#like he threatened to drown her in a toilet

[snowluthor]

I feel like Ashley being afraid of The Deep when he lashed out at her was more a normal reaction from a woman being yelled at/intimidated by a man physically larger than her and in considerable shape than anything to do with him being a supe.

[seijorhi]

Powder Keg

it has been far too long since i've indulged with these three

Bokuto Koutarou, Kuroo Tetsurou & Akaashi Keiji x Female Reader

w.c 6.1k

tw: implied non-con, yandere, implied violence and bad times all round

Not guilty.

There’s a moment after the verdict’s read, right before the courtroom erupts into noise where time slows. Your heartbeat thunders in your chest, violently – like it’s trying to rip its way free, and it becomes harder to breathe.

For days, you’ve avoided looking at them, treating the left side of the courtroom as though it simply did not exist. 

Your head turns without conscious thought, and you watch it happen. In slow motion, you physically witness the verdict hit them. 

Not guilty. 

Relief. Joy. Bokuto pulls Kuroo into a hug, pounding his fist across his back as he beams. 

Not guilty.

Akaashi shaking their lawyer’s hand, head tilted in a polite bow. 

Not guilty.

The gavel slams down, a harsh, strangled sort of noise escapes you. Your knees, shaking as they are, suddenly give way. Cameras flash, your lawyer reaching for you as you sink back into your chair, numb – whatever he says to you gets drowned out, nothing but static and haze. 

Three days spent trapped at their mercy while they broke your trust, lied to you, hurt you, fucked you. Cases don’t make it to court for trial unless the prosecution’s almost certain of a conviction, everyone knows that. You had the evidence, the rape kit, DNA, all of it. How– how could they–

The skin at the nape of your neck prickles, the tiny hairs standing on end. Lifting your head, you’re met with a cool gunmetal gaze, Akaashi’s expression giving away nothing. 

He nods, though. A slow incline of his chin, his eyes never leaving yours. Bokuto and Kuroo are breaking apart, the latter already beginning to follow Akaashi’s line of sight, and you feel the bile rising up your throat.

In a sudden burst of energy, you lurch from your seat, racing out the side doors. The meagre lunch you’d managed to force down comes hurling right back up – the only saving grace being that you barely manage to make it to the bathroom in time.

On your knees, clutching the toilet and sobbing, you vomit until there’s nothing left but bile and pain. How could they– how could they do this to you?

How could they not believe you when you gave them everything?

You don’t glance up when the door swings open, nor at the tentative knock on the stall door – which as you hadn’t had the time or inclination to lock it, creaks open.

Your mother peers in. “Honey?” 

“They think I’m a liar,” you croak out, finally lifting your miserable gaze. “They think I’m making it up.”

“I know, sweetie.”

“We believe you, we know you’re telling the truth. I’m sorry those assholes convinced everyone else otherwise,” your cousin murmurs, appearing behind her shoulder. 

Together, they help you to your feet, your mother gently wiping away the tears while your cousin places a comforting hand on your back. 

“Those bastards. Those fucking bastards! If the lay judges had any sense at all–” her voice, shaking with rage, cracks, a sob threatening to break through. Beyond words, she shakes her head, clamping her lips shut, and your cousin sighs.

“Come on, it’s going to be a circus out there. Better to get it over and done with.”

She isn’t wrong. 

By the time you make it to the steps out front, reporters are everywhere, swarming. Their lawyer’s mid-way through a statement, smugness radiating from every slimy pore.

“– justice served today. These three young men have such promising futures ahead of them, and we can only be thankful that the lay judges and judges alike saw their true character amidst the wild accusations and, quite frankly, outright fabrications from this poor, misguided  woman.”

And the reporters are pummelling you and your family with questions, demanding a comment, asking how you feel about the verdict passed down.

You can’t bring yourself to answer them, so you keep your mouth shut and focus on the ground in front of you, one step after another. You can’t stop or you’ll break all over again.

Your mother, however, has different ideas. “You let her down,” she spits. “This whole system let my daughter down today. Do you give all rapists a free pass, or just the ones on track to become olympians?!” 

Which, naturally, only invites a flurry of rapid fire follow ups.

They’ve all decided that you’re a whore. A liar. A greedy, attention seeking slut who wanted nothing more than a few nights of fun to leverage for your five minutes of fame. They might not admit it outright, but you can hear it in their questions, see it in their looks. 

The verdict only cements that belief.

Three days, every waking second spent clinging to the idea that once you got away, once they were done, you’d be free and everything would be fine.

You’d get justice.

The three of them would spend years rotting away behind bars, and it wouldn’t be enough, not ever, not for what they put you through. Somehow, though, you’d find a way to make peace with it.

And now… now they’re walking free like they did nothing wrong and you– you’re the one left standing there in the wake of a shattered reputation while people you’ve never met hurl abuse at you and your family, telling you you deserved what you got. That you wanted it. 

The bolder ones tell you to do everyone a favour and just go kill yourself.

You catch one last look as the car pulls away; surrounded by their family, their crack legal team, supporters. The three of them – each with loosened ties, Bokuto having shed his jacket entirely – meet that gaze head on.

And the weight of it, burning and uncomfortable, lingers long after they disappear in the rearview mirror.

—

“Mr. Kuroo, sir, your two o'clock is waiting in conference room three.”

He hums, fingers tapping away across the screen of his phone

“And,” his assistant continues, “I have your coffee.”

At that, she finally grabs his attention. Stowing his phone back into the breast pocket of his jacket, he smiles, “You’re a lifesaver, have I mentioned that?”

“Once or twice.”

Accepting the cup gratefully, Kuroo laughs, “Yeah, well, remind me ‘bout that when we have your next salary review.”

She brightens at the praise, tucking her hair back behind her ear with a small nod. Kuroo, already halfway down the hall, doesn’t notice, too busy wracking his brain in an attempt to recall what his two o’clock appointment is actually regarding.

There were interviews for one of the junior positions, but those weren’t until next week, he vaguely recalls someone from legal wanting to talk about their upcoming campaign, maybe it’s about that? Usually they want to talk with the whole team, though. Long, drawn out meetings that leave him wanting to repeatedly slam his head against a wall.

Upon reaching the conference room in question, he realises that it’s not legal he’s scheduled to meet with. 

Sitting with her legs neatly crossed, pen and paper in hand sits a woman of about thirty, a bottle blonde, with perky tits and a tight black, pencil skirt that clings to shapely thighs. She smiles when he opens the door, sticks out a perfectly manicured hand.

“Kuroo Tetsurou, I presume?”

He takes it, smirks as her eyelashes flutter and they shake hands. 

Nope, definitely not someone from legal. 

“I don’t mean to be rude, but you are–?”

“Of course, my apologies. My name is Sato Kisumi, I’m a reporter from the Metro Times, we spoke last week…”

A vague memory of a phone call surfaces and Kuroo finds himself nodding. “Right, yeah, I remember. You wanted to talk about an article or something? Sorry, we’re a few weeks from launching our campaign for the new season and it’s been a hell of a day.”

She laughs, a sweet, bell-like sound, “No, no, it’s alright. If anyone understands how crazy it can be working towards a deadline, it’s a reporter.”

He settles himself down across from her, making himself comfortable. 

“You don’t mind if I record this, do you?” 

Kuroo shakes his head. There’s one already set up on the table, next to the tea his assistant must have procured for her when she arrived. Leaning forward, she clicks it on, “Wonderful.”

“So what’s this article for, anyway?”

“You don’t remember?” her voice carries a teasing lilt. “We did speak about it on the phone.”

“Busy week, like I said.”

“Busy man,” she counters, red lips curling into something like a smile. “To be honest with you, it’s more of an exposé. I’m investigating professional athletes dodging charges for criminal offences. The taking of illegal substances and DUI’s of course, but more serious allegations, too. Spousal abuse, assault, rape, that sort of thing.”

Leaning back in his chair, Kuroo picks up his coffee cup and takes a sip, savouring the bitter, chocolate-y notes of the dark roast his assistant – godsend that she is – knows he favours. 

He vaguely recalls the conversation – enough to remember that she neglected to tell him this part whilst she was angling for an interview. Then again, she’d hardly be the first reporter to lie for a chance to get their foot in the door. More than anyone, Kuroo can appreciate that kind of deception. 

Now that the truth is laid bare, he’s faced with a choice. 

If Kuroo had any sense at all – if he cared about his job and his reputation – he’d politely but firmly tell her to leave before she gets any more comfortable. It’s one thing to ignore and downplay what he’s sure will inevitably turn out to be a scathing indictment of the whole system when it’s published, another entirely to actively participate in it, regardless of intentions. 

If he doesn’t tread carefully here, his boss will most certainly have his balls for it.

So he should kick her out. He should.

Instead, Kuroo lets out a light chuckle, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “And you decided to start with the VP of JVA promotion? It’s an… interesting approach, I’ll give you that.”

Kisumi mirrors him, lifting the tea to her lips to take a slow sip. She sets the cup back down on the desk, taking a second to adjust it ever so slightly, the tip of her finger running along the edge of the rim. Then, with an air of nonchalance, she shrugs. “Well, what we’re seeing is that these athletes are usually being protected by their teams and management, and in some cases, with certain athletes, that extends all the way up to high ranking officials within their respective governing bodies. Victims and police are paid off, charges mysteriously disappear, negative press gets buried, like magic.”

“It’s a sad story ‘n all, I’m sure there’s some commentary in there about the failings of society, corruption and misplaced hero worship of star athletes or whatever it is you’re after, but I’m failing to see what that has to do with me. I run the promotions division, not public relations.”

“I’m not interested in talking to you because of your job title, Mr. Kuroo, although believe me, that someone like you could rise to an office like this is damning enough,” she says, no trace of her earlier sweetness, the flirtatiousness. No, now her eyes are cold, her smile, while it still adorns her lips, all too sharp. “I’m here because of a court case a few years ago, in which you and two friends – one of whom now plays for the national volleyball team – were accused of the kidnapping and rape of a fellow student.”

Kuroo barks out a laugh, leaning back into his seat. His eyes flicker to the recorder on the desk, the pen she wields, poised over the blank pad of paper, and back to her cool smile. “A very publicised court case that ended with a verdict of not guilty. No one bribed any judges or tampered with evidence, no one made it go away. That’s our justice system, that’s how it works. If you’re looking for something damning,” he throws the word back at her, “you’re going to have to do a hell of a lot better than that.”

“And you think that was a fair trial?”

“I think you’re wasting your time. Mine, too.”

He moves to rise, intent on ushering Kisumi out of his office when she asks, “You don’t remember me, Kuroo, do you?” Not playful anymore, not even angry; she spits his name like it’s poison, as though the very act of uttering his name aloud makes her skin crawl.

And that, more than anything, is enough to really pique his interest. 

Kuroo finds himself studying her – really looking at her – beyond the blonde curls and the hateful scowl, beyond all that he’d dismissed earlier. And there is something that rings of familiarity – her eyes, maybe, the shape of her nose – but Kuroo’s short on time, and despite his amusement, what’s left of his good will is dwindling fast. 

“Nah, but don’t take it personally, the whole prissy, up-tight bitch thing you’ve got going on isn’t really my thing.”

“I suppose you wouldn’t, you only ever saw her.” Kisumi makes a disgusted noise, “The whole trial, you wouldn’t stop staring. You and your friends ruined her and then you sat there making moon eyes for three days while your asshole of a lawyer tore her apart on the stand.”

The pieces fall together, a memory resurfaces; a blonde woman leaning forward to touch your shoulder, whispering in your ear as you tried in vain to keep your tears at bay.

And it’s a stupid thing, the faint tinge of jealousy that stirs inside of him as he eyes the woman sitting before him. She’s family – has to be, because Kuroo knew all your friends back then. 

(Funny, wasn’t it, how none of them had shown up at the trial either.)

Pushing aside the ugly feeling – at least for now – Kuroo rises to his feet, allowing a smirk to curl at his lips. “Like I said, Miss Sato,” and oh, how he relishes the cold fury that sparks across her features. “You’re gonna have to do better than that – but not today. Get the fuck out of my conference room.”

With her lips pursed, she goes to do just that. Makes it all the way to the door, clutching the handle when abruptly she stops, turning to face him once more.

An eyebrow rises, “Something else?”

