not the only falling, darling,” coos the demon, pressing his forehead against yours, “I'm sorry I wasn't here sooner.”

You're taken back by the sincere show of emotions from him, “and here I thought you only tolerated me,” you jest, your voice raspy as you continue to fight to catch your breath.

“Heavens, no.” He pulls his head away, reflecting for a moment, “Though I’ll admit, the threat of losing made it clear how much I need you. Let's keep this between us, shall we?” he pauses, “at least for now.”

A smirk forms on your face and you nod in approval. He presses his head to yours once more before setting you down against the wall.

He turns his back to you, facing Adam, who has recovered from the attack, and is menacingly standing a top the broken sign of the hotel.

“Adam — first man, next to die!”

Part 2 now available!

--

I was HELLA excited to see this prompt in my asks so THANK YOU 👏👏

More like this plz.

--

✨Masterlist✨

[leviackermanscleaningbuddy]

SKZ DRABBLE-Minho

Part III of Mafia!Minho, bitches. Saddle up. A/N: I know this isn't SKZ!Pack, but it's been in the works for a looooong time and I wanted you to have it. <3

Tags: SKZ, Stray Kids, Mafia!Minho, Lee Minho, Lee Know, Minho, Y/N, FemReader, SKZ x you, SKZ x reader, Minho x you, Minho x reader, Mafia AU, Part III, Skz imagines, Skz reactions, SKZ scenarios, Fluff, Angst

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Light Smut

Warnings: Mafia Shit-guns, death, illegal dealings, daddy issues and misogyny, allusions to sexual assault and rape, loss of viriginity, blood. Mentions of previous pregnancy loss, miscarriage, current pregnancy. Breeding Kink, kinda? You'll see. Minho's just REALLY in to pregnant reader. 😂

"He's dead."

His blunt, cold words ricochet around the inside of your head, like a round fired too hastily from a gun, sloppy and dangerous, wounding everything they touch.

There's no way. There's no fucking way.

You say as much.

"That can't be true-"

His face contorts in anger, and he leans down to pinch your chin in a vicious grip that makes you wince, yanking your head back to meet his gaze, hot and pinning.

"It is true. Would you like to see the pictures, girl? The reports from Lim? His blood splattered across the wall?"

You sink to the floor.

Not JinYoung. Not your brother. Fuck, it can't be-

He straightens, releasing his iron grip on you and straightening his suit, glaring down at you with little more than cold disdain in his dark, narrowed eyes.

"He's dead, and you're worthless." He growls out, stuffing his hands into his pockets and considering you with something akin to disgust twisting his features.

Hot tears fill your eyes, and your fists clench in your lap, twisting the fabric of your dress.

You bite your bottom lip hard enough to taste blood, and will yourself not to let a tear fall for him to see.

He scoffs, reaching down once more to take your chin in pinching fingers, making you whimper.

His eyes darken at the sound, as if he's a predator that has sensed weakness in his prey.

"You're worthless to me until you're wed." He hisses out, teeth clenched, muscle in his cheek bulging. "Remember that. You are nothing without a man in this world, girl, nothing."

He releases you without another word or look in your direction, whirling on his heel and stalking down the hallway, slamming the door to his office, probably already on the phone yelling at some poor inferior for killing his son.

You let your chin drop to your chest, and squeeze your eyes shut as you take several harsh, shuddering breaths, clenching and unclenching your fists.

It was his fault JinYoung was dead. His fault you were now all alone.

There was nothing you could do about it, not realistically, but you hated him for it all the same.

********************************************************************************

"You're thinking too much again."

You jump slightly at the sound of Minho's voice, still husky with sleep, his fingers finding the warmth of your bare skin beneath the blankets.

You sigh, wanting to be irritated at his perception when it comes to you, but can't quite manage, not when his fingers are tickling your sides.

"How did you know?"

"Mm." Minho hums beneath his breath, pushing himself up behind where you lie propped on your elbow in the big bed, staring out the window at the slowly rising sun.

His fingers trace up the curling lines of the snake that wraps your spine.

"I know everything about you, princess." He replies in a murmur, fingers still slowly ticking their way up your spine. You hear a slight smile enter his voice. "Well, that, and your thoughts are so loud currently that I feel like you're speaking audibly."

You give another sigh, this one conceding, and feel Minho brush a light kiss across the family crest that marks your shoulder.

"It's going to be okay, princess. I promise you."

You feel panic well into your throat at the surety behind his words.

"It wasn't okay before." You blurt out without really considering, hand tracing down beneath the blankets without thought to rest on the small swell of your belly.

It's normal not to feel any movement yet, you know that, and yet-

Minho's soothing, firm voice sounds in your ear, his warm breath brushing across your cheek, grounding you.

"That was before. This is now."

The surety is still there beneath his words-strong and constant-and yet, the acidic taste of panic is still slowly filling your mouth, making it hard to breathe.

"Princess." Minho says in a low tone, taking not of the rapid rise and fall of your chest. "Look at me."

His hand snakes around the front of your throat, and he gently squeezes with his fingers, angling your head back until you're staring up at him, his gaze serious and dark.

You drink him in like you're parched and he's the only water source-the soft curve of his lips, the upper fuller than the lower, the tan sheen of his skin, the sharp angles of his face, the dark wave to his tousled hair, the black ink trailing across his upper chest and arms, teasing at his throat, the pink, fading scars littered across his otherwise flawless flesh.

Minho is the only thing in this moment that's keeping you sane, and you hold onto that thread with a desperate fervency that frightens even yourself.

The corner of his mouth curves slightly as he stares at you, one hand around your throat to keep you in place, the other slipping beneath the blankets to cover your own where it rests on your bare belly.

You glance down, and the sight of his inked fingers covering your own calm the hammering of your heart.

"It's going to be okay." Minho repeats softly, firmly. "Whatever happens, princess, we're going to be okay."

You stare up at him and force a shuddering breath from your lungs, your fingers intertwining with his own.

"Okay." You whisper back with finality, because whatever happens, with Minho here, you're going to be okay.

********************************************************************************

You pause, hand splayed on the cool, carved wood of the door, and glance behind you to where Minho stands, several feet back, lingering in the mouth of the darkened hallway.

"You're not coming in?" You question softly, hesitantly, sudden butterflies swarming in your stomach.

Minho arches a brow, leaning against the wall, his expression unreadable.

"Do you want me to go with you?" He queries back, voice low and neutral.

You hear the quiet chatter of men's voices from beyond the door, the clink of glasses, and a shudder of fear goes down your spine at the thought of facing them alone.

"I don't know-" You stutter out, staring at him, trying to get a read through your suddenly mounting panic. "I just thought I need-"

You.

You don't finish the sentence, the words dying in your throat, and Minho's expression shifts slightly, his eyes darkening, his lips pulling into a serious line.

"Princess." He steps toward you, reaching out, and his fingers creep beneath your chin, tilting your head back to meet his gaze.

His features soften slightly, and he takes in a slow breath.

"I will always stand beside you, I will always be here whenever you want me, but let me make one thing very clear-you do not need me."

You stare up at him, words thick on your tongue, and the corner of his mouth quirks into the hint of an amused curve.

He lets a finger stroke along your chin, his voice dropping slightly even as his eyes grow fiery.

"You do not need me-or any other man-to make you powerful. You are powerful entirely on your own, and it is a beautiful sight to behold."

You take in a shuddering, sharp inhale, his fervent words settling into your bones, and let your fingers slide beneath the cuffs of the expensive suit he wears, tracing the ink you know is hidden there.

Minho smiles. "Who do you think runs the criminal world, darling? It's not the men. We're the face, yes, but behind every great man is an even greater woman."

He tilts your chin once more, and you let your head fall against the door behind you, staring up at him openly now.

He reaches out, and brushes a stray hair from your forehead with gentle fingers.

His skin is warm, and you lean into his touch, as he presses his lips to the flesh just below your ear, brushing a kiss there as he utters beneath his breath, for only you to hear, "Women mask lethality behind femininity, and it is their greatest weapon. You are not powerless, princess, no, far from it. You do not need anyone, because you are the queen."

He presses another kiss against your throat, right above your fluttering pulse, and pulls back.

You stare at him for another moment, and then straighten the gown you wear.

"You're right. I have the power here."

A smirk flickers across Minho's lips, his eyes heating with admiration as he watches you.

He jerks his chin toward the door and the voices beyond.

"Yeah, you fucking do. Remind them who's the queen. Give them hell, princess."

********************************************************************************

"Yeong-ah." Changbin whines, stamping his foot impatiently where he stands beside the island, a dramatic pout on his face. "You're taking too long!"

Yeong-Ja giggles at his antics, glancing up from pulling on her second shoe. "I'm almost done, Uncle Binnie!"

You hide your smile behind a sip of coffee, as Chan appears, tossing the car keys to Changbin-who catches them easily- before crouching down to finish helping Yeong-Ja with her shoe.

"Thanks, Uncle Channie!" Yeong-Ja beams, bouncing to her feet beside him, as Chan grins and straightens, patting her head.

"You're welcome, Yeong-ah." He straightens the bow in her hair, before he glances to Changbin, already standing in the door way, keys in his hand. "Now, let's get going huh? Your mom and dad have a very important appointment today, and we have puppies to see."

"Okay, Uncle Channie!" Your daughter's face lights up at Chan's words, as she slips her hand into his, her tiny fingers curling around his own, dark with black ink, reminiscent to Minho's.

It never ceases to amaze you how gentle and loving all these big mafia men are with your daughter.

"Oh, fuck me." Minho grumbles beneath his breath at Chan's statement, brow furrowed in a sour expression, as he leans against the counter beside you and takes a long gulp of his own coffee.

You hide another grin behind the rim of your cup.

Chan glances up at Minho's muttered curse, ever sharp, ever alert, and gives your husband a crooked grin, brow arched.

"What do you say, boss? What color of puppy do you want? Brown or Black?"

Minho levels the other man with a glare, as Yeong-Ja bounces excitedly beside him.

"I could not care less, Christopher."

Changbin grins broadly from the doorway, enjoying the little goading match from afar.

"Ah, c'mon. Don't you want a matching set?" He motions with a jerk of his head toward Suwon, currently sleeping under the large kitchen table. The black Doberman barely raises his head at the commotion.

Minho takes another drink from his coffee.

"The only matching set I want is you and Chan's heads on sticks."

"Sorry, boss!" Changbin calls, ignoring Minho's dark threat entirely, a grin slipping across his lips as he twirls the jangling keys around his finger, turning toward the door. "Can't hear you. Gotta go."

"Okay, on that note-" Chan clears his throat, coughing over a chuckle, as he herds your daughter toward the door. "-let's get going."

"Bye mommy, bye daddy!" Yeong-Ja calls over her shoulder with a little wave, before she disappears, dwarfed between the two large men.

Changbin throws one last amused, knowing look over his shoulder in Minho's direction, giving a cheeky little wave, before they all leave from sight.

"Fuck." Minho swears vehemently beneath his breath and promptly moves around the counter to dump the rest of his coffee down the sink.

********************************************************************************

"He's going to ask to see her again, you know."

Minho glances up from his phone to meet your gaze from across the backseat of the car, his expression darkening slightly at your words, and the open worry etched across your face.

He tucks his phone back into the pocket of his suit coat, and slides across the seat to sit beside you, hand coming down to rest on your own.

"And my answer will be the same as it always is." He replies back in a hushed, but dangerously serious, tone, his fingers squeezing your own. "When he comes to see her as his granddaughter, and not just as an heir to a massive criminal empire, then he can meet her."

You take in a shaky breath and glance out the window.

The roads are becoming familiar, you're close to your father's estate.

"Princess."

Minho's cool fingers tilt your chin back to him, making you meet his gaze. The corner of his lip curls into the hint of a smile.

"You do not reside on your knees for him any longer. He has no power left to lord over you."

You take in another breath, and will the butterflies to soothe in your belly.

You give Minho a small, shaky smile, and squeeze his hand. The metal of his rings are cold, grounding, against your palm.

"I know."

"If anything-" Minho glances past you as you pull into the long drive, your father's opulent mansion rising quickly in the distance.

He gives you a smirk and an arch of his brow as you turn into the gate.

"-now that you have myself and all my resources at your disposal, he should be absolutely terrified of you."

The car comes to a stop, and Minho slides out, straightening his jacket and offering you his hand.

You take in another steadying breath, holding onto his arm as you walk toward the entrance of your childhood home.

The door swings open as you approach, and your father appears, stepping onto the top step of the staircase, watching the two of you with a penetrating gaze.

You resist the urge to shudder under that look you know so well.

Minho pulls you up the stairs with him, his steps confident, and you try to borrow some of his courage, stiffening your back and shoulders as your father steps to meet you both, a fake, overly large smile sliding into place across his pale, thin lips.

Of course he would greet you personally, no butler was good enough for Lee Minho, not when you were trying to keep up appearances.

"Ah, there he is, my son-in-law, man of the hour." Your father extends a hand, and Minho shakes it, though you can see by the slight tic of the muscle in his jaw that he doesn't enjoy the contact.

To his credit, your husband does a hell of a good job putting on a front, his slight smile in your father's direction much more believable than the man's who raised you.

"Boss Park. A pleasure, as always."

Your father doesn't even glance in your direction, motioning for Minho to follow him into the cooled, dimly lit air of the front entrance hall.

You can hear a record playing from somewhere farther within the mansion, probably your father's office.

"Now." Your father waves away an approaching maid, and she scurries to grab an empty tray, headed for the kitchen. He turns, that same sickly smile on his face, and rubs his hands together gleefully. "Shall we get straight to business then?"

"You know I don't enjoy small talk." Minho inclines his head to your father, who takes that as a yes to his previous question.

"Of course." He motions for Minho to move down the hallway, his arm extended. "I'll have Maria bring us refreshments in the parlor. Shall we?"

Minho's hand moves to the small of your back, warm through the thin material of the dress you wear, coaxing you forward with him as he moves to step past your father.

You're thankful for the support, you worry the trembling of your legs will give you away.

"Ah, ah, ah." Your father holds out his arm, stopping your forward motion, and for the first time since you arrived, his eyes flit to you, the corners of his lips curling up into something akin to a disgusted sneer. "You know the rules of my household, daughter. Women are not allowed in business meetings. You can wait here. Catch up with that little maid and the old household cook you were so fond of growing up."

You swallow, your mouth suddenly dry, and something triumphant flashes across your father's dark gaze.

He knows that the cook you were 'so fond of growing up' was executed-shot in the garden while you were made to watch-on his order.

Can't have your daughter getting too close to the help now, can you? Not when secrets could be spilled, reputations dirtied.

Minho is talking, his voice fuzzy through your panicked memories, and you blink, focusing in on what he's saying, staring your father down with a serious, almost deadly, expression.

"I'm sorry, Boss Park, but when your daughter married me, she became my wife, and where I go, my wife goes. Those are my household rules. You understand."

Your father's lips part as his gaze flicks to you once more, as if he's thinking about disagreeing with Minho, but the flash of threat in Minho's dark eyes must convince him otherwise, because he plasters a strained smile onto his face and laughs, throwing his hands out.

"Of course. My apologies. Right this way then."

Minho glances at you, giving you a small reassuring smile, before he squeezes your hand, and you fall into step behind your father.

********************************************************************************

"Try to relax, (Y/N)."

Your doctor gives you a kind smile, the ultrasound wand posed and ready above your bare belly, the screen tilted toward the bed.

You swallow hard and nod, trying to focus on relaxing the tense muscles of your entire body one by one.

Minho squeezes your fingers where he crouches beside the bed, keeping up the pressure until you glance at him, your bottom lip sucked between your teeth as you worry it incessantly.

He reaches out to free the raw skin from your hold.

"Breathe, baby." He admonishes quietly, inked fingers stroking your knuckles in a reassuring pattern.

"Ready?" Your doctor asks, glancing between the two of you, lowering the wand slowly as she waits for your go ahead.

You stare at the blank, dark screen behind her, and try not to vomit.

"I'm scared." You admit to Minho in a whisper, hand tightening around his own, your breath coming slightly erratically now.

Minho pushes himself to his feet without a word, releasing his hold on your hand, and you almost reach out to grab for him again, before you realize he's sliding behind you on the bed, tugging you back against the warmth of his chest, his arms going around your shoulders protectively as he tucks your head beneath his chin.

"What did I tell you before, princess?"

You swallow again, gaze darting to your waiting doctor, and the screen beyond her shoulder.

"That it's going to be okay."

"Mm. Good girl." Minho hums a sound of approval in his throat, and you feel his lips brush across your forehead. "And it's going to be."

You take in a shuddering breath, and then give a little, jerky nod.

Minho's fingers find your own once more, and you feel him lift his chin from your head, glancing at the doctor.

She must see what she needs to in his gaze, because with a nod of her own, she finally touches the ultrasound wand to your belly.

Your body tenses at the contact as she begins to move the wand around slowly, her gaze laser focused on the screen.

Minho reaches his hand around to the front of your throat, his fingers finding purchase beneath your chin, and you don't resist him as he tips your head back, guiding you to meet his gaze.

"Just look at me, baby. Deep breath."

You force your chest in and out-once, twice-and Minho gives a nod of approval, leaning down to kiss your forehead once more.

"Good girl."

There is quiet, you don't know how long it's been since the doctor started her exam, and you feel your stomach twist, bile burning your throat, the longer the oppressive silence drags on.

Fuck, shouldn't you have heard something by now?

What if-

"Ah, there we go." The doctor murmurs, almost to herself, and suddenly, the sound of a heartbeat-fast and fluttering, like a hummingbirds wings, echoing the frantic pace of your own-fills the room.

Minho grins down at you, and you see the relief flash across his eyes as the heartbeat continues, strong and steady. "See? Nothing to worry about."

Your body sags with relief, and you glance at the screen beyond the doctor's shoulder-no longer dark-a shimmering, spiking line flickering constantly across the monitor in perfect time with the rapid heartbeat.

"Baby sounds perfect." Your doctor continues, smiling up at the two of you, as she moves the wand around and the heartbeat heightens a little. "Right on track."

"Oh my god." You breathe out, putting a trembling hand up to your mouth, sudden hot tears filling your eyes. "Fuck."

Minho laughs a little, leaning over to press a lingering kiss to the crown of your head, his arms squeezing you protectively.

His next exhale comes out more than a little shaky.

"Fuck indeed, baby. Fuck indeed."

************************************************************************

There is blood.

Blood smearing the inside of your legs, blood pounding hard in your ears, blooding staining the disgusting cock of the man looming over you, leering.

You glance to the door where your father had disappeared, giving his men free reign over you, some sort of lesson, and you know, deep down, that there is blood on his hands too.

But unlike the crimson marking you and the man creeping in, it's not the visible kind.

There is blood.

Dripping down between your fingers, coating your palms in slick red, so thick and so ingrained that even the running water is not enough to wash it away, not completely.

You scrub frantically at your hands, but the crimson only seems to multiply, filling the cracks and seeping into the edges of your vision.

You are hyperventilating, your chest heaving, tears streaming down your cheeks, and without your bidding, your gaze slides back to the man on the floor.

Dead.

Lying in a quickly congealing pool of blood and slaughter, your bucket and rag left hastily beside his blown out head.

The rag is already wet and sopping with blood, even after only one quick stroke across the cement.

You lean over the sink and vomit.

There is blood.

You can feel it, pooling beneath your hips, but you're too scared to look beneath the covers, too sure of what you'll find, your heart already shattering in your chest.

You feel sick to your stomach, and the cramping is worsening.

Rolling to your side, you curl your body into the safety of the fetal position, and try to drown out the low murmur of the doctor's voice from the other side of the room.

Screwing your eyes shut, you keep it all inside, and scream with rage where no one will hear.

There is blood.

Flecked across the tawny skin of his cheekbones, spattering the front of his white dress shirt, his prized shoes, congealing and blending with the dark ink that flows across his knuckles until they are almost one.

He steps toward you, and you run to him without a second thought, terrified enough that the breath in your lungs refuses to leave, not until you've got your hands on him and made sure he's all right.

Your bodies collide, and Minho holds you up as a sob tears from between your lips.

You reach up and put your palms on either side of his face, the crimson splatters, sprinkled across his nose like morbid freckles, accentuating the gold flecks that flash in the dark recesses of his eyes.

Minho's lips twist into the hint of a smile.

"It's not mine, princess. Don't worry."

You feel your lungs collapse, your chest caving, and you throw your arms around him violently, never willing to let him leave your grasp again, at least for tonight.

************************************************************************

There is blood.

You step around the puddle on the floor with nothing more than a disinterested glance, your sneakers squeaking on the concrete.

Behind you, Felix makes a muffled sound of disgust in the back of his throat.

"God, they really need to clean up down here."

You glance over your shoulder at him, as he steps around the bloody puddle on the floor with an open look of horror on his face, a grin breaking free from your lips.

You wait for him to catch up to you, and link your arm in his as you continue down the long hallway.

"C'mon, Lixie. I think it's charming."

He gives you an arch of his brow, and you laugh a little.

The interoggation rooms built beneath the mansion serve a purprose-regardless of how dark-and honestly, you're grateful Minho had thought of them.

It's a way to keep the men you hold dear close enough that you know they're not in danger while they do their jobs.

Plus, hearing the screams when you come down here can be therapeutic in a way.

"Besides-" You reach the end of the hall and stop in front of the door there, glancing over at the man beside you as you reach for the knob. "I guarantee, when they come down here, cleaning is the last thing on Changbin and Chan's minds."

Felix rolls his eyes. "Savages."

You grin once more, and roll the door knob in your hand, pushing the door inward easily.

"It's why we love them."

You step into the room, Felix close on your heels, and as the door shuts behind you, your eyes flicker around the small chamber, taking everything in.

Chan is standing against the far wall beside Changbin, muttering something to him rapidly in a low voice.

There's a wall of instruments on the north side, anything from clamps to syringes, all used to get enemies talking.

And in the center of the room, a hunched form of a struggling man, bound to a chair, face covered with a sack.

You can just make out the muffled swears coming from beneath the rough fabric.

You take a step into the light that beams down on the man, encircling him in the gloom, and Chan and Changbin push up from the wall as one, their chatter ceasing immediately.

Changbin grins at you dangerously, as Chan rolls his head from side to side, waiting for your instructions.

Felix, silent as a ghost, leans against the door behind you, watching.

You tilt your head toward the man.

"Show me his face."

"Gladly." Changbin's teeth gleam sharply, as he leans forward and rips the cover roughly off the man's head.

The man looks around, disoriented, his long, gray hair wild, eyes wide and white with fear, the gag held between his teeth stained with spittle.

You feel a spark of fear light in your stomach at the sight of his face-older now, lined, but still recognizable-but force it back down with a long breath, stepping closer calmly, until the man's frantically roving eyes land on you.

"Take off his gag."

Chan steps up silently now, untying the gag at the back of the man's head, and as soon as it's loose enough, the man spits it out, licking his dry, chapped lips, as he glances between you and the men surrounding him with fury in his eyes.

"What the fuck is this? Who do you think you are? I could have you thrown to the bottom of a lake so no one would find your bodies, you know-"

You tsk your tongue in disapproval, and the man halts his tirade, his eyes narrowing, his weaselly features sharp.

"Empty threats." You sigh, stepping toward him, cocking your head as you study him.

He's shrunk after all these years, his skin almost paper thin, his hair greasy.

The eyes are the same though.

Hungry, predatory, evil.

His lips lift into the start of a snarl, revealing yellowing teeth.

"I don't know who you think you are, you bitch, but I assure you-"

Changbin's hand tangles into the man's stringy hair, yanking his head back roughly, shutting him up.

"Shut the fuck up, old man. Watch your tongue." He growls, glaring down at the man, his eyes blurring with tears as Changbin tugs once more on his hair painfully hard. "Or else I'll make sure that what she does to you will feel like mercy when I'm done with you."

He shoves the man's head forward, and he sputters, trying to catch his breath, his chest heaving, spittle flying from his lips.

Chan steps around the chair and holds out a knife toward you, his brow arched.

You take it without hesitation, and play with the razor sharp tip for a moment, ticking it off your fingertips as you study the man, lost in thought.

He glares up at you, his eyes full of hatred.

You almost laugh.

Oh trust me, not as much hatred as I hold toward you, Wu Chen.

You sigh, a long suffering sound, and address the man sitting, still now, before you.

"Do you recognize me, Mr. Wu?"

His dark eyes flash with something full of anger, but no recognition crosses his murderous gaze.

"Why should I?"

You cluck your tongue in annoyance, glancing up from the gleaming knife held in your hands.

"You took something from me once."

A brief flash of confusion swirls with the fury, and then his jaw clenches, his features going hard.

He gives a humorless laugh.

"I've taken things from a lot of people." His eyes glint with the predator, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he lets his gaze fall down the length of your body. "Quite a few of them delicious, mouthy little cunts such as yourself."

He's trying to unnerve you.

It's not working.

You've given him enough fear for one lifetime already.

No more.

You step forward, and lean over him, your hand going on the back of the chair, the knife held alert between the two of you, dangerously close to his jugular.

His eyes flick down to the steel, and you don't miss the way his throat bobs with a swallow.

"You took something. Long ago. Took something from someone who couldn't fight back. Something that was never yours to begin with. Do you remember what that was, Mr. Wu?"

Your voice is quiet, steady, but venomous and deadly as a viper waiting to strike.

His eyes meet yours, and when it's clear he's not going to respond, you sigh, sliding the knife up the column of his throat slowly, watching as the crimson appears in the shallow cut you leave behind.

He flinches, but remains quiet.

"A girl." You continue, voice dropping to nothing more than a deadly murmur.

Something like recognition flashes in the dark of his eyes, and suddenly, the man sitting bound before you looks a hell of a lot more nervous than he did before.

You let a small smirk flick the corner of your lips, as you lean back, taking the knife away from his throat.

"She wasn't strong enough to fight you back then. But she is now."

You lift your chin at Chan, and he steps around in front of your prisoner, leaning over to rip open the closure of his suit pants.

"What, what are you doing?" He splutters, immediately writhing in the chair once more, as Chan proceeds to easily tear his pants open, baring thin, scarred legs to the cold air of the room.

Changbin steps up as Chan finishes and goes around the chair, back to his side, holding the man still with firm hands on his shoulders as you approach once more.

You lean over, and easily shred the boxers he wears with one quick flick of your wrist that holds the knife.

The man before you screams and struggles, as his shrunken, shriveled cock springs free for all to see.

"Mm." You hum in your throat thoughtfully, staring at the man and his member with consideration. "It's a lot smaller than I remembered."

Changbin leans over the man's shoulder to get a look and grins, his eyes glinting.

You glance back to your prisoner, and a smirk curves your lips as he cries out in terror, fighting against his bonds and the hold of Changbin's hands.

You step closer and hold up the knife for him to see, the metal glinting in the overhead light.

"No, no, please-" He flails, begging pathetically, but you ignore him, angling the knife expertly as you close in.

The smirk doesn't leave your lips, as you arch a brow and stare down at the writhing, pathetic excuse of a man before you.

Your voice is steady when you speak, rising above the sound of his pleas.

"You took something precious from me, Mr. Wu. Now it's time for me to take something from you."

************************************************************************

You hear Minho before you see him.

The door to the bedroom sounds, and the room is immediately filled with curses and general angry lamentations as he struggles to get through the crack he's made in the door without letting the dogs on the other side in with him.

You can hear him yelling all the way from the ensuite bathroom.

"Get back, you hairy fuckers!-Jesus-Suwon, don't do that, you damned beast!-fuck-and you! Fucking bane of my existence!-ow-Give me back my fucking shoe and go find a ball, you damned fucking demon hound!"

The door finally slams, and you hear rapid paws head down the hall on the other side, Suwon and the new puppy, probably in search of Yeong-Ja.