“She’s missing. She left years ago, which I’m sure you already knew, but now she’s gone-gone. She hasn’t called in weeks, and the cops won’t help. They said that she’s already proven she’s flighty,” Kisumi spits out a humourless laugh. “They won’t open an investigation when we can’t even tell them the last place she was staying. But I know my cousin, and I know the only reason she’d go this long without calling is if there was something physically stopping her from doing so.”

Her voice remains level, her breath on the other hand–

A chink in the armour.

The family resemblance might not be all that strong between you two, that look though – trying to pretend she’s not afraid when everything from the expression on her face to the tremor in her hands is screaming at him otherwise – all he can see is you.

He loves when you look at him like that. More than he should, but guilty pleasures and all that. He doesn’t want you scared, not… necessarily. Not as much as he wants you vulnerable. 

Unlike you, who’d burst into tears, crumble and break, she straightens her spine, swallows down that emotion and continues. “I know the kind of man you are. All three of you. It’s because of you that she left in the first place, and I’m willing to stake my career on you being the reason she’s disappeared this time ‘round as well.”

“S’that right? You got any actual proof, or is this whole thing based solely on the fact that you don’t like me?”

Kisumi, rather than dignifying that with an answer, merely spares Kuroo one last disdainful glare and stalks from the room, letting the door slam shut behind her. A minor victory, but one that brings no small sense of satisfaction. 

A shame then, that it doesn’t last. 

His smirk slips away, vanishing like a slate scrubbed clean. 

Pulling the phone from his breast pocket, Kuroo dials the last number he called, lifts the phone up to his ear, and waits.

“What’s up?”

“We’ve got a problem.”

—

Akaashi isn’t one for the spotlight.

He doesn’t hate it per se, he just isn’t all that interested in chasing after it. Better to let everyone be blinded by the other two and let their guards slip around him.

He’s patient – has to be, dealing with Bokuto and Kuroo day in, day out. Calm. Observant enough to realise that the blonde sitting four seats down on the rattling train car has been following him for several days now. 

Sato Kisumi. 

Akaashi had looked her up after her meeting with Kuroo, begrudgingly having to admit that as an investigative journalist, she was rather impressive. 

Kuroo was worried she’d be a problem, and Akaashi’s inclined to agree. Upset relatives were one thing, a well respected journalist with a personal vendetta against the three of them, a separate beast entirely.

One that wouldn’t necessarily be so easy to shake. Or put down. 

A polite, feminine voice filters through the P.A system, announcing the imminent arrival of the next station. The train has another four stops before his, yet he rises smoothly when the train slows to a stop beside the platform, exiting amongst the throng of commuters without so much as a backwards glance. 

She follows, however, as he knew she would, trailing after him when he makes his way out of the station and onto the busy streets of Shinjuku. There’s a ramen joint he’s particularly fond of a few minutes downtown, only a short walk away.

The quickest route would be to take the main road, lose himself in the throng of people. Akaashi, curious more than anything, decides to instead take the long way round, via the back alleys and narrow laneways, where every footstep echoes, and puddles splash underfoot. 

He’s pleased, though not exactly surprised, that Kisumi follows at a distance.

A block away from his destination, he stops on the street corner, turning back to address her. 

“Are you hungry?”

The question clearly takes her by surprise, and her answer comes slow. Distant honking from the street ahead, laughter and the rumble of voices tangled together interwoven with music and the shouting of kitchen – closer to the main road, it’s louder here. Easier to mask her presence. 

Even so, she had to have realised he’d been toying with her from the start, perfectly aware she’d been tailing him. Why else would he have led her down the rabbit’s warren?

“… What?”

“Dinner,” he elaborates. “Are you hungry? I didn’t have a chance to eat today, and I figured that rather than spending all night following me in the hopes that I’ll – what, lead you to your cousin? – we could sit down and talk over some food. Ramen, actually. That’s what you want, isn’t it? To talk?”

She regards him warily, brows knitting together, considering the proposition. He can’t blame her for the reticence, exactly, but it is somewhat of a pointless exercise considering they both know that she’s going to say yes.

She might hate him. Despise him. She might even be afraid of him, but she went toe to toe with Kuroo and that doesn’t speak to someone meek or spineless. If she wants answers – if she wants you as badly as he thinks she does, she won’t be able to resist.

A heartbeat later, and he’s proven correct. Her jaw tightens, but she nods; a short, sharp jerk of her chin. “Fine. Let’s talk.”

Despite the proclamation, Kisumi remains silent as they’re shown to one of the tables set up beneath the awning outside, shielding them from the drizzling rain, and when Akaashi orders for them both, two bowls of tonkotsu, with a side of gyoza to share. She just sits, shoulders back, arms folded gracefully across her chest, glaring daggers. 

All of that fades away when the waitress comes by with their food. In an instant she softens, smiling and politely dipping her head in thanks. Only when the waitress disappears back inside and they’re alone again does Kisumi finally break her silence. 

“I don’t suppose you’ll save me the trouble and tell me where my cousin is?”

Akaashi smiles at that, splitting his chopsticks to snatch one of the pot sticker dumplings and take a bite. He savours the mouthful, the rich flavours of garlicky pork, cabbage and chives bursting over his taste buds, chewing thoughtfully before posing another question to the blonde. 

“Did she ever talk about how we met?”

Kisumi laughs, shaking her head as she pulls her bowl of ramen close and grabs her chopsticks. “No. No, somehow between all the tears and the breakdowns, her gripping my hand while she lay in that hospital bed and told the cops every detail about how you trapped her in that house, how the three of you touched her, raped her, we didn’t get around to chatting about the meet cute. Weird, right?”

“There was this ramen place on campus,” Akaashi begins, ignoring Kisumi’s dig entirely. “Kind of like this one, except it was open twenty-four seven. Busy as hell during the day, but after ten, eleven at night it got pretty quiet, and she always worked the late shift.” 

There’s a quiet wistfulness in his tone that Akaashi doesn’t bother masking. 

He remembers the way your face used to brighten when the bell above the door would announce their arrival, the cute little bounce in your step that he never could get out of his head. 

When it was dead and you could get away with it, you’d come over and chat, sneaking them drinks, dumplings, an extra egg or slice of pork, even ‘forgetting’ to tally their orders up correctly when it came time to settle their bill. If your boss took notice, he never said anything – or if he did, then you never cared enough to stop.

You could make a few exceptions for your favourites, you’d told him when he’d asked you about it once, smiling that soft, pretty smile of yours. Blind to the way those words, and the image of you beaming so beautifully, would etch their way into his very being, refusing to give him a moment’s peace. 

Bokuto and Kuroo would waste hours fighting over who you liked best, only for Akaashi to add fuel to the fire, dryly reminding them that arguing was pointless – you weren’t stupid or blind enough to prefer either one of them. 

It was a slow thing, this descent into hell with you… and then it wasn’t. 

And he wouldn’t trade what he has now for all the world, but some small part of him will always mourn those early days, the sweet naivety with which you used to treat them.

Kisumi, picking at her ramen rather than eating it, sucks on her teeth and exhales slowly, drawing him from his reminiscing. “So when did it change?” she asks.

“Hm?”

“When did you decide that that wasn’t enough? At what point exactly did the three of you sit down and make the decision to take her to that cabin, keep her there against her will and spend three days systematically abusing her for your own sick fucking pleasure?”

A flash of irritation sparks, and his eyes narrow. “She agreed to come with us, and we didn’t abuse her. We’d never.”

A silence descends between them, thick, wrought with tension and disbelief. And then, like a match struck, the blonde explodes. 

“God, you’re so full of shit, you know that, right?!” Kisumi snarls, disgusted. “You might’ve been able to convince the court that it was rough and fun, that whatever damage you left behind was damage she wanted, but I was there for the aftermath. I saw the state you left her in!”

Each word is biting and vitriolic, her voice shaking with barely repressed rage. If she’s hoping for some sign that they’ve struck a chord, wounded him in some way, she’s sorely disappointed. Save for the cold, flat stare he regards her with, the only response Akaashi deigns to give is simply to resume eating, gathering another mouthful of noodles between his chopsticks and slurping them up.

That, it seems, is Kisumi’s breaking point. Shaking her head with a hollow scoff, she shoves her own, largely untouched bowl aside and stands.

“I’m going to find her, and when I do I am going to spend every waking second, every last yen I have making sure that the three of you go down for it.” And with that, she snatches up her purse, yanking it open to dig for her umbrella. 

Another mouthful, braised chashu pork and scallions. “You’re more than welcome to try.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

—

Fingers drum restlessly against the leather steering wheel, tapping out an anxious beat.

‘Don’t do anything I wouldn’t,’ Kuroo had said, clapping him on the back. 

The light shines from her bedroom window, the shadow of her figure moving within. Bokuto checks the clock again; 11:27. 

He’d been so happy, over the fucking moon to come home. Three weeks away, three and a half hours on the train, he was itching, leg bouncing restlessly as the miles slowly crawled by. And even though all he wanted to do was find Kuroo so they could go home already, he made the effort for the fans that swarmed the second he got off the train.

Took the time to smile and pose for pictures, signed the autographs, laughing and chatting away. He gets it, he does – meeting your idols is pretty fucking awesome, and the last thing he’d ever wanna do would be to ruin that for some poor kid just because he’s in a rush to get home and rip your clothes off.

Still, even at the best of times patience was never his forte, and three weeks might as well have been a lifetime. 

Anticipation had him on cloud nine, and nothing – nothing – was gonna bring him down. 

At least, that’s what he’d thought.

‘Don’t you have an ounce of shame?’

It’d taken everything he had not to snap there and then. There were kids around, staring up at him with wide, confused eyes – their parents quick to usher them away. 

Kuroo’d said she’d be a problem.

Akaashi agreed.

The bedroom light flicks off, and his pulse jumps. Go time.

Adjusting the cap on his head, he flips up the hood of his jacket and exits the car, avoiding the light from the street lamps above to cross the road. Her house is nice enough. Small, with a garden out front spilling with greenery and potted flowers. Her cat, lying on the windowsill between the blinds and the glass, notes his arrival on the doorstep with slow blinking eyes, only to yawn and dismiss him entirely, unbothered. 

Faced with a locked door, Bokuto doesn’t bother wasting time or energy trying to pick it. He has no need – two solid, powerful kicks later, the wooden door splinters and cracks, giving way beneath his foot. 

Shoving the wreckage of the door aside, Bokuto shoulders his way inside. There’s a sudden yowl – the cat, startled by the noise, launches itself from the window to skitter away to some safe, dark hidey-hole. From somewhere else within he hears a muffled thump, followed by a curse. 

Good. He wants her to know he’s coming. 

‘You can google it, you know? The rape and the trial, it’s on your wikipedia page – and those kids and their families, they still worship you. That’s your legacy.’

A slow building anger seeps through his veins, blood thrumming in anticipation.  

‘Doesn’t it make you sick?’

She’s threatening to take you away. ‘Kaashi said she’s hellbent on it. 

Bokuto can shoulder a lot. He dealt with the blow to his image – both during the trial and after it – and when you left last time, disappearing into thin air without so much as a goodbye, it broke something inside of him.

Still, he found a way to get through it. He had to, because he was getting you back. 

And the taste of you lingers on his tongue from when it was buried inside of you only hours ago, a honeyed tang he’d swallow down by the mouthful if he could. Back home your hips and ass, the soft sweetness of your thighs, carry mottled imprints of his fingers – that overeager, desperate touch. 

Three rounds he’d gone; sinking his cock into your pussy, fucking out all of his frustrations and pent up emotions ‘til he was spent and you were a shaking, shivering, heavenly mess. It was supposed to make things better. Calm him down a little and take the edge off. 

It had the opposite effect.

Because he knows now what it’s like to lose a soulmate, he knows just how high the stakes are.

She swung first, Bokuto’s simply returning the favour. 

There’s no point masking his footsteps as he stalks through the house, a singular goal in mind. Akaashi made him promise that he wouldn’t take this too far – and he won’t.

He wants to – fuck, he really, really wants to.

But he won’t.

The door to the bedroom’s cracked an inch – it groans in protest when he nudges it wider and crosses the threshold. 

The thought of finding her, dragging her kicking and screaming out into the living room was something he’d been looking forward to, but Kisumi – rudely ruining his fun – isn’t hiding. 

No, flattened against the wall opposite, shaking like a leaf, she grips her phone like it’s a lifeline. “I-I’ve called the cops. They’re on their way,” she calls out, and he realises that while his eyes have adjusted, hers haven’t. She thinks he’s a burglar, someone she can reason with. 

He almost snorts. 

Fumbling against the wall, it takes him a second or two to find the light switch and flick it on. Light floods the small bedroom in an instant, and Kisumi flinches, an arm coming up to shield her face from the sudden brightness.

When it falls though, and golden eyes meet her own, Bokuto’s rewarded with a look of shock and recognition, which quickly gives way to something much, much more satisfying. 

Fear. 

It’s in her eyes, widening horribly, the way her face drains of blood. The audible little hitch in her breathing that sends a delightful tingle down his spine. 

And still, she tries to put on a brave face.

“The cops are already on their way,” she repeats, tongue darting out to wet her lips. “Whatever you’re after– just… just go, and I swear I won’t say a word. I’ll keep your name out of it. We– we can pretend this never happened, alright?”

Bokuto grins at that. Shifts his weight as he lowers his centre of gravity. 

The funny thing is, the stupid bitch doesn’t know just how right she’s about to be.

—

The beeping of the monitors brings back bad memories. 

Truth be told, a lot of what happened that day is a blur. You don’t care to pry too deep, trying to pluck and sort through the trauma of what happened. You remember the hospital, though – gowned up, lying on the scratchy sheets, gripping Kisumi’s hand while you walked the detective through every harrowing minute you’d spent at their hands.

And now the situations are reversed, and it’s your cousin lying broken and damaged in the hospital, and you’re the one sitting at her bedside, keeping watch over her like the guardians of old. Holding her hand while you fight back tears.

The doctors say she’ll wake up soon, but they’ve been saying that for hours now. 

All you can do is sit there and pray that she’ll wake up soon.

Pray that she’ll listen, and hear you.

You’re there when the doctors come by to check her vitals, when the food cart rolls by. They don’t stop for her, even if she were awake there wouldn’t be much point, what with her jaw wired shut and all.

Her whole body’s a mess. A broken wrist, broken ribs, her jaw shattered and face a bruised, swollen mess.

It’s a miracle she’s still alive. 

Your stomach twists, nausea threatening to heave its way up your throat. No – it’s a miracle that he stopped. 

The phone in your pocket vibrates, you ignore it for the third time. No doubt you’ll pay for it later, right now you can’t bring yourself to care.

“Please,” you mumble, squeezing your eyes shut as your vision blurs with unshed tears. “Please.”

But it’s a while yet before she stirs, consciousness slowly pulling her back to you.

It begins with a muffled groan, a whimper when she shifts. Even with all the damage to her face, you can see the signs of distress taking shape – hurt, twisting at her features. 

They’ve given her all the drugs they can, and she’s still in pain.

Your heart wrenches. “Sumi? Sumi, can you hear me?” you ask, clutching her hand tightly between both of yours. 

She groans again, fighting to get both eyes open. The phone in your pocket buzzes, insistent. It doesn’t stop after one, going off again and again and again, raising your internal panic. But Kisumi’s blinking now, trying desperately to pull the world into focus. Figure out why it hurts to move, why her mouth won’t obey when she tries to talk.

And you see the tears well up in her eyes, the panic and fear, and you swallow down your own emotions because they don’t matter right now.

“Hey, hey it’s okay. I know it hurts, I know you’re scared, but you’re safe now. I promise you, you’re safe.” An echo of the words she’d once spoken to you. Your thumb strokes the back of her uninjured hand. “Don’t try to talk, just… listen to me, I don’t have long.”

Her fingers try to clumsily curl around your own, and she makes another noise – a garbled butchering of your name that breaks off into a frustrated wail – sending a fresh bolt of pain and guilt lancing through your chest. Tears sting in the corner of your eyes, bottom lip quivering. 

This is all your fault. 

“You can’t talk, your jaw they– they had to wire it shut,” you tell her while she chokes on another sob. You squeeze her hand, “Please, Sumi, I need you to listen to me. Don’t move, just… blink if you understand; once for yes, twice for no.”

A beat passes, and she blinks. Good.

“Do you remember what happened? The man who attacked you?”

… One blink. 

You exhale unsteadily, clearing your throat. Kisumi’s eyes are wide as saucers, tracking every move with a laser focus, and your hand is wrapped so tightly around hers that if she wasn’t already drugged to high heaven she’d probably be whimpering. She’s afraid, you realise. Not of the hospital or the damage she’s yet to comprehend the extent of – she’s afraid because she remembers.

She’s afraid because you are.

“Kisumi… you need to stop this. Forget it happened, play dumb for the cops, drop the article and stop interfering. For your own sake as well as mine, I'm begging you. Otherwise… Otherwise–” your voice dies a quiet death as footsteps approach. 

There’s no need to turn.

 Kisumi’s face tells you everything when it blanches and she begins to tremble like a terrified puppy. Beside her, the heart rate monitor goes haywire, mirroring her pulse as it jumps erratically with the short, sharp gasps she sucks through clenched teeth. 

And when a hand falls to your shoulder, both of you flinch. 

“Ready to go, babe?”

To Kisumi, you force a tight, watery smile, “Let it go, okay? Promise me.” 

You don’t wait for a response, there’s no point. You’ve poked the bear enough by ignoring their calls and texts, there’s no need to push your luck more than you already have. 

Letting Kisumi’s hand slip from your grasp, you rise from your seat and turn, nodding. “Yeah.”

Kuroo smirks, coaxing your face up into a short kiss while his fingers entwine with yours, but it’s Bokuto, claiming your other arm, who grumbles like a petulant child, “You were s’posed to be done hours ago.”

“I‘m sorry. We can go home now.”

Neither one of them spare the battered blonde more than a cursory glance on their way out. You, on the other hand, risk a backwards glance in the moments before you’re tugged away.

Kisumi’s sobbing, broken and raw, hunched over as much as her injuries allow. Her bloodshot eyes meet yours, and your heart breaks one last time. 

Promise me you’ll stop. They’ll kill you if you don’t.

[oddsconvert]

Shattered #10 - Happy Birthday, August! Part II

Previous / Masterlist / Next

CW: kidnapped whumpee, captivity (kinda), defiant whumpee, whumpee thinks caretaker is a whumper, forced to kidnap references, vampire caretaker, unwilling whumper, forced to be whumper, ALOT of self-loathing and fucky thoughts and guilt and all of it, weapons, adult language, mentions of blood, brief mention of vomit/nausea, reference to toxic/abusive family dynamic (if I've missed any, please let me know! <3)

Part two! A long time coming! The final part should drop in the next few days/this week! :D thank you to the amazing @whumpcereal for her AMAZING beta on this 🥺🫶

---

August has always dreamt of cake on his birthday, the warm scent of sugar and butter taunting his vampiric senses like forbidden fruit. The cake would be chocolate, of course. Every human loves chocolate; it must be the tastiest thing on Earth. This year, there would have been one hundred and thirty candles, barely fitting on top of it. And August could blow them all out and make his birthday wish. Just like the humans do.

But if the flickering flames on his imaginary cake could really grant his wishes, he wouldn’t wish for chocolate. With a single puff of breath, he’d wish to rewind time and erase this horrific day out of existence. Or, perhaps, he’d wish for a clean slate - a life free from the regret that eats him alive. But above all, he would wish to finally be happy - whatever that means. But where does August get the gall to wish for his own happiness when he is the catalyst of another’s misery? 

He stole a human being tonight. He crept through the streets, snatched them from where they slept and locked them away. He’d lurked in the shadows and all, like a true monster. As far as the human is aware, they saw the stars for the last time this eve and they’ll never feel fresh air stream through their lungs again. August could see it the moment their eyes first locked - the human feared the blood coursing through his own veins was his no longer, that he had become nothing more than food.

No, if August had birthday candles, he should be wishing for the human’s pain to stop, not his own. He should pray for any memories of this miserable night to fade away, and for the human to feel nothing but warmth and safety for the rest of his days. How dare August make this about himself?

How dare August call himself a doctor?

Really, if August is anything other than a feral creature, he is a coward. He can’t find a drop of courage in his selfish core to face the human. Of course not. That would mean facing up to what he has done to the human.

Instead, August kneels in the bathroom, and he hugs the toilet bowl tight in his arms. He sputters and heaves as spit dribbles from his lips. It’s a battle against wave after wave of never-ending nausea. August is sickened by himself. Repulsed by the cruelty that he and his kind are capable of. Even if he earned his family’s stamp of approval tonight - something he’s always dreamed of and strived for - it wasn’t worth it. Not one bit. He refuses to hurt, abuse and sacrifice an innocent life for a scrap of their regard. Curse their prideful smiles and damn their hollow praise.

CRASH! Shattering glass pierces through the silence in-between retches. August’s heart leaps up into his throat, and his gut clenches.

His human is awake - no! August shakes that insidious thought from his head. Not his, and never his. The human does not belong to him. 

August wills the ground to open up and swallow him whole. The thought of skulking down to that basement with his tail between his legs and shame swelling in his chest - it turns his already churning stomach with bubbles of dread. Still, he must. He peels himself from the bathroom floor, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and makes his way downstairs to greet his guest. There’s not a second spare to wallow and drown in self-pity.

He grips the stair bannister for dear life, his knees threatening to buckle beneath him. Still, he forces his dragging feet to move one step at a time down to the basement. There’s no backing out of this, no turning and running now. August needs to face the music–or face his victim, rather. He must fix what he’s done to this poor human.

There is the sound of a jarring crash, and then another dull thud resonates from behind the locked basement door. August’s shaking hands fumble to fit the key in the lock. With a click, the door opens, and he cautiously descends into the dimly lit basement, every footstep echoing in the sudden, eerie silence.

That is until he hears the human’s heart. It pounds like a war-drum in August’s ears, each beat louder and more erratic. August flicks the light switch, and as the basement floods with light, he freezes on the spot, beyond horrified at the scene before him.

His life's work, decades of dedication, lay in ruins. His surgery looks like the aftermath of an explosion. All the furniture is flipped over, and shards of shattered glass sparkle across the floor like jewels amongst the blitz. Charts and graphs once meticulously hung on the wall now dangle in tatters, their scientific data reduced to meaningless scraps. His medicinal cabinets have been ransacked; trails of viscous liquid snake across the concrete floor from countless broken vials. The air is thick with the acrid smell of chemicals.

And there, behind his masterpiece of destruction, cowers the human, pressed flat against the farthest wall, a scalpel gripped in trembling hands held out before him. Its sharp tip is pointed in August’s direction, glistening against the surgery's harsh strip lights.

August has seen fear in human eyes more times than he can possibly count, but he has never seen fear like this. The human’s eyes burn with such primal terror that they touch the very core of August’s being. In the man’s eyes, August sees his own fear, his own isolation and his own despair. But August stays there, unable to look away no matter how it hurts him. He is trapped in this man’s stare, lost in a labyrinth of his own reflections.

But August feels something else too. A raw and untamed emotion. Rage. All-consuming anger that makes goosebumps prickle down the vampire’s pale skin. Rage courses through the human’s veins like a river of molten lava.

“You stay the hell back!” the human roars until his voice wavers and wobbles. He swings the scalpel into the empty space between them, stabbing at the air. “Don’t you dare come near me!”

August’s hands fly up in surrender. Words escape him. What could he possibly say to make this right? Where does he even start? Surely nothing he could say could do justice to his regret.

“I’m sorry-”

That’s the first thing that blurts out of August’s pathetic mouth. Because it is the only and the most sincere thought that comes to him. As though his apology could ever mend the damage or heal the pain he’s caused tonight.

August is shaking now. He can’t stop. His palm slams against his mouth as he chokes back a guilt-warbled cry. “I’m - so…I’m SO sorry. I - I don’t - I…I -I never. I didn’t want to hurt you. I - I won’t hurt you! I don’t want this. Please - y-you have to believe me. You’re safe here-”

August moves without thinking, over the rubble and glass shards. He moves barely an inch closer, and the human erupts into panic. Like a great cat, the human swiftly pounces and flips the table in front of him to form a barricade, stopping August dead in his tracks. Surgical instruments clatter about, and yet more glass scatters across the cement floor. 