Minho appears then in the doorway of the bathroom, looking frazzled, a lone dress shoe held in his hand, his lips smashed into a thin line of rage.

You try to hide your smile, glancing at him over your shoulder, as you continue to ready to get in the already running shower.

"Have a bit of a struggle, Boss Lee?" You query innocently, eyes wide as you regard him, like you haven't just heard everything that occurred.

He swears under his breath and tosses the chewed shoe into the trash, reaching up to swipe a hand through his disheveled hair with an agitated rake of his fingers.

"Fucking dogs. That fucking puppy is even worse than Suwon was."

You grin now, turning toward him, and his eyes trail down your naked body, catching on the prevalent bump that now takes up your midsection.

"Baby, Bohoja will learn, just like Suwon did. You won't be stuck with ruined shoes forever."

"Mmm." Minho hums something like distracted agreement under his breath, his eyes still on you, as if he's lost his train of thought and is no longer thinking about the hellhounds that roam the halls. "He had better. Or I'll have Chan's head on a stick." He takes a step toward you. "But that's not what I came to talk about."

You arch a brow, playing innocent for awhile longer.

"Oh? What did you come to talk about then, husband?"

His eyes darken predatorially at the lilting tease to your voice, a challenge, and he growls, closing the space between you, his hand going up to grip your chin.

Your bare chest brushes his through the material of the dress shirt he wears, and you can already feel his arousal, long and rock hard against your leg.

It makes you want to shiver, even though the steamy bathroom is more than a little warm.

His eyes trace up your body once more, and then flick to your face, catching on your cheekbone, before he reaches up with his free hand to brush something on your skin.

You lean into his touch, brushing your lips over the inked skin of his knuckles.

"You have blood on your face, princess."

You arch a brow. "Does that turn you on?"

Minho's eyes flash dark, dangerous, and his lip curls up to reveal a flash of his teeth, his voice a husky growl in the back of his throat.

"Incredibly."

You smirk, and he stares at you for another moment, hunger clear in his eyes, and you think maybe he'll give in and take you right here, against the bathroom counter, but instead, he sighs, and lets his free hand tangle into your hair, tilting your head back so your gaze meets his.

"You found him then."

It's a statement, not a question.

You nod. "Yes."

Minho's brow arches, and the corner of his mouth lifts into the start of a smirk.

"And?"

You sigh, pulling from his grasp as you step away, turning back when you reach the waiting shower.

Minho hasn't moved, watching your every move.

Eyes locked on his, you step backward into the flowing water, and it immediately coats your skin in hot rivulets, making everything slick.

You arch a brow, watching the predatory look come back into Minho's eyes as the water wets your skin, pooling in streams down between your breasts, your thighs.

You cock your head, as if considering, and then say without preamble, "And I cut off his pathetic excuse for a dick. I gave it to cook. She's going to make a fancy pate out of it and feed it to the dogs."

Minho breathes out, you see it in the way his chest rises and falls and then he's striding to the open air shower, ripping his tie off as he comes, stepping into the stream of water in the rest of his clothing without a second thought.

He takes your chin in a bruising grip with one hand, and snakes his other hand down between your thighs.

Your breath hitches as he touches the wetness there, just for him.

"God, you're so fucking beautiful, princess." He grits out, tilting your head back so that he can look into your eyes while he finger fucks you.

"So you tell me." You try to give him a teasing smile, but the expression is lost as your mouth parts and a gasp escapes your lips when he curls his fingers.

"No, I mean-" He backs you against the wall with his body, the water drenching the shirt he wears, you can see his tan skin and the ink across his chest through the wet material, and lets his gaze travel appreciatively down your length once more. "-you're always fucking beautiful, but god-"

He groans gutturally , leaning into you, mouth open against your own, as he hits a spot that has you gripping onto him, keening audibly.

"-there's something so incredibly fucking sexy about you when you're pregnant."

His words send a thrill of heat straight to your core.

"Take this off." You practically beg, pawing uselessly at his shirt, and he pulls his hand away from you to undo the buttons, tugging it open impatiently, as you reach down to free him of his pants.

You're eager for him to take you, to claim you, but instead of immediately finding purchase inside you, Minho drops to his knees in front of you, and runs his hands reverently over your swollen belly, glancing up at you through the streams of water.

His hair is dark, dripping, and you bury your fingers into it.

"I put this here. You, carrying my kid, princess-" He takes in a deep breath, his fingers still caressing your skin. "Fuck, now everyone knows who you belong to. Everyone knows you're mine."

You stare down at him, this man on his knees for you, this man who has given you everything-and you smile.

"I don't think there was ever any doubt about who I belonged to, Lee Minho. It's always been you."

Minho surges to his feet and covers your mouth with his own, your tongues tangling instantly, your body melting into his, his fingers finding you once again right where he left off, making you jolt against him and gasp in pleasure.

"What do you want?" He asks, voice husky, gravely, against your lips.

"You." You breathe back, hand already trailing down between your two bodies to find him. Your fingers close around him, and Minho shudders. "All of you. Always."

"You have all of me, princess. Always." He repeats in a hoarse voice, before he sheathes himself fully inside of you without warning, making you both cry out.

And you know he means it.

************************************************************************

"Ow." You huff beneath your breath, shifting on the chaise, as Yeong-Ja looks up from playing with the puppy on the floor in front of the fire.

"What's wrong, mommy?"

You give her a smile that's more like a grimace as the baby kicks you strongly again, foot sinking up under your ribs.

"Baby brother is just kicking me, that's all, baby. I'm okay."

Yeong-Ja immediately turns back to Bohoja, teasing him with a rope toy.

"'Baby brother'?" Minho queries, leaving his desk and sliding in beside you on the sofa, his arm going around you as he pulls you close.

You smile, glancing up at him. "Just a feeling."

Another kick, another curse under your breath.

"Fuck. Minho. Tell your son to behave please."

Minho chuckles, burying his nose in your hair and breathing you in, his hand sliding down to rest on the apex of your stomach.

"Sorry, princess. You know how we Lee men are."

The baby kicks again against his palm, and Minho curves his fingers along the curvature of your belly, as if holding the unborn baby close from the outside.

You sigh, and snuggle back into him.

He presses a kiss to your forehead.

"Well-" You acquiesce, stifling a yawn as you lean your head on his shoulder, and watch Yeong-Ja playing happily with the puppy, Suwon dozing near by. "-I'd better get used to it then, because I wouldn't have them any other way."

You feel the warmth of Minho's breath as he buries his face once more in your hair, holding you close.

"I love you, princess. And the murderous little creature currently growing in your womb."

You grin and kiss his chest through the thin material of his dress shirt.

"I love you too, Boss Lee."

Love.

There is so much love.

[pxuvalentinx]

Atta girl ✧ High Noon Yone x fem!reader tw: degradation, creampie, abuse (i think??), spanking, forced breeding, dub con (if theres anything else let me know<3) an: i wrote this a while ago when hn yone got first leaked, so if any new lore dropped - i wouldn't know. ✧ ˚ 　· 　　 . You swore to yourself that you’d kill every single one of those damn devils — without a single exception. You promised to avenge all the poor souls that got killed by those who made a pact with a devil. Not only that, but you’d give your life to free the west from its curse. It was the least you could do after failing so miserably to save others. So why were you bent over the saloon counter while a man rutted into you? Why were you moaning and whining his name? The name of a man who had made a pact with a devil. Bounty hunter Yone. Such an ironic title when you consider that there’s a high bounty on him as well. He hated devils, too — more than anything. His hatred took him so far that he became one of them. And god, you were thankful for it. Your thoughts were clearly getting manipulated by your tight cunt that was squeezing around his girth so deliciously that it made him growl into your ear. He wasn’t even trying to be quiet — the saloon might’ve been empty, but he wanted everyone to hear that walked by, how he was fucking this once so proud and snobbery woman into his little bitch. How she slowly became his dumb slut. Yone’s hands were on your hips as he thrusted into you from behind, pressing his pelvis against your ass while he leaned forward to whisper sweet nothings into your ear. One hand wandered up your throat, grabbing your chin with it and pulling your head back. His lips were barely two inches away from yours — “Aren’t ya just so pathetic?” He purred. “Just half an hour ago ya were soooo confident about killin’ me, tellin’ me how much ya hated ‘my kind’, how selfish I am, and now… You’re soakin’ and suckin’ in my cock like it’s ya’s life purpose.” The low growl in his voice was making your walls flutter around his dick. You hated to admit how good this felt. His hands were cold, freezing even. They sent shivers down your spine with every touch. He had this frightening and overwhelming aura that seemed to become more distinct with every thrust. His hand let go of your face after he saw the tears roll down your cheeks, proud of his work. From the corner of your eye, you could see his cocky grin. 

squeeze 

“Oh, fuck…!” He cursed. “Makes you this horny? Nasty bitch. Gon’ teach ya a lesson… Make…Ah~ ya regret facin’ me.” Your walls kept pulsating around his cock, massaging all of it like your cunt was made for him. It was driving him crazy, low grunts escaping his throat. 

He spread your ass cheeks with his two broad hands - one gloved. Groans of satisfaction as he looked at the sight. Letting go of one and giving it a hard smack right after, leaving a stinging pain which made you whine out. Music to his ears. Another smack. 

And another.

And another. 

“That ass already looked good in those tight ass jeans ya were wearin’ - but I didn’t expect it to look this good without ‘em” He could feel himself getting harder at the sight, growing even bigger inside of you. “Gon’ make you ride me next time. Want to see that pretty ass bounce on my fat cock. Better show me how much of a cowgirl ya truly are.” 

You turned your face to him, where he was already looking at you with the same cocky smile he had before. The pale skin in combination with his flaming orange eyes made your heart skip a beat. You never thought you’d think of a devil as handsome. Tears were streaming down your face as he continued to abuse your cunt to the best of his abilities. 

Yasuo warned you of him — No, everyone warned you of him, but you didn’t want to listen. You were so confident in being able to defeat him, in being able to get one step closer to peace in the west. And here you were, squirming underneath him, sobbing because his cock just hits all the right spots too damn good, begging him to fuck you harder, to abuse your cunt just a little more because in reality you were a pathetic masochist, who loved that he treated you like a piece of fuck meat. You were begging him to fill you up with his hot seed, to make a mess out of you and your cunt - to mark it as his. 

You didn’t care about the peace of the west anymore. All you could think about was Yone’s cock buried deep inside your pussy while his hands were kneading your ass in such a nice but rough manner. You wanted to cum all over his dick again and again and again. 

“Oh shit, darlin’ - gonna cum. Gon’ fill your tiny little pussy with my seed, ya want that? Fuck~ Tell me how badly ya want it, sweetheart. Tell me how badly ya want to get bred by me.” Yone commanded, the same low husky tone as before. 

Oh, how much this man turned you on, with his stupid low voice and his stupid grunts. “Yo- Ah~ Fuck… Please…fill me up…” 

“Atta girl!” 

His sloppy thrusts eventually ended up in him burying himself deep inside you, filling you up with all he has. The twitching feeling of his cock and the noises he made really hit you hard, making you squirt around him, ruining his chaps. Soft whines and pants leaving your lips. Yone threw his head back at the feeling, his hat almost falling off his head.  A split second before he pulled his cock out, looking at his cum oozing out of your cunt. Yours and his fluids were mixing together on the floor. He slurred out some quiet words, while spreading your pussy to really take in the view. "Think ya can take another round?"

[thesassypadawan]

Boom Bitch (Kurt x FemReader)

Summary: Fireworks. Some find joy from them while others… Well, for those like your pup, it can be a trigger. Good thing he was you to help comfort him.

Warnings: 18+ (mdni), because there sooo much of the smut. Face sitting, oral (female receiving) and… Kurt’s skilled tongue.

Notes: I would love to hear what all you, lovelies, think! If you would like to see more of Kurt! If so...I already have another idea in mind! ❤️

- You're not exactly sure how things got like this…

- One moment you're sprawled on the bed. Laying on your back, his face buried between your legs. Ravenously sucking and lapping at your cunt like a man starved…

- The next he's abruptly pulling away. Leaving you whining, crying out for him. Mixing with the sounds of fireworks popping off nearby…

- Fireworks! Propping yourself up on your elbows, you’re met by the sight of Kurt shaking slightly…blue eyes blown wide…chest rising and falling steadily…slick still covering his chin. “It’s going to be okay, pup. Breathe for me. I’ll grab your-”

- You move to get off the bed, instead his strong arms wrap around you. Dragging you upright, forcing you to straddle his torso. “Nah,” he mutters. Calloused hands running up your thighs, cupping the backs of them. “I-I don’t want that stuff, makes me all loopy. Wanna try somethin’ different this time…want ya to sit on my face.”

- A look of confusion crosses your face, unsure if you heard him right. But once he gives your squishy pillows each a firm squeeze, urging you to scoot forward onto his broad chest…you knew you hadn’t misheard, and you weren’t about to deny him.

- Shifting, hovering only inches above his lips; you shiver in nervous anticipation. Hot breath fanning across your soaked folds from his shallow pants, a gasp escaping you…along with a small trickle of arousal. “Are…are you sure? What if I smother y-you?”

- Hands come to settle on your waist, tracing soothing patterns into your skin. “Ya won’t, but…” He trails off, beginning to gently ease you down. “…if it’s my time to go, then I picked one hell of a way to do it.”

- Another loud boom echoes in the sky and, without warning, he wrenches you the rest of the way. Crashing you roughly into his waiting mouth, your legs spread wide.

- He wastes no time digging in. Licking up and down, side to side. Wrapping around your clit, tugging harshly. A groan of content floating out from beneath you.

- Closing your eyes, you lose yourself in the way he massages you deliciously…how he rolls your sensitive bud perfectly. It was so sloppy, messy, wonderful. That it has you gripping the headboard; back arching, steadily rocking your hips against his face.

- Lips suction around you, tongue delves deeply. Reaching places you never thought possible; eliciting the sweetest, filthiest moans from you.

- Cheeks go flushed, the heat inside you rises up. Arms and thighs start to tremble, shake. Your pace stutters, but he grabs hold of your ass…hard. Anchoring you to him, holding you tightly. Guiding, moving you faster; circling, plunging fervently.

- “I… I… Fuck… Fuuuck…” Mewling and whining, fluttering and clenching. Hurtling towards what felt like an earth-shattering orgasm, you teeter on the very edge until…

- Growling low…into your core. The vibration travels straight through you; goosebumps forming on your skin, nipples pebbling. Legs locking around Kurt’s head, squishing him between your pillows. Completely coming unraveled, undone.

- Licking you softly, he carefully withdraws his tongue. Flicking it against your clit, exploring your folds again. Capturing and drinking up the juices that spill out.

- Spent, exhausted; yet you still shakily rut into his mouth. Riding out your high, twitching from aftershocks. Babbling incoherently the whole time.

- As the final burst rumbles and dies, he slowly releases you from his iron hold. Allowing you to lift off, revealing him to be…

- Mess, a total mess. Strings of cum connect you to his lips. Face coated entirely in your essence, some dripping onto his neck…glistening in the faint light. Gleam of fear and panic no longer evident in his eyes.

- Barely holding yourself over him, the feeling starts to return to your limbs. You flash a mischievous grin, asking breathlessly. “Better?”

- Reaching up, he spreads your folds. Placing a kiss on your bud; thumb rubbing over your entrance, collecting some more slick. “Actually, angel…”

- Smirking, he locks gazes with you. Bringing it to his lips, sucking it clean. Pleased grunt coming from Kurt when he releases the digit with a wet pop. “…never been better. Think I might like those stupid things. Now that I got the best comfort, my…”

- Fireworks erupt nearby once more. Arms wrap tightly around your waist… “Boom Bitch.” …and yank you back down.

Tag List: @espinathena-17, @myheartwillgoon2022, @wifeofasith, @princessswifie, @kenobiskywalker16, @loverforoldermen, @lotte08, @freezerbride95, @lacebird, @lunarnightt, @adorbzliz, @maevesversion, @decaffeinatedunicorn, @anakinsbbgirl, @fuckmyskywalker

[darlingofvalyria]

❝I never asked you to, you bumbling oaf.❞

[ Between advices and jealous-fraught fights, nestles your heart in red satin and ivory touch. Or, your marriage so far with the firstborn son of the King. ]

[ +18 MDNI ] [ 3,901 ] | Aegon Targaryen II x Wife!Reader

contains— fluff & smutty - nsfw: oral (f receiving), p & v sex, creampie, breeding kink(?), - soft shit if aegon got to at least have a bit more agency lmao - jealousy - sorta angsty in the beginning but eh - your house is unnamed but you're a bad bitch - no use of y/n - no kings, no martyrs, no betas.

a/n— it wasn't going to be a full smut, but aegon happened so here we are. comment, reblog & like at will, mwa!

Fraught might be a marriage arranged— cost and effect, weighed by titles and expectations of such matches made, emotion of either future spouse the least they weigh when they make their decisions — but you had grown to adore your husband.

You had been warned, of course. Gossip and small-minded chatter followed the firstborn son of the King. That despite the regality of Targaryen roots and colouring, he was a whoremonger, an addled-drunk, a monstrous caveat shrouded in dark green silk and iron.

You were called a victim, a damsel in distress meant to be saved before you had even met him. And yet not a single one of them batted an eye, much less offered a hand to rescue you from such turmoil. More than prepared to send you off. Others, of course, wishing for a prince to be married to their house, spit their scorn and irony.

The day you met him was a hot day. The sun basked the Crownlands with an almost venomous hatred, and it did not help your anticipation. Nor the long and arduous travel that turned the carriage into a hotbox meant to cook.

Your rear had ached in pain, almost as painful as your pinched cheeks that your grandmother had twisted unto your skin before you got out to meet the Queen, the Hand, and your betrothed, reminding you that a Princess Consort must always look her best, must appeal to her husband at all times "but must not be whorish! And sit straight, by the Seven, girl! Remember to exit gracefully! Like a swan, not a duck! Yes, there is a difference! Scamper your sarcasm!"— your gown was heavy, cinched tight and thick in beautiful fabric and small pearls and sapphires.

You had smiled prettily, bowed perfectly, and when you finally faced your betrothed, he was barely able to stand, pale as a sheet, and suffering from his cups the night before, sweat weeping on his brow.

It had sent a strike down your spine, irritation and anger spinning beneath pearly teeth. You bite down any word before they escape, forcing you to a perfect posture and a sharpened edge to your smile.

Aegon Targaryen, Second of his Name, had taken a step back, almost subconsciously, as fear flashed in his darling blue eyes.

Your good brother, having found out of this first interaction, had not stopped teasing your husband for the next few moons. Your good sister, you were told much later, had hummed wistfully, fingers dancing between rings as if she knew much more than anyone else, a small smile playing on the corners of her lips.

The memory makes you laugh now, warming your cold fingers against your first winter storm in Kings Landing. Snow torrents in whirlwinds and spikes, filling the Godswood in flurries and icicles.

Your Lady In Waiting, Emma Redwyne with her pretty Tully red hair and curled lashes that you had always found envy in, bows in greeting. You don't acknowledge her, which you recognise as nothing but pettiness, but you can't bring yourself to stop. You continue to stare forward, hand outstretched in the flurry of snow, when she awkwardly speaks.

"The prince is in your bedchambers, my princess."

You hum in acknowledgement, but no more. She shifts.

"He says he will not leave lest it is you who tells him so."

You turn to her, churlish in your expression of irritation and she winces, tucking her chin once more in false reverence before you sigh. The Lady Redwyne had been a friend once, an acquaintance really. Your grandmother had warned you that though you should have a good relationship with your ladies, it was best to keep them at an arm's length.

"Vipers and greed make stock in the centrefold of power, my dearest," she murmured, gnarled hands twinning your hair, a colour close to her own when she had been your age. You had been told you looked just like her, a gem in her era, her hand sought after by lords and princes alike before your grandsire made a weighty proposal to her house. "No matter what friendship you can build, all of it is but fat clouds and sandcastles. Pretty as they are, easily destructible by the next gust of wind."

"But they would be my ladies." The idea that the women closest to you should be kept with a good eye brought a weight to your chest. Trust is a hard thing to grasp in this place, you were fast learning.

You grandmother tutted, her hands cupping your chin, tilting upward until the same eyes met. One aged and knowing, another young and soon will understand the weight of life. Of the coat she bore with her husband's house in front of the Sept.

"Just watch and see, my sweet. Your future husband is a prince. They will try their damnedest. But you should not lose, for you are his wedded consort."

Now, your eyes linger on the cut of Lady Redwyne's gown. Far too revealing for the coldest touch of the year. The rogue in her cheeks, in her lips. There is a new necklace nestled on her bosom, no doubt an insistent gift from her father.

You wonder if your husband had stirred at the sight of her full visage. That if you had not been upset with him as it it, and have not abandoned your marriage quarters for three moons now, his fingers would have danced across her pale collarbones, fingering the dropped ruby at the centre of her throat. Pressing a light kiss on the gem.

The fornicated memory brings nausea and anger, but you are not new to your role, much less the greed of others, even those closest to you, so you strangled it with will.

If Aegon had dared to mock you anew while you were both in cold waters, he has been too aware now of your anger and what it means for him.

You look back at the peek of red leaves still attached to the tree, almost a stubborn refusal to move with the order of the gods, and you smile despite yourself.

"... My princess?"

Your annoyance spikes.

"And if I tell you to tell him that I will sleep in another chamber, mayhaps upturn a chamber meant for guests, will he then rot forever in my bedchamber?" You turn to her, eyebrow arched. "Will he not be accosted for leaving his duties undone? Must I treat him as a babe throwing a tantrum? Soothe him?" You step toward her. She flinches, a bird wanting to take flight but knows better than to move without her mistress' orders. "Or have you already tried so, to soothe the prince, and have been told to scram, to fetch me, for you are not his wife?"

Her eyes flutter, chest heaving. "My Princess, please—"

"Enough," you say primly, gathering your skirts. "Come to my chambers before dinner but no earlier. The only reason I haven't sent you back to the Reach is by grace and no more."

"My princess." She bows again and you don't miss the clenched jaw as you leave in a flutter of your bloodred gown and arched chin.

You have only just turned a corner when you hear a voice, soft and silky, familiar for many moons now.

"That was harsh of you, good sister."

You pause and spin, letting out a small laugh at the appearance of your good brother. Tall and princely in visage, he inclines his head in greeting while you bow.

"You are mistaken, my prince."

"Hm?"

You smirk. "That was kindness on my part."

He hums, fighting off a smile. Or what you think is a smile. Prince Aemond is still a mystery to you, but he is polite and you find yourself in good ease with your good brother. Unlike your husband, he wears his duty like armour and wield it like a sword. More than once, you are made to imagine what it would be like to have been married to him instead of your husband, and you blanche at the thought.

Though there is complications and evergreen misunderstanding with your husband at most turns, you cannot find yourself happy to the idea of being married to the One-Eyed Prince. There is nothing to say of his scarred appearance— as it does nothing but exemplify his gifted wielding of the sword, but being so honour and duty bound as you, it would be a cool, crisp marriage wheeled on routine and silent understandings.

A monotonous life might be a mercy to most, a dream to some even, but it brings hives to your skin at the mere idea.

Silent dinners and polite conversations are one thing. A marriage built on everything but... it would unsettle and madden your soul.

He offers his arm. "May I escort you to your chambers and my sad sack of a brother?"

You temper your giggle, taking his elbow. "I would be delighted."

Quiet pinches both of your measured footsteps, but you revel in its serenity. Maegor's Holdfast is stone and steel in the winters, fewer bodies lingering in corridors and corners to stave off into rooms with heat, but the rest that do are about, bow at your persons.

"I see you are adjusting well," he finally says. You turn, eyebrow arched. "As a princess consort of the realm."

"Was I so unprepared in my earlier moons?"

"In a way. Helaena says you are still comely and kind, despite being married to my brother."

"I am satisfied in my marriage, Prince Aemond," you say, unable to stop your raised hackles and need to defend your husband. "My duty to the realm is not strained in the least, and I... care for him."

He gives you a long look but you refuse his stare. He hums again, and whatever topic is breached is dropped. The quiet follows up until the doors of your chambers where he stops.

"Thank you for escorting me, my prince. I know your duties occupy your time."

"A duty of mine is to ensure my good sister is in safe hands." He gives a beckoning bow, notching an eyebrow at the door. "And I wish you ever happiness with your marriage to my brother, the Seven knows your duty is harder than mine."

Before you can retort, he is gone, and you are left with a sigh before you push through.

Though a prince, there is nothing princely of Aegon's sprawl on your bed. His gold, silver spun hair like a halo akimbo his face. Warmth emanates from the fire while he plays with his fingers atop his stomach.

"I thought you will ignore me once more, my wife," he speaks to the air, face still straight to the ceiling.

As you close the doors, a nod to your sworn shield, your straightened shoulders hunch as you relax. An unladylike snort breaking through the quiet. You don't see it, but Aegon smiles at the sound, a pang hitting his chest at the sound of comfort that he misses so.

"These are my chambers, husband," you say. "Unless you are meaning to kick me out of the Keep in total, I think my appearance in my own is not a totally shocking thought."

You sit beside him but do not lay down, giving him a good look as he stares up at you with a vacant expression. He is sober, in a way that there is a glassy sheen to his mullish blue eyes the colour of lightning and thunderstorms. His pallour is pale and his clothes are rumpled, but there is no near stench of wine or woman.

In fact he smells like Aegon on his good days; dragon and grime at the edges, soot and wind.

"I have not been to the Silk Street since we have been married," he says as if reading your thoughts. "I have not, and will refuse, to stray from our marital chambers." He gives you a poke. Like a child. "Unlike you."

You know he is telling the truth. He made the vow to you on your marriage bed, hands intertwined, fresh purple blooms appearing on your throat as he bore crescent shaped moons on his back.

You had to wear high-necked collars for two weeks. In the summers. It was impossibly awful, but the memory of your first night is one you cherish. What you go back to when tempers flare and sadness beckons in corners.

He had spent that first night worshipping you, ensuring you are more than sated before he had taken his own pleasure.

"But women who want you need not be whores to tempt you to their beds," you finish softly, unable to stop yourself as you take one of his hands to your lap, spinning the silver ring he keeps on his last finger.

"My wife, dearest to my heart." Your eyes flutter close at the endearments. It was a running joke to both of you, a joke that evolved with sincerity and... well, you hoped was love.

"I had tea with your grandmother, wife."

You looked up from your lunch, lips thinning at the joke and excitement nestled in giggles he was holding back. "Oh no. I knew I should have sent her back home the minute our vows were over."

He laughed then, taking the unoccupied seat across from you as he pressed his lips to your head. It made your heart flutter, even more so as he plucked a berry from your tart and offered it to your lips. He looked with insistence so you ate it. He pressed a thumb to your bottom lip before pressing a soft kiss to his own lips. You tried not to furiously blush.

"What has she told you?"

"Many a topic." He laughed again at your groan. Aegon had found himself enamoured with you as days past. Learning how you act less primly and more comfortable in his presence had brought him a good sense of happiness. Something he thought he lost forever. And he found, the happier he made you, the stronger the happiness in himself grew. It was an addicting feeling.

"But the prime idea were endearments."

"Endearments?"

"That a husband and wife with a pretty marriage such as ours, as we are royals, must show hope and perpetual peace for the people."

You frowned. "And... endearments give perpetual peace to the people how?"

"A show of the stability of our marriage. Of fondness. So now, I shall call you my dearly beloved heart."

You made a strange, strangling sound that had your husband giggling in surprise. "Pardon me, my prince. I—"

"Your precious honey bee."

"... Excuse me?"

"Babycakes?"

"Are you ill?"

"The darling of your eye, then."