“I SAID STAY BACK!” the human brays like a feral animal. His chest heaves dramatically as his lungs seem to fight for breath, and he takes an unsteady step back to create even more distance between them. Gingerly, he cradles his hand, still clutching the scalpel. A gasp escapes his lips as crimson wells from a sudden gash. The tang of iron hits August’s nostrils, drool coats his tongue and his fangs tingle, ready to feed. He wrestles with his animalistic instincts and pushes back the unwanted and primal hunger that threatens to take over. He knows he doesn’t want it, but his body thinks he needs it.

The human had hurt himself in his own destructive frenzy. August can’t help but feel responsible for that too. But that doesn’t seem to deter the human, in fact, it fuels him. He launches himself at the countertops. In one fluid motion, sweeping his arms  across the surfaces, clearing it of every single object in a deafening cascade that shatters across the floor.

“HUMAN! PLEASE STOP!”

The human doesn’t speak, but a slow, cold anger radiates off him. Brows slam together, his jaw clenches until the muscles stand out starkly. A single word, each syllable dripping with disdain, finally leaves his lips:  "'Human'?"

August immediately realises his mistake. Guilt eats him from the inside out. You utter barbarian; he scolds himself.

“I have a name, you know!” The human snaps incredulously, bloody hands curling into fists.

“Of course, of course! Just…” August breathes, “What is your name?”

“Why the fuck would I tell you?!”

The bookshelves are the human’s next victim. He doesn’t bother pulling or ripping at them; he just bulldozes them with a barge of his shoulder. The shelves topple with a cacophony of splintering wood and flapping pages. His gaze is already fixed on his next target: a framed diploma hanging on the wall, defying the human’s rampage.

“Wait, no! P-Please, not that!” August begs, hands clasped together in supplication. The diploma represents his proudest achievement, everything that he’s worked so hard for. It is the only proof August has that there may be good in him somewhere. “Please! Don’t destroy anything else! I just need you to hear me out!”

“Open the door and let me walk out, vamp,” the human scowls, glossing over August’s pleas. “Or do I have to go through you?”

August swallows hard, the human’s casual threat sending a fresh wave of terror through him. He doesn’t doubt the human’s raw strength or willpower for even a second. The destroyed furniture and the fiery defiance in his eyes promise more violence. A heavy silence stretches between them, thick with tension.

“I - I want to help you - please just let me explain all of this-”

The human slams his fist into the nearest wall, a crater of dust left in its wake. August flinches into himself. Then, the man lets out a sound that no soul should ever have to hear. It’s a keening cry - a grieving wail for the life he fears he has lost. It rocks August to his core. It’s bloodcurdling. 

“Why’d you choose me, huh?!” The human seethes, damn near foaming at the mouth. “Is it because I sleep rough on the streets? Is that it? Because my life is so fucking expendable?!”

Then, it’s as if a dam has burst. The human’s face just crumples as a choked sob croaks from his lips, barely even audible. Slowly, he slides down against the wall. Head in hands, shoulders slumped, any bravado completely drained from his posture. 

“You knew no-one would come for me… didn’t you?” The human manages a whisper, his head hung low in defeat. Words just seem to keep failing August time and time again, he can only watch miserably and quietly. 

“DIDN’T YOU?!” the human bellows, eyes bloodshot and wild as his head shoots up. August flinches at the outburst.

“What gives you the right to play god?! What makes my life worth any less than yours, or any other person you could have plucked from the damn street. It was a shitty life. But it was my life! There was nothing left to take from me, and you took it all anyway. You’re a… you’re a parasite.”

August bites his lips and nods, a silent, pathetic apology. He is a parasite. Every word burns like a red-hot fire poker but he knows he deserves every scorch. Scarlet-shame colours his cheeks. Monster, parasite, animal - he’s all of the above.

“I won’t stop fighting you,” the human huffs through tears of fury. “I won't stop until I kill you, even if it kills me. You're right. I have nothing, and no-one. Nothing to lose but everything to gain. So if I’m going to go down, I'm going down swinging. Do your worst…leech.”

Leech.

August has always thought of himself as a healer. A protector. It is here, in this moment, he finally realises he is nothing more than the predator he was born to be. Afterall, there is no denying what he has done. He did take the human, he took away everything the human had to take.  He, too, sinks to the floor in devastation, landing heavily in a cross-legged slump opposite the tear-streaked human. 

Worst birthday ever.

August is drained and depleted, but he won’t waste any more breath on defending himself; he isn’t worthy of any defence. But the very least he can do is comfort the human - help him to weather the storm and be the anchor he needs right now.

“You can keep the scalpel,” August sniffles, “if it gives you some comfort. If it helps you to feel safe.” It’s an impotent gesture. A scalpel would be useless against him in combat if it really did come to that, but hopefully the human can see the sentiment behind the offer. “All I ask is for a minute of your time, and I promise, I will explain everything to you.”

The human stares at the scalpel in his hand and then locks eyes with August’s in a silent duel. No accusation, no defiance this time - only a deep well of desperate inquiry burning in their depths. A million silent questions hang in the air. He begrudgingly nods for August to go on.

“I will take you home tomorrow morning. I swear it. I wish I could open the front door for you and let you stroll free and wave you off into the world, but we’re deep in vampire territory right now. You wouldn’t last five minutes out here on your own. You’ll be snatched back up in a heartbeat, and by a creature less...inviting than myself. We will go after sunrise tomorrow and not a minute later, you have my word.”

“Your word,” the human spits, “Your word means jack all to me.”

“Then let me prove that I am who I say I am - a man of my word. Let me show you to a bed for tonight. Let me give you food and water, and a pillow to rest your head. And then I will leave you be, to get all the sleep you want and need, and I will keep to myself. The next time you see me, it will be to make our journey back to human territory.”

“...Why should I trust you?”

“I’m not asking for your trust.” Heaven knows August doesn’t deserve it, could never earn it. “I’m asking, from the bottom of my heart, for your leniency. You could, and probably should, drive a stake through my chest for what I’ve put you through. I cannot say I would blame you, if you did. But…why don’t we both survive the night, and come tomorrow we go our separate ways?”

Relief floods in as the human seems to reluctantly ponder the deal. It’s just a night. They just need to make it through the night, and then they can both go back to their separate lives and try to forget each other's faces. The human must realise that too, because his boiling anger seems to simmer down. August rises to his feet and slowly moves across the room to extend a helping hand. The human only grunts his curt refusal and snubs the offer, forcing himself up off the cold and unforgiving ground. 

“Spare bedroom. First floor. It’s all yours for the night. I’ll show you to it.” August nervously beckons the human over as he heads towards the basement door. The man sluggishly follows behind, keeping a distance that feels like miles. August feels distrustful eyes burning into the back of his head. He half expects to feel the scalpel pierce his spine any second.

But it doesn’t. As August leads the way upstairs, their unified steps echo strangely in the emptiness of the house. With each turn, the sheer scale of this place, his home, hits August anew. In the company of this poor stranger he’s pulled from the grime of the street, the house feels absurdly oversized. Every step reveals yet another opulent space – a bathroom, a bedroom, a study, a library, another bathroom.  August marches him through this excessive display of wealth with a sinking heart. Does he truly need all this, especially when the man trailing behind him apparently doesn’t have a penny to his name or a roof over his head?

August pauses before what is now the third bedroom door they’ve come across, this one already ajar. Inside, the air is stuffy and still, as though the room hasn’t been disturbed in decades, and it hasn’t; it is  untouched and unslept in. A sliver of moonlight creeps through the drawn curtains and slices across the four-poster bed. 

“This is yours,” he motions the human through the doorway, “for the night-” he quickly repeats. He chooses every word with due care and diligence, to reaffirm that this situation is by no means permanent.

Hesitantly, the human steps inside. His eyes flit across the ornately carved furniture and over thick layers of dust. August takes his moment to disappear down the hallway, returning minutes later with a tray holding a jug of water, a glass and a bowl of steaming chicken soup - he was lucky to find the tin of it at the very back of his cupboard. A strained smile tugs at August’s lips as he sets it down on the nightstand. 

Again, the human recoils from him, pressing himself into the corner of the room.

“I’ll go now, okay? I-I hope you can get a good night's sleep. If you need me, for anything, my bedroom is on the very end of the hall, on the left”.

“I won’t need you,” the human scoffs. “Go. Leave.”

The rebuff curdles August’s smile, his lips twitch nervously. “As you wish…” he mutters, stalking towards the door with defeat. Hand on the doorknob, he pauses, “My name is August, by the way. Could I please at least know your name, too?”

Rooted to the spot, the human squares his broad shoulders, a challenge radiating from his posture. “Names are sacred, leech,” he declares, teeth gritting together. “I plan to keep that secret for as long as I can keep my mind.”

The human’s words strike August like a physical blow. The air whooshes from his lungs, deflating him like a pricked balloon. Regret, sharp and bitter, settles in his chest. He can’t stay a second longer, not with the humiliating spark of unshed tears threatening to spill. His family is right, he’s a weak and pathetic excuse for a vampire. With a twist of the doorknob, he flees down the hall to his bedroom. He collapses onto his bed and buries his face in the pillow.

— 

For the human, however, sleep will be a stranger tonight. Any last vestige of drowsiness flees as the vampire vanishes. Sleep just isn’t in the cards. He has to hold out until dawn. He scrambles for anything he can get his hands on to barricade the door. It’s his first line of defence overnight;it will give him a fighting chance and an advantage over the creature.

The heavy dresser groans in protest as he drags it across the room to block the door, scratching and scraping the floorboards along its path. He doesn’t think twice about the damage, if the vamp gets to destroy his life, then he gets to destroy it’s property. Then the rickety chair and the desk it sits at gets pushed into the barricade. And the bedside tables, the bookcase too. Finally, his gaze falls on the bed and its sturdy oak bedposts. He pulls his scalpel from his pocket and digs his scalpel into the wood, feverishly wedging a chunk out of it with all the strength he has left. Shavings rain down as he whittles it down to a sharpened point. Slapdash, but a stake nonetheless.

Every creek of the settling house, every rustle in the wind sets the human’s teeth on edge. He crawls into the bed and slips under the blankets. He’s pleasantly surprised at how soft they are, and how the mattress feels like he’s floating on a cloud and how warmth seems to instantly envelop his fatigued body. He’s not felt this much comfort in…in, well, years.

But he can’t afford to let his weary eyes slip shut. He stays watching the door like a hawk from his bed, his staked clutched close to his beating chest.

Morning can’t come quick enough.

*!*!*!*!*

Dawn finds the human bleary-eyed but alert. His crafted weapon is still clutched tightly in his palms as he half-stares and blinks drearily at the barricaded door, as ready and poised to attack as he can be. Moonlight has dwindled and now sunlight beams through the velvet curtains instead. He leaps up, rips the curtains open and basks in the sun’s kiss. It’s something he thought he’d never feel again,

He survived the night. It’s nothing short of a miracle. A silent thank you rises in his throat as a single tear slips from his eye. Someone, he thinks, has to be watching over him. His parents, he hopes. There’s no way he would have made it through this without them.

Now the vampire just has to hold true to his promise. If his word holds any weight, the human will be back in human territory before dusk. Yet, the whole situation defies any logic. The human can’t wrap his head around the absurdity of it all. Why would a vampire snatch him, just to return him by nightfall, less than twenty four hours later? He can’t fight the feeling that a deeper motive lurks beneath the surface, a sinister plan at play. Suspicion clings to the human like cobwebs. Beyond the hospitality and kindness… the vampire has to be up to something.

The human dismantles his barricade and heads out to go downstairs. Every fibre of his being screams ‘it’s a trap!’...but the human can’t deny the smallest sliver of hope in his chest, piercing his bubble of suspicion. The vampire had kept true to its word so far, it had left him alone and untouched, fed and watered, a bed to sleep in. It hasn’t laid a hand on him nor tried to feed. In fact, it had kept far away.  Maybe the vampire deserves the benefit of the doubt. Maybe, there isn’t anything more to this than meets the eye, and there are no strings attached? 

But hope is a dangerous thing, tempting him to lower his guard and leave himself vulnerable for thirsty fangs to sink into. No, he thinks grimly, tightening his grip on the makeshift stake. He will not trust, cautious acceptance will have to do. He’s ready to fight with all he’s got when it all heads south.

He reaches the landing and sneakily peeks over the railing. The vampire stands by the front door, guarding it like a troll bridge. To stop the human from escaping? The vampire meticulously folds up his sleek, black umbrella and places it back in his stand. He looks so tall, impossibly tall, even from the human’s vantage point. The vampire is dressed in a three-piece suit and leather dress shoes that seems more suited to an office boardroom than house wear.

As the human strains for a better look, a sudden creak of the floor makes the vampire snap his head up. Chilling red eyes lock with the human’s in a way that sends a jolt of pure terror down the man’s spine. Would he be punished for this? Would the vampire strip him of his free will and send him marching down to the basement for punishment? He’s heard they can do that–and worse. All the fear sparks anew. He can’t catch his breath - he’s panicking.

But the vampire's eyes aren’t actually filled with the predatory and furious glint he expected. Instead, a swirl of emotions flickers within them - concern, sorrow,  even…anxiety? It’s a disarming sight. This creature looks nearly as worried as Lucas feels…

—

"There's been a change in plans,” August laments.

August could literally hear the human’s heart drop in his chest, like a lead weight falling into a deep well. The human’s eyes are wide with despair, and his mouth drops open as though he’s been struck across the cheek. A wave of guilt crashes over August, and he isn’t oblivious to how this looks. It looks like the betrayal and deceit the human has anticipated since he first set eyes on August.  August is well aware he just crushed the man’s hopes to dust, and confirmed every doubt and fear. But it’s out of his hands. Mother nature is a cruel mistress.

“No-” the human rasps, nearly falling down the stairs as his legs give out on him.  “No, vamp. You said you’d take me home. You said today. You promised-”

“That’s not the element that’s changed. My promises are sworn and imperishable. There is, however, a delay.”

"A ‘delay’…” The human repeats incredulously, a hint of sarcasm to his tone. His suspicion eats away at him, misplaced though it is. August is many things - a liar, he is not. But there’s no way the human could know that. Not yet, anyway. The human takes a cautious step back from August, staring him up and down with disdain. 

"A storm is raging outside. The streets are thick with snow and ice, and the skies are dark with thundering clouds. It’s too dangerous to make the drive.”

“I don’t care,” the human snidely retorts. “I’ll walk it if I have to. Just open the door for me, and I’ll be on my merry way. I’ll be out of your hair and you can have your big, lonely mansion all to yourself again.”

Yes, his lonely mansion. All to himself. The words sting more than August cares to admit. He winces like a knife is twisting in his belly. When the human goes home, he will be all alone again. It was nice…is nice…the company. Talking to someone that’s not a suffering patient or his own reflection in the mirror.  He already feels the emptiness settling over him once again. He longs for companionship, for someone to share his home with. He sighs, knowing that he'll have to wait a bit longer for his wish to come true. He can’t keep the human here–at least not indefinitely. But he will have to make the human understand that tonight is non-negotiable. 

“You can’t-” August shakes his head. The man would never make it home. Not with the minus temperatures and the blankets of snow.

“I can. I am. Move,” the human growls, his hands balled into fists. Only then does August notice the crude stake in the human’s white-kncukled hand. No, this human will never be his friend, but even still, August has a duty to him.

The human storms towards the door and tries to push it open. It doesn’t budge. He barges his shoulder into the door, desperately ramming it. Still it doesn’t give. Soon, he’s kicking and shoving and a warbled cry rockets up his throat. Despite his frantic assault, the door only cracks open slightly.

“Snow,” August chimes in, pointing to the falling white powder crumbling through the gap in the door. “We’re snowed in. Must be at least twelve inches of it, I would think.”

“No. This can’t be happening. We-We climb out the bedroom window!” The human’s eyes light up at the idea, sprinting towards the staircase in a panic.

“And then what will you do? Trek all the way back to human territory in this snowstorm? Do you know how far out we are?”

In the blink of an eye, the human tumbles to the floor in a heap, screaming into his hands, pulling at his hair. The blizzard howls like a banshee outside, a gust of snow blows in from outside. The human knows he’s stuck here. He’s trapped here, with a bloodsucker. He’s going to die. Or at least that’s what he must believe. 

“I can’t stay here. With you. I won’t do it.”

“Please,” August says. He resists the urge to move closer; there’s no point in riling the human any more than he’s already riled himself up.  “My word is my bond. I won’t harm you. But I can’t in good conscience return you to where I found you. I’m a physician. I can’t put anyone in harm’s way. To sleep rough on a night like tonight–it would be a death sentence.” 

The human laughs coldly. “Was this your plan all along? Crush my spirits? Delude me into thinking it’s my choice to stay?” 

“I don’t control the weather,” August sighs. “This doesn’t change a thing. I will still take you home as soon as the roads are clear.”

The human remains silent, his jaw clenched. With a final, hate-filled glare, he storms towards the stairs, and, like a sulking teenager, stomps upward in a whirlwind of fury. The slam of his bedroom door reverberates throughout the house.

But the human is still here. He is still safe. August hasn’t failed entirely. 

An exhausted breath escapes August’s lips. He isn’t used to this, the vulnerability of sharing his haven and bearing the weight of responsibility for another life. A knot of unease tightens in his gut. These forced close quarters may at least offer him a chance to ease the human’s fear and earn a crumb of forgiveness, but August can’t help but wonder –  will they be able to bridge the chasm between predator and prey?

This is going to be a long couple of days…

---

@octopus-reactivated @whatwasmyprevioususername @ramadiiiisme   @darkthingshappen  @whumpsday   @thecyrulik   @t0rture-me   @redwhump   @the-cryptid-finch   @snowstuffscuff   @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump   @wolfeyedwitch   @interdimensional-chaos   @termsnconditions-apply   @whump-blog   @leyswhumpdump  @not-a-space-alien   @onlybadendings   @darlingwhump  @sparrowsage   @flynnswhumpprompts  @whumpcereal  @wolves-and-winters  @ashh-ed  @idkmansomeusername @whuarri  @33-sdtr-45 @pigeonwhumps  @canislycaon24  @the-whumpers-grimm  @damienxozmoze  @predacon-skydrift  @morning-star-whump @neverthelass @espresso-depresso-system @only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are @androgynousqueenie @yetanotheraltwhumpblog @kadeee00 @that-one-small-world @doodlepoodle154 @sodacreampuff @cupcakes-and-pain @topsheepstudent @mylovelyme @anonfromcanada @astrokea @turn-the-tables-on-them

[roonyxx]

Healing Love: Part 3

Summary: You have a normal life as a nurse, and you are content with it. But then a storm called Dean Winchester rolls into it and you get swept away by his charms. But secrets linger and threaten to drown you both.

Pairing: Dean x Witch!nurse!reader

Word count: 2935

Chapter warnings: angst, wounds and medical stuff (i am no professional and have no idea what the real treatments are), smut, fluff.

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“On three,” you say as you swing his arm over your shoulders, “one, two, three.” You tug him to a sitting position on the edge of the bed.

You tried your best to not hurt him while tugging him up but he hisses anyway.

“Sorry Dean.” You say.

It’s been a week since his accident and you have visited the bunker every day since. He needed a lot of assistance. He can walk but not far and not without support.

Sam has been helping him go to the toilets, he can manage all that himself, which is a good start.

But he still needs to shower. You have been cleaning his wound every day when necessary.

He hasn’t wanted to shower yet… you offered him plenty of times but he always refused, now it’s getting to the point where he has no choice.

“You have to shower today, Dean.” You tell him as you sit next to him on the edge of the bed.

He sighs and wraps an arm around your waist.

“I know.” He says.

You and him have become closer in the last week. You did a lot of calm kissing that more often than not almost evolved to more, but with Dean being in so much pain it is impossible to do more.

You can sense he is sexually frustrated. He certainly is not alone….

Seeing his body every day, touching his freckled skin every day… It’s hard.

But you don’t want to hurt him, so you keep it to calm kissing.

For now.

You know you should keep your distances because he’s a hunter and you’re a witch, but he’s just so irresistible. He’s so kind and charming and perfect and handsome…

“I can’t even stand for five minutes, how will it even work.” He sigh.

You can hear and see he is feeling a little defeated today, which is normal. Dean is a very independent guy who in his everyday life barely asks for help. For him to have to ask for everything, not able to stand up on his own his hard on him.

You can see his struggle. It’s not uncommon in people healing from big injuries like his.

“I already put a chair inside the shower, you can sit and I’ll help you wash.” You tell him softly, your hand stroking his thigh in a comforting manner.

“You will help me wash? I think you just wanna see me naked.” He grins at you.

You chuckle at his flirt, “You’re right, I do wanna see you naked.” You wiggle your eyebrows back at him. “Unless you’re more comfortable with Sam helping you out?”

You do not want him to be uncomfortable, so you give him the option to choose.

“No, no. I don’t want Sam to see me like that.” He says quickly. “And you’re the professional anyways.”

“Okay, yes, true. I wash people all day at work. I really don’t mind.” You smile at him.

“You also wash guys? Like… your age? Handsome guys?” He asks in a somewhat unsure voice.

“I mean, I don’t really take into account if they’re handsome or not, but I’m sure I have washed handsome men before. Why?”

“No, no reason.” He shrugs and you see it in the glint of his eyes.

Is he… jealous?

It makes you smile.

“Are you jealous, Dean?”

“What! No, no I’m not.” He says it with a grunt, making it very unbelievable.

“Oh my god, you totally are jealous!” You say with a big smile.

The smile soon fades when you see him looking at his hands in his lap.

“Dean…” you cup his cheek and wait for his eyes to meet yours, “The only man I want to undress is you. The others is because it is my job.”

His eyes flick over your face, settling on your lips. You smile and lean in to kiss him.

His hand comes up to cup your face while kissing you deeper, moaning into your mouth, his other hand grabs your thigh and squeezes it firmly.

Your eyes roll back in your head at his firm grip, your legs spread almost on instinct.

You feel him smile against your lips as his hand moves higher to rest at the apex of your thigh.

You are so happy you put on leggings this morning, the thin fabric allowing you to feel his hand cupping your core. You groan loudly and roll your hips in his hand.

“D-Dean.” You moan against his lips.

His fingers press harder into you, his kiss turning sloppy.

“You drive me crazy, Y/n.” He groans against your lips while rubbing your core through your pants.

Your panties and pants are growing slick with arousal from his touch, it urges you on to roll harder against his hand.

“Y-yes Dean o-oh my god-“ You throw your head back as he finds your clit through the thin layers of fabric, his fingers pressing into that tight bundle of nerves, making you gasp loudly.

“Yes sweetheart just like that-“ His sentence ends on a sharp hiss and it is like a bucket of ice poured over your head.

You look at him and sees he tried to turn more towards you and it probably tugged on his wound. His hand is holding his tummy firmly.

You curse yourself for getting lost in lust and gently take his hand away to check his injury. There are red spots on the bandage, you start to take it off and see the damage.

“Shit… you ripped a few stitches.” You sigh, this is why only calm kissing is allowed.

You grab everything you need and sit on your knees on the floor between his legs, threading your needle.

“It will take just a second.” You look up at him.

His eyes are nearly black with lust, his pupils blown wide. The very obvious bulge in his sweats is also very noticeable and it makes you clench your thighs.

You were so close to coming….

“Sorry.” He mutters, a blush creeping over his face, clearly he feels embarrassed that he’s hard for you.

“Don’t worry about it.” You say and start restitching. A soft smile on your face, you already know a way to help him out with his frustrations.

You finish your stitching, his cock no longer hard because he flinched every time the needle pierced his skin.

“Let’s get you in the shower, okay?” You come next to him and put his arm over your shoulders.

“Yes.” He answers and with another short countdown you two stand up.

You support most of his weight as you walk to the bathroom, when entering the chair is where you left it in the shower. As carefully as you can you lower him in the chair.

“There, all comfy?” You ask.

He nods.

You smile at him and come closer.

“I want you naked, Dean.” You smile even wider.

“This wasn’t how I imaged to be naked with you.” He mutters.

He’s feeling embarrassed.

But you have a solution for that.

“Maybe not but still,” you grab the edge of your shirt and take it off over your head, leaving your black lacy bra on, for now. “we can have fun.” You smile.

You think his eyes might fall out of his head with how wide they are.

“Y-you, why are you undressing? Not that I am complaining.”  A little of that cocky grin is coming back on his face.

“Because I don’t want my clothes to get wet, and well, I could use a shower too.” You dip your thumbs into your waistband and shimmy your leggings down your legs, throwing the item behind you.

“Oh-oh wow.” He breathes as he takes in your matching black lace panties, his eyes are roaming over every inch and the bulge in his pants is slowly growing again.