You blinked. "Pardon?"

"What you call me," he teased.

"I refuse."

"You refuse?"

"Yes." You fought your own smile. "You are not the darling of my eye, and calling you thus, will make me a liar."

The pinched expression of jealousy made you bite your lip. "And who is, pray tell, the darling of your eye?"

"My grandmother."

You pressed your lips together. Aegon blinked in shocked. Then the both of you burst out in hard laughters, holding your chests and stomachs.

"We shall find an endearment for your beloved husband then," he announced after he had gasped for breath, dabbing the tears collected from his eyes. His smile enchanted you, wide and beautiful, upturned with a gaze as if he was beheld by the most darling of creatures. The urge to skip over him, drape yourself on his lap, and kiss him silly was an urge you pushed down.

"The... babe to my wondrous bosom?"

"Aegon!"

"So in counsel? That is not a definite no."

"My love?" he calls now, bringing your shared hands to his lips. "Lay down with me."

Before you can retort, he pulls you down to him until your warmth is shared, burning in a single flame. A sigh leaves your mouth, and the sound urges him to pull you impossibly closer.

"Women may find themselves in our bed, but unless they are you, they are nothing," he says after a minute. You tense up and he rubs your back. "I have made a vow."

"I will not hate you if you do. Anger is sordid, but I know my role. I know that is common practice for husbands, and as Princess Consort—"

He pulls you to him, your chest pressed against his as he held your face in his hands. His eyes are sad but his gaze is firm. "Your role as my wife does not mean you stay silent in your anger. Fight me. Make as much ruckus as you want. Tell Sunfyre to burn me to a crisp. You know as much High Valyiran as I at this point."

You laugh, forehead falling on his chest as you feel the burn in your eyes as tears escaped you. "I am no dragonrider."

A laughter rumbles his chest. "Could have fooled me," he teased.

"What?"

When you look up, he is smirking. "You've ridden me before."

"Aegon!"

He noses your jaw, kissing the edge of your chin. "The lemon of your tart, you mean."

"No, I do not." A sigh leaves you as his kisses turn into suckles, his hands holding you steady, rubbing circles against your skin.

"I think... I am fully forgiven now? For you have slept far away from me—" You yelp as he bites your ear, "— for too long a time. And for spending more time with my brother than you have of me in a while. Truly unfair punishment."

"He has only escorted me."

He flips you both, unlacing the front of your bodice with adept fingers while he leaves a trail of bites at every exposed skin. "While I wait by your chambers like a lovesick fool?"

"I never asked you too, you bumbling oaf."

He huffs a laugh, ripping down the front of your dress as you shriek, eyes meeting your own with a dark glint, before his hot mouth envelops your pert nipple. You keen.

"I am still a-angry with you," you sigh, running your fingers through his silver locks. When your body adjusts, seeking to pleasure the warmth between your thighs, he moves lower as if he can read your mind, read your wants, and when you make a roll of your hips right against his tenting manhood, his groan vibrates against your breast to your ribcages.

"I understand." He leans back on his hunches, smile sweet, before he shuffles around and underneath your dress, past your small clothes, and takes a slow swipe of his finger against your warm, wet folds. Your hips buck, a gasp leaving your throat, and he breathlessly laughs.

"Your beloved honey bee would like to taste the nectar between your thighs that you have so graciously held against me for so long."

You groan, suppressing a shiver as he holds your thighs steady with his own laughter. "The urge to kick you is strong, my husband. Enough to risk the Lord Hand's ire. And your mother's."

He groans, stilling in the midst of pushing your skirts up, he pops his head back toward you. "Please, owner my beating heart. The fire to my dragon. The lemon cake to my tea—

"— that one is your least creative one so far —"

"— Let us not speak of my mother, gods forbid, my grandsire, while I am between your legs. For the good of the realm."

"The good of the realm?" You scoff. Then yelp as he bites your thigh, soothing it with a lap of his tongue.

"Yes, my sweet, the good of the realm." He pops back to you, hair askew, eyes devilish, as he grins. "It is common knowledge that heirs are for the good of the realm. And I cannot bring you pleasure if you keep mentioning people I'd rather not imagine while doing so. And your pleasure, from what your grandmother had told me from our many afternoon teas, my sweetest, golden love, is important for my heirs."

Your giggles turn breathless when he disappears beneath your skirts once more. "I surrender then... apple of my tarts."

The sound of his giggles underneath your skirts soon grow muted against the sound of your pleasure. The thing about Aegon, is that pleasure is meant to be savoured. So as he slowly tears through your own clothes while he makes you reach your peak once, twice, thrice— your skin drenched in sweat, rose blush bloomed your face and neck, arms weakened and thighs unable to hold steady — you turn to your husband, the haze of your orgasm clouding any rational thought as you beheld him, still fully clothed with your juices on his face, a proud smirk twisted on his lips.

"Are you okay, beloved?" He rests a hand on your face and you nuzzle against him. "Shall I call for a bath now?"

"Later," you pronounce breathlessly. "If you do not find yourself inside me in the next second, I shall curse you for evermore."

He laughs, giving you a languid kiss before he steps back and strips.

He does not make a show of it, as harried and hard for you (no catching of his pleasure against the bed could ever compare to thrusting inside of you), and you watch his weeping cock with an unbashed hunger of your own, as he pumps it a few times, eyes staring at your visage as you widen your legs, holding your thighs to give him a sweet view.

He groans. "What Silken Street whore could be compared to my wife so willing? What lady would be enough?"

"I swear to the Seven, if you do not end your blasted soliloquy—"

His laughter rings, body covering your own before he slides in your warm, wet cunny. Blasphemy spills his tongue as a softened sigh leaves you. Though he is not lengthy, his girth stretches, thrilling the nerves up to your throat. The ease is given by your wetness, but he is slow, making sure you felt every ridge and vein until you cry softly at your abused pearl rubbing against his body.

"I will not last," he half spits, jaw clenched. "I will have to- I'm sorry but—"

"Do it," you whisper, locking your ankles on his ass as much strength as your legs can allow. "Pound me into the matress."

"Fuck," is the last thing he says before he follows your orders, each hit against your cervix building your own peak. "Pretty wife, darling pearl, the sexiest— fucking—" spills and spits between groans and cries, chasing his high brings your own.

"A-aeg, I—"

He kisses your mouth, effectively shutting you up as he slides a hand between your sweaty bodies, finding your pearl and circling hard. As soon as you're cumming to the high heavens, tightening and twitching, a garbled scream out of your throat— he slams once, twice, as his own high entangles your own, a punctuated moan breaking out of his throat.

His seed spurts, floods, before his cock turns flaccid inside you, and you feel warm and full underneath him.

He presses his forehead against your collarbone. "Maybe we should fight more oft, nectar of my obsession."

"Sure," you say. "I will spend more time with Aemond then."

He punctures a groan as you giggle.

[starlightsuffered]

Darling, please give us a new small fic now, for my bedtime story🥺🙏

I’ll Take It All

A/n - sorry if this is late. I was tutoring for a while. I hope you can see this. This is sexual so maybe I should post another soft one tonight 🤷🏼 in case you don’t like this.

Info - hard dom, Paul dom, concubine, cnc, dub con, somnophilia, face fuck, piss kink, humping foot, aftercare, bathing, fingering, sleeping together, kinda crazy Paul, hand kink, degrading/praise,

Some humiliation kink

I was woken up harshly. I knew I should have been ready but this was the fifth night in a row. Since Paul had taken the water of life he got these urges. He was overcome with a wild dominance and just had to take.

He didn’t want Irulan to know of his dark desires and compulsions. He still did not fully trust her. Chani had left the day he declared himself emperor. He didn’t want to be weakened or distracted by his constant lust.

I had offered myself as a sort of sacrificial lamb. I was a bene gesserit who had sided with Paul’s reign. I was his concubine. It was ironic that I didn’t mind being a very fancy sex toy for him. However, Paul did lavish me with gifts and was increasingly thankful for what I let him do to me.

He especially appreciated that I had consented to his frequent somnophilic desires. He would often have dreams that troubled his mind. It would launch him into a sexual frenzy.

“On the floor bitch,” Paul snarled. I did as he said immediately.

He shoved his fingers in my mouth. I stared at him with my big doe eyes and sucked. He was cursing so fast I couldn’t make out what he said. He was yanked down his sleeping pants at the same time.

He snatched his fingers back. He didn’t cleaned his slobbery digits. Instead, he grabbed either side of my head. My mouth was still obediently open for him.

“That’s it,” he grunted in pleasure as he stuffed his huge cock deep down my throat. I did my best not to gag.

“Fucking good slut,” he groaned as he began to thrust in and out. My mouth was already drooling. A lethal smile covered his face. As I looked up at him, half hidden in shadows, he looked like a demon of hedonism.

“Sloppy princess,” he chuckled as he watched saliva fall from my mouth. He was forcing my head to bob on his dick.

“I bet that pussy is still puffy and leaky from our last round. You take it so well. You’re like a perfect little sex doll,” he ground out.

“Ohhhhh FUCK!” He was being as loud as he pleased. He tipped hid head back in bliss. His Adam’s apple bobbed. I sneakily moved my hand down to grind myself on it.

I let out a pitiful noise. I was sore from how often he’d been taken me. However, I knew he’d love to see tears prick my eyes.

“Fuck, I could use you until I wreck you,” he panted.

“Imagine it,” he said with dark sparkling eyes. “Bloated from cum, an aching pussy, just dripping with my seed and completely exhausted. No longer a human, just a used sex toy. Your nipples would be so swollen, and you’d have more bruises than skin.”

“Mmmmm,” I let out a needy sound. He smiled wider when he saw silver lining my eyes. A tear dribbled down my cheek.

“You’re doing good whore,” he gasped. Wet and euphoric sounds filled the room. Paul was grunting and growling. I nearly expected him to growl or something even more animalistic.

“Fuck, tight fucking throat. Taking my big hairy dick!” He snapped his hips as he babbled.

Without warning he whipped his cock from my mouth. I was left with swollen lips, bloodshot teary eyes, and a soaked pussy. I sniffled submissively as drool ran down my chin.

“P-Paul?” I asked.

He was ignoring me as he yanked on his cock. He was cursing again. His knees bent in pleasure and then he was cumming. He smirked disrespectfully as he covered my face in his semen. Over and over, pulse after pulse, rope after rope of cum covered me.

I felt such a mix of emotions. I was so humiliated I could cry, but so aroused I could cum. I was just his thing, his possession, and I loved it and blushed at the same time.

“Good fucking girl,” he murmured as he squeezed the rest of the cum from his tip.

“S-Sir, can I please take a bath?” I asked pitifully. He chucked me under the chin. He looked sweet for a moment, but I saw the predator underneath. He was still horny.

He jutted his foot forward. I mounted it, as I knew I had to. I did make a small protest from my swollen, sensitive, clit.

“Hump,” was all he said to me.

I began to move. It hurt, but also felt good. I let out small noises of pain with every movement. Paul wasn’t wanking, I didn’t know what was happening. He held his cock, but did no pumping.

“You’ll take whatever I give you won’t you princess?” He asked me in a deep voice.

“Yes sir,” I nodded.

“You promise it? You’re mine?”

“Yes emperor,” I swore.

With that solemn swear he began to piss. He was grunting and groaning in satisfaction as he drenched me. How did even this smell and feel good. He made me sopping. My hair, face, and sleep clothes were all wet.

“That’s my goooooood giiiiirl,” he slurred as if drunk off my submission.

Without hesitation he scooped me up. He carried me out the room. I saw the guards turn our way. I knew the smelt me and saw the Mrs so was. For some reason, this all heightened the burn in my core.

He brought me to the Offcial bathing rooms. He had his own of course but these were much more lavish. He cut off my clothes a pocket knife, promising to buy me more lavish ones.

He placed me in the warm bath. I was shocked he’d use this much water on me. Expensive and rare oils were used on me.

“You’re so good, you’re so special to me,” he whispered in my ear as he washed and then braided my hair. He was kissing my cheeks sweetly.

“Paul, please touch me,” I finally whispered. I didn’t even intend him to hear me.

“Touch you where angel?” He asked.

“Oh, um, I’m just, I’m desperate,” I moaned lightly.

“You never came did you?” He asked in a melancholy voice.

“No.”

“Let me help,” he offered lightly.

He reached down in the water. He didn’t touch my sensitive bundle. His long fingers pumped in my hole. I’d been so edged that I felt myself getting ready fast.

“I want to make you feel good,” he promised as he mouthed over my neck. He gently brushed my braid aside and some how the sweetness made me feel even more ready.

In seconds I was arching. I felt the cosmos ripple through me. I was pressed against his hand. My eyes had fluttered closed. I felt completely possessed by pleasure. The orgasm clutched me like no other. Feelings of gratification even reached my fucking teeth.

“Thank you for all you take,” he whispered to me when we were back in bed.

He was half asleep. I was sore, a bit embarrassed, but satisfied. I smiled in my dreams.

“I’ll take it all,” I whispered back.

@pmak2002 @softhecreator @plutoispurplw @sp1deyyf4ngz @seungcheol17daddy @jesschalamet @vvsdreaming

[arctrooper69]

As Iron Sharpens Iron

"As iron sharpens iron, so one person sharpens another." Proverbs 27:17

Chapter 14:

Previous // Next

Warnings: Canon violence

--------------------------------------------------

The trip back to your small shuttle seemed to take twice as long.

“... yeah the shuttle’s still there…”

The subtle echo of voices and gear drifted across the rocky terrain and you froze. For a moment it disappeared and you’d almost convinced yourself that once again this moon was playing tricks on you.

A haggard, hacking cough sounded from around the corner where piles of slag leaned and stacked over each other creating some sort of natural shelter beside the mouth of yet another cavernous mineshaft.

You dove behind a large boulder. Kriff. Cid had said the planet was uninhabited.

Is someone else after the jewels too?

Cid hadn't mentioned that either. You were going to have a serious talk with her when you got back.

If I even make it back in one piece. You rubbed your aching shoulder. From the way this mission was going, you weren't sure just how intact you'd be.

This place is a death trap. At least I have the jewels. Hard part’s over.

The roving light of a headlamp flickered against the rocks before blinking out.

“Karabast!” came a growling curse, “Those kriffing rocks better be worth as much as you say they are, woman!”

“Relax, Nakan.” a female voice snapped, sounding exasperated. “You’ll get your money.”

Two other voices squabled further away.

“Enj! Rico! Get your asses over here!” the female shouted. She sounded human, or at least humanoid.

Crawling slowly, you peered through the cracks of the boulder, to get a better look.

A human woman paced the ground and a large Nikto crouched a few feet from the edge of a mineshaft beneath the craggy overhang of shale. Nakan, the woman had called him.

The ones she’d called Enj and Rico were Weequay - male and female. The female spat on the ground. “We’re wasting our time out here, Boss. There’s nothing here.”

“There will be!” The human crossed her arms, “You just have to trust me!”

The male Weequay said something that you couldn’t quite hear and she nodded. The Nikto got to his feet and followed the others as they continued to search for a different mine.

The voices faded off into the distance, but you waited a little longer before coming out of hiding.

Dust floated through the air, forcing itself deep into your lungs and you choked. Eyes watering, you instinctively reached, pulling the fabric of your shirt to cover your mouth and nose.

Even the air is getting worse. It burnt your lungs. Almost there.

A brief flash of alarmed confusion was the only warning before you found yourself violently acquainted with the ground once again, head forced into the dirt and arms wrenched painfully behind your back, drawing a pained squeal as air was forced from your lungs.

“Hey, boss! Look what I found!” Scaled hands dragged you to your feet, maintaining the iron grip that trapped your arms painfully behind you.

“Get off, asshole!” You spit dirt from your mouth, throwing your shoulders forward to try and yank yourself free.

A sudden click and your jaw snapped shut. The hot dedlanite barrel of a blaster burned into the skin of your forehead. Muscles stiffened as the woman from before brought the blaster down your face, resting it just below your chin, forcing it up so that she could see your face.

“Just when I thought my luck had run out!” she chuckled, “You look like shit and you know what that tells me?”

You glared.

She continued anyway, “That tells me that you’ve been spelunking around here. You find any shiny rocks?”

Any fear left in your worn out mind hardened to a spiteful anger.

Get your own shiny rocks, bitch. These are mine.

Despite the dryness of the air or how your lips cracked and screamed for relief, you spat. “Kriff off!”

Pain exploded from your cheekbone, radiating down your neck as she whipped the blaster without warning.

She slowly wiped the spit from her cheek. “Fine. We’ll do this your way then.”

She turned to one of the Weequays. “Search her. Take what you want then get rid of her.”

The Nikto merely grunted as you kicked your foot back, struggling to gain some semblance of control as he pulled already screaming shoulders ever tighter, binding your hands behind your back.

Nausea flooded passages already inhabited with the adrenaline fueled struggle. It made you dizzy.

A hand jerked the pouch from your belt, renewing the fight to aching muscles. You threw back your head, connecting with the face of the Weequay who’d stolen the stones from your belt. He cursed, dropping the stones, hands flying instinctively to his broken nose.

You reached desperately for the bag of jewels, fingers just barely brushing the fabric.

If I can’t have them, then you definitely can’t.

Another tremor rattled the ground and you watched with numb satisfaction as the small bag tumbled from the ledge into the abyss below.

The woman slammed your head into the ground once more and your vision went white.

“Go in there and get those damn stones!” she snapped over her shoulder, “I’ll take care of her myself!”

The ground began to rumble. A larger quake this time. Stones and dust were violently tossed into the air.

“Shit, just go! Get out!”

Everything was silent then, so slow that it felt as if you were floating - propelled from the edge not by a boot, but by a gentle wind.

***

The Marauder lay so peaceful after that mission.

The memory came to you suddenly as if you’d slipped into a dream, mind desperately grasping to cushion a cruel reality as you tumbled down into the dark.

Omega and Wrecker were laughing because a stray piece of Mantell Mix had landed directly in Tech’s unruly curls and stayed there unmoving. Tech had moved on into the cockpit, yet still that sticky sweet stayed put. It was only when Hunter could no longer keep the grin from his lips nor the laughter from his eyes, that he’d noticed.

That’s the part that played like a holofilm over and over again. The subtly raised eyebrow at Omega’s joyfully hidden giggles. That spark of laughter in eyes that had been serious for too long. The muscles that rippled along his neck and jaw as he held back laughter that soon broke loose and the way he breathed so easily again - momentarily free from the weight of an ever changing galaxy. He was happy.

Oh, what you would do to give him that once more.

I’m sorry, Hunter.

--------------------------------------------------

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[charnelhouse]

mausoleum (1)

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader (there may be more, but i'm not spoiling) Wordcount: 6K Warnings: gore. ptsd. references to captivity. implied cannibalism (no one we know and like tho). this story will be very dark, but you know a bitch likes a happy ending so buckle up. implied sex. references to suicide. there are mentions of hair. surprise at the end yay. Summary: Put on leave due to PTSD, she goes home and finds the apocalypse a really opportune distraction. A/N: Many thanks to @yeyinde and @moondirti for helping me brainstorm on this. Why am i starting a series. fml. On another note, “Slim” is just a nickname that will be explained later.

COD Masterlist

She dreamed of Kursk last night. There were hands on her as she choked on her own blood. Her eyes were swollen from the beating, and she could count the places where they had buried their blades. She was sick, her ripe-smelling injuries pulsing with infectious heat.

When she’d refused to give them information, they had done the rest for fun.

She was sitting in that chair. The cold, metal seat that became slippery from her sweat and blood. Her ankles screaming from the zip ties around the chair’s legs. Her arms wrenched so far back that she was certain the joints would pop. 

Go far away in your head. Go somewhere else. Go be -

The room switched, and she was staring up at him. His features were riddled with shadows. Unclear.  His thick hair was dark in the damp light as it curled over his brow. He lowered his head, bare nose brushing her cheek as his full lips found purchase along her jaw. 

“You drive me insane,” he muttered into her ear as he braced his weight above her body. Behind his blurry face, the ceiling oozed. She was still in the cell. She was still there, but he was with her. She had wished for him then, and now, in the magic of her dream, he had come to hold her through the rest of it.

Save me.

Save me.

I want you to save me. I can’t do this. I can’t anymore.

She frowned, palming his chest where his heart beat furiously. Strange. His pulse never rose to such a frantic rhythm. He dropped his hips and pressed forward until he was buried inside her. It was a faraway sensation. Pressure. She felt the idea of their sex. She felt him like a memory, the ghost of his cock stretching her.

Was this the time it had happened? Was this when it took root? He gripped her chin, forcing her to look at him. He opened his mouth. “I love -

The trip wire spouted an alert, ripping her from sleep and causing her to crack her temple against the windowpane where she’d been keeping watch. She'd passed out, apparently.

Thank God, she thought. Thank Fuck.

She couldn’t have another rancid, poisonous dream about Russia. 

She rubbed the aching side of her skull, where a goose egg was undoubtedly beginning to form. She’d have to forgo pain relievers due to her own stupidity.

When had she ever fallen asleep on watch? 

The alarm from her homemade tripwire jingled again. She snatched her binoculars and pointed them toward the front entrance, where the gravel drive disappeared into shadows. Nothing. It was still twilight - violet blue, but the night fog was lifting enough for her to see fairly clearly. She readjusted her spot on the second-floor ledge before scanning the rest of the gardens, including the hedge maze and fountain. A bush shivered, and there was a flash of pink. 

Bingo.

In rainboots and her mother’s nightgown, she fled the room, ran down the stairs, and burst through the front door. It would be a nice bit of action before breakfast.

***

It must have snuck through a hedge or squeezed itself through the iron bars of the fence that lined the property. The grounds went on forever, but she doubted it had traversed the acres of endless green to land near her front door. Most of them were from nearby villages having wandered up the road like they had remembered to follow the asphalt. As she walked closer, the scent of death lingered among the lavender and moss. The air was fertile and rich, and when the breeze fluttered through her hair, it brought with it the earthy scent of wet wool and cattle from the stables. 

Against the red-pink light of sunrise, she could see the mist clinging to the lake. She could see the tiny dark spots of houses in the surrounding hills. No lights. She hadn’t seen lights up there for several months. She wondered if it had come from one of those homes, ambling down from the peaks and into her garden. 

In the quiet, you wouldn’t know what had happened. No, you’d be too focused on the sheer beauty of Northwest England. You’d realize what had commandeered Wordsworth’s attraction.

It was funny how this was the most time she’d ever spent at Ashcroft Hall. She’d never been particularly attached to her parent’s summer estate. It was beautiful. It was majestic. It was old and full of ghosts, and when she was a child, she’d been terrified to sleep alone in one of its many wood-paneled bedrooms. 

Now, she was guarding Ashcroft. Now, Ashcroft had become her port in the proverbial storm. 

She didn’t know if she loved it or hated it. She didn’t know how she felt about anything anymore.

The world had cracked. That was the only way she could visualize it. It had splintered down the center, infection cobwebbing outward to raze cities, countries, and continents. 

She supposed that she had crumpled with it. The situation in Kursk had removed a vital piece of herself that she had been unable to replace. It was only a coincidence that news stations had begun to report on the infection a month after she’d been rescued.

By then, she’d been put on leave and carted back to her parent's home to recover. No one outside of her team could look her in the eye, and that stung more than the bullets and the knives. Pity. They pitied her, and there was the distinct undercurrent that they all believed she would have been better off dead. 

As if she didn’t know that already. 

She understood why they’d kicked her out. She was a liability. She was in desperate need of therapy. She wasn’t the same, and she never would be again.

Not after Kursk. 

She spent weeks curled up in one of the Ashcroft bedrooms she’d feared as a child. She was numb - practically brain-dead on a cocktail of pills to keep her head together. She watched television. A lot of it. She saw the writing on the wall when the news became fixated on the strange behavior of the recent dead.

A young boy in Fenghuang had woken up mid-burial. 

An old woman in Sydney had sat up off her gurney. 

A famous singer had been nearly cut in half from a car accident, and there was footage of him crawling across the road. 

That image had stayed at the forefront of her mind to this day. She’d thought she was numb to violence and gore, but seeing a corpse dragging his obliterated carcass behind him had shaken her. 

Those initial days had been dark. She stopped the pills and instead focused on preparation. She had an underground contact slip into her London apartment and drive her weapons up North. She restocked her father’s armory with AK-47s, submachine guns, and sniper rifles. 

She stockpiled candles and kerosene for oil lamps. Seeds. Small livestock in addition to the horses, cows, and chickens they already had at Ashcroft. Batteries. Radios. Medications. First Aid Kits. Flashlights.

She’d been so focused on her project that it didn’t register when the rest of the world realized this wasn’t just the media exaggerating. It was real.

She hadn’t looked at her phone in a week, and when she did, she saw two missed calls and two texts. Two from Price. Two from Soap. 

Call me. 

Call me ASAP. 

But by then, the cell towers and wifi had gone out. The Eastern Seaboard twitched black as the cities fell first. Paris was overrun. New York was decimated. When London burned, she’d been forced to shut the television off. She couldn’t bear the image of it scorched and empty. She did not want to think of the pubs she had frequented with her team blackened and silent. 

Had they made it home? They were probably safe and secure on a military base. They were probably in better shape than she was.

After the major cities, the smaller areas were next on the chopping block.

There was screaming. Insistent screaming she could hear from Ashcroft. It rang out like one high-pitched musical note. Fires started. There was smoke slithering from the little towns nestled in the hills. The weather had been crisp. The sky was a raw shade of blue, and she thought it mocked her.

Society was burning, and everything else was lovely.

To make matters worse, she could not stop thinking about Kursk. She could not push it away. It caused her to swell with guilt because everything else had gone to shit, and what was her grief compared to the apocalypse. 

There came the point when she chose to bury it. She did what every therapist had warned her against doing. She took Kursk and stuffed it beneath her ribs, behind her liver, where it could not distract her. 

She’d set up a radio but rarely listened to it. It was nothing but sticky shrieks for help and aid, and please, where is shelter, food, or a cure? Everything is gone, and we have children. 

Gradually, the radio became mostly static. There’d be the occasional clip of a song or a snarling preacher spouting about fire and brimstone as the last vestiges of humanity clung to the airwaves.

She had no room in her for kindness. She felt stripped to her bones, and that’s what she wanted. Bones. Dust. No emotions. No empathy. No love. She thought of the texts and phone calls from Soap and Price, and she assumed the worst. Either they were dead, saving babies, or something equally heroic. 

She knew Price. He wouldn’t have just run. Soap, Gaz, and Alejandro would have followed him. 

He would have stayed. He would have died fighting because that was just who he was. 

She, on the other hand, stayed in place. She bunkered down and made lists. 

She was very good at surviving. 

***

Its moans shuddered through the gardens as its feet scraped across gravel. She was surprised it could make such sounds. She’d seen several with their vocal cords split into ribbons; tongues chewed to mush. Those corpses so deteriorated from the sun or hard rain that they could only manage a thin whistle. It had to be muscle memory. Even in death, they remembered the inclination to speak and be heard.

She loosely spun the ax in her hand as she studied the intruder. 

“How’d you get in here, hmm?” The question slipped between them, echoing in the pleasant morning quiet. The garden was a riot of colors: magenta tulips, cream-white and orange daffodils, violets, and golden primroses. Amidst the fruity sweetness was the cloying scent of decay. Insects buzzed. The wind rustled the magnolia trees. 

The maze of hedges was beginning to lose its shape and would undoubtedly grow wild as time passed. The shrubs were distorted, and the grass was too long.

As she closed in, it jerked its head at her scent. For a moment, she felt that tantalizing bite of adrenaline. Every drop of her blood pulsed between her ears. Her heart throbbed as she lifted the ax just as it twisted around to look at her. 