It makes you clench your thighs.

“Can I undress you now?” You ask, coming to stand between his legs.

He nods and you tug off his shirt. You saw his torso many times these last days but every inch of skin revealed to you is exciting.

You bend down, making sure your boobs are at eye level as you grab his waist band, you lean in and kiss his neck.

“Lift your hips for me, Dean.” You whisper against his skin.

He does as you say and you take off his underwear and pants, a slight slap filling the shower when his cock springs free and hits his tummy.

You toss his pants away and look at all of him, all his naked glory.

Fuck… his cock is so hard, and red and leaking precum. His hand moves to grab himself by the base and squeezes, making another drop of precum roll down his tip.

You nearly whimper at the sight.

You stand between his legs, turning around so your back is towards him. Taking the edge of your panties you bend down and take them off, giving Dean a full view of your glistening, soaked pussy.

You’re rewarded with a deep groan behind you and a muttered 'fuck'.

You turn back to face him and take off your bra, slinging it away.

He licks his lips as he takes all of you in.

You lean over him, effectively putting your boobs in his face as you turn on the shower, immediate hot water cascading down over you two.

His lips attack your nipples, kissing and sucking on them. A moan falling from your lips.

His hands wrap around your thighs, grabbing them eagerly.

You grab his soaps and take a little step back, his lips try to chase your boobies but you push him back by the shoulder.

His chest is heaving with every breath, taking the soap in your hands you start to lather them up and begin washing his skin.

You’re thorough in what you do, his neck, his broad shoulders, his pecks, back and sides, then very carefully around his wound and checking that the water resistant bandage is still intact.

Then you wash his feet, his calves, his thighs.

His balls. Looking up through your wet lashes you watch his face as you firmly massage his balls.

“Y-Y/n.” he whimpers, his legs spreading wider.

You sit down on your knees between his spread legs and grab the base of his cock. Looking in his eyes you bend and lick the tip of his cock, your tongue dipping in that oh so sensitive slit.

“Fff-fuck.” He groans and his hands tighten on the arm rests of the chair.

You smile wickledly and lick up under his shaft, from base to tip to then take as much as you can of him in your mouth.

His tip brushes the back of your throat and you gag around him, making him moan harder. The part of him that doesn’t fit in your mouth you grab in your hand.

Your other hand still firmly massaging his balls. You start sucking him deeply, bobbing your head up and down.

“F-fuck Y/n yes, yes yes yes, j-just like that.” He pants, one of his hands slips in your hair and fists it tightly.

You moan loudly around him.

“I-Im gonna come.” He says and tries to tug you off of him. But you want his cum in your mouth, you need it to be inside, to swallow it.

“Y/n o-oh” he moans when he sees you want it, “fuck i- I’m-“

His balls tighten in yourhand and his cock starts to twitch in your mouth as he comes hard, his cum hitting the back of your throat and making you cough. You make sure to swallow it all down, your tongue rubbing the under side of his cock in your mouth to prolong his orgasm as much as possible.

“Y/N FUCK GRAH!” he screams loudly while filling you, his hand fisting your hair so hard it makes your eyes water.

You let go of his balls and push slightly on his thigh, the need for oxygen becoming urgent.

He lets your hair go and you sit up, taking in a big breath, coughing on the few drops of cum still coating your throat.

You take his half limp cock and lick him completely clean, then wash him gently with some soap.

“Y-you’re- you’re so fucking good.” He pants.

You smile and pass your soapy hands over his sensitive tip, enjoying the whimper you drag from him.

You stand up between his legs and begin washing yourself.

Dean is content watching you spread the foam all over your body, his hand coming up to rub at spots you clearly didn’t forget, but you let him.

Then you grab his shampoo and start massaging the soap into his scalp, his eyes fluttering with the sensation.

“Fuck this is so good.” He groan.

You’re so focused on washing his soft hair that you jump when you feel his fingers brushing your slick folds.

“Can I touch you?” he asks, while looking into your eyes with so much want you don’t have it in you to deny him.

“Yes Dean, but be careful, okay?”

He nods and his eyes dart down to look at your pussy, wet and swollen with desire for him.

You keep washing his hair, even when his deft fingers find your clit and start expertly rubbing it in tight circles.

“Y-yes.” You moan.

He turns his hand palm up and enters his middle and ring finger deep inside you. Your legs start trembling at how well his fingers fill you.

He crooks them so they rub perfectly against that sweet spot deep inside you while simultaneously rubbing his palm against your clit.

“F-fuck Dean- y-yes, don’t stop.” You moan and fist his hair, keeping his head away from you because you can sense he wants to kiss your body but that’s a movement that is no longer calm.

“You’re so fucking soaked for me sweetheart. Listen.” He starts to roughly vibrate his hand, filling the shower with the sound of your soaked pussy.

You moan loudly and clench his fingers so hard inside you that he mutters a curse. Your thighs start trembling, the days of edging on finally coming to their conclusion.

“Dean Dean Dean Dean Dean DEAN.” You chant on repeat as you near that edge, following his rhythm and focusing on his finger you feel yourself comping apart at the edges.

“DEAN YES!” You scream as you fall apart around his fingers, your legs tremble violently, and your thighs clench his hand in place as you come so hard around him.

You use the back of the chair as a support to lean on, you’re panting so hard and lean down to kiss him sloppily.

“O-oh my god, Dean…” You say as you unclench his hand and let it go from the prison of your thighs.

He smiles proudly and looks in your eyes.

“You’re so beautiful when you come.” He says and kisses you again.

You moan in his mouth but turns to a loud gasp as the water of the shower suddenly turns cold. You hurry to turn it off.

“Fuck.” You laugh, now definitely cooled down. Luckily Dean is laughing too, and no ripped stitches this time.

“Let’s get dry and warmed up.” You smile and help Dean get back into his room where you both cuddle in his bed and eventually fall asleep.

You get awoken by your ringtone going of in the middle of the night. Quinn jumps up and off your bed as he too got roughly awoken by it.

“Shit” you grunt and pick up, “yeah?”

“Y/n? You need to come, it’s Dean, he-he’s not waking up, there’s a lot of blood please- I-“ a sob breaks Sam’s sentence and you’re already flying to grab your keys of your car.

“Keep pressure, I’m coming.”

You stay on the phone with Sam in the car and ask him the routine questions, trying to be calm yourself, it doesn’t look good for Dean…

You reach the bunker and run inside straight to his room.

Looking inside freezes you.

There is too much blood, he's so pale…

“Move!” you scream and push Sam, not ignoring the strong call of your magic you throw the gates inside you open and let it fill your veins.

You hear Sam gasp as your entire body lights up golden and your hair starts floating around you.

It takes all your focus to redirect the mass of magic towards Dean, it feels like guiding an ocean where to go.

But you manage and with all your strength you pour the magic inside Dean. Your arms start to tremble from the strain, but you need to keep going because- because-

His heart is not beating…

You push more magic into him, sweat dripping down your face and your feet leave the ground as you start floating.

All the blood that soaked into his mattress is retracting back into his body, it is like someone pushed the reverse button and all the damage to his body is reversing.

His blood returns to his veins, his cells regenerate themselves, his organs begin working again, his body temperature rises.

And his heart starts beating again.

Dean sits up with a big, sharp inhale and looks at you.

You turn to see his open eyes, his face back with color.

And you see his face filled with shock as he takes you in, glowing and floating next to his bed.

You shut the gates deep inside you shut and cut off the magic, the light inside you shuts of like a lamp and you drop to your knees, completely exhausted.

“Dean!” Sam runs to his brother and hugs him so tight, his shoulders shaking with held back sobs.

But Dean’s eyes don’t leave yours. He’s staring at you in shock and something else…

Betrayal.

“What are you.”

Forever Tags 2024: @jay-and-dean @flamencodiva @snowlovespie @awkward-and-indecisive @hobby27 @kazsrm67 @foxyjwls007

Dean tags 2024: @akshi8278 @pink-sparkly-witch @verytoadpapersoul @eevvvaa @muhahaha303 @alwaystiredandconfused @deansimpalababy @globetrotter28 @aylacavebear

Healing Love tags: @deans-spinster-witch @kr804573 @suckitands33 @bitchykittenconnoisseur @brightlilith @snowayumi @ailalovegood

send me an ask if you want to be on any of my tag lists! (or if you want to be removed)

[gav-san]

A Vintage Bouquet | 2/5 | Mihawk x reader

Pairing: Dracule Mihawk / Fem Reader

Length: 2/5 Chapters

Summary: Trapped in a monastery and threatened with an impending marriage, you'll strike any deal with a Pirate to escape what your father has in store for you.

Previous/Next

The heist of a lifetime set off with much less fanfare than books would suggest. 

Getting packed wasn’t easy, even considering the circumstances. You had long been out of practice being on the ocean, and there was nothing to be done about the dreadful churning in your gut. 

It wasn’t easy to leave what had essentially been your home for over ten years, even if it was more of a jail than a warm comfort. There had been quiet chatter among the girls of escape but no one had so far been foolish enough to do so.

You’d like to blame fate for steering you towards dangerous and unseen paths, but you are too frank to lie to yourself. 

There is something unnatural about your desire to sail the sea, and it always has been that way. 

Throwing yourself into the chaotic ocean’s currents was dangerous, but there was something so dangerously seductive about that future. Add in an untrustworthy pirate (whose name you swore was familiar) whose cold gaze kept you cautious still was far more enticing than the most comfortable, cushiest life as the wife of a wealthy Celestial Dragon.

You would rather quickly drown than be forced to slowly suffocate as years ticked away and your ability to seek adventure faded. 

There was a distinct feeling of severing fate with a butter knife.

Those with weak wills had no place in the sea, but you would brave any danger to feel the presence of your mother again.

So you couldn’t doubt yourself. Once you spurned a Celestial Dragon there was no choice but to dance forward because there would be no return. 

So you made your decision.

Packing wasn’t a suspicious activity in itself, as you were supposed to be working on your marriage trousseau. Others would think you were just eager to leave the monastery despite the poor choice of your husband. Many other girls had done this exact thing. 

 So you feigned packing the overly fancy luggage, leaving the disgusting amounts of finery and jewels you had already been gifted, unable to sleep any of the night. It disguised your actual luggage, a single brown bag that could carry your mother's hair pins, a fan with her lost ship's logo, the lone dagger you had managed to smuggle, and a few small coins. Things that you could explain as being sentimental keepsakes you wanted to stay close to. 

The Mother Superior was much shrewder than she let on and had expected the worst of you from the moment you had met. So you packed your second bag light, exclusively taking what you could carry under your habit, in pockets, or tucked away.

There was trouble finding appropriate clothes, and you had to end up purposely spilling on your dress, something you knew would earn you laundry duty. Only then could you find a suitable ensemble through the donation box full of ancient clothes, a simple shirt, vest, and pants. And last, a common hat that many local islanders preferred.

And while missing your last chance at a free meal to scrub toilets (with the tiniest brush possible) you thought about the man in all black with the giant sword. 

And even when your stomach rolled, twisting with hunger pains, those bright, golden eyes seemed never to leave your memory. 

Hawk eyes, you thought. You had never seen anything like them, eyes so bright, not just thanks to color, but the undeniable trace of intelligence within. Like a perfect bird of prey, he seemed to see everything around him with that perfect clarity only the strong had. 

It had made you writhe under his gaze, to be dissected, measured, and judged. 

It made you want to fight.

And as you rolled in your uncomfortable bed, squirming at the memory of the virile male, until your roommate threw her scriptures at your head in frustration upon being woken so late. It was a good thing that you both promised not to say a word about each other’s rule-breaking. 

But beyond the general secret-keeping, you had never been close, and she certainly wasn’t going to listen to you express a single word about how there were… other things about the man that made you feel ticklish and warm. 

You weren’t unaware of the fact you had somehow, during a single conversation, developed a total crush on the man. It was just the mechanics of it that had never been experienced and now you finally understood all those contraband romance novels traded within the hallowed halls. Some that you had also read previously, with little understanding. But now you were a bit dizzy and fully aware that the whole euphoria aspect could make it challenging to keep your head on straight. There was nothing like a huge dose of heady girl-lust that would make you trip over yourself.

But could you blame a girl or judge her for combing her hair till it shone, even if it was going to be under a bandana? There was a swordsman out there she had to impress. Whether through wine or with violence, you would be getting on Dracule’s ship, or another’s.

Once you had stuffed your bed to seem like you were under your blanket, you snuck through the convent, slipping past the memorized sentinels and sisters there. The father was long asleep, and gently opening the door and sneaking into his room was simple. 

He was laid out on his bed, and you were sure you couldn’t tap-danced and not woken him, by the smell of things. But as it was, his loud snoring covered your movements, creeping to the corner of his room where several casks of wine were stored. 

He had drunk himself to sleep, and so you made off with the wine casks, strapping them under your habit. It wasn’t a great disguise, but it would have to do. Since most sisters were still at evening mass, you ran into none of them, slipping into the gardens with practiced ease.

By some miracle, the half-broken gate hidden by the orange grove hadn’t been discovered. 

It was then you shed the nun’s habit, already dressed in the pilfered overalls, and letting the casks drop. You moved the habit behind the corner, pulling leaves and fallen oranges over it as quickly as you could, listening for bells to mark the end of mass.

After, you take handfuls of dirt and smear it upon your face, your clothes, and the casks. You smear mud on the barrel logo stating the wine’s quality, ensuring that you look much like the cabin boy you have always wanted to be.

Finishing, you grabbed the casks, head lifting towards the sunset.

You shifted, letting your bag hang over your shoulder, checking for any passing wanderers. With no person spotted, you proceeded to push the gate open, wincing at its rusty creaking. 

With a small nudge, you slipped the wine through, then followed. 

You don’t look back, don’t think, just take off down the road. 

Your bare feet catch dirt swiftly, concealing your pampered, wealthy skin. It’s far more believable that an urchin wouldn’t have proper shoes, and makes blending with others much smoother. Your hat stays down, and soon enough, people are passing you. 

By the time the Monastery Bells are tolling, you have reached the middle of the city, and are fully confident in your disguise. 

You would not return, no matter the cost.

Dressed with your pilfered overly-large hat, no one was wiser that the young figure with two large wine casks was the convent girl due to be married the next day and not an errand-running ship boy.

Isla Palma was alive in the evenings, and this night was no different. 

Most ships preferred to leave in the bright mornings when the view was better. People milled in the streets, the sour smell of gin and vomit not hidden by the other smells of an oceanside city. The city center had never been your favorite place, a maze-like setting of depraved men with insufficient coins for the nicer inn higher on the hill.

But there were many dark nooks and allies that you could slip into to make it back to the docks. And so you did, making good headway. And no one even glanced your way.

Well, almost no one.

“Ello, Miss Gabriella.”

The casks dropped.

–X–

The docks were salt-encrusted pillars of wood, smelling of fish and sweaty fishermen, a swell of sour-smelling sailors returning after a booze-filled evening. 

Mihawk didn’t have much use for the common sailor. They entirely bored him, or much like an exterminator, he rid them from the seas because they annoyed him. He’s not sure why he is still on this pitiful little island, besides that small spark of amusement he gained from battling wits against you. It may be that any of his suffering was caused due to his enormous success but regardless, it had been getting unbearable. 

He sighs, rolling his eyes as if disappointed in himself.

He must be truly bored, to humor a monastery girl.

He doesn’t need to look behind him at the sunset to notice time is running short for the said child. That was worth another sigh, as it was becoming clear that he had overestimated yet another person, however minuscule it had been.

And as the sun went down, he resigned himself to setting sail by himself.

Until his Haki caught onto the beginning of a scuffle and the familiar sound of a fight about to go down. With a quirk blooming his brow, he uncrossed his legs and pushed from the dock pillar he had been resting on.

And in the midst of it, a familiar voice.

He turned, noting that there was still a sliver of red light over the dark ocean. He supposed he had told her to be at the dock. Which, from the sound of things, was near enough to the docks to pass muster.

“Very well monastery girl,” He turns towards the city of Isla Palma. “You’ve piqued my interest.”

–X–

“Surely you’ve got more than that.” 

You held up the pole again, fingers weighing and testing it for your next hit. It looked like someone had snapped the beam off a metal fence, the blunted tip rusting, but it did the job.

A job well done, she said with a snarl, hitting the next man who ran at her as she sidestepped him.

Of course, it started with Heffery.

Of all the dirty rotten luck. He had been the one who found her, and unfortunately, he was less sloshed this time around. 

“Hey, sweet-cheeks,” Heffery said, “Well isn’t this nice? I thought I was gonna have to break into that place to kidnap you.” 

You had dropped the barrels, and some other man with terrible breath had your hands behind your back. You aren’t paying attention to him, but rather the metal glint near his feet.

You grit your teeth, glancing at the hat that had fallen. Thankfully, your hair stayed in its braids. Hefferey dared to pat your cheek, annoyed you weren’t paying him attention.

“Hey! We’ve been donating money to your Nunnery for years, thinking it might win one of us your favor. It seems only fair that you give us a little taste before that snobby rich boy comes.” He guffed, tone taking an unsavory turn.  

Heffery's gaze wandered down to the low dip of your dress, following how your breasts pushed at the bindings, even under the cotton shirt. 

“Let me go.” You threatened, much to the men’s amusement. 

“Let it go, sugar, you’ll get your pretty gloves dirty!” Heffery drawled, rolling up his sleeves.

You steadily glared. At least they were arrogant enough not to have tied you up with a rope. 

Five against one were not good odds when you were rusty, but what choice did you have? These sorts of fights were known for being ignored by the Marines.

You only had yourself.

Heffery, tired of talk, moved to lower your shirt.

And that’s when you struck.

Stamping on the foot of the man behind you gave you back your hands, and a hit from your elbow downed him. That same turn allowed your foot to catch Hefferey’s face, felling him to the ground.

After that you turned, grabbing the metal pole on the ground, and raising it in a stance that caused a rich wave of nostalgia to fall over you.

“Oh, looks like kitty does have some claws.” A man mocked her, taking out a rusted blade.

Hefferey and his lackey who were dropped to the ground were groaning in pain. But there were three more, and so she once again danced. 

And then one of the men swung towards her, trying to catch her by surprise. You danced to the side, footwork a little rough but evading the man still. Turning the pole she crashed it on another head. She wasn’t fond of the ensuing crack, but she didn’t yield or flinch, quickly moving back into a position where she could see the last standing man.

He ran.

Just out of spite, you take the gold ring on Hefferey’s finger.

You raised your pole.

“So much for Marine training.” You quipped, lowering the pole to reach for the wine casks again.

And then, a fear fills you. 

It’s a bone-deep dread of knowing that something fearsome is coming.

With more dexterity than you realized you possessed, you swung the pole, hitting the offending away from your face, clanging too near to your chin.

It’s a dagger. 

A familiar, absurdly small, cross-shaped dagger.

“To be fair, Marine dropouts aren’t considered the cream of the crop.” A familiar voice drawls. You flinch, jaw clenching at the power behind the dagger. 

“Swordsman.” You say, chin set. “I’ve made it then.”

“Hardly.” One of his magnificent brows raises at your over-confident words. “Me stumbling over a drunken alley brawl is no credit to you.” He says hat pulled low over his golden eyes, the white feather ruffling in the evening breeze. “Though you may as well get used to it. You’re late, and our deal is forfeit.”

And the swordsman has such an air of authority that you almost agree, but blink to snap yourself out of such a ridiculous notion. You were not going to be bullied by the swordsman on a technicality.

The sky is black, and the only light is from the windows and lanterns from the streets, but you refuse to be cowed by what must be the devil in disguise, the specter in all black with ripped abs and an aura was was downright dangerous. 

“Is this not considered meeting you at dark?” You say angrily, raising your pole. “Would you have so little honor?” 

“Are you challenging my honor?” He says flatly, and though the corners of his mouth don’t turn up you swear there is something in his eyes that is amused. “Surely you can feel the difference in our experience.”

“If that’s what you call your arbitrary word.” You contest, hand tightening on the metal in your palm.

You don’t flinch as he moves forward, faces close enough to kiss as your pole hits his dagger in a dull metallic clang that sends shivers into the earth beneath you. Power throbs from him, no matter how casual he seems, and you know that you have found a true bird of prey.

“I won’t be cowed by you.” You say, almost to yourself, reminding yourself that there is nothing to return to, even if he cuts you down. “I won’t apologize.”

His eyes are fearsome so close, so very like his nickname, and the sweet smell of a decent vintage escapes his breath this close as he leans into you.

“What of death?” He queries, voice digging as hard as his strike. 

“Better death than a life lived in fear of my own potential.” You aren’t sure what shifts in the swordsman's face, but in that moment, you see something. It’s almost like he is reassessing your dedication to your dreams, deconstructing and rebuilding the idea. 

Testing it for its purity.

Testing you for your worth.

He tuts, his perpetual frown creasing, his facial hair sharpening his disapproval.

“Such resolve won’t change my decision, monastery girl.” For a moment your heart drops, but there’s something about his words that taunts you.

He seems to believe you are too far beneath him to care one way or another. Even locked in combat he refuses to budge. And you’re no fool, you know he’s an experienced swordsman, much more powerful than you are.

But you’ve always been a hard-headed fool with a big mouth.

“Then would defeating you give you enough humility to take back your words?” You say, doubling your stance to lean into him more, causing him to shift his foot.

You’re close enough to the smell of the sea on him, and whatever expensive cologne and aftershave he uses.  Perhaps sandalwood and cinnamon, but also something deep, like a rainforest. Close enough to see through where his sleeves lace to his jacket, and the veins in his hands and throat. Close enough to appreciate the dark hair curling from under his hat and the mole under his eye.

So close one of you could lean forward and kiss the other. 

He doesn’t flinch.

“If you can give me even a scrape,” He says, flatly, “I’ll honor every last desire in that black heart of yours.” He says, raising his free hand. You mirror him but are surprised as he holds it behind his back.

“I’ll even give you a handicap.”

You flinch at the insult.

And despite defeating him being your very goal, you immediately know that you should not, under any circumstance, actually fight him. You know, just by the way he straightens, tilting his body and pivoting his feet he isn’t embellishing his prowess. He is going to hurt you if you give him the opening.

But you don’t.

You both step back, releasing the deadlock, and giving you a moment to nurse your sore arm. But not for long, as you adjust yourself to move defensively, feet dancing prettily into place as he holds his position. 

“Done.”

And you don’t want to fail. 

You can’t fail.

He doesn’t respond using words.

Your pole clashes against his dagger as you clash again, and again, each strike becoming harder. Sweat pools on your head as he comes out of you, more like you are in a ballroom, and he is a suitor smoothly guiding you in a waltz. 

Good swordplay always felt like that. 

You know you are outmatched, your footwork unpracticed and shoddy from lack of use and finesse. But it is there, and though the swordsman doesn’t seem to smile, you can almost see pleasure at the chance to perhaps take on an opponent who knew some steps to whatever dance he was waltzing.

You would be extremely fortunate to ever near such perfection in form and precision, and you could only hope to delay him as long as possible because you needed to keep dancing with someone so proficient. You may never get the chance again.

You step towards and away from one another in the perfect sink, circling one another in a perfectly intoxicating waltz of swords.

Pivoting the silver blade flashes past you, and you dodge neatly, moving to roll under him. 

Dracule isn’t fooled by the feign, instead looping an arm around your elbow, causing the spin to be cut off. Your pole hits the ground in two pieces.

That damned little dagger pierces your throat as he holds your head in a deadlock, off-balance and unable to straighten.

 “Boldness is a fool’s game for the weak,” He says against your throat, causing a dastardly shiver to escape you as he curls into you, not a drop of sweat on his perfect body, compared to the heat and wetness dripping off you.

“I am not weak.” You say, teeth clenched as you turn towards him, jaw hitting his own as he mutters into your ears. 

“Oh?” He says, that amused tone heightening as he pushes you into the brick wall, squishing you between a rock and a hard place.

The words that escape your mouth as you struggle against the unmoveable swordsman are of legend, but the man sighs. No matter how your fingers attempt to claw him, there is no release.

“Such a disappointment, convent girl.” He drawls, his free hand brushing along the wild tangle of your hair to land on your chin to turn it towards him. “Surely you can do better.”

You kick off the wall, twisting.

But even the wild kick doesn’t land as he pulls you forward into enough of a crouch that your legs can’t reach his crouch.