Its foggy eyes were unseeing, the pupils unevenly dilated. Its flesh was a myriad of shades, not unlike the colorful garden around them. Purple. Green. Yellow. White. A few wet strands of hair were clinging to the crown of the skull. She could see inside its chest where the brown lungs had shriveled within a mottled rib cage.

When she brought the ax down, it grunted. The bone split. The blood was sluggish and the color of tar. It had been a person once. A woman. Her terry cloth bathroom was still attached to what was left of her arms.

 She swallowed thickly, wiping the blade of the ax on the ground. The blood and gristle smelled terrible, but it was impossible to escape it. It had almost become familiar. 

She was lucky. Ashcroft was located on hundreds of acres of land. She bet the cities were far worse. She bet that death stench hung over it like a fish bowl. 

She glanced back at the Jacobean estate. It was certainly a fortress with its turrets, towers and red sandstone facade. The place dated back to the sixteenth century and had been altered and renovated due to fire and two World Wars. It was far too big for her to care for herself. The staff had fled or were infected. Her parents had been dead before everything exploded, and they had left the damn thing to her. Fresh from the medical facility, she’d shown up to a home she hadn’t considered hers in years.

 It would fall apart; the grounds would turn back to nature. For now, she had opted to inhabit sections. The kitchen, the library, the billiard room, and the master bedroom with its bay windows that offered a perfect view of the main path to the front gate. 

With her foot, she nudged the dead woman onto her back. The shriveled corpse looked disturbing against the emerald green grass. She’d need a wheelbarrow and gloves to remove her.

She sighed, turning her face toward the sun and allowing it to warm her skin.

She’d handle the body in a minute.

***

“Nice form, Slim.”

She spun around to find Bambi staring at her from the veranda. Clad in ratty shorts, a sweat-stained tank, and knee socks, Bambi looked like a washed-down version of a pervy uncle. Gone were the strappy heels and Selkie baby doll dresses. No more black cards, Ibiza, or Annabel’s. 

“I think dad used to wear that same outfit,” Slim quipped, and Bambi narrowed her eyes, chin thrust out and nose tipped upward with her special kind of arrogance.

“Times are dire, G.I. Jane,” she huffed, gesturing to her outfit. “I’m too lazy to wash this shit by hand so it shall serve me another day.”

Slim laughed. Bambi was disarming and unpredictable. Gorgeous and sometimes mean as a snake though the apocalypse had humbled her a bit. 

“You look gross,” Bambi remarked as she folded her arms over her tits. “Think there’s some brain on you.”

A bit. Humbled a bit. 

Truth be told, Slim probably would have drowned herself in the lake if it hadn’t been for Bambi. Two months into the end of the world, her childhood best friend showed up at her door. She was dirty, her hair greasy, and her face gaunt, but her dark eyes still sparked with life. Everyone was dead, but Bambi, spoiled and regal, was burning with a vivacity that Slim no longer felt.

She’d run from London before they started shutting down the exits. 

“I knew you’d be here,” Bambi had whispered before throwing her arms around her neck. ‘I fucking knew it.”

Slim was so stunned that she didn’t even check her for bites. Bambi’s mouth brushed her ear, her fingers clenched in her t-shirt. “I knew that if anyone could survive this, it would be you.” She pulled away, dry, pale lips cracking around a smile. “You can protect me.”

She’d had a car for a good part of it, but things fell apart by Manchester. The traffic was unbreachable. Someone started shooting.

“I hid in the backseat with a blanket for maybe two days. I remember two dawns, at least. No one gave a shit about the cars because the roads were blocked. People shot at each other instead.” Bambi sighed, rubbing the back of her neck. “A bullet went through my window, and I stayed frozen. There was this guy - this kid, maybe seventeen, who’d been shot in the head, and he fell across the hood of my car like crazy perfectly. It was so weird. I’d never seen someone dead, and I remember thinking about how you saw people die all the time - you’d killed people and survived so much, and maybe this was a sign, and so I realized I had to get to you.

“Assumed I’d still be in Cartmel?”

“Last we spoke, you were there, and I figured it’d be better than any of the cities. Plus…” She’d grinned, and it had lit up her perfect face. “You have weapons.” Bambi suddenly held Slim’s face between her hands and kissed her firmly on the mouth. It was sour and stale, but she allowed it. “Now, I’m fucking knackered, you beautiful bitch. Where’s the kitchen and the showers?”

Bambi never told her what she had to do after Manchester to reach Ashcroft, and she didn’t press. 

The very thought of Manchester had left her sick and shivering. It only brought recollections of him. Was he out there? Had he been on a mission on the opposite side of the world when everything burned? Did it even matter because surely she’d never see him or any of them again? 

“Slim!” Bambi snapped, violently wrenching her from her memories. “What are we doing with that?” She pointed to the dead woman in the grass. “It’s ruining the pleasant vibes of our home.”

“Do we have people coming over?”

Bambi smirks and lifts an eyebrow suggestively. “You never know, old girl. One of these days, some fit fucking gents may wander up the road.”

“Because every person who’s tried to trespass has been so attractive.”

“Well - you keep shooting them.”

Yes. In the beginning, she had been ruthless about it. In times like these, you had to do what was necessary, and she had no interest in taking a chance. It was the people you had to watch out for. Not the dead, but the human beings who’d kill them just for her armory alone.

She fired a warning, and if they continued, then they were fair game. It was always the mean-looking ones, too. Beady eyes and ponchos, waving shotguns like they were playing at war. They’d see Red with her marksman rifle in hand and immediately relax. palms up as they continued forward.

“S’alright, birdie. We’ll keep you safe, yeah? You can’t stay here alone. Girl like you won’t last-”

She’d blow their skulls after that.  She didn’t lose sleep over it.

What had Price told her? We get dirty, and the world stays clean.

Red would get dirty for both of them.

“Get the wheelbarrow,” she ordered, abruptly switching lanes. She turned away from Bambi’s scowling face, tucking her hair behind her ears. It had grown so long that even Bambi had offered to cut it.

Your hand-eye coordination is awful. Remember the last time you tried giving me a haircut?

That was twenty years ago, you daft cow. Who is going to see it, anyway?

I can still be vain about some things! 

“I’m only getting the wheelbarrow because I know you do all the dirty work,” Bambi declared, shoving her socked feet into too-big loafers that had belonged to Slim’s pa. She began to shuffle toward the ravine at the rear of the property.

“You’ll be bludgeoning the undead soon enough,” Slim yelled after her. Bambi threw up a middle finger.

It was strange. Everything. At times, their world at Ashcroft felt normal. They could spend days drinking to oblivion without ever going outside. They’d draw the curtains and light the fireplace in the study, sliding from the velvet couches to the carpet as they giggled about stupid things. Their mouths smeared berry-red from the wine they’d filched from the cellar. They’d play cards and smoke the cigarettes they’d found in her mother’s nightstand.

“So, how were the men? They probably were all over your ass.”

“They were nice.”

“That’s all you’re going to give me? I’ve told you about that Duke -

“They were good to me. There isn’t much I can share.”

“The world’s over, my love. Afraid there’s no regime to punish you.’

“I know.”

“Fine, then. How about this? Why did you leave?”

***

“I think I’m going to head into town,” Slim announced over their lunch of biscuits and peanut butter. There was a whole pantry full of canned vegetables, bread, and hard cheese. There was a greenhouse, a garden, and small animals, but neither of them knew what they were doing. She couldn’t exactly google how to plant crops or what flourished in what season. 

Bambi frowned. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Slim leaned back in her chair as she tugged her hair into a knot. The sun was bright today, flooding through the windows and over the kitchen table. “There haven’t been many zombies lately…I want to see the status of the village and get a sense of things.”

“Sounds like a dumb idea.”

“We’re far enough away that we wouldn’t know if danger was coming until it was at the gates.”

Bambi leaned forward, resting her chin in her palm. “And you would shoot them before they got to the door.”

Slim shook her head. “Houses like these are more valuable now than ever before. They’ve functioned for centuries without electricity or heat. Lots of land. Private well for clean water. An army could decide to overtake us, and I can’t hold down the fortress by myself.”

‘I’ll help!”

“You can’t shoot.”

“Give me an automatic weapon, and all I have to do is aim in the general direction.”

“That’s not how it works, B,” Slim said as she massaged her temples. The headaches were becoming frequent. “I need to go regardless because I want to see if the pharmacies have any antibiotics left.”

They had several first aid kits, and when society was just beginning to rupture, Slim had collected what she could. Still, she was anxious that they would undoubtedly need more in the coming years. Anything could happen. 

The scar over her belly pulsed with phantom pain. It hadn’t stopped since Russia, and she doubted it ever would.

Bury it. Bury it. That time is far away. The chair. That empty room with the dingy cot and how the metal squeaked and screeched with every movement. 

She ran through a list in her head of what she needed: penicillin, electrolyte powders, moxifloxacin, oxycodone, and prednisolone.

Lists helped. The clinical beauty in the simple pattern of words kept her from spiraling into ugly thoughts.

“I could come with you,” Bambi offered. “Watch your six as they say?”

As they say. 

This was the time Slim felt an overwhelming tenderness for her friend. Bambi looked frightened for her, and while Slim was primarily responsible for keeping them both alive, she understood it went deeper than that. 

She placed her hand on Bambi’s wrist, fingering the Cartier bracelets that no longer mattered. She couldn’t sell them. All they’d be suitable for was to be melted down for useful things like bullets, but Slim was the last person to begrudge someone their little luxuries.

“I appreciate the help, but I can do it faster on my own.”

“Fine,” Bambi conceded. “But look for Xanax.”

“Of course.”

“Maybe, condoms.”

***

On the journey into town, it began to rain. She’d taken one of the horses, Biorn, and his damp black mane gave off a musky, animal stink. There were cars at the Ashcroft manor, but using them seemed risky. The engine would rumble and spit and no doubt draw attention to her. She also didn’t want to waste the gas. 

Clad in a simple t-shirt and jeans, she tipped her head back to stare up at the sky. The clouds were slate gray and swollen. She opened her mouth to taste the rain, feeling high off the perfume of petrichor and sodden leaves. She was cold, but the chill woke her up. Her fingers twitched around the reins.

Her hair stuck to the nape of her neck like a leech. 

She missed fighting. She missed the finality of a mission. You either died or you succeeded, and then it’d be over. Now - it was for always. Now, her mission was endless. 

She sighed, shaking her head. 

It was dangerous to crave violence. She feared what she would unleash in herself and what she’d have to face. Kursk. Him. The very debilitating emptiness he'd left inside her. It festered and spoke to her when her mind was most at rest. 

“Stay alive, duchess.”

His enormous palm cradled the back of her skull as he stared down at her. “You’re the best they’ve got. Can’t do it without you.”

Nearing the town, she noticed the first signs of the infection. There were water-logged notices with peeling paint, haphazardly hammered to wooden posts.

Stay Home.

Stay Calm. 

Wash Your Hands and Wear a Mask.

It hadn’t been that sort of infection, but no one knew it then.

She glanced at the woods on her right and noticed a pair of tiny rain boots. Focusing, she realized they were attached to a body nestled in the leaves. She knew there had been plenty of suicides. There’d been advertisements for special concoctions that promised no pain, and surely any place was better than the current one. 

She grimaced and pressed forward. The pretty village was still picturesque with its cobbled streets and quaint cottages and inns. The River Eaa flowed at a lazy pace. There were burned-out Christmas lights in the trees. Two miles ahead, near the shoreline, was a larger town with more facilities.

The silent, empty village made her skin crawl. There was a stink from the houses. Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw something staring back at her in the ivy by the church. She bit her lip as she guided Biorn toward the back entrance to the pharmacy. She tied him to the rear door before stroking his muzzle and kissing his snout. 

She wouldn’t go further than the pharmacy today. There was something wrong here. The rain was picking up and making it impossible for her to see or hear clearly. She was at a disadvantage, and anyone could be surveying her. 

She was prized goods. The guns strapped to her hip and back. The ax in her belt. Her horse, especially. 

Doing one last scan of the area, she slipped through the rear entrance.

***

It smelled here, too, but not as intense. She waited a moment, listening for a groan, grunt, or the scrape of feet on the linoleum. Nothing. 

Utilizing the half-dome mirrors in the room's corners, she silently maneuvered through the aisles, heading straight for the pharmacy counter. She was quick about it as she stuffed whatever bottles remained into her bag. 

It wasn’t a lot. The place had been somewhat looted. She’d hoped the pharmacist had locked it down during the worst of it. She’d hoped most of the village had gone North, toward the areas that promised “sanctuaries,” before realizing there were none.

After emptying the shelves, she raided the otc medication, leftover bandages, ointment, eye drops, and snacks. Jerky. Chips. Candy. Ramen. She walked toward the front of the store before freezing. There was someone on the ground. For a second, she had thought “mannequin,” forgetting how unlikely that would be. There was no one to clean away bodies. Mannequins didn’t belong in pharmacies.

Slowly she pulled her ax from the loop of her belt before readjusting her form. She crouched, creeping toward what appeared to be a dead man. She blinked down at him. The blood was bright and smelled like pennies as it puddled around his head. His throat was missing, his eyes open and staring at the ceiling. She could distinguish the tendons and ripped flesh. Bits of the white spine. She cautiously reached for the man’s arm to touch his skin. It was still warm, and she lifted it easily. No rigor mortis.  

This man had just died. But a zombie wouldn’t leave him here. They’d eat and eat until there was nothing left. Her appearance wouldn’t have registered to it.

She straightened, confused and weary. It wasn’t fear that ran through her, but puzzlement. 

Thwack. 

She startled and whirled around, eyes scanning from the front window to the rear of the space. There was only the pharmacy’s flag ripping in the harsh wind just outside the door. She walked toward the window steadily, ax in one hand and her other hand poised over her gun. 

Perhaps it was the rain? It was coming down hard. Black sky and a heavy layer of fog. Her heart pulsed as she scanned the streets.

Thwack. 

She spun toward the aisles, but there was nothing amiss. Her teeth chattered in her mouth. She was soaked to the bone, and every step brought the audible squelch of her sneakers.

Why the fuck hadn’t she worn boots? 

Because you got complacent. With your sniper rifle and homemade alarms, you got arrogant in your posh castle in the hills. 

Now, she was in the savage, desolate reality of the after. After the infection. After the bombs, the Hail Marys, the useless quarantines, and the suicide juice. 

After Russia. After he’d run away from her and she’d gotten captured.

A deep growl sprang from the backroom. She shoved her ax back in her jeans and pulled out her gun. It felt like an appropriate time to use bullets when she couldn’t see her enemy.

Tiptoeing toward the door that led to a storage area, she quietly pushed it open with her shoulder. 

Once inside, she had to recalibrate. The sight in front of her didn’t compute. 

It was a man. Heavy-set. Pink skin like a pig. His short hair was matted, and he was hovering over a workbench. He raised his arm and brought something silver down. 

Thwack.

It was a cleaver. 

Thwack.

Each thwack was followed by a wet squelch. She heard something crack. 

The room was dark, but there were enough candles to illuminate what the man was chopping.

Flesh. Pink and red and purple. Gristle. Bone. 

She found herself unable to breathe. The room was thick with the scent of meat. Blood. Sweat. Innards. It reminded her of Kursk and how those cells were branded in that stench. All the dead before her. All the ones in neighboring prisons who sobbed and gurgled. 

She stumbled backward, falling against the door, which swung open and deposited her on the floor. She slipped on the rain-slick linoleum, and her gun skittered away. Without thinking, she scrambled toward it.

There’s one on your back. There’s the ax. Arm yourself with something before-

Something unbearably heavy and reeking fell on top of her. 

***

She was fucked. She was really fucked. 

It took her a second to realize that the man from the backroom had attacked her. It took her another second to recognize that he was human. He was human and eating - 

It didn’t matter. None of it mattered as she attempted to roll onto her back. Her mind was cluttered - swimming with memories of Kursk that she could not punch away. After years of training, she couldn’t come up with a single move that could force the man off of her back. 

Adrenaline was pulsing through her bones. Her nerves were fraying - sparking - close to exploding, and she thought if the man buried her further into the ground, her heart would be forced out of her mouth. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think. She tried to reach down for her ax, but he had her effectively pinned. He was grunting on top of her, spitting out obscenities, screeching like an animal, and maybe he’d become one. Maybe, the after had effectively twisted him into something feral and desperate.

Just as her vision began to dim, the man blessedly pulled away from her. She took a deep, bruising breath before flipping onto her back. She tried to kick out at him with her legs, but he was too strong. He was huge, blocking out the ceiling, drowning out the world. He lifted his arm high, a spark from outside catching on the cleaver blade. 

“Oh fuck,” she hissed before curling inward just as he brought it down.

She felt a burn. He’d gotten her, confirmed when a warm wash of blood sheeted down her shoulder into her shirt. She glanced at it, blinking sluggishly. She wasn’t entirely sure where he’d hit her because a dull throbbing began to pulse throughout her body. Everything went numb. Distant. 

She collapsed backward, raising her arms to defend herself from the second hit. The whites of the man’s eyes reminded her of eggshells as they expanded across the pricks of his pupils. He was covered in a fresh splatter of crimson, and she knew it was her blood. The man’s jaw was twitching, his teeth gnashing as she uselessly tried to cover her chest. It would be humiliating if she died like this. She couldn’t leave Bambi -

The man was staring at her, and then he wasn’t. There was an abrupt snap before his head was now turned back toward the storage room. The cleaver clattered beside her. She stared at it dumbly before the weight of him straddling her thighs was gone. He was being lifted clean off of her, picked up like a sack of potatoes before being tossed aside with a guttural snarl.

A snarl she recognized. 

Her gaze slid from the cleaver to the figure looming over her. Ghost. The white skull mask seemed pronounced in the gray-lit shop. She could make out the flicker of his eyes, though his expression was unreadable. He was tall and imposing, bigger than she remembered, as he regarded her silently. His bulky shoulders. His tac vest. His boots. His clothes were coated in a thick film of blood and grime. Even the white parts of his mask were smeared red.

She swallowed as she tried to sit up. Her head and torso felt so heavy, and she found herself trying to reach for him. He crouched, his gloved fist covering hers, their fingers threading together. He was so hot - so perfectly, beautifully alive, and he just threw that huge monster of a man like it was nothing. Ghost had broken his neck with his bare hand.

You saved me.

You came. 

“Simon,” she whispered, though she found it difficult to focus. His eyes drifted toward her shoulder, and he stiffened. 

“Price,” he barked. “She’s fuckin’ bleeding out.”

“Price?” she echoed, bewildered. Ghost tugged at the scarf around his neck before pressing it to her shoulder. It didn’t hurt, which she thought was probably a bad sign.

“They were out back,” he explained. “There were hostiles there, too.”

Hostiles. The word felt familiar. 

Suddenly, Ghost stepped away, allowing another to take his place. She grimaced, fingers clutching on air. She wanted to ask him to come back. She wanted to feel him.

“Hello, darlin’.”

Price’s voice melted into her skin, and she returned his smile, though it was difficult. Another appeared beside him. Soap. He frantically opened one of the bags, yanking out gauze and tape. 

She tried to say Johnny, but it wouldn’t come. Finally, he looked at her, his expression scrunched and unlike him. “Knew we’d find you trying to take someone down twice your size.” He was teasing her, but it lacked its familiar mischief. He looked truly frightened for her.

Admittedly, she found it comforting. His worry embraced her and made her want to curl into his arms because she had wished for Soap’s sweet face too many times to count in the last year.

Her shoulder twinged. 

She frowned before dragging her eyes toward Price. 

“Others?” she rasped.

“There are more of us out back. Most of the group.” He gestured to the dead man in the corner. “Couple other bastards like the one there.” 

Ghost had already told her that, but everything was swaddled in a haze.

She tilted her head in acknowledgment as she licked her lips, her tongue dry. It was a lot. She couldn’t believe what was in front of her. 

“Price,” she murmured. “John.”

His gaze crinkled, and he cradled her face in one palm while his other hand remained firm on her shoulder to staunch the bleeding. She could smell him. Sweat, dirt, and body odor. They’d probably been on the roads for months. She lifted her hand hesitantly before wiping at the oily black blood smeared across his cheek. He closed his eyes as he leaned into it.

“You look different,” she whispered as she grazed her thumb from his temple to his jaw. His beard was overgrown, and she focused on the tiny wrinkles around his eyes as he grinned down at her. Behind him, she thought she could spot Ghost’s massive form.

“It’s so fuckin’ good to see you, Red,” Price uttered, the words cracking within the syrupy wet of his throat.

Red.

Red Fox.

She hadn’t heard that name in over a year, and the implication of it both frightened and soothed her. She felt like it was her mask, her armor. It was who she had been before Russia and the end of the world.

Price’s smile faltered as his eyes darted to the scarf, sodden with her blood. Oh yes - she was injured.

“Really fuckin’ missed you,” Price said with such conviction as if he needed her to understand.

She wanted to tell him the same. She wanted to say how much she missed them.  

Instead, she sank back to the floor, Price’s arms still around her back as Soap began to cut through her shirt.

---

Please comment and let me know your thoughts!! It’s going to get very angsty and smutty.

Next

[xxoxobree]

Gentle

Miles G. x Fem!Reader.

Summary: With no one else Miles turns to you his best friend to patch him up again.

WARNINGS: Cussing , Mentions of Blood.

A/n: As Always don’t steal my shit!!! Happy reading. Comment 🫶🏽🫶🏽 I’m begging

The taste of iron lingered in Miles' mouth as he spat on the floor, looking at the blood-stained spit as he wiped his mouth, clutching his shoulder. Another fight, it seemed like he couldn't stay out of trouble now. He made his way to the nearest car to catch a glimpse of his reflection in the window. A busted lip and a few scratches that trickled a bit of blood. He sucked his teeth, frustrated with the injuries.

Miles rolled his eyes, knowing he couldn't go home looking like this. If his Mom saw him, he'd be grounded for weeks. Mimicking his mom's words as he walked, he muttered, "Miles, if you fight again, you'll be grounded for a month." He sucked his teeth again, realizing that Uncle Aaron was off the table too; he would definitely snitch on him.

Feeling helpless, Miles knew there was no one else he could turn to but you, the person who always patched him up after every fight. The thought of going to you again, especially after the last time when he had promised he wouldn't fight, made his face drop. He let out a heavy sigh before picking up his pace,headed to your house.

You were in your room at your desk just about done with the latest essay your English teacher, Mr. J, had assigned, when there was a soft knock on your window that immediately caught your attention. You looked at the window, seeing Miles waving at you, his lip redder than usual. You quickly got up to open the window.

"Again Miles?" you said, concern lacing your words as you got a better view of his injuries when he made it into the room.

"I know, princess. I'm sorry," he said, sighing heavily as he sat down on your bed. You quickly searched through your nightstand for your first aid kit to patch him up. You grabbed his chin, tilting his head up towards you to examine his cuts and bruises.

"Miles, you've got to stop fighting," you said, opening up the kit to grab the alcohol wipes.

"Shut up, you like it when I get hurt," he said, a mischievous smirk spreading across his face, making you roll your eyes. You began to patch him up gently.

"We both know it's true," he said, his grin widening.

"Shut up and sit still so I can clean you up," you said, a small smile resting on your lips.

Make me." He said, wiggling his head out of your grip, making you smile. You sighed and rolled your eyes, dabbing the blood off of his lip.

"You're too gentle, you know that?" He chuckled, looking up at you as you continued to tend to his wounds.

"You whine like a baby, so I have to be," you giggled, almost done with patching him up.

"You don't have to," he smirked, "but you are because you like me," he laughed.

You felt your heart speed up. It was true, you liked Miles, but he's your best friend and has been since the second grade.

"Yeah... Umm yeah, I do like you. We've been friends for a really long time," you stumbled over your words a bit, taking a seat next to him.

"That's not what I meant, y/n," he chuckled, leaning in playfully booping your nose.

You let out a sigh, flopping back on the bed, trying to avoid the conversation. Miles followed, leaning back, shimmying closer to you your faces now inches apart as he gazed at you admiring your features.

"Why were you fighting again?" you asked, curiosity and concern lacing your voice.

Miles smirked, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Got into it with a few niggas 'cause I said something about their mamas," he said, his laughter filling the room.

You couldn't help but join in on the laughter. "Miles, why would you say that?" you said, shaking your head.

"Honestly," he said, looking up at you, "I was bored, and they were some bitch ass niggas. I thought it was funny." A mischievous grin spread across his face.

"And that's why they whooped you," you teased, playfully nudging him.

"They got a few hits in, but I definitely won that one."

"They fucked your braids up too," you said leaning over to play with his hair.

Miles sat on the edge of his bed, frustration etched across his face. He reached out and grabbed the mirror that sat on the nightstand, his eyes fixed on the reflection of his braids.

"Those bitch ass mfs," he grumbled under his breath, his fingers combing through the loose strands. He sighed and turned to you, a pleading look in his eyes. "Will you fix them for me, princesa?"

You looked at him, "Hmmm... Maybe." You teased

"Come onnn. I'll get you food, this weekend. Anything you want!"

"Iight bet. I want Chick-fil-A." You agreed

Miles rolled his eyes playfully, a smirk dancing on his face. "Fineee, I'll get your Chick-fil-A," he said, sighing in annoyance.

"Thank you, papa," you said, a wide smile spreading across your face.

"Don't call me that ever again, y/n." He said as he lay next to you again.

"Why not? It's cute, and your mom calls you that." You said a bit confused.

"You're soo annoyingggg," he playfully taunted, a mischievous glint in his eyes. But you could see the affection in his gaze, the genuine care he had for you. “I love how you try to put up this ,tough girl facade.” He chuckled. “Couldn’t be more soft if you tried.”

You locked eyes with Miles, raising an eyebrow. "Facade? I'm literally the toughest bitch you know," you said.

"Whatever you say, princesa," he smirked "But I have to say, it's a very cute facade."

A small smile tugged at the corners of your lips as Miles leaned over, his fingers softly stroking your hair.

Miles eyes flickered over yours, he loved these moments with just the two of you when you were authentically yourself caring and extra gentle just for him.

Your breath hitched as you closed your eyes, melting into his touch.  Looking down at you, a small laugh escaped Miles. "Like I said, super soft,". You playfully hit his chest, smile on your face. "Miless, stoppp," you said, trying to hide the way your cheeks burned now.

With a gentle grip, he grabbed your hands, removing them from your face. "Don't be shy now, princesa," Miles whispered, his voice laced with tenderness. He pulled you into his arms, a comforting hug that made you feel safe.

As he held you close, he gently lifted your chin, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. He gently  pressed his lips to yours, a soft kiss that spoke a million words.

Breaking away, he looked into your eyes, his voice filled with playfulness. "Still mad at me for fighting?"

Copyright © 2023 Breeandhermunches. All rights reserved.

[unholyhelbig]

now i need more firecrest asap after that cliffhanger

Title: Firecrest (Part 6/7)

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six]

Summary: Kate Bishop and y/n have an unspoken agreement that revolves around being enemies with benefits. But when Kate's new mentor is someone Y/n is very familiar with, things become complicated.

Warnings: Please, please, please read these, it's a heavy chapter. Kidnapping, torture, cigarette burns, blood, Cutting, getting stabbed (Idk how to explain it, istg it's not knifeplay), physical violence, horrible grammar, and let me know if I forgot anything please.

[A/n: I promise I don't think Clint or Eleanor are bitches... maybe Eleanor a little bit. This is for plot purposes! Eleanor is a MILF, I don't make the rules!]

The fist was strong enough to crack against your jaw like a whip. It was a rude awakening, one you were sure had shattered bone and most definitely filled your mouth with a helping of metallic blood that you weren’t quick enough to swallow. You let it choke you, your mind still slow and too foggy to acknowledge the position you were in. 

Strung up as if you were about to be carved with a butcher's knife and served up for Thanksgiving dinner. Your eyes refused to adjust right away, but you caught the glimpse of golden iron knuckles, the glint from a nearby light the only thing that you could pinpoint past the pulsing pain and the garbled breaths you could take. 

Another hit, this time aimed a little higher. You felt the edge of the metal dig into your skin and the steady waterfall of warmth that began to drip down the side of your face and off your chin. It spread to your stomach, which was startlingly bare. The simple fact that you might be nude was enough to jar you from whatever unconsciousness that lingered. 

You pulled in a painful breath, pinpricks of cold air filling your lungs. You felt like you were underwater, completely submerged. While the thundering ache of your wounds caused concern, what scared you more was your current position; a rope had been wrapped around your wrists and thrown over a beam on the ceiling. It was tied to an iron hook bolted to the wall, effectively lifting your arms uncomfortably over your head, the soles of your now-bare feet barely touching dirt. 

They’d stripped you of your blazer and the blue that you had agreed to wear to please Kate. It was never a color you enjoyed, reminding you too much of the broken crystals and toxic chemicals that had gotten you here in the first place. Thankfully, they’d left you in your sports bra and dress pants. Their hits were meant to wound deeper, to strip you of skin and damage tendons beyond repair. 

You were in a horse stable, or something that was once used as such. On either side of the long structure were the sectioned spaces for the large animals, but they’d been fortified with iron bars. It reminded you too much of  a prison despite both ends of the building being open and giving you ample views of the night sky. The cold wind brought goosebumps to your bare skin. 

 A groan pushed past your lips. You tried to use what little strength you had left to pull yourself up, just to alleviate the pressure on your shoulders, but there was no such luck. Your muscles twitched before giving out entirely. You settled for blinking the dripping blood from your eyes and taking a look at your attacker. 

There wasn’t much clarity to be had. He was, by all accounts, a white man with too much scruff and a cowboy hat for shits and giggles. You weren’t about to scoff at his choice in attire. You had no power in this situation. You couldn’t feel your fingers, much less create a spark from them. With the amount of hay scattered about, not only would it be pointless, but it would end up killing you in the process. 

“Oh good, you’re awake.” His breath leaked from his mouth in streams of smoke. You weren’t sure if it stemmed from the cold or the cigarette between his lips. He swiveled, calling out “She’s awake!” 

The sound-off didn’t bring an immediate presence. But Texas, as you kindly dubbed him in your sedative soaked brain, stepped forward and plucked the cigarette from his lips before pressing the angry red tip against your collarbone. He stamped his filthy habit out. 

A grunt escaped you, and you pulled once more on the uncomfortable ropes that had you bound. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of breaking from a little burn and some unfair fighting tactics. It hurt like hell, bit into your skin. Up close, he had yellowed teeth from his vice, and his mouth clicked when he smiled. “Boss said we could rough you up, makes for better television.” 

“Here I was,” you panted, voice gravelly “Thinking you were the boss.” 

He smiled thinly at that, the light in his eyes faltering. He let the extinguished cigarette drop to the lightly packed dirt floor, hooking his thumbs into his belt-buckle and taking an admiring step back. He appreciated his handiwork, the two wounds on your face and a third against your heaving chest. 

“Aw, leave some fun for the rest of us, will you?” another voice. A woman. 

You whipped your chin up much too fast, your head suddenly swimming at the quick movement. It had been a mistake and took a few moments for you to orient yourself again. Her presence didn’t give you much clarity, if any. She was dressed warmly for the crispening weather, a black coat and black leather gloves. Her face was obscured by a solid gold mask, only holes cut out for the sharp blue eyes that were so familiar. 

“How’s my prisoner holding up?” She cooed, taking your face in one hand. She squeezed your cheeks, forcing you to look at her. The aching pain in your jaw shot up to a slowly-forming headache. “Oh, don’t tell me you’ve forgotten already? Sweet girl, you confessed your undying love to me. I thought you’d show more enthusiasm. 

You could feel the blush moving across your cheeks, an annoying pink tint that gave you away. You wanted to spit in her face, but it wouldn’t have been productive, you feared. It would only anger her, and leave you unsatisfied. So you dragged a breath in and steeled yourself with an icy frown. She wore Kate’s bracelet. 

“No matter,” She released you and a rip of pain moved through your shoulder blades, her fingers trailing against your well-defined stomach, nails leaving subtle pink indentations. “Flattery will get you nowhere, y/n.” 

You snarled “What do you want?” 

“From you, darling? Absolutely nothing. You’re not as important as you think you are.” She tsked, circling you like a hungry shark. “Pretty, but not important. You’re nothing more than a pawn. All I want is for you to sit pretty and wait for your father.” 

The fire that you couldn’t conjure from your fingertips lit your stare in a dangerous red. The masked woman tilted her head to the side in what you’ve come to realize was interest. A low hum rumbled from her chest. You glowered at the two of them, drawing in breaths and releasing them in a way that caused the less pain. 

Of course this had to do with Clint. He’d waltzed back into your life, stirred up old feelings, and had effectively gotten you kidnapped. You didn’t know where Kate, your Kate, was. The thought made you thrash a little harder against your binds. The sharp sting of coarse rope cut into your wrists, a line of blood no bigger than a teardrop, slid to the crook of your elbow in response. 

“He doesn’t know where you are, sweetie.” 

She tutted, shaking her mask-clad head and stirring the raven hair that hung lazily on her shoulders. The woman kept a keen eye on you, as if you had anywhere to go, but she reached blindly back towards Tex. He wore a confused expression for a moment before the gears in his head started to turn and brush off the cobwebs. He flicked open his pocket knife and handed it to her. 

“Don’t you think it’s a shame that print is dying? Holding up a phone with the time and date just isn’t as motivating as it once was.” 

It was your turn to be confused, but it only lasted as long as it took for the blade to touch your skin. This time, you couldn’t hold back the scream. She was much too slow with her cut, much too methodical. She’d done this before, maybe with livestock, but she knew how to maximize the stinging pain 

She was carving into your flesh, something that would stay with you until the end of time. They were coordinates, you knew by the third agonizing number that she chiseled right below the burn that Tex had inflicted. She tried to silence you with her incessant coos and tender exclamations that it would all be okay. 

How could it? The veins in your arms were straining just to quell the sharp pain of her handiwork. You were doused in sweat, which stung just as bad in the open cuts than the slices themselves. When she’d finished the last number, you had screamed yourself sore, the adrenaline that made it nearly tolerable leaving as soon as it had filled your veins. 

The masked woman slid her tongue over the sharpened blade, licking away the tint of red before she let it fall to the floor. She’d gotten bored of you, you could tell by the flatness in her stare. Your head hung and mucus dripped from your nose, you made no attempt to swallow it back. 

“Rough her up a bit more, then take the photos.” The woman demanded, her voice retreating. “Send them to every news station in the city. They’re not going to want to miss this.”

Bobbi Morse hated the feeling of cold wood flooring against the soles of her feet. It made the entirety of her shiver, waking her body up and shedding the last of the warmth she had from her shared bed. Her husband had suggested slippers, but they were always left in various places of the house. So she suffered at her own hand, even as she padded to the front door.

Day had barely broken, and a blue haze coated the dewed grass. There were birds at the feeder on the back porch and small paths in the condensation on the lawn from deer that had ventured too far from the edge of the surrounding woods. This, by all means, should be a peaceful morning.

But it wasn’t, because Clint fucking Barton had pulled the glass door back and started pounding on the wooden frame with such fervor that it made Bobbi’s jaw ache. She had thrown on her robe to conserve some warmth, but still felt too exposed in front of her ex-husband and Avenger.

She’d leveled him with a glare that could shatter glass, and he respectfully rushed out. “Bobbi, come on. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t an emergency.”

He had a point. It made her chest seize. They only had one thing in common these days, and it was you. Even then, he didn’t make a point of crashing into her new life. The life she preferred for the both of you. So, she stepped back and allowed him to scramble into the foyer with his musky, cold scent. Clint always smelled slightly like gunpowder and cinnamon despite choosing a more archaic weapon.

“Have you seen the news?”

“What? No, God, you woke me up.”

His eyes widened and he clumsily found his way to the living room, carding around in the couch cushions for the remote as if he lived here. He certainly didn’t, and Bobbi had to swallow back her white-hot anger at the familiarity of his movements.

Still, he navigated the technology surprisingly well and flicked on the television. The room filled with a pale blue light that made Bobbi’s eyes sting viciously. She blinked the moisture away and leaned over the back of the couch, the anxiety in the pit of her stomach starting to swirl.

You’d mentioned going to dinner last night with your girlfriend. Something that Eleanor Bishop had orchestrated. She’d nearly begged you not to go. You didn’t owe that woman anything. But you looked at Kate like she hung the moon and the stars, so there would be no talking you out of the event.

It was only on your way out the door that you slipped in Clint’s presence. The oak had slammed before Bobbi could protest, and even if she could, you were an adult. You were in love. If you saw it fit to establish a relationship with your biological father due to the proximity, then who was she to stop you?

Now, she wished she had because Clint was here, and you weren’t.

Bobbi’s stomach was empty, but she had the acute need to vomit as the words Breaking News flashed across the screen. They’d halted all other programming. She was certain that you were dead, and her fingers moved to the now cold spot on her cheek where your lips had hurriedly pressed in a loving goodbye.

Cindy Moon, reporter extraordinaire, was freshly dressed in her usual suited ensemble. She looked so put together, even for the special report. How could she look so calm? Rationally, Bobbi knew it was her job to do just that, but the ringing in her ears was starting to wash out every coherent thought.

“Word coming out of our own studio, and it seems, multiple stations across the state. Current Congress Candidate Lance Hunter has been issued a very public call to arms. This morning, a photo of his step-daughter Y/n Morse, has been released nationally. Due to the graphic nature of this photo, we here at NNC will not be showing the image.”

Bobbi was relying on the sofa to hold her up now. Her world tilted and she’d knowingly stopped breathing, curling her fingers into the rough fabric. Lance hadn’t woken up yet, and she knew the scream that threatened to bubble into her throat would do just that.

“The message was clear,” Cindy sadly continued “It’s up to Lance Hunter to make the next move, and follow the coordinates. We will continue to update the public on this matter. But for now, we encourage the general public to disregard the message and let law enforcement handle the matter.”

Let law enforcement handle it. Like the department has ever done one competent thing in their lives. She had faith in you. She’d trained you herself and with experts in her craft that had been hardened enough to impress her. But she worried for you like any mother did. It wafted from her in waves.

“Show me the photo.”

“I don’t think that’s the best idea.”

“You don’t get to come into my house and tell me what is or isn’t a good idea. The photo Clint.”

Her tone left no room for argument. His phone was comically bright, and she winced at the white light that leaked from the screen as he fumbled to get her request pulled up. She saw his shoulders tighten and his jaw clench when he got to where he wanted. Such small reactions that anyone normal wouldn’t realize his fear. But Bobbi wasn’t normal.

She grabbed the phone with one hand and pressed her cold fingers to her lips with another. Still, an involuntary groan escaped her throat. She’d read once that wolves howl despite danger when they feel the need to grieve at the horrors committed.

There was almost more blood and bruising than skin. Your head was dipped, so she couldn’t see your eyes but she prayed they still held life. You were strung up, clearly straining against your binds. The cuts in your chest made her own burn horribly. They’d beaten you savagely.

“What’s going on?” Lance had padded down the carpeted stairs, moving with the silence of a ghost. “Clint?”

Neither of them answered, so Lance flicked his gaze to the television, frowning when a headshot of himself was front and center. A photo of you and him slotted right next to it. It was your high school graduation, chords around your neck as you beamed with your diploma in hands. He stared at you in the photo as if you’d been elected president.

Lance tepidly took the device from Bobbi, who let it go without her usual fight. She’d fallen into his side, pressing her nose against his neck and letting her shoulders shake with silent sobs. His eyes misted over immediately, hand tightening around the phone.

Clint wasn’t expecting the hardness in his stare when he did finally lift his gaze. “This is for me.”

“They want you to go there.”

“I assume you’re coming with us.”

“She’s my daughter.”

“No,” Lance snarled with the ferocity of a wild animal scorned, moving his hand soothingly on his wife’s back. “She’s mine.”  

The hiss that pushed past your lips reminded you too much of letting the air out of a bike tire. It was a weak sound, and even as you moved in and out of consciousness, you resented the fact. If there were ever a time to be feeble, it was now.

The pain hit you before you fluttered your eyes open. They felt heavy, refusing to acknowledge the lack of adrenaline that you now held close to your chest. You registered the exhaustion in your bones, the ache in every part of your body where Tex had struck. He’d left small expanses unmarred, but anything that would show your bruising to the camera was hit with iron knuckles, with another lit cigarette or the tip of the caked blade.

Just like the woman in the mask, he’d soon grown bored of you. You were vaguely aware of being moved, being thrown into one of the cells that lined the walkway. There was no haste to pull yourself up, even if you were able to. You were shaking too much, and soon gave way to unconsciousness.

There wasn’t a way to tell how much time had passed, but when you startled awake and tried to sit up, you were met with quick resistance. You clenched your eyes shut until you saw stars, trying to sit up again, but being pushed down to a scratchy mattress by a hand.

You thought you were alone. The fight or flight kicked in and your eyes sprung open. You struggled against the hand, the touch that was so familiar but in the way that Kate’s eyes were on the balcony. You were breathing frantically, panting in fear.

“Hey, hey, hey” a raspy voice tried to soothe, but there was nothing soothing about being under someone’s hand without a proper way to move. You were sure you’d cracked a few ribs, and maybe even your jaw with that first, startling hit. “You need to relax, stop moving.”

Despite the growled warning, you turned your head and gaged the person who was so easily restraining you. Kate. Or maybe it wasn’t. You felt a shiver rock through your body at the sight of her. You didn’t trust what you were seeing, not right away. That had gotten you into deep, scalding water just the day before.

You were sprawled on a twin bed that rested on a metal frame. The mattress was stuffed with newspaper, crinkling with each shallow breath you took. It was the only accommodation in the dusty cell other than a tin bucket that you didn’t much care to think about.

Kate was in her tactical pants, pitch black and stained with dust. She wore a tank top that revealed yellowing bruises, lacerations that she had nursed the best she could. Nothing near what had been done to you, but it made your heart clench all the same. She’d been hurt, and you wanted to carve out the heart of whoever dared lay a hand on her.

A sad whimper escaped you and her hand stroked the side of your face as if it were habit. She’d taken her purple jacket from her shoulders and pressed it to the carved numbers against your chest, effectively staunching the blood. You were grateful for the act of kindness, for her warm touch.

“You’re okay, it’s okay.”

It most certainly was not okay, but the certainty in which she said it made you want to believe that it was. Her fingers brushed over your arms and any exposed skin that she could see. She assessed the wounds like she understood exactly where they were, making sure they hadn’t started to leak blood once more.

How long had she been here? You hadn’t reached out after your fight. There were clear lines drawn and you weren’t going to step over them. You felt a burst of relief when she’d texted you, demanding that you wear blue and show up on time to dinner. You had done both without question.

Kate must have sensed the questions brewing behind your stare. Her tender touch moved to your forehead, carding her fingers through your hair in a comforting gesture. The ghost of a smile on her face “Don’t think too hard, okay? I don’t know if you’re bleeding internally or not.”

Your pitiful chuckle turned into a cough, Kate’s expression dropping, filled with worry. She waited until you were done, rubbing small circles against your bare arm. You noticed the small split that seemed to keep reopening against her lip. The very one you’d clocked during your last real conversation.

You swiped your thumb gently across her cracked lips, frowning “You’re bleeding.”

She laughed wetly, dropping her head letting her tears fall. She’d grasped your nearest hand with both of hers, absently playing with your fingers, squeezing and holding them to make sure you were real. You wanted to embrace her, to quell her fears, her misery. But you couldn’t move more than an inch.

“I thought you were going to die,” Kate croaked out, not looking up. “I could hear everything, smell the blood, even from here. I was certain that with each hit, you wouldn’t wake up and we would leave things… we would leave them in that stupid alleyway.”

Your mouth was dry, throat burning. She gripped your hand harder to wash away her own trembling. You didn’t deserve her forgiveness, you knew that. But there was the pulled feeling that you needed her more than anything right now.

“I hid in the corner with my hands over my ears like a coward. I was certain that you’d die right past my reach and there was nothing I could do about it. That the very last image you would have of me, of us, was that horrible night.”

“Stop,” you begged in a broken voice, fingers brushing lightly against her jaw. Kate glanced up, static gray eyes rimmed in red. She swallowed hard and watched you carefully. “Katie, this is all my fault. All of it. I’ve spent years denying my emotions. It was going to blow up eventually. It was only a matter of time.”

You carefully started to sit up, she drew in a sharp breath and opened her mouth to object before snapping her jaw shut. You’d always been able to handle yourself, stubborn until the very end. You pressed your fingers into your ribs to quell the ache.

Carefully, you put your hands on either side of her cheeks, wiping away the dampness across the flushed expanse. She’d never let you hold her like this, but she melted into the touch with a starved sigh. She hiccupped, trying to catch her breath as she scrambled up onto the bed next to you, her arm flush against yours with a comforting heat.

“We’ll get out of this,” You leaned your forehead against her own. This time, it was you who desperately searched for a grounding factor in her hands, calloused from years of archery. “Even if it means just waiting.”

“God, we’re so bad at that.”

You were aware. Patience was not a virtue when it came to you, and certainly not when it came to Kate. Sitting still for the past week must have been enough of a torture for her before you got yourself thrown right in next to her. Brutally beaten and plaguing her with the mere sound of breaking bones and your screams of anguish.

Your body was starting to grow heavy, the mere pressure of Kate next to you, the evergreen scent of her, was enough to lull you into near sleep. Her arm was wrapped with yours, her cheek resting on your shoulder. You both were on alert for the sound of footsteps, but were only met with cicadas and bullfrogs.

“Y/n?”

“Hm?”

“What did she mean when she said you confessed your undying love?”

A groan rumbled through you and you clenched your eyes harder. How were you supposed to explain that you hadn’t noticed the woman next to you the whole night wasn’t your Kate. There were subtle mannerisms that gave her away, the more you scrutinized them.

The way she’d done her hair, the fidgeting with the gold bracelet. The defiance against Eleanor being so blatant. Kate would coyly roll her eyes, but not entertain anything her mother pushed. It had been different, sharper words and thicker movements. You were just so focused on your own turmoil to notice.

“Because I did.”

Kate frowned, pursing her lips into a straight line and staring at you with a glinting amount of question. Even under the washed-out yellow lights, she was beautiful. Breathtaking. Under her scrutiny, you shivered, aggravating the pain that wracked your body.

“She… looked like you. A carbon copy, and I… told her how I felt.”

“You’re in love with me?”

“Impossibly so.” A sad chuckle escaped you and you averted your gaze to the packed dirt floor. “Long before this whole charade. There’s a loving patience to you that no one has ever shown me before. You are impossible not to fall in love with, Kate Bishop.”

Silence was filled with your struggled breaths, fingers still pushing deep into your ribs to keep the ache from spreading. You sniffed, feeling a cold drip right beneath your nose. You weren’t expecting an answer. Too tired to fight for one.

Kate’s touch was softhearted, fingers brushing gently against your jaw and guiding your eyes to her own. They were glossy, tearful. “You absolute idiot. I knew from the second I saw you that you’d be the death of me.”

You scoffed at the irony of her statement. There was a blooming affection that ripped through you, much harder than the knife against your skin. Her expression was world-altering, earth-shattering and you nearly whimpered under her attention, no matter how sparing it was.

Her stare flicked to your lips, and you gave the slightest nod of confirmation. You’d kissed Kate before, usually open mouthed and in a rushed effort to fight for dominance with one another. But this was different. Her lips were soft, slightly-chapped from the cold. There was a metallic taste to you both, her movements methodic, calculated and full of care.

This time, you did whimper, more of a huff of pain. Her hand had brushed against your side, and the shooting discomfort was enough for you to pull back, if only slightly. Kate smiled guiltily against your lips, whispering apologies into your mouth.

“Lay down,” Kate purred.

You quirked a brow at her “Really? Right here?”

“Not like that. You’re clearly in pain. Lay down.”

She started to lead you onto your back with practiced ease before you could voice your protests (ones that included wanting to stay awake long enough to keep kissing her). You hissed, mumbling something along the lines of her being bossy, but you couldn’t deny the comfort that washed over you when you were finally situated.

Kate settled in next to you, slotting her leg carefully with yours and pressing flush against you, providing the comfort that you so desperately needed. Kate’s nose was cold against the naïve of your neck. An instant relief that quieted any lingering thoughts that would fight off sleep.

The next time you woke up, it wasn’t nearly as startled. Even if you had wanted to move quickly, you felt the twinge of your injuries prevent you from doing so. There was consistent pressure against your mostly bare chest, Kate’s hand had found purchase against the only unmarred part of your collarbone.

Her lips were parted and she let out soft breaths that tickled the small of your throat. You wondered when the last time she slept- really slept- was. She’d been here days, based on her bruising and her clothing that she was so willing to share to provide you with some decency.

“I’m rooting for the two of you.”

You stiffened, swallowing the groan of pain that struggled to rush to the surface. The voice, of course, was familiar and gravelly and filled you with white hot anger. It was the woman in the gold mask. Hardley cost effective and taunting you behind it.

She was standing on the other side of the cell, watching both you and Kate like viewing animals in a zoo. She’d even tossed a greasy bag of fast food through the gaps in the iron. You hated that your mouth filled with saliva at the charcoal scent.

You’d picked at a salad for dinner, and had even thrown up the one cherry tomato you’d managed to consume during Tex’s brutal work. “A peace offering.”

“An olive branch.” You could hear the smirk in your voice. “You might not believe this, y/n but I mean you no harm.”

You leveled her with an acidic glare that could melt the very bars that contained you. It softened when Kate let out a small grumble in her sleep and burrowed closer. She was like a little space heater, nearly to the point of a fever. She had always run hot, just like you.

“No further harm. I could have easily killed you, or your little bird. But I haven’t, so a little trust would be appreciated.”

“If you’re hoping for some sort of Stockholm syndrome, keep holding your breath, lady.”

The stranger shrugged her shoulders and watched the two of you with deadened eyes that made you squirm. You stayed put, partly out of pain and partly because the worst thing you could do right now was stir the sleeping archer in your arms.

So, you whispered, “If you wanted Clint, why not pump him full of sedatives at the dinner table? This seems like an awful amount of work for someone sitting across from you, sipping wine.”

“That washed up Avenger? Please. We don’t want Clint. We want Lance.” She hauled herself onto a large barrel across from the cell, crossing her legs at the ankles. It was a bitter attempt at sprucing up the place. “You said it yourself at dinner, Clint isn’t your father. In fact, I feel kind of bad for you. A dad that won’t give you a second glance, a girl who only entertained your love to piss him off? You have every right to hate him.”

You made a noise in the back of your throat and flopped your head back onto the flat pillow. The ceiling was a nice wooden structure, maybe apart of the original structure. You didn’t need her pity, but it still settled the slightest bit of comfort in your stomach.

You’d ran out of your ability to be tactful someone between the tenth and Eleventh blow to your abdomen. “If you’re looking for ransom, you won’t get much. All of our wealth has been pumped into the campaign.”

“I don’t want money, though, that would be an added benefit. I’m simply helping. What’s a better and more heartfelt story than a candidate saving his poor, inhuman daughter?” She pouted behind her mask, tilting her head at an angle. “It’ll be media gold. It’ll catapult is numbers.”

“I’m sorry, you want Lance to win?”

“Someone does, and they were willing to pay a lot of money to get you here.”

A breath escaped you, one that you tried to stop from shaking. That could be the design of anyone, including your own parents. You wouldn’t be shocked if Eleanor Bishop had stuck her hand into the kidnapping plot. But that also begged the question of who was powerful enough to orchestrate something like this?

“Keep your strength up,” The masked woman hopped from the barrel, “We wouldn’t want you to die in here, now, would we?”

She walked away on surprisingly light feet. They didn’t stir the gravel like Tex’s did. You knew your heart was pounding harder from the interaction, the planned admissions that were just another form of torture. She could be lying. You hoped she was lying.

Kate was drooling under the heavy hand of sleep. You couldn’t help the small smile that fought through your confusion, your pain. She really could sleep anywhere, and you envied her in moments like these. Your body had given in to the exhaustion earlier, but now, you were left with your thoughts and her distant snores.

Your hand closed over hers, playing with her fingers absently as you carded through every single person who may have a problem with your family. The list was long, but there was a shorter list of people who wanted Lance to win.

He’d resigned to the fact that he wouldn’t, and that had been an odd strategy for you at first. Near the start of his campaign, you’d have trouble getting to sleep unless you were in your childhood bedroom, close to the people who loved and cared about you.

Even then, you’d find yourself in the living room with Lance. He watched old westerns when he couldn’t drift off and you had taken to joining him every once and awhile. He told you then, that he didn’t think he would win.

“I don’t get it. Why run at all, then?”

“People are stuck in their ways, sometimes it takes more than one election to change things like that. They’re not used to Inhumans, not like we are. But we’ll change their minds, even if it’s slowly. They’ll learn to love just like we do.”

You’d grown tired throughout the latter half of the 1952 movie ‘High Noon’. Gary Colemans southern, gravelly voice lulled you to sleep that night with your cheek on Lance’s shoulder, the scent of his aftershave coating your throat and your lungs. You never knew if he’d succumbed that night, but you knew that it was the safest you’ve ever felt.

The idea that he would sway the election with a fake kidnapping was out of the question. Because he didn’t care if he won. He’d only ever cared that he changed the world in a good way, one that would cut the sideways looks you got in half.

“Mm, you should be resting.” Kate’s sleepy demands pulled you from your thoughts, her voice vibrating against the side of your throat. You subconsciously pulled her closer, making sure she was comfortable on the sliver of a twin bed. “Cheeseburger?”

“That’s what woke you?”

“No, your thoughts are loud.”

She nipped lightly at your sensitive skin, soothing it with a kiss almost as quickly as she’d created the subtle sting. It was relaxing, a show of affection that spread warmth to your stomach. You wanted to wake up next to Kate Bishop every single day for the rest of your life. Just not in a dirty cell.

The distinct lack of emotion in Eleanor Bishop’s eyes worried Bobbi more than anything else she had seen today. She had seen a lot. A startling amount that had numbed her to a state of shaking paleness. There was no comfortable piece of furniture in this penthouse and that aggravated her all the more.

They’d been intercepted by law enforcement before they could do anything shy of putting on real clothes before being herded like livestock to the Bishop’s residence.  At first, Bobbi had chalked it up to them owning a security company, maybe they had ties to other agencies.

But, they were soon informed that Kate had vanished too and Eleanor was just so beside herself, she couldn’t fathom travel. Her cheeks were red, flushed with emotion, but her eyes remained deadened. Bobbi had to clutch an ugly throw pillow to ground herself.

“Right now, we suggest you do nothing.”

“Do… nothing?” Lance was pacing behind the sofa, trying to breathe in as much outside air from the propped open storm doors as possible. “Forgive me Detective North but that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“We don’t believe that they’re going to do anything further to harm your daughter, but there is a very real possibility that all of this is a ploy to kill you. So yes, Mr. Hunter, we expect you to wait here while we execute the rescue.”

She was a hard woman with sharp eyes that could cut through solid ice to expose a soft underbelly. Bobbi supposed that she had to be in her line of work. In any other situation she would have applauded her finality. Her tenderness. But this was different.

Bobbi held her tongue. She didn’t make it known, and wouldn’t, that she was Mockingbird. The police force didn’t’ actively endorse vigilantes and stumbling out that she was much more competent than anyone they could send in for a rescue would lead to more trouble.

As if sensing her distress, Lance put an assured hand on her shoulder. The former SHIELD agents were getting older and the novelty had long since worn off. You, on the other hand, had a long career ahead of you as Firecrest. The media was meant to believe that you were an innocent, politicians daughter with a bit of a wild streak. Maybe they should do nothing.

“And what of Katherine?” Eleanor forced a hiccup, gently patting below her eye with a dry tissue that stayed dry. “Have there been any demands?”

Detective North frowned down at her notepad “No, I’m afraid not. We’ve heard nothing. They both seemed normal at dinner last night?”

“We’ve been through this!” Clint shouted in a sudden outburst. He’d remained silent by the bar, only losing his composure when his protégé was brought up, he sighed, softening. “Y/n left to get some fresh air and Kate followed her. We didn’t see or hear anything else.”

“It didn’t cause any concern when neither of them returned?”

“Katherine barely regards me as it is.” Eleanor waved off, suddenly dry-eyed once more. “I learned a long time ago that it’s easier to avoid fights that will get me nowhere. I figured that the two of them retreated somewhere they were more comfortable.”

Bobbi hated to agree with Eleanors logic, but could see where she was coming from. Kate was difficult, but only with her mother. She matched the energy that was given and Bobbi had always respected her at a silent distance for that. Little acts of rebellion made life livable.

Her voice pinched and she clutched the tissue “You’re telling me… she could be dead?”

“We’re not telling you anything, Mrs. Bishop. We’re trying to figure out everything that we can before entering an uncontrolled situation.”

“All you need to know is that our daughter is gone and if you don’t send someone in there to get her in the next hour, I’ll do it myself.” Bobbi hissed.

“Right… Well.” Detective North was disturbed by the impassioned anger in Bobbi’s voice, the venom in her eyes. She cleared her throat and stood. “Like I said, stay here. We’ll post a uniform outside of the door. No one in or out. I’ll be in touch.”

She pocketed her notebook and left before any further questions could be asked. Bobbi didn’t understand. They knew where you were, it would be simple to retrieve you and treat your wounds and make sure that you were still alive and breathing. That you were okay.

Eleanor stood from her seat next to Bobbi and poured herself a drink, straight vodka that looked more like a crisp drink of water. She swallowed it without making a face before she moved to pour herself another one but stopped her slender fingers short of the cap. “I knew this was a horrible idea.”

“What was?” Bobbi croaked out.

“Our children seeing one another. Everything was fine until Katherine started making heart eyes at your arsonist.”

“The last I checked, they’re both adults.” Lance said through gritted teeth. “They can make their own choices and have done so for the past decade without incident.”

She laughed dryly “Without incident? Y/n nearly destroyed a historic building with a couple of matches. Do you know why she did that? It certainly wasn’t at the behest of my Katherine.”  

“That’s enough.” Clint silenced the room. He’d fallen back into his quiet contemplation after his outburst with Detective North. “This isn’t helping anything.”

“You’re right.” Her eyes narrowed “aren’t you a superhero? Can’t you suit up in your spandex and retrieve my daughter and your discarded one?”

Nothing more could be said. She’d effectively taken all the oxygen out of the room. Eleanor unscrewed the cap of the vodka and poured herself a heavy-handed second helping before flopping back down into her spot. She’d had too much to drink, but Bobbi wasn’t about to point that out, nor was she going to stop her.

Tag List💕: @noturlondonboy, @slvtformaria, @pianogirl2121, @escapereality4music, @cyberbonesworld, @dark-hunter16, @crescentcrush, @bishopsbeloved, @sammi1642, @bilyashvili, @thinking1bee

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caught in between // grimmjow jeagerjaquez & ulquiorra schiffer (pt. 2)

tw ⇢ mentions of violence, cucking(?), rough sex, asphyxiation, unprotected sex, manhandling, possessive!ulquiorra, degradation, name calling, blowjob

wc ⇢ 6.6k

part one | part two | part three

The whisper of fabric was the only warning before Grimmjow's imposing frame materialized behind you in the deserted hallway. You jolted, but calloused fingertips clamped over your lips, effectively stifling the gasp.

"Shh..." he rumbled, heated breath fanning the nape of your neck as he pressed his body flush against your back. "Wouldn't want your precious Ulquiorra catching you like this, would we?"

You trembled, equal parts thrill and trepidation skittering along your nerves as his other arm snaked around your waist. Grimmjow's low chuckle reverberated through you as he leaned in closer, the rough rake of his hollow mask grazing your vulnerable throat.

"That's a good little pet," he praised in a dark purr. "Keeping quiet so your master doesn't hear all the filthy shit I'm about to whisper in your ear."

True to his word, Grimmjow trailed open-mouthed kisses along the exposed line of your shoulder. Each brush of his searing lips was punctuated by the most depraved, sinful promises murmured like forbidden hymns.

"I'm going to bend you over that table and take you from behind..." A sweep of his calloused palm over your hip. "Split those pretty lips around my cock until you're choking on me..."

A low whimper slipped free, goosebumps pebbling your flesh as his chest rumbled with dark amusement. Deftly, Grimmjow spun you in his steely embrace until his harsh features filled your vision.

"So eager for it, aren't you, pet?" He crooned, drinking in your flushed, parted lips with undisguised hunger. "Don't worry...soon as I'm done with you, Ulquiorra's gonna know exactly who you belong to."

His smirk kicked up a notch before crushing his mouth over yours in a devouring, possessive kiss.

Grimmjow's rough assault left you dizzy and trembling, his plundering kiss awakening a maelstrom of forbidden need. You clutched at his chiseled frame, caught between shoving him away and pulling that scorching heat impossibly closer.

A feral grunt vibrated against your lips as your nails scored down his pectorals. Grimmjow broke away with a depraved grin, tongue chasing the flushed trails your desperation had carved into his tanned skin.

"So eager," he rumbled in dark approval. "You're just beggin' for me to take you right here, aren't you, pet?"

His calloused hands roamed brazenly, slipping beneath torn fabric to blaze searing paths along your fevered flesh. You arched shamelessly into his touch, chasing that delicious friction and the sinful promise blazing in his azure stare.

The sudden spike of reiatsu made you gasp, instinctively trying to squirm from Grimmjow's embrace. But the taller Arrancar merely laughed, a deep, rasping sound of dark amusement. One broad palm flattened against the small of your back, crushing your pliant form against the iron ridges of his physique.

"Keep struggling," he growled against the thundering pulse at your throat. "I want that prick Ulquiorra to see just how desperate his pretty little fracción is for me to--"

Whatever filthy taunt he was preparing died on his tongue as his fingertips grazed the faint discoloration marring your skin just below your jawline. Grimmjow went utterly still, the arm banded around your waist tightening to the point of bruising as he wrenched your chin up with cruel force.

His azure gaze bored into the mottled markings with blazing intensity before whipping back to you, promised violence glittering in their depths. When he spoke, his words carried a dangerous, guttural rasp.

"That tight-assed little bitch has been putting his hands on you..."

It wasn't a question, but a low, furious growl of possession and challenge. You opened your mouth to respond, to try diffusing the thick tension coiling through those powerful muscles, but Grimmjow silenced you with a look.

"Don't worry, pet..." he purred in a deceiving tone of velvet menace. "Soon as I'm done with you, I'll make sure Ulquiorra gets the message loud and clear about who you really belong to."

The hot brand of his mouth crashed over yours once more, all heat and sin and thorough possession. Grimmjow devoured you without restraint, staking his own claim in the wake of Ulquiorra's blatant markings.

His large hand fisted in your tresses, wrenching your head back to allow his teeth and tongue to blaze meandering paths along the sensitive column of your abused throat. You whimpered softly, knees threatening to buckle beneath the overwhelming onslaught of sensation and that dark promise of reprisal.

Grimmjow chuckled against your racing pulse, the velvet sweep of his tongue chasing the faint discoloration scored into your skin. While one hand anchored you arched against him, the other traced the outline of Ulquiorra's lingering imprints with menacing leisure.

"That's it..." he growled in clear challenge. "Just you wait, Ulquiorra's gonna get the message right along with this pretty little pet."

The heated moment was shattered by the jarring clang of footsteps echoing too close for comfort. Grimmjow released you with a feral grunt of displeasure, pupils blown wide with unfulfilled want. You swayed slightly on unsteady legs, chest heaving as you fought to catch your scattered senses.

With great reluctance, Grimmjow palmed the planes of your flushed cheeks, dragging your dazed focus to meet his blazing stare.

"Don't think this is over, pet," he rasped in a voice made guttural with dark promise. "You and me...we've got unfinished business."

To punctuate his vow, Grimmjow crashed his lips against yours in one final, thorough kiss. Your fingers twisted in the coarse strands of his cerulean hair as you surrendered to the scorching onslaught with a desperate little keen. When he finally tore away, his gaze burned with undisguised triumph at your mussed and thoroughly ravaged appearance.

With one final smirk and a lingering caress along your jawline, Grimmjow melted into a shadowed alcove mere moments before the approaching spiritual pressure washed over you. Alone, you struggled to straighten your ruined clothes and compose yourself, treading dangerously close to outright dishevelment.

Over the next few days, Grimmjow's assaults grew bolder, more provocative each stolen moment. He would spirit you away to deserted halls and shadowed recesses with startling ease, pinning you with that all-consuming intensity until coherent thought fled your desire-hazed mind.

And each time, just before your tenuous restraint shattered completely, Grimmjow would withdraw. A dark chuckle rumbling at your frustrated whimpers as he trailed biting kisses along your bared decolletage. Building you higher and higher without relief, only to retreat and leave you achingly unfulfilled.

More than once, he purposefully marked your vulnerable throat in a spray of feverish love-bites and mottled imprints - blatant signaling of his touch brazenly left for Ulquiorra to find.

It was nearly impossible to avoid the cuatro Espada's piercing stare in the wake of those intimate moments. You'd catch the weight of his frigid scrutiny assessing every faint blemish, every whisper of disarray marring your appearance like neon signposts of your indiscretions.

Yet he never spoke a word. Never intervened or demanded accountability. Ulquiorra's stony mask remained implacable, emerald gaze glittering with something wholly unfathomable and frankly...terrifying.

You began dreading those moments of silent judgment, anxiety simmering low in your veins each time Ulquiorra's stare dissected you with cold precision. What twisted thoughts brewed behind that facade of eerie calm? What unspoken promises simmered in the depth of that banked fury?

When he finally reached his breaking point, the consequences would be nothing short of cataclysmic.

The tension had become a coiled viper, every heated encounter with Grimmjow both whetting your dark cravings and stoking the dread blazing through your veins. Ulquiorra's stony silence held more quiet menace than a thousand furious condemnations ever could.

You knew his restraint was reaching a cataclysmic precipice, the cuatro Espada's icy fury held in strained check by sheer force of will alone. Still, an insidious compulsion bound you to Grimmjow's inescapable orbit, your resistance crumbling beneath the escapism he offered from Ulquiorra's suffocating control.

This time, the sixth Espada had you trapped in the shadowed enclave of a deserted tower alcove. With expert precision, he'd stripped away the tattered remnants of your pants until you were utterly bared before his smoldering perusal.

Grimmjow drank in every vulnerable inch like a ravenous predator, azure stare glittering with dark promise as he slowly, torturously sank to his knees before you. Those wicked lips trailed scorching paths along the trembling valleys of your abdomen.

"Let him see what a desperate little whore you are for me," he rasped against your fevered skin. "Show Ulquiorra just how bad you want it..."

Terror and perverse anticipation lanced through you in equal measure as that terribly familiar reiatsu rapidly approached. Too late, you tried frantically pushing Grimmjow away, but he was unmoving as an ancient monolith, rough palms banding your thighs in a steely vise.

When Ulquiorra finally rounded the corner, the sight that met his frigid stare was a match struck to parched tinder.

Grimmjow issued a feral rumble of dark amusement at the devastation writ across those emerald depths. With pointed leisure, he slid his searing tongue along the soaked folds between your splayed thighs, never once breaking defiant eye contact with the other Espada.

"You see that, Ulquiorra?" he growled against your pussy, each rumbling utterance sparking tortuous pleasure-pain along your nervy endings. "Your precious little fracción is utterly ruined for you."

The backlash of Ulquiorra's reiatsu detonating was cataclysmic, a whiplash vortex of frigid power that tore the breath from your lungs and scattered debris in a blinding spray. When the cyclone subsided, Ulquiorra remained terribly, utterly implacable in the epicenter of his own apocalyptic fury.

"Grimmjow..." He spoke your tormentor's name with hushed, infinitesimal weight. "For once, you have pushed far beyond the boundaries of acceptable provocation."

With those words hung the unspoken vow of absolute oblivion.

The devastation was cataclysmic as Ulquiorra's reiatsu detonated, but his control was absolute. With one brutal wrench of his spiritual pressure, the walls containing the alcove sheered away with bone-jarring force. Debris scattered in a blinding maelstrom as Grimmjow found himself violently displaced, talons scrabbling for purchase before Ulquiorra's irresistible power slammed him into the unforgiving stone of the outer courtyard.

Ulquiorra materialized with implacable certainty, emerald stare leveled on the other Espada as the cyclone eddied to stillness around them. Grimmjow pushed himself upright, split lip twisting in a feral sneer as their reiatsu clashed in a concussive shockwave.

"Finally got that flawless mask to crack, did I?" The crude taunt slid like acid from Grimmjow's bloodied smirk. "No need to get your panties in a twist, Ulquiorra. I can show you some moves to loosen up that frigid--"

Whatever filthy insinuation he was preparing died on his tongue as Ulquiorra's reiatsu spiked in a sweeping wave of absolute, world-ending intent. The smaller Arrancar didn't so much as twitch a muscle, but the promise of violence held Grimmjow immobile as a thousand invisible dagger points.

"You mistake my restraint for moral leashing," Ulquiorra intoned, each word carrying inexorable gravity. "When the truth is your persistent provocations simply do not warrant the utter extinction I can unleash upon you."

Grimmjow's only reply was a bark of manic laughter as his own power flared in a churning blue corona.

"Is that a fact?" He goaded, all fangs and bristling challenge. "Well then, why don't you quit jawing and show me why I shouldn't keep fucking that little pet of yours into a drooling mess?" Grimmjow’s azure stare glittered with undisguised relish. "Shagging her while you're forced to watch?"

An infinitesimal tic worked in Ulquiorra's jaw...the barest flicker of restraint fraying at those depraved taunts. Grimmjow's grin stretched wider, carnally triumphant at having found his target's hairline fracture.

"What, no flashing cero to shut me up?" He goaded with a harsh bark of laughter. "Or did I finally strike a nerve with the thought of claiming what's yours while you're forced to witness every second?"

Ulquiorra's reiatsu crested in a vertical plume, debris shuddering in concentric rings at his feet. Grimmjow let out a harsh bark of laughter as the dust settled from his point-blank cero blast, undeterred by Ulquiorra's seamless evasion.

"What's the matter, got your panties in a twist over the thought of me and the pet putting on a show for you?" The taller Espada sneered, tongue dragging slowly across his split lip.

Ulquiorra remained utterly impassive, not even deigning to acknowledge the crude insinuation with a reaction. Grimmjow's reiatsu flared in a corona of static challenge.

"Don't act so coy, Ulquiorra. I saw that split-second look when I suggested taking your precious fracción while you watched." His eyes glinted with dark relish. "The thought of seeing her debased like that got you all hot and bothered under that icy act, didn't it?"

The smaller Arrancar didn't so much as twitch a muscle, refusing to rise to the obvious provocation. Grimmjow's smirk kicked higher as he purposefully trailed his tongue along his fangs.

"Just imagine it...her squealing and squirming on my cock while you're forced to watch, unable to look away as I utterly ruin her for you," he said with relish. "Maybe I'll let you have a turn once I'm done, let you clean up my sloppy seconds like the thirsty--"

Whatever vile taunt he was preparing detonated in a maelstrom of reishi and brute force as Ulquiorra's cero lanced forth with pinpoint accuracy and zero preamble.

Grimmjow shook off the dissipating smoke from Ulquiorra's cero, seemingly invigorated by having finally struck a nerve with his crude taunts. His reiatsu churned with dark amusement as he straightened.

"Struck a nerve with that one, did I?" The taller Espada's gaze glittered with undisguised relish. "Can't hide it from me, Ulquiorra. The thought of sharing that slutty little pet of yours has you all twisted up inside."

He slowly dragged his tongue along his fangs in an obscene gesture. "I can see it in those dead eyes of yours - you're imagining her spread wide and screaming, getting passed back and forth between us like a cheap whore."

Ulquiorra remained statue-still, emerald stare impenetrable in the face of Grimmjow's goading. The barest hitch of tension bled into the air, a nearly imperceptible tightening around the smaller Arrancar's eyes and jaw the only tells hinting at his fraying control.

Grimmjow zeroed in on those hairline cracks with unerring precision, scoffing out a harsh laugh. "What, too much for you? Can't handle the thought of your precious little fracción begging for both our cocks like the desperate--"

In a blur of motion, Ulquiorra cleared the space between them, reiatsu detonating in a shockwave of such magnitude, it leveled the surrounding structures in a hail of rubble. He seized Grimmjow by the throat, emerald gaze blazing with quiet, world-ending fury as he slowly, inexorably cut off the other Espada's air.

"Make no mistake," Ulquiorra intoned with deathly calm. "Your pathetic attempts at provocation through debased obscenity do not affect me. However...if you continue down this repugnant path, you will leave me no choice but to break you into such a bloody ruin, the pieces will have to be swept into the wind."

The temperature plunged in a bone-deep arctic plummet, Ulquiorra's reiatsu spiking and contracting in a vortex of absolute erasure around the pair. Grimmjow strained against the inexorable vise crushing his windpipe, gnashing his fangs in fury--

Only to let loose a wheezing, jagged bark of laughter against Ulquiorra's crushing grip. "Hah...there it is..." he rasped, azure gaze gleaming with dark triumph. "You kinky bastard..."

Grimmjow's laughter was a jagged, wheezing rasp against Ulquiorra's crushing grip on his windpipe. Even on the precipice of oblivion, the taller Espada's defiance blazed undaunted in those glinting azure depths.

"You can't...keep denying it..." he rasped out, words grated through clenched fangs. "The sick...thrill you get...imagining that pretty little bitch utterly...ruined for you..."

Ulquiorra's stare remained stonily implacable, but Grimmjow could sense the hairline fractures splintering in that impenetrable mask. He bared his bloodied teeth in a feral grin of triumph.

"Just admit it...Ulquiorra..." The vicious rasp scraped like bone against flint. "You want to watch as I...make her scream for both our cocks...begging to be our...personal cumdump--"

The explosive detonation of Ulquiorra's full reiatsu slamming outwards drowned out whatever depraved suggestion Grimmjow was preparing. The cyclone of freezing spirit power lacerated the very air, lashing the taller Arrancar's body in shredding tendrils until his grip finally faltered.

As Grimmjow crumpled in a broken heap amidst the settling debris, Ulquiorra stared down at him with banked intensity. There was a weighted pause before he finally spoke, voice drained of inflection to a tone of sepulchral finality.

"Very well, Grimmjow. You have persisted in your repugnant provocations to their ultimate extreme..." Slowly, he extended one hand towards the downed Espada, emerald stare glittering with quiet promise. "I will indulge this debased...curiosity of yours. But be forewarned - you will regret baiting me into this depravity."

Grimmjow threw back his head with a croaking laugh that promptly disintegrated into a pained rasp as Ulquiorra's grasp lashed out with crushing force. But even as oblivion's black cloaked his vision, the sixth Espada wore a vindictive rictus grin...having finally broken the other's stoic control through sheer, perverse persistence.

You jolted at the thunderous concussions shaking Las Noches to its foundations, instinctively taking cover in a deep alcove as debris rained down in a choking plume. Through the swirling dust, you caught glimpses of towering silhouettes clashing in a maelstrom of reiatsu - one a blazing corona of azure fury, the other an impenetrable vortex of arctic devastation.

Grimmjow and Ulquiorra...finally brought to apocalyptic blows over you.

The thought turned your blood to icewater even as something darker, headier thrilled through your veins. You knew this confrontation was inevitable after the escalating provocations, the lines crossed and boundaries obliterated. Still, some reckless part of you hadn't truly grasped the cataclysmic consequences until the spatial distortions rocked the very foundations around you.

You huddled in the alcove, trembling as the dust slowly settled in Grimmjow and Ulquiorra's wake. The eerie silence that blanketed the shattered courtyard was more unnerving than the deafening bellows of their clashing reiatsu. Tentatively, you emerged from your sheltered nook, gingerly picking your way through the rubble towards the suspended storm's epicenter.

That was when the vise-grip seized you - a painfully restrictive band of reiatsu lashing around your midsection and wrenching you backwards with brutal force. You barely managed a shocked gasp before a large palm clapped over your mouth, muffling any outburst.

Hot breath fanned the nape of your neck as a painfully familiar voice rumbled against your ear. "Easy there, pet. You just sit tight while your masters have a little...discussion."

Grimmjow's reiatsu smoldered around you in a scorching vortex, hemming you in with nowhere to escape. Over his massive shoulder, you caught a fleeting glimpse of Ulquiorra's lean silhouette cutting towards the exit, emerald gaze flickering over you with inscrutable intensity before continuing on without pause.

You strained against Grimmjow's unforgiving grasp, shooting him a wild look of mingled confusion and trepidation. The sixth Espada merely grinned, slowly dragging his tongue along his split lower lip.

"Don't worry your pretty little head," he purred, bands of iron cinching tighter until your struggles stilled. "This is gonna be fun..."

With that ominous vow, Grimmjow seized a fistful of your hair, hauling you implacably towards the shadowed corridor Ulquiorra had disappeared down. Whatever fresh debaucheries and torments awaited, you could do nothing but resign yourself to the tempest about to be unleashed upon you.

Grimmjow hauled you roughly down the corridor, your struggles futile against his overwhelming strength. You shot furtive glances at Ulquiorra's impassive back leading the way, emerald stare trained forward without acknowledgment of your distress.

At last, you reached Ulquiorra's austere quarters. He keyed open the entrance and strode through without preamble, allowing Grimmjow to drag you over the threshold like a recalcitrant prisoner.

"Get comfortable, pet," the taller Espada growled, finally releasing you to sprawl unceremoniously onto the stark floor tiles. "Gonna be a long night."

You watched with trepidation as Ulquiorra turned around to face you, expression as unreadable as ever. Grimmjow simply shrugged out of his own tattered jacket, allowing it to puddle carelessly on the ground.

"So..." The sixth Espada raked his gaze over you in a manner that made you shudder. "We finally got the uptight prick to agree to a little fun."

Ulquiorra didn't so much as twitch a muscle, emerald stare remaining locked forward as if the other Arrancar wasn't even present. Grimmjow's smirk kicked higher at the perceived slight.

"What's wrong?" he taunted. "cat got your tongue at the thought of finally claiming what's yours...among other things?"

Finally, Ulquiorra shifted that weighty stare to you. "Do not delude yourself into believing this is anything more than indulging a morbid...curiosity."

His tone was as inflectionless as ever, but his next words carried a lancing undercurrent of quiet possession. "She is mine. That will not change, no matter what depraved acts you delude yourself into believing will undermine that status quo."

There was a pregnant pause as Grimmjow drank in Ulquiorra's subtle challenge. Then, with a dark chuckle, he began unfastening the sash of his hakama in a languorously provocative gesture.

"I'd say the real fun will be hearing her scream my name," he sneered, letting his hakama slip from his hips to pool on the ground. "But you'll never hear her beg for it if I have her mouth otherwise occupied."

His cocky smirk kicked higher as he stalked towards you, all chiseled planes and bristling dominance. With calloused hands, Grimmjow hauled you upright, fingers twisting in the tattered remains of your uniform.

"I'll show you a thing or two about making that pretty mouth useful," he growled.

A sharp rip sounded, the tatters of your top scattering to the floor as he tore it from you. You fought the urge to squirm beneath his unflinching perusal, acutely aware of Ulquiorra's own intent stare fixed on your now bared torso.

"On your knees, slut," Grimmjow snarled, grip shifting to your throat. "Open up wide for me."

You shuddered beneath the heat of their combined attention, shame and dark thrill warring in equal measure. The sixth Espada's grip tightened until the pressure became unbearable, his lips drawing back in a feral snarl.

"I said, open wide."

You jolted at the low hiss, risking a glance towards Ulquiorra in a silent plea for mercy. Only, the cuatro Espada's expression held no empathy or quarter, emerald gaze boring into you with an unreadable intensity.

"Obey," he intoned, the weight of his command resonating through you. "Now."

The word brooked no room for argument, and you sank to your knees with a defeated whimper. Grimmjow's answering smirk was pure depraved victory, azure eyes glittering with undisguised malice.

"Good girl," he crooned, calloused fingertips tracing the curve of your cheek. "Keep those pretty lips spread open for me..."

Slowly, Grimmjow wrapped his fingers around the base of his straining erection, guiding the blunt tip past the plush curve of your lips. A harsh rumble resonated through his chest as he slid into the welcoming velvet depths of your mouth, the first salty beads of precum staining your tongue.

"Fuck yeah," he hissed through clenched fangs. "Look at that eager little mouth..."

Grimmjow threaded his talons into your hair, the pressure coiling at the back of your skull as he pushed further into the heated confines of your throat. The sensation was dizzying, a blend of suffocating power and heady lust as his hips rolled with mounting need.

"Shit…I knew that pretty mouth would feel good, but this...this is too fucking good..." His grip tightened in your hair, forcing your throat wider to take him deeper.

Through the haze, you hazarded a glance towards Ulquiorra. Grimmjow's thrusts had forced your eyes to water, but through the blurry sheen, you caught sight of the cuatro Espada staring down at you.

His gaze was utterly inscrutable, but you could've sworn his breathing had picked up, the cadence shallow and controlled. You swallowed, the motion rippling along Grimmjow's girth as Ulquiorra's jaw ticked in infinitesimal restraint.

"Ah, fuck!" Grimmjow's hips stuttered, fingers twisting brutally in your hair. "Keep looking at him with those pretty eyes, I wanna see him watch you take my load down that slutty little throat."

You struggled against his hold, the pressure building in your skull and behind your eyes. You'd nearly forgotten about Ulquiorra's presence until you felt that icy chill of his reiatsu brushing against you, a faint caress along your spine.

Grimmjow was too absorbed in his pleasure, the pressure of his talons against your skull building. You looked desperately to Ulquiorra, only to find his expression utterly implacable, a perfect mask of control.

"Go on, Ulquiorra," the sixth Espada grunted. "Give her a little encouragement."

He punctuated the request with a brutal thrust, your throat convulsing around his girth. Ulquiorra remained utterly unmoved, emerald gaze fixed on your own.

"No," he stated, each syllable a sepulchral finality. "I have no intentions of encouraging such vulgarities."

Grimmjow issued a guttural growl, the first hints of frustration beginning to seep into his movements. The cuatro Espada continued with his even tone, the barest trace of disdain bleeding into his words.

"Such a crude display of dominance is beneath me." Ulquiorra tilted his chin imperceptibly, the gesture underscoring his point. "I prefer another approach."

His reiatsu pulsed again, the frigid caress of power ghosting over you with an intimacy that sent a frisson of heat skittering across your flesh. Even though his mask remained implacable, you were suddenly struck by the realization that Ulquiorra's cool facade was just that - a veneer hiding something far more primal, infinitely darker lurking beneath.

And he wanted you to see it.

"Fine, your loss," Grimmjow grunted, the pace of his hips picking up until he was fucking into the hot velvet confines of your throat. "You wanna keep your hands off, that's on you. But I'm gonna enjoy seeing that pretty pet scream for me when I--"

A single, lethal stroke of Ulquiorra's hand across Grimmjow's neck ended his taunt. The taller Espada froze, gaze whiplashing towards the cuatro Espada.

"I believe you have misconstrued the parameters of this engagement," Ulquiorra's tone was dangerously even. "She is mine to control. Therefore, it is only fitting I orchestrate how this...debauchery plays out."

With one deft, inexorable wrench, he removed Grimmjow from his perch within your throat. The sudden, agonizing intrusion left you choking and gasping for air, lungs burning. The cuatro Espada's attention remained on the other Espada as he addressed you.

"Do not mistake my restraint for acquiescence, fracción. If I allow such...liberties with your body, it is only because it suits my purpose."

He slowly turned that emerald gaze towards you, expression perfectly placid save for the barest twitch of his lip. "If you disobey, the consequences will be far more severe than a momentary choking."

Grimmjow shot him an irate glower, but he seemed to have enough sense to heed the warning. You didn't dare test Ulquiorra's limits, the memory of his crushing blow still vivid in your mind.

"Get on the bed," Ulquiorra commanded. "Bent over, legs spread."

You did as you were told, the mattress dipping beneath your weight as you crawled forward. It was only once you'd settled onto your hands and knees did you realize the vulnerable position you'd placed yourself in.

Behind you, Grimmjow was all hard edges and bristling dominance, a predatory grin cutting across his feral features. Ulquiorra, by contrast, stood at the foot of the bed, impassive and aloof as he stared down at you.

"Here’s how this is going to play out, fracción. You’re going to let Grimmjow take you any way he sees fit. But, at no point are you to acknowledge him in any way. Instead, you will keep your eyes trained on me at all times. You will only moan and scream and cry for me."

Grimmjow's expression went slack, clearly taken aback by the unexpected twist. But the sixth Espada was nothing if not adaptable, his lips splitting into a feral grin.

"You kinky bastard," he crooned, running his tongue over his teeth. "I had no idea you were such a sick, twisted fuck."

Ulquiorra merely stared down at you, the slightest twitch of his lip betraying his amusement. He tilted his chin in the slightest gesture, and you instantly complied, turning back to the bedspread and positioning yourself.

You were hyperaware of Grimmjow's imposing presence behind you, the sixth Espada's reiatsu crackling with heady anticipation. Your fingers curled in the bedding, breath coming in a short pant.

"That's a good little slut," he rumbled. "Spread those thighs wide for me, show your master what a good girl you're being."

You heard a soft rustle, and then a calloused palm came down hard on the tender flesh of your ass, the sharp sting forcing a yelp from your lips.

"Answer me, slut." The sixth Espada's voice was a guttural snarl, the promise of violence held in check. "Do you want him to watch as I split you open on my cock?"

You hesitated, biting your lip as you glanced towards Ulquiorra. The cuatro Espada's expression remained impassive, emerald stare locked on your own. You swallowed, the barest flicker of uncertainty sparking in your veins.

Grimmjow's palm collided with your other cheek, the sharp pain eliciting another yelp. "I said, answer me," he snarled. "Or are you gonna make me teach you some manners?"

A strangled whimper escaped your lips, and you turned towards Ulquiorra, eyes pleading. The cuatro Espada tilted his head in the slightest moue, his silence communicating his order loud and clear.

Obey. Now.

You shuddered, a soft, defeated moan escaping your lips. "Y-yes, please..."

"Please, what?" Grimmjow punctuated the question with a sharp spank.

"Please...I want to...let you...split me open..." You trailed off, voice dropping to a mortified whisper.

"Good girl," the sixth Espada crooned. "See? You're learning."

His massive palms gripped your hips, and without warning, he wrenched you backwards onto his straining erection. The sudden, brutal intrusion forced a cry from your lips, your walls clenching around the unrelenting girth splitting you open.

"Look at that, Ulquiorra," Grimmjow grunted. "Your little slut takes my cock like a perfect little whore."

The fourth Espada's mask remained implacable, emerald gaze boring into you. There was a subtle shift, the slightest tightening around his eyes and jaw. You realized it was a warning, the barest hint of his displeasure.

You obediently shifted your focus back to Grimmjow, his hips beginning a brutal, punishing pace. The sixth Espada let out a dark chuckle, fingers twisting into the roots of your hair as he pulled you upright.

"Keep those eyes on him, pet," he growled, the vicious pace of his hips sending shocks of sensation spiraling through you. "Don't want him getting jealous."

With a rough shove, Grimmjow pushed you face down into the bed, his hips jackhammering into the slick heat of your core. You moaned, the sound muffled into the bedding.

"Fuck yeah, keep making those pretty little noises, pet," he hissed, reiatsu crackling in a corona of power around his brutalized form. "Show your master how much you're enjoying getting used like the desperate, little slut you are."

His hips snapped against yours, the punishing pace driving the air from your lungs. Grimmjow's hand slid from the base of your spine to curl around your throat, the pressure cutting off your air.

"That's it, slut. Let him see what a pathetic, desperate whore you are."

You squirmed beneath the vice grip of his fingers, the depraved thrill of being held in place by such strength and brutality. With strength you didn’t know you possessed, you managed to turn your head to the side, gaze immediately locking with Ulquiorra's.

There was a palpable, electric tension to the room, a static charge that heightened your awareness. Your pulse raced as your gaze bored into his, a silent plea in those depths.

Slowly, imperceptibly, his mask began to fracture. There was a tightening around his mouth, a narrowing of his eyes. His jaw clenched as he stared at you, and you felt the first frisson of real fear trickle down your spine.

He was...losing control.

"He told you to moan and scream and cry for him, slut," Grimmjow snarled. "But you're too busy looking at him like a dumb, desperate whore."

His hips snapped into yours, the brutal pace drawing a strangled cry from your lips. A low, sinister chuckle vibrated through the sixth Espada.

"Oh, I see what's going on. You like getting your pussy split open by a real man. One who's not afraid to treat you like the needy little cockslut you are."

His hand tightened around your throat, the pressure cutting off your airway as he fucked into you. Your vision was beginning to darken, the blood rushing in your ears drowning out the sixth Espada's cruel words.

"Yeah, you like that, don't you, you dumb little bitch," he sneered. "You're loving getting passed around between us, aren't you?"

He yanked you upright, the sudden shift jolting you out of your daze. The pressure was still crushing, the sensation of your air being cut off and the brutal pace of his thrusts sending shockwaves through your system.

"U-Ulquiorra," you rasped, his name a prayer and plea on your lips.

Your master's emerald gaze sharpened at your breathless cry, the barest flicker of something dark and primal flashing across his face. Grimmjow's grip around your throat tightened, and you struggled, your vision blurring.

"Say his name again," the sixth Espada growled. "Scream his name while I make you cum."

With that, he increased his brutal pace, the relentless force of his thrusts sending you teetering on the brink. You fought against the pressure around your neck, managing to gasp out a single, ragged word.

"U-Ulquiorra!"

The fourth Espada was on you in an instant, a blur of motion. Before you could process, his lips were on yours, claiming, ravaging, possessing. His reiatsu slammed into you with the force of a tidal wave, an icy blast of power that sent shocks coursing through your nerves.

Your hands scrambled for purchase against his shirt, grasping, tugging, pulling him closer until you were completely enveloped in the cool, soothing rush. It was an electric high, a delirious high that had you clinging to him as if he was the only thing grounding you to this reality.

You gasped as Ulquiorra finally pulled back, the sudden chill of his absence sending a frisson of heat along your skin. The sixth Espada was a solid wall of muscle at your back, his cock pulsing within you as he kept you suspended on the knife's edge.

"Beg for me," Ulquiorra whispered against your lips, thumb tracing the plush curve.

You trembled, the barest whimper escaping your lips. "Please..."

He tilted his head in the slightest move, his gaze flickering downwards to where Grimmjow’s cock was obscenely distending your abdomen. You shuddered, the realization of just how full you were, just how perfectly Grimmjow stretched and filled every inch of you.

"Please what, fracción?" The words were a soft caress, deceptively gentle in their delivery.

"Please..." You gasped as the sixth Espada rolled his hips against yours, his length dragging along your quivering walls. "Please, Ulquiorra...please let me cum...I need it..."

There was a brief pause as the fourth Espada stared down at you, his emerald gaze boring into your own. Then, the slightest tick of his jaw, a subtle tightening of his mouth.

"Very well."

With that, he captured your lips in a searing kiss, tongue thrusting past the plush barrier to claim the heated cavern of your mouth. His hand snaked down to where Grimmjow was still buried to the hilt, the calloused pad of his middle finger brushing the straining bud of your swollen clit.

It was all the provocation needed to send you crashing over the edge, your walls clamping down on the sixth Espada's engorged girth. You screamed into Ulquiorra's mouth, the combined sensations of Grimmjow's throbbing member and the fourth Espada's skillful ministrations enough to render you into a shuddering mess.

Grimmjow snarled, hips bucking erratically against your own as your walls convulsed around him. With a guttural curse, he slammed into you, the final thrusts enough to push him over the edge. He erupted, flooding your core with scalding spurts of his release.

You sagged against Ulquiorra's chest, his reiatsu enveloping you in an icy mantle of calm. Grimmjow slipped from your entrance, a thin trail of his cum trickling from your spent cunt. Ulquiorra's hand brushed across the curve of your cheek, and you leaned into the comforting touch.

"I believe we are done here, Grimmjow," he stated, the command implicit in his tone.

The sixth Espada issued a derisive snort, but he made no move to counter. Instead, he merely retrieved his tattered hakama, lazily tugging them up his lean hips.

"Whatever," he growled. "I'm more than satisfied."

You watched as he headed for the exit, a languid swagger to his step as he tossed one last glance towards you. Something unreadable flickered in his azure gaze, his expression turning pensive. Then, the moment was broken, and he strode out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

Slowly, Ulquiorra turned his attention back to you, hands tightening around you to hold you upright against him. A strange expression crossed his face, a subtle, barely perceptible shift. It was almost like he was uncertain.

"You..." His gaze shifted, the slightest crease forming between his brows. "You did not find that encounter unsatisfactory, correct?"

It was an awkward, halting question, but it was the closest thing to emotion he'd shown since the two of you met. A warmth unfurled within you, the faintest hint of a smile twitching at your lips.

"No," you replied. "I liked it."

Ulquiorra's expression remained inscrutable, but the weight of his stare was palpable. Slowly, his hands drifted upwards, calloused fingers trailing along the curve of your cheek before coming to rest at the nape of your neck.

"Good."

With that, he captured your lips, his tongue thrusting past the plush barrier to stake his claim. He was gentle, but there was an undercurrent of intensity to his movements, a possessive fervor that had your toes curling.

"Because I have no intention of sharing you with anyone else," he growled against your lips. "Ever again."

[marysdonuts]

Tom and Jerry

school clown!Hoshi x top student!reader

Synopsis: After crossing the rubicon with your annoying classmate Hoshi "relationship" between the two of you improved. However you bump heads once more at Mingyu's game night party

Warnings: plot with smut, enemies to lovers, high IQ (f.) x low IQ (m.), slight angst, Mafia game at Mingyu's house, classmates, semi-public, banter, dirty talk, oral (f. receiving), brief mentions of other members, crack, Hoshi acting cray during the game, (no questionable fashion choices mentioned)

WC: 1.2K

Status: part 2 (ongoing), read part 1 here

masterlist / requests / taglist

Why should it be awkward after fucking your arch nemesis? Well, isn't that what all the books and movies want us to believe?

- The female lead got into dragged out moral battle with herself after giving in to the detestable male lead.. Making audience yawn. Questioning if this is who she really is, questioning God's intentions - ultimately running away never to return again. Revolutionary.

In reality things didn't have to be so black or white. There was no need to go thru the emotional rollercoaster of blaming it on your childhood trauma or turning it into religious guilt. Ultimately, we were put on this Earth to have fun. Why beat ourselves up for doing something that we actually enjoyed?

Living in the grey area had its perks.

Improved relationship with your desk-mate Hoshi was one of them. The steamy encounter in locker room visibly dissolving tension between two rivals.

You were in higher spirits than usual.

Well that was fun, didn't think he had it in him. Why was I acting like a bitch before? Guess I just needed the attitude fucked out of me. Kekekekekek

"What are you scheming down there, hm?" walking in Soonyoung saw you hunched over the desk cackling like an anime villain planning to take over the world.

"Wouldn't you like to know." pushing up non existent glasses reflecting the light for dramatic effect.

"I would love to know." towering over you

"Pfff, you wouldn't understand even if I told you!!" springing up the chair, sticking your tongue out at him

"See you at the game tonight~"you spiralled out the classroom in a way that resembled category 5 hurricane. Leaving Hoshi flabbergasted.

"Wasn't I supposed to be the crazy one?" rubbing his chin in disbelief, your wicked laugh echoed thru the halls

//

And exactly what game were you talking about?

Of course the quarterly Mafia get-together. You've been told that everybody gathers up in class president Mingyu's house once every three months. It's your first time attending.

Please, please, please give me a role! I can't stand being a boring citizen - eyes shut, you prayed as the host passed behind you. Tapping you on the shoulder.

"The mafia has been chosen."

silence

"The police officer has been chosen."

silence

"The doctor has been chosen."

//

You killed the doctor first. Something in Seungkwan's proud eyes gave him away. He liked to play the saviour and once again it got the best of him.

"Why am I always the one getting killed first?? Why do you hate me soo much" pouting, hands crossed on the chest

"That's what happens when people had enough of your shit. Bang, bang, bang!" Hoshi collapsed in front of Kwan, seemingly coughing up blood "better keep your head down next time.." clinging to Boo's ankle before theatrically releasing his final breath. Freezing on the floor.

"You! Shut the hell up!" kicking his foot, trying to free himself from Hoshi's iron claw

//

Citizens were dropping like flies. Only making the sinister look in your eyes grow bigger and bigger.

And so did Hoshi's craziness.

"it's MINGYU, HE'S THE MAFIA!!!" pointing at Mingyu, shivering in the corner, probably questioning why he invited this madman in the first place. He was voted off.

"Everyone, WAIT JUST LISTEN TO ME...!" human sized worm was now wriggling in Joshua's direction

With every nonsense spat from Hoshi's mouth, you could feel your braincells dying.

"MWAHAHA, YOU THOUGHT I WOULDN'T NOTICE THAT LOOK IN YOUR EYES, CHAN?? CAN'T FOOL ME!!!" backflipping to the opposite side of the room, attacking the youngest

Idiot. Can't fool you now, huh? We'll see 'bout that.

"What a big mouth you have over there, Kwon," raising to your feet, cackle of devil ready to deliver divine retributions "would be a shame if someone shut IT." you shot your thumb down making all the remaining civilians vote in unity. Crowd vailing.

Heh, so this is how it feels to be a roman emperor - sentencing slaves to their death for entertainment of the colosseum.

//

Not long after you were the sole survivor

"Mafia WON! Standing ovation for the lady!" clap clap clap host crowning you MVP of the game.

"Thank you, couldn't done it without you." palpable wink in direction of the fuming hamster, now seeking comfort between Mingyu's humongous man-titties. Once enemies now reunited in shared hardship

Misery loves company, doesn't it? Chuckling to yourself

Hoshi Kwon (19) left the mortal world behind right then and there - figuratively speaking of course. Utterly humiliated by you, again. He was supposed to SHINE! He was supposed to find the mafia! Finally got a role of policeman but every guess that he made tonight was incorrect

"You win. For now." darkness possessing his amicable face

Familiar knot taking shape in your stomach

//

DU! DU! DU!

Heavy knocks on the bathroom door

"Just a moment!" drying your hands

DU! DU! DU! DU! DU!

"Hey! I said I am coming..!" swinging the door open

"Oh? I wondered when you'd show up." smirk looming up your lips as Hoshi shoved you back inside

"Smart girl. Wanted to see me that badly?" there was nothing sweet about the way he closed the door shut

"At least one of us," shooting back "are you here to serve your sentence?" tracing finger on his lips

"Didn't you say somebody should shut my mouth? Then, sit on it."

Ah and there it was the residual craziness clouding his judgement. Ain't gonna argue with a dude that has big brown eyes. Whatever you say, beautiful.

You weren't wet yet but it wasn't hard to guess that in exactly two minutes you will be

"Hahah- what?" you were just joking, didn't expect to actually do it here. At house party? Is there a cliché more american? Neither of you were an american but you'd rather be caught dead than doing something so mainstream.

"Did I stutter? You always talk a big game in public but I want to see how brave you are now." hot breath already caught between your thighs, hungry kisses biting at your soft flesh making you whine. Guess they didn't call him tiger for nothing

"We are in Minguy's bathroom.." voice disappearing into thin air the moment his starving mouth made contact with your, now wet, private area

"And? didn't seem to mind the locker room last time" Hoshi's swirling tongue rolling over THE spot of your clit

"s-shut up, you idi- OOOOH" a cry hardly appropriate for friendly game night. The sensation making you drunk on his expert movements.

"Oh? I didn't know top students had such a dirty mouth" working harder and more relentlessly than before, the train of needy moans couldn't be stopped anymore.

And there you were. Once again with a good for nothing dude between your legs. Making you feel things nobody before him managed. How does he know exactly what you liked? Was it the environment? First the locker room now friend's house...A combination perhaps?

Taste of forbidden fruit is not easily forgotten,

but who doesn't love a good enemies to lovers trope?

To be continued

[jen-with-a-pen]

F O X ＨＵＮＴ

summary: Not only has HYDRA executed their infiltration on S.H.I.E.L.D., but they have also reclaimed their finest weapon. Your safety isn't the only thing that's compromised.

pairings: WS!Beefy!Bucky Barnes x F!Avenger!Reader

word count: 6.1k

warnings: chasing, being hunted down, implied n0n-con elements, canon-level violence, cursing, implied t0rture, blood, beat1ngs, forced nud1ty, language, HYDRA-level cruelty, Bucky gets Brainwashed (again), there's Steve x Reader if you squint REALLY REALLY hard

read here on ao3!

a/n: This was inspired by last year's Whumptober Day 2: NOWHERE TO RUN - CORNERED, CAGED AND CONFRONTATION. I know it's February JUNE, but shit came up and my motivation tanked lmao thanks adhd med trials Literally have never done a dark(er?) fic before and this one has been cooking for god knows how fucking long now. I hope y'all like it <3 (also the hydra victory au is something i discovered from the lovely @lunarbuck reset series and stewed obsessively over for literal months now. still obsessed with it whoops)

dividers by @firefly-graphics | gif by @lost-shoe | @hydravictrix

my ao3 | my masterlist

Translations

Lisitsa | лисица - fox/little fox

Soldat | солдат - soldier

Syuda | сюда - over here

Khitraya suka | хитрая сука - sly bitch

Moy priz | мой приз - my prize

Glupaya pizda | глупая пизда - stupid cunt

Moye | мое - mine

The infiltration was subtle at the start.

A few missions gone mysteriously wrong, agents killed in action or disappearing entirely, hacks that were, thankfully, contained within an inch of a full-blown data breach. All of it seemed so coincidental when it happened, swept under the rug each and every single time before Director Fury could have a swear-filled say as to what the hell was going on. 

But hindsight is 20/20. It always is.

The day S.H.I.E.L.D. fell was, ironically, the perfect day: brilliant sunshine, clear blue skies, a breeze weaving between the towering buildings and skyscrapers. It was almost eerie, in a way, how perfect of a day it was. 

You found yourself in the gym, Steve and Sam hashing it out on whose turn it was in sparring. You had all but knocked Sam out cold in the previous round as Steve watched from behind the ropes, cheering you on with a cocky, proud grin as he watched all of his hard work in your training pay off.

Of course, the stubborn ass he was, Sam wanted another go. 

“C’mon, Steve! I wanna rematch!” Sam protested, gesturing wildly in your direction with one hand while his other held an ice pack to his bruised temple. Steve stifled a laugh, tossing a glance over his shoulder to you. You shook your head, smiling back as you gulped down the rest of your water bottle. Cool strands spilled out from the corners of your lips and down your chest. You welcomed the relief from the sweat gluing your t-shirt to your skin. 

“How ‘bout I take Steve instead of giving you another concussion?” you retorted, giggling as Sam shot a narrow look at you. He huffed, forfeiting his argument by waving a dismissive hand. 

“Fine, ’m gonna go find some pain meds,” he grumbled, turning to point a swollen finger at Steve. “I better see you in the infirmary next, Cap.” 

He stomped off through the metal doors and left the two of you in silence.

“Whaddya say, sweetheart? You up for round two?” Steve teased, stepping under the ropes and into the ring. He wrapped his hands as he moved to the center, muscle memory carrying him while keeping his eager gaze on you. His eyes carried excitement as they journeyed up and down your figure, rolling his lip between his teeth as he drank you with his stare. 

You did little to hide your pride at the Captain checking you out, chewing the corner of your cheek to tame your own smirk at the beautiful blond. You turned away, hiding the heat from your cheeks as you tossed your bottle at your bag. You weaved under the ropes, coming face to face with your willing opponent in the center. You lifted your chin to meet his, the hidden smirk on your lips growing into a grin.

“With you? Always, old man,” you purred. You tossed him a teasing wink as you positioned your fists in front of you, feet planted firmly in the starting stance. Steve lingered on you for a second longer, tongue swiping across his lips hungrily as he cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders, raising his hands to mirror you.

The two of you began to circle one another, dancing in a familiar pattern you knew by heart. Steve took his first swipe at you and you ducked, managing a hit to his stomach. A grunt escaped from him– not of hurt but of thrill. He lunged for you as you dodged again, blocking his failed strike to your head. 

“Wow! You really can’t teach an old dog new tricks!” you taunted, dodging another blow, his wrapped fist only grazing your shoulder. You rolled it back, holding back a slight wince as you continued the violent waltz. 

You lunged at him, instead faltering and falling to the ground. Readying the curse on your tongue, it stopped short of your lips as you looked up at Steve. 

He stood frozen in place, panting, fists at his sides clenching tighter and tighter. As you opened your mouth to unload even more cursing questions, screeching erupted from the loudspeakers around the room. High-pitched tones screaming above, a robotic voice speaking clinically and quickly. You scrambled off the floor, unease creeping in as you latched onto Steve’s arm, his arm tensing under your touch.

CODE WHITE. CODE SILVER. ALL SECURITY AND TEAM UNITS URGENTLY NEEDED. 40th FLOOR. THREAT IS ACTIVE AND HIGHLY DANGEROUS. REPEAT. CODE WHITE. CODE SILVER. ALL SECURITY AND TEAM UNITS–

The message had cut out, static replacing it alongside the echoing alarms throughout the hallways outside the gym. You looked up at Steve. Anxiety surged upon finding his face devoid of all blood, his jaw slack, eyes boring into the metal doors leading to the hallway. He looked scared. 

You’d never seen Steve scared before. 

“Steve, what the fuck was that–”

“Get to the locker rooms and hide,” he ordered. He pulled his arm from you, jumping over the ropes and sprinting to his duffel bag on the floor. He pulled out his phone and dialed frantically as he ran to the doors. 

“Steve!” You stood trembling in the ring as your stomach churned. 

“Now!” he yelled. “I’ll come back for you!” 

He didn’t wait to hear your response as he slammed the gym doors shut, followed by a whir and click.

He locked you in. 

You didn’t– couldn’t– hesitate as a surge of urgency overtook you. You needed to hide. Now. Fast.

Your legs carried you as you jumped out of the ring and raced to grab your duffel bag, sprinting to the back of the gym through another set of double doors. You wove through the tiled maze of the locker room searching for some sort of hiding spot, settling on the showers. You snuck over to the stall at the very end, the closest one to the emergency exit, and ducked under the opaque plastic curtain. Your bag fell to the floor as you climbed onto the stall seat. Blood pumped in your ears, thumping as quickly as your shaky, shallow breathing. Millions of thoughts and questions and worries rushed through your mind at impossible speeds.

White and Silver. Which alert was that for?

You racked through fleeting memories, distant recollections of training and orientation from months ago, searching for anything remotely familiar. You remembered all of the other codes– red, orange, teal– but no white, no silver. 

A faint buzzing sounded from inside your duffel. You lunged, unzipping it and fishing out your phone. Natasha. Her name lit up the screen and you frantically hit the answer key before the call could even think about dropping.

“Where the fuck are you?” Her panicked voice hissed into your ear. Her edged tone was enough to make your stomach backflip faster. 

“Locker rooms, forty-fifth floor. What the fuck is going on, Nat?” Your voice shook as anger and confusion boiled in your blood.

A muffled swear. “Where’s Steve?”

“He ran out, locked me in, told me to hide.” More incoherent curses.

“Fuck, fuck, okay, look, trust me on this, you need to stay where you are, okay? I can get you out, I–” 

High-pitched ringing overtook the speaker, sending you reeling away from the receiver. Static echoed out of the speakers.

“You what? Natasha!”

“No– time– you–”

“Natasha! Hello?”

Beep. Beep. Beep.

You tore the phone away from your ear and choked back the bile rising in your throat. Service was out. The blinking bars at the top of the screen mocked you and your sudden plunge into isolation. 

The lights went next. 

The dull fluorescents flickered. Someone cut the electricity, sending you into almost darkness as the backup generator lights kicked on. Scattered lights from above cast an eerie yellow glow over the shower tiles. You’d only seen this kind of outage happen once before, when New York was hit with Hurricane Noah a few years back.

The fear you felt in that storm paled in comparison to what you felt now.

You sighed, shaky and surrendering, and pulled your body closer to you on the shower bench. A chill snaked its way down your spine as your skin brushed the cool ceramic, an unwelcome addition to the cold already enveloping you. Your sweat-soaked t-shirt and shorts failed to aid you and your aching muscles. Fingernails dug into your kneecaps in a struggle to stop trembling as you tried to focus on your breathing. Inhaling, exhaling, in, out. Screwing your eyes shut, praying to any deity imaginable it was all just a drill, it was all an accident or a misunderstanding or–

The ground shook as a loud bang echoed from outside the locker room. A panicked yelp escaped your throat before your hands could scramble and cover your mouth. You froze as the tremors subsided and listened. It, or they, sounded close. 

Too close. 

Another BANG! Then another. 

Rhythmic, steady blows, each quicker and more powerful than the last. Hands clamped tighter over your lips until your blood froze at the sounds of crushing steel and crumbling concrete. The lump in your throat grew as horrific realization flooded over you. 

They, or it, broke in.

You couldn’t wrap your head around it– those doors were more fortified than Tony’s lab. Four-inch-thick, steel and plexiglass doors with a three-tier secured locking system. Nothing, nobody– not even the strongest Super Soldier– was powerful enough to make the faintest of dents in them.

Racing through who, or what, could have possibly broken into the gym, your train of thought derailed as echoes of men yelling indecipherable words and mixed commands shattered the remaining air of safety you clung to. Listening intently, a mix of combat boots and tactical gear filtered in with the echoed commands.

The S.T.R.I.K.E. Team.

Your legs begged for reprieve from crouching, but your body disobeyed and froze you in place. Part of you didn’t trust who was outside. Footsteps and gruff voices became heavier, closer. The relief that greeted you was replaced again by panic as you listened closer.

Clear, Russian commands resonated at the entrance to the locker rooms. They were coming in. 

Your breath hitched, blood running cold as footsteps closed in. It was one person, but their steps didn’t sound like the heavy boots before them. They sounded more like…

Sneakers?

The rubber from the intruder’s shoes squeaked on the tiled floors. Ragged breathing echoed off the walls. A low growl, accompanied by quiet whirring. Someone big, someone mean. 

Your heart made its way to your throat as the intruder inched closer. Slow, methodical, as if trained in search and rescue. 

It didn’t feel like a rescue.

The lump almost turned into a scream as an echoed BANG carried from the bathroom stalls around the corner. Silence followed, then a growl, then another BANG. The cycle repeated for the remaining stalls, the intruder slowly creeping along. Growls became deeper upon each disappointment. 

Hostages. They were looking for hostages.

Soles squeaked as the intruder changed course, stomping around the corner to search the line of shower stalls. You hiccuped a sob, realizing tears started to trail down your cheeks. Biting your palm only proved a lame attempt to calm your racing heart, a scream threatening to leave your throat as they began tearing the plastic curtains off the stalls. Each clang of metal cracking onto the tile became closer as you ground your teeth into the meat of your hand. Eyes screwed shut, silent prayers raced in your head, pleading to wake up; to wake up from this hellscape of a sick, twisted nightmare. 

The intruder’s steps stopped. 

Your eyes opened, widening at the blurred, hulking shadow standing outside of your stall. They had to be well over six feet. Towering, bulky, monstrous. 

Slowly, the shadow’s hand reached for the curtain. One by one, its fingers closed around the plastic’s edge, preparing to rip it down and rip you open. Eyes burning, hot tears felt like molten metal as you attempted to make yourself as small as possible in your corner, huddling your knees as close as they could be. This was it. This was the end. You prayed– actually fucking prayed– hoping they couldn’t hear your pathetic whimpering, hoping they would make this quick, painless; break your neck or put a gun to your head and get it over with. Leave your body for someone else to find.

“Soldat, syuda!” 

The command made your heart stop.

The shadow froze, stopped by a call from the entrance to the locker room. Skin met your teeth as you bit harder into your hand. Lungs began panicking as you started hyperventilating, bile reaching your throat and burning the back of your tongue. 

The shadow, the monster, growled in protest. It retracted the curled hand from the curtain, wordlessly moving back towards the bathroom stalls. Footsteps faded as muffled conversation floated away from the locker room.

You needed to get the fuck out of there. 

You slid off the bench, legs aching and knees popping as you crouched silently over to the curtain, peeking out behind the plastic. It crinkled quietly and you bit your lip, leaning out ever so slightly over the threshold. 

Tiptoeing around the corner, you faced the emergency exit. The glowing sign omitted a creepy, green glow that added to the eeriness brought by the generator lights. 

This was it.

You slammed the push bar down, throwing the door open with your body and spilling out into the hallway. Sunlight flashed through the infinite glass hallway, blinding you. In your frozen state, you hear commotion from behind the door as it slammed shut. Banging from the other side, the sound of metal on metal, made your teeth grind. Indents from punches dented the door, deforming its smooth outside. You didn’t stay frozen for long as your body screamed at you to fucking move, now.

Your legs obeyed immediately, carrying you through the corridor to the closest means of escape you could find. As you rounded the corner, the crushing sounds of the door breaking off of its hinges hit your ears. You didn’t dare to look back, sprinting through the twists and turns of the infinite hallway. You followed what felt familiar, burning muscles egged on by the sound of pounding footsteps getting closer and closer.

Finally, you stumbled onto the entrance to a stairwell, pausing to gasp for air your lungs demanded. The burn in your legs and chest only aided in the physiological need to hyperventilate. Sweat dripped from your temple and your head pounded as hard as your feet hitting the ground. 

You leaned into the safety bar, inches away from further distancing yourself from whatever, whoever, was on your trail, when a yell erupted from the end of the hallway. 

It felt like slow-motion; one of those scenes in those cheesy horror movies Sam always made you and Steve watch on weekends off. The ones with cheap FX, bad sound, but somehow great editing for the budget. The scenes where realization hits the main character and suddenly everything is half the speed while they still move in real time. 

You turned your head towards the source. Then, it hit you. Blood drained from your face as the horror of realization hit you, like a speeding sixteen-wheeler head on.

Bucky Barnes stood hulking at the end of the hallway. Generator lights and setting sun illuminated his snarling teeth, gleaming from parted lips that had him panting like a rabid dog. If you hadn’t known better it would’ve looked like he was heading for the gym for his daily workout. Blown pupils, sweat-stuck hair, complimented by a shaking frame– most definitely caused by adrenaline, dopamine, and a slew of Gods-knew-what other drugs he had pumped into his system. Splotches of drying, smeared blood coated his neck and shirt while even more dripped onto the ground from his fists. The crimson contrasted with the medically white floors. 

Bile rose in your throat again. The acidic taste made you dry heave at the sight of the blood, knowing from the looks of Bucky it definitely wasn’t his.

He snarled as your eyes finally met. Fists of flesh and metal flexed. Rippling muscles shook as he readied to launch forward.

“You’re mine, lisitsa!” he barked. His voice booming louder than the speed of sound, it made your ears ring.

Your throat finally opened. You screamed as he sprinted towards you, making more ground down the hallway than an apex predator out of hibernation. You shoved the exit door open, heaving your legs forward as you ascended the stairs. No choice but to go up, you refused to look back– nay you didn’t dare to even consider it. Muscles and tendons and joints burned, yearning for you to stop, but the door slamming from flights below you only pushed you harder, flying up and passing floor after floor. 

You were fast, but he was faster. 

Dizziness overtook you as your vision began to blur. Darkened edges of your peripherals made you stop your climb at level 50, pausing for a split second to hear Bucky’s progress. He was close behind, but you still had more of an advantage. You knew the Tower better than him. You knew level 50 had another stairwell on the opposite side of the floor, through another hallway off the corner of your current one. Sneakers pounded too close for comfort as you shoved the door open and made a break for it down another corridor labyrinth.

If you made it out of this alive, you swore you’d kill Tony’s architect yourself. 

“You can’t hide forever, lisitsa!” Bucky’s voice rang out from the stairwell as you rounded the corner, sprinting through more identical-looking hallways. Another corner later and the glowing red EXIT sign appeared above the next stairwell. A beacon of hope, almost. Relieved, you head straight for it, body and mind and soul pushing against the burning and the gasping for air. You were right there, hand outstretched, fingertips grasping the metal bar–

It felt like a car crash. 

Not an accident or fender bender. No, it felt like seventy miles an hour meets a tree with no intent of moving. That split-second feeling where your stomach drops and you can all but brace for the deadly impact destined for you to meet.

Time stopped as you were yanked backwards. Cold, slick metal wrapped around your ankle, bloody hand print smearing some poor bastard’s DNA all over your calf as your body fell to the ground. Hard. Your jaw clenched as your chin slammed into the linoleum. Teeth ground into your tongue as copper flooded your tastebuds. Your lungs, with little wind left in them, gasped for oxygen. Another scream rising in your throat became stuck in your vocal cords. 

Bucky whipped you around as you struggled to free your lower half. You landed on your shoulder, head bouncing against the floor and teary eyes struggled to stay open and endure the pain. He straddled your form, the weight crashing down on your bones and organs. A sharp inhale impaled your chest as you met Bucky’s darkened eyes, then; the familiar steel blue replaced entirely with dilated, unhinged pupils. 

It was the first time you got a good look at his face. His face is speckled with blood spatter and several bruises spread across his cheek down his neck. Two black eyes, a bloody nose– one you hoped was his– and a broken lip. The bloodied collar of his shirt only aided in the mess of his hair. His soft, chocolate strands stuck in mats to his neck and temples with sweat and blood. 

Out of sheer habit, because he looked like your Bucky, you couldn’t help but reach a hand out to him. A soft plea for the man behind his eyes, one you begged everything holy was still there. He held your stare, face contorting into unrecognizable emotions. Tears brimmed your eyes as your hand stretched further, sobs escaping as your fingers inched closer and closer to his battered face.

“Bucky, it’s me–”

Your appeal transformed into a shriek, quickly snuffed out as Bucky wrapped his crimson-spattered metal hand around your throat. You choked, sputtering lost pleas as your hands flew to your neck. Fingernails flailed in futile attempts to claw off the weapons-grade titanium. 

“You’re done running, khitraya suka,” Bucky’s hot breath fanned your face as he leaned in. His mouth grazed your jaw, titanium hand on your throat flexing with each syllable. He slowly made his way down your neck, pushing harder into your chest with his forearm. A heavy growl. His grip only tightened as you tried to knee him in the groin, picking you up by your neck and slamming you down again.

Stars circled your blurred vision, eyes rolling back into your head. The corridor, the lights, everything split into two.

“You owe me for my victory, lisitsa,” Bucky’s husky whisper resonated in your ear as he licked the side of your face, his hot, wet mouth against your tear-stained cheek. As his free hand moved to the waistband of your shorts, another surge of panic washed through you. You tried to sputter a weak cry from your closed-off throat, blood turning cold, another scream building and building in your chest and aching for release. 

“You owe me what’s mine –!” 

BANG!

Something from somewhere all of a sudden. The object slammed into Bucky, throwing him off of you and spilling across the floor. 

Finally, your lungs lunged at the chance for air, leaving you a heaving, choking, coughing mess. Spitting at the ground as you made your way shakily to your hands and knees, a freed hand traveling to rub the fresh strangulation bruises forming on the column of your stiff neck. 

“Get the fuck off her, Bucky!” 

Steve.

As your vision cleared, the shield whizzed past you as it ricocheted back into Steve’s open arms. Bucky groaned, low and guttural, but only for a moment is he subdued. Slowly, he rose, like smoke from extinguished ashes, looking to his metal vice. A large dent adorned the weathered, bloodied appendage where his bicep met his shoulder. He then turned his attention to Steve, baring his teeth, anger coursing through him as he immediately disregarded you. His sights set on a new target, launching himself at Steve without a beat lost.

Steve grunted as Bucky’s metal fist met the vibranium shield with a deafening clang. Steve gritted his teeth and pushed back, managing to break Bucky’s attack and aim a kick for his stomach.

“Go! I got him!” Steve yelled to you through a gasp as Bucky countered with his own swipe at Steve’s middle. Your body stayed put, relishing in the ability to fucking breathe again, also painfully aware how screwed you’d be if you didn’t escape as you had the chance. You willed yourself to move, to run and to keep going, to no avail. As Steve landed a blow to Bucky, his eyes met yours once more. His baby blues, pained and tired, begged for you to listen to him for once in your life. 

“Now!”

The strain in Steve’s voice seemed to ignite a fire underneath you. Pushing yourself up, you willed your legs to carry you to the exit. Bloody shoe prints tracked your route as you slammed through the doorway. You cursed, knowing they’ll give away which way you’d go, knowing your life matters more than a twenty-dollar pair of sneakers. Kicking them off, throwing the pair down the exit, praying they made it far enough Bucky wouldn’t know any better. 

You threw yourself up the stars, tremors and pain afflicting every limb as the cold concrete seeped in through your socks in each step. The railing helped as you heaved yourself forward with help from the railing. Sweaty palms slipped on the bars, but your grip only grew tighter. 

You didn’t know how you, or your body, was able to do it, making it up seven more flights of stairs before your knees buckled on level 57. Heaving the door open and slamming it shut, you stumbled out into the new hallway. You hadn’t visited that level before. Something Steve and the others– especially Doctor Banner– said was “just a business floor.”

The sign on the wall directing to ‘SAFELAB’ said otherwise. Nothing in the Tower was “just business.” 

What you did know was that every SAFELAB on every floor was located in the same, far-east hallway. 

Wiping the sweat from your temple, you turned right, jogging down the darkened, emptied-out hallway. It felt like the apocalypse. No sign of anybody else. Doors left ajar, papers and bags and other employee memorabilia scattered throughout abandoned offices and cubicles. You hoped everyone was able to make it out, at least.

Part of you didn’t hope for much, though. 

The door to the lab came into view as you rounded the last corner. The door was still locked, the lab inside sterile and untouched. A sigh of relief escaped you. Holding your palm to the door’s scanner, it answered your prayers in a soft beep and whir, miraculously allowing you in. 

You maneuvered through the multiple security doors, four in total, crouching low once you managed to slip into the lab itself. The gigantic window at the front of the labspace spared no room for you to hide easily, but you had zero room to complain about it. It was your only option, after all.

Well, besides the roof. 

Crouched, you snuck your way around the counters and various equipment to one of the supply closets. The furthest corner from the entrance. You scoured through drawers and cupboards for some sort of weaponry; the most you could find was a new scalpel out of a box of extras. 

You closed in on the supply closet, reaching up and grasping the handle, turning it slowly to prevent any squeaks from the inner hinge. A tear glided down your cheek in relief. You hadn’t realized you started crying. Again. 

The door swung open. It greeted you mostly empty, deep enough for you to cram your body into. Crawling inside, bones and limbs contorted into the most comfortable position you could manage. You pinched the edges of the doors to close them as best as you can, accepting they, in fact, couldn’t close all the way from the inside. A curse under your breath, the sliver of dim light through the crack cast onto your face. Once settled, you crumpled your damp t-shirt up from the collar and shoved the fabric into your mouth. Teeth and tongue greeted sweaty cotton and hints of copper as you bit down on the collar, covering your mouth with a free hand. 

At last, after Gods knew how long it had been since you ceased moving, a silenced sob heaved out of your chest. Tremors only worsened as your nervous system rode out the fumes of its adrenaline high and flight mode instincts. Hot tears spilled down your cheeks, mixing with snot further down your face, slipping down to your neck and leaving behind streaked paths in the bloodied, hand-printed bruises adorned on your flesh. The pain from the near-strangulation you suffered broke through the shock and endorphins that were keeping you sane until then. You knew, though, you couldn’t break down. Not yet. Not until you saw Natasha or Steve or someone you trusted face-to-face. 

You started counting your breaths. Mind racing, thoughts traveling near sonic speeds through your mind carrying questions at how the hell it all happened.

You thought for sure S.H.I.E.L.D. was secure, especially after the ordeal with Bucky, Steve, and the whole ‘defeating HYDRA’ ordeal from a few years back. Hell, you thought it was safer than taking the FBI’s recon mission that was offered to you before being referred to Tony himself. Your mind raced, what-ifs and endless possibilities flashing across your eyes like a snuff film. You hoped Steve was okay. You hoped Natasha was on her way to your location any second. You hoped Sam was safe and made it out okay. You hoped Bucky –

Bucky. 

Christ, you hadn’t even stopped to think about how the hell everything happened to him. He’d been doing so well in his recovery program. Steve was even telling you about it that same morning, bragging about how well Bucky was doing, how much progress he was making, how soon they’d finally be able to move in together once Doctor Banner cleared him. Another sob overtook you. How you’d never seen him like that before, the feeling of his titanium arm slowly crushing your windpipe, the weight of his entire body crushing your internal organs as he’d held you down. The things he’d said. You tried to wrap your head around what he’d said, what he was going to do–

Crashing followed by shattering glass emitted a muffled yelp from you as your blood ran cold. Another wave of tears flooded out of your burning eyes, chest heaving unevenly. Your hand clamped even tighter over your mouth as teeth bit into the salty fabric of your shirt, drying up any more moisture your mouth was grateful to finally have.

BANG! Then another. Then more in rapid succession. Shattering, crashing, shattering, silence. The final blow to the security doors sounded from inside the lab itself. Your breath hitched and bile began bubbling in your stomach, reaching the back of your throat and across your tongue. You forced yourself to swallow the acid, listening intently to the crunch of sneakers on shattered glass.

He’d found you. 

“Lisitsaaa,” Bucky drawled, his voice dropped to a primally low octave. Lower than before. You almost couldn’t make out the words, a mixture of growled mumblings of English and Russian. Knees folded closer to your chest, you tightened your grip on the handle of the scalpel. Bucky’s footsteps were slow, methodical, predatorial. 

His heavy steps inched closer, each followed by a pause, then sudden crashing of lab equipment and smashing of drawers. More glass and metal slammed to the ground and walls after each pause. He sounded feet away. Then inches. 

Your breathing stopped as the sliver of light clouded over. The lump in your throat threatened more puke to rise as you dared to peer up through the crack, heart dropping like a dead weight to your stomach as your eyes fell on freshly bloodied sneakers. A stifled scream in your lungs choked you. You refused to think about whose blood that was.

Eyes darted back up. You could see Bucky’s blurred features clouded in shadows. The only light visible, then, was the glint from his wicked smile. Bloodied teeth shone as he licked his lips hungrily, a predator finally cornering its prey. 

Ever so slowly he crouched, shoving his face closer into the seam in the door. Tears and snot continued to stream down your face, your body hyperventilating as you forced yourself to look into his eyes. There was nothing else you could do. Nothing else to say, to cry about. There was nowhere left to run. He got you. 

“There you are, moy priz,” Bucky hissed before reaching through and throwing the doors open, heavy hands leaving imprints in the flimsy metal. Frozen, your fist was still closed around the scalpel, your muscles tensed as joints locked in place. His evil eyes scanned your body greedily, looking for which cut of meat to divulge in first. His gaze stopped at your fist and he chuckled, tisking in a disappointed tone. 

“Oh, glupaya pizda,” Bucky shook his head, amused at your meager choice of weaponry. Compared to him, you might as well have been waving a white flag. His smile only grew, tongue jutting out to lick his lips. Specks of blood coated the sides of his cheeks and edges of his mouth, smeared about from ear to ear with the back of his hand.

“Come with me and they might consider your life, lisitsa–”

You sprung into him, swinging your arm, landing the scalpel into the middle of his flesh hand, impaling straight through it. In an instant, blood spewed from the impact. Bucky screamed out in pain, a slew of mixed language curses reverberating in your skull. You scrambled out of your hiding place, bashing him with a balled fist to the face as you tumbled out and onto your feet, sprinting to the lab’s only exit. Freedom was only an arm’s length away when an overturned stool tripped you. The impact didn’t hurt near as much as the millions of shattered glass bits shredded cut into your skin, your hands and knees and arms and face littered as blood smeared under you and across the once-sterile white floors. You cried out, writhing around. Battered and bloodied, struggling to rise and run again despite the searing pain in your ankle.

Before you could form your next thought, a rough hand snatched your scalp and dragged you up by your hair. You uttered a panicked scream as Bucky hoisted you to eye level, snarling like a rabid dog as he shook you hard.

“I thought you were smarter than that, lisitsa,” he sneered, “but I was wrong.”

He hurled you back onto the floor, his bloodied, titanium fist still gripping your hair, dragging you over to one of the disheveled lab tables. More glass shredded your skin, blood and sweat and tears mixing and pouring over your face and hands and body. With ease and a free hand, he swiped the rest of the contents off another counter; beakers and burners crashed to the floor. His grip tightened as he threw you up onto the stainless steel counter, the dead weight of your body banging onto the table, landing you hard on your back. Eardrums rang into your skull and jaw, radiating down your spine and out your limbs. Your hands slip against the smooth metal from the blood, futile attempts to grab onto something, anything. You groaned and huffed excess sobs. The pain, unbearable; the fear, unimaginable. 

Bucky hoisted himself onto the table, landing on top of your broken body, his knee hitting your spine and knocking your last breath out of you. Straddling you, his thick thighs bulged through tattered sweatpants, squeezing into your rib cage. He looped another fist into your hair, raising your head and slamming it down. The side of your face smushed into the steel table, smearing around more blood as he did it again. And again. The cartilage in your nose cracked and throbbing pain radiated into your eyes, your skull. Warmth from the break and the blood poured over your face. The pain, dulling into numbness as you began to fade in and out of consciousness.

Your vision started to blur and blacken, stars and specks orbiting around Bucky like a halo of hallucination. Your body, finally surrendering to him. No fight left. Any strength you could have mustered, funneled into staying awake, proved useless. 

A new sound, then: ripping.

You didn’t have to look to witness Bucky unrelentingly tear your t-shirt away from your body, training his eyes on your open form. Bruised skin exposed to cool air, your chest still momentarily held together by your sports bra. He made quick work of it next, the nylon snapping off in one swipe, sending goosebumps racing down your spine. 

Ice-cold titanium fingers untangled from your matted hair and made their way from your nape, to the small of your back, to the waistband of your gym shorts. Muscles tensed as you felt each digit wrap almost leisurely onto the elastic. He tore them away swiftly, baring the rest of you and your skin to him. A growl, one of pleasure, vibrated into you from him, emitted he palmed the skin of your ass. His fingers journeyed languidly in a slow trail from your back to your core. You squirmed, wasting the last of your strength, a hopeless attempt to get away one last time. 

A crack came across your face. Flesh against flesh, he slapped you. A punishment. A command for obedience. Your body fell limp. Breathing raggedly and gagging on blood and spit, you shuddered as he took your wrists and tied them together with your t-shirt. 

Satisfied, his prey finally submitting, Bucky paused, panting as he leaned down to you. He wet his lips before speaking, gruff words slurred against your ringing eardrum. As he spoke, cold metal grazed your entrance, a threat of what was to come. 

“Now, I get to take what’s mine.”

Your screams echoed as the world fell dark.

[pileofmush]

the sun still rises ☼ ii.

pairing ➸ monkey d. luffy x fem!reader

details ➸ tags: pt. ii, hurt/comfort, introspection // wc: 1.4k // series m.list

The sand burns. 

Not literally, no. It’s not hot to the touch. It couldn’t be, after such a dreary maelstrom as last night’s. But it digs into your knees. It itches. Makes you want to peel off the top layer of your skin just to scratch the bone. 

Your fingers curve around a useless excuse for a chest. You thought you had lost it in the wreckage of your cruddy little boat, only to find it had washed ashore. It’s a miracle, you suppose, but a pointless one. The iron lock you splurged on only a few days ago is unlatched: rusted and broken. None of your belongings remain inside except for a busted log pose. Nothing else—your berri, your tools, your clothing, your journals, your mother’s hairpin—all gone. And all you can think about are the fucking grains of sand pinching your skin.  

It burns. Like the burning in your lungs, as you suffocate alone underneath the swell of the sea. It burns, it burns, it burns, it—

“Tuna.”

There’s a hand on your shoulder. It startles you. You turn; follow the length of the arm to find it attached to the body of Monkey D. Luffy. You don’t know when he approached you. You don’t know how long he’s sat there, watching you stare at your dumb piece of shit chest. 

“What’re ya staring at it for? It’s empty.”

The accusation washes over you like a tidal wave. Threatens to pull you under. 

You don’t know how to respond. How do you explain the quiet devastation this wooden box has put you through? You had your whole life in here at one point. Everything important to you, condensed neatly in one mid-sized treasure chest. And now it’s empty. Now, you have nothing.

“My name’s not Tuna,” you say. Because it’s not—it never was.

The boy retrieves his hand to rest it atop his straw hat, draping a shadow over his face. “You sure?” The boy questions. Something flickers in his eyes that you can’t quite discern through the veil of darkness. It almost… burns. Like the sand. “What is it, then?”

“Yuna,” you reply. Because it is—always has been.

Luffy tilts his head, as if scrutinizing you. He digs a finger in his ear, pulls it out, and scrutinizes that, too. “You didn’t answer my other question. Answer it.”

He’s a little rude, you think to yourself. Demanding things from you when he can’t even bother to get your name right. 

Still, you sigh. You wouldn’t comply so easily under normal circumstances. You don’t make it a habit of obeying the boys you encounter in the waters of a strange island, strange ocean, stranger world. But there’s something in the air, you think. Charged, like the air before a strike of lightning—perhaps the remnants of last night’s storm.

“I’m looking for something,” you admit.

He perks up. “For what?”

Everything. “A reason.” 

“A reason.”

“Mhm.”

“To do what, live?” He asks, setting his hat down in the sand. You tense. He’s a lot sharper than you realized. “You don’t need a reason," he says. "Just do what you want.”

You sputter. “That’s not—Forget what I said. It’s just that—I can feel everything and nothing at the same time, and I… I’m having a mental breakdown, I think.”

A pause.

The pirate scratches his chin. “Oh. Maybe don’t, then.”

Something about his offhand tone startles a chuckle out of you. Luffy peers at you, coal eyes harsh, studying, before his eyes droop in satisfaction, something coy tugging at his lips. 

Another chuckle slips out that blooms into a full-bellied laugh, and then he’s snickering too, and then you’re gripping the sand in an attempt to stay upright because your sides are in stitches, and your cheeks hurt like a bitch, and he’s here and good and free. By the time you calm down, Luffy’s splayed out in the sand, arms pillowing his head, and he’s looking up at you. There’s a gentle hint of curiosity behind his smile, and it warms you and sends something buoyant shooting through your limbs: from your chest to the very tips of your toes. 

Maybe don’t, then. It’s possibly the worst advice you’ve ever heard. Possibly the best. 

“I made you laugh, didn’t I?” The pirate asks.

You freeze.

“I guess you did, yeah.” 

It’s the acknowledgment that reels you back in. Your belongings are gone. Your mother is gone. And you laughed. How? How could you laugh, when you have nothing to your name? How could you laugh, when you have no one to call your own?  

The confirmation makes Luffy’s grin grow wider. “Good,” he says. And he is so wild, and assured, and strange. “I thought you forgot how to.” 

It burns, you realize. His attention. 

For Monkey D. Luffy gets what he wants. If he wants you to laugh, to prove that you can do so, you will. You wonder what he wants out of this conversation. What he wants out of you. What can you give? What will he take?

Maybe he’ll take everything.  

Maybe he’ll want nothing,

Your eyes flicker to the sea. A waxing moon hangs over the horizon. She glimmers, translucent and transient in her waters, ebbing and flowing, flowing and ebbing. Beneath her, a ship with a lion head bobs against the coast. 

The night is still. Hushed.

You look at your hands. There's sand on your palms.

“What are you doing out here?” You change the subject, still watching the tide. A few hours ago you were drowning in the very same sea. Now you sit with the boy who saved you, safe and dry, with rocks clinging to your skin.

“What’re you?” Luffy challenges.

A gust of wind ruffles the trees, your clothing. It tastes of salt, when you open your mouth to speak. “Wallowing,” you confess. For some reason, you cannot lie to this strange, persistent boy. Maybe it’s due to the fact that you owe him. For it’s he who pulled you out of the water. It’s he who dragged you from the maw of death. 

“You shouldn’t be,” he says. 

“And who are you to judge?” You turn to face him and find his eyes transfixed on you.

He shrugs. “I’m Luffy, and ’m not judging ya. I’m just sayin’.” 

“Saying what, exactly?” You ask, voice hushed like the night; desperate like the tide. 

Luffy’s sitting up now, rolling a seashell around his fingers. Your attention is drawn to his neck, where the apple in his throat bobs, and it takes you a second to steer your gaze back to his. 

His eyes burn. Bright, even in the dark. “That sitting here alone, moping around is a waste.”  

A pause.

“I’m not alone,” you point out. 

“Yeah,” he nods. “Not anymore.”

☼

It burns.

You dig your feet into the sand—feel teeny tiny rocks sift through the gaps between your toes. You wonder if Luffy has ever felt doubt. Wonder if he’s ever felt fear. 

For fear has not yet unlatched its brutal grip on your heart. It creeps along the fraying edges of your mind. It cups its hands against your ear and whispers sweet nothings. The fact is, Fear murmurs, this won’t last long. Monkey D. Luffy has always been able to do what he wants, when he wants, just because he can. He doesn’t need the contents of a wooden box to tell him who he is. He has no room for doubt. 

You are not the same.

So why is he here, taking the time out of his night to admonish you? What does he hope to gain? What does he hope to take?

“I wanna hear you laugh again,” Luffy taps your wrist, pulling you out of your spiral. “Get ready for my joke!” And it’s not a request, it’s a command. And, like you’ve been doing all night, you acquiesce. He shoots you a boyish smile for your assent, and your next inhale is shaky. 

There’s a voice in your head advising you to be cautious, however. For embers glow in Luffy’s round, coal eyes. And if you’re not careful, the voice warns, your savior may burn you from the inside out.

if you made it this far, ily.