“Now now,” He chides, fingers digging into your throat as hot breath envelops your neck, making your entire body seize in alarm. “None of that, darling. Be a good little girl and accept your fate. Return to the monastery. Surely that’s better than finding yourself in this position again and with a less courteous benefactor.” 

Hot anger licks your insides. 

You were nothing but good in your life, and now look where it has brought you. Being sold off into an abusive marriage, only to have a golden chance of escape flash by you. You want to lash out, you want to scream, you want to do something-

You glance down at the hand clenching your chin, turning you to look at the hill where hell itself is. By using only one arm, the man had sacrificed his ability to entirely restrain your body. You can’t get him with a weapon. But what he isn’t expecting, is your own quick thinking.

A smirk touches your face.

“Swordsman.” You say sharply, causing the man to angle his head towards you.

“Are you finally giving in?” He says, tired sounding as ever.

Pain stabs through the swordsman’s hand and though he doesn’t let go, he does turn you to give you the full glare you’ve earned with the extent of your actions. 

“Are you a dog?” He drawls, unimpressed by the way your sharp teeth dig into his hand, your pretty lips curled in a grin.

Quick as lightning you had turned, dislodging a single finger of his, biting down hard enough to draw blood. 

Iron fills your mouth, bitter, but tasting of victory.

“I win.” You say, letting go. “You said to scrape you. Your words.”

He releases you, and you have to brace yourself on the brick wall as he examines his hand, looking as unmoving as usual.

You wouldn’t know till much later how much the man admired the blood on your lips as you gazed ferociously at him.

“Very well,” He finally admits, turning away from you. “I am a man of my word.”

You huff in indignation, turning away yourself to let out an unsteady breath. 

Finally.

You turn back to triumphantly follow him to his boat, only to realize…

That bastard!

He’s entirely gone. Not only had he negged on his word, he had taken all the wine!

[liz-allyn]

sugar and vice, pt. 15 [mob!tasm!peter x fem!reader]

summary: what’s worse - a painful truth or a beautiful liar?

words: 5.6 k

chapter warning: trigger warning - *tw sa* - pls read at your own risk. John Walker (is officially a c*nt trigger warning). ANNNNNNGST. Mean awful words.

series warnings: mob-typical violence, bang bang shoot shoot, whump. hurt/comfort. s*xu*l situations. spousal ab^se. family trauma. dr^g use. coercion. manipulation. kidnapping. gore. blood. toxic/yandere!peter (maybe, sorta), negative self talk, shameless forced proximity trope. ‘only ten one bed oops’ trope, imprisonment. slowest burn. a dash of questionable and/or morally grey intentions. extremely toxic relationships.

This version of TASM Peter is not canon. The relationships and characters here are not healthy.

Don't date a mob boss.™️

18+ You’re responsible for your own media consumption, but if you don’t remember when Shia LeBeouf was just Louis Stevens then I’m not sure this content is right for you.

Back to Part 14.

Part 15

She was inches off the ground, her feet kicking wildly. It was no different than a noose around her neck. John dragged her like a ragdoll into a wide bathroom stall. With his beefy hand clamped around her jaw, tight enough to crush it, he shut and latched the partition door.

The forced proximity caused her to mewl louder, hyperventilating in his grip. He lifted her further off the floor by the shoulders and slammed her against the tiles, expelling the air from her lungs. 

He was stronger than she remembered, his grip exponentially more painful. He’d no doubt logged extra hours in the gym, just like he used to, between his time at work and his time violating her.

She was weaker than she remembered, clawing helplessly at his arms with her shoulders pinned against the wall. Shrinking with terror at the feral look in his eye. Eventually, she went limp in his hold, submitting to her fate. She trembled uncontrollably, gasping through her nose, with her toes barely touching the tops of his feet. 

Just like old times.

“There you are!” he cheerfully cooed, with a tone that reminded her of the way two old women greet each other on Easter Sunday. 

His hand cemented her mouth closed while his forearm crushed her chest like a steel beam. “I’ve been worried sick about you, Peach. You haven’t answered my texts... my calls...” He grinned sadistically, with a festive tone. “I was beginning to think you’d fallen off the face of the Brooklyn Bridge!”

She had nightmares like this, where a scream tore at her throat but couldn’t break free. If she could, it would’ve pierced their eardrums. The panic in her eyes was shriller than sirens. Her heart drummed nearly as loud as the muffled music in the bar outside. Terror gripped her, and all he could do was laugh.

If she could scream, it would be one name: Peter.

As if John could read her mind, he narrowed his gaze, eyes darkening. Threatening. Daring her. “Now. I’m gonna move my hand so we can chat. And if you do so much as sneeze too loudly, I’ll drown you in that toilet bowl down there.”

She shuddered, tears spilling down her face. She sobbed. But she quit struggling. 

“Atta girl,” he purred with a wicked smile. Licking his lips, he wiped a tear away with the pad of his thumb. “Here we go.” Slowly, he loosened his grip, letting his palm slide down her chin and his fingers wrap dangerously around her throat.

She gaped up at him, wet eyes glimmering in the fluorescent light. 

“So,” he said, glancing between her petrified eyes and trembling lips. “What gives, Peach? Did you forget about me already?”

“John, please—”

He constricted his hand around the base of her neck. She pictured a python suffocating its prey, squeezing slowly until every bone shattered.

“I can’t help but feel like you’ve been ghosting me,” he said unnervingly lightheartedly. “Be honest. Was it something I said?”

She panted in short breaths. “Nonono, you don’t understand—I’m-’m trying to protect you!”

He tightened his grip.

“It’s the truth! You don-don’t understand—something is wrong... Peter is—he-he’s capable of things that-that humans shouldn’t be capable of!”

He curled a brow upwards, intrigued.

“I’ve seen it! It’s... it’s like the devil. I-I don’t know. He’s-he’s not human, John. I’ve seen him almost rip a man’s head off with his bare hands. Please, he’s... he’s not right—”

“You tellin’ me bedtime stories, Peach?” 

“Nooo,” she sobbed, shaking her head. He allowed her the space to do so. “I’m not, I swear! He-he can’t be stopped...I don’t know what he’ll do to me if he finds out— I don’t know what he’ll do to either of us—”

“Shh,” he whispered, his eyes softening. He wiped another tear from her cheek. “It’s okay, I got ya.” He stroked her face sweetly. It made her skin crawl—a cruel imitation of kindness. “I’m sure you’ll be fine. You just gotta use that silver tongue of yours.”

She gulped at his insinuation. 

“Speaking of which, you blow ‘em yet?” He sneered with a smile that made her nauseous, with an overemphasis on each syllable, “Come on, Hun-ney.” He wiped across her lower lip with the pad of his thumb, narrowing his eyes into slits. He breached her mouth, and she loathed the foul taste of his finger. “I know you’ve got what it takes.” 

She went stiff. Felt cold and clammy. Like her skin wasn’t attached to her muscles. She didn’t want to wear it anymore.

“Well,” John pouted, pulling his thumb away, “if you’re not willing to play, I’ll have to resort to other measures. Guess I’ll have to settle for the kid.”

Her eyes flashed with anger. “Don’t you dare! Don’t you dare touch Bella—”

“I’m not talkin’ about Bella,” he snickered. “And not any of your slutty sisters either.” Her brows pinched together anxiously. “I’m talkin’ about the other kid—Miles Morales.”

Her breath hitched in her throat. A Cheshire smile stretched his face like an evil clown out of a horror movie. “Fucked up what happened to his family,” John mused with faux sympathy. “If anyone ever knew where to find him, he’d be in real danger.”

Her glossy eyes widened and her blood went cold. He didn’t need to choke her. She was being strangled by a mix of terror and rage, cutting off her air supply. She thought she was going to pass out. 

“You can’t do that,” she whispered in shock. He tilted his head, glaring through slitted eyes. “He’s... he’s just a kid. He’s not even a part—”

“Oh, please,” he chuckled darkly. “Don’t tell me you’re that stupid. No one’s gonna believe that he’s some innocent bystander. Especially not the cops in this city.” 

Her upper lip curled. “You’ll never prove anything.”

“I don’t have to,” John said under his breath. His voice was as soft as a cloud, and his eyes turned to ice. “All I have to do is call for backup. Lotsa things happen when the police get involved. Miscommunication. Accidents.”

He let the words sink in, as if holding for a dramatic pause. He leered down at her maliciously, like he’d just delivered a punchline. Her sense of reason detached from her own body. A fresh swell of rage rose in her, boiling the blood in her veins.

She barely recognized her own voice, or the poisonous sound of her fury. “If you come near Miles, you’re a dead man,” she seethed, almost breathless with anger. “Peter will kill you.”

John’s smile melted at her insolence, staring at her with disbelief. Rage spread through him.

She recognized that look. Knew it well, like an old friend. This was usually the part where he’d flatten her with the back of his hand. 

She expected it. Welcomed it. She was convinced that it would have been worth it.

Instead, he pulled back his chin, studying her with scrutiny. “Wow,” he scoffed in disgust. “Parker got you good. He’s your knight in shining armor, isn’t he?”

He released her weight, letting her stand on her own, but kept his forearm against her chest. With the other hand, he reached into his pocket, pulling out a smartphone. Tapping in a code, he unlocked the screen and held it up to her view. She blinked rapidly, her eyes struggling to focus on the harsh blue light.

The image that came into view baffled her. It looked like a red paint can had exploded. But she knew who was showing her the picture, and anxious nausea gripped her. She looked away.

“Look. At. It,” he ordered through clenched teeth. “Recognize this?”

She glanced at the image with a stoic expression, which looked more like a Jackson Pollock painting than anything. She flicked her gaze upwards, glowering in silence. 

“No? Lemme show you the ‘before.’”

He swiped the photo away. Her eyes went cold.

Immediately, she recognized Peter. If you had asked her—that was the first thing she saw. He was in some kind of nightclub, maybe in a part of Web that she hadn’t seen. 

His face was partially obscured. But if you had asked her, she could tell you with certainty that it was Peter. That jutted jaw sporting a beard he’d worn up until today. That sharp nose. The prominent Adam’s apple in his throat. She’d recognize them anywhere. 

If you had asked her, he looked disheveled in a way she couldn’t recognize. His hair was wild. Black shirt slightly askew, hanging too loosely like he spent time in a mosh pit.

But if you had asked her at that moment, she wouldn’t say anything. She was unable to speak.

She was utterly frozen, staring horrified at the half-naked woman on his lap. The woman was wearing nothing but a thong and tiny slivers of fabric that barely contained her breasts. She straddled him, fingers laced around the buttons of his shirt. 

He didn’t look upset by it. Not one bit. 

Didn’t look concerned at all. Instead, his head was thrown back in what appeared to her as ecstasy. She’d recognized that expression. She’d seen it from that same angle. It had only been a couple of days since she was sitting where that woman sat.

A sharp line formed between her brows. It had only been a couple of days. 

This photo was taken with a long lens from a hidden angle. Someone had been spying on him. Watching him, unseen. Recently, too—there was a watermark of a date in the corner of the image. 

It had only been a couple of days ago.

She was numb. She didn’t need to look up at John to see him beaming down at her. The color was draining from her face, her natural hue turning greener every second. Viciously, he flicked his thumb, displaying another image.

This one had them locked in a filthy kiss. 

The next one had his lips latched to her chest.

The next one had his hands cupping her ass. Thumbs toying beneath the waistband of the silver thong she was wearing.

The next one had those hands buried in the woman’s hair—that gorgeous woman with her giant tits and flawless body. Perfect ass hoisted in the air as she bent her knees on either side of his thighs. Her tongue licked the flesh of Peter’s exposed chest. 

Although Honey’s eyes told her it was a still image, her brain projected a motion picture. Her mind crafted each frame, imagining this woman trailing down his sternum until she connected with the hard, thick line in his lap.

In her memories, she could vividly see his eyes, but now they were staring at this woman. Burning her with a hungry gaze. Speaking filthy vows as he worked himself with his own hand. Worshiping her like she was a goddess. 

“Aww, how sad,” John hummed, relishing in her pain. 

When had she started crying?

“Now, check this out. Lemme show you the ‘after.’”

Another flick of his thumb revealed a wider image of the painting. She gasped with horror as she recognized the paint splatter as human remains. It was all that was left of the woman. Body parts and organs spread across a room like disjointed puzzle pieces. Her mouth fell open in a silent gag as her stomach pitched. 

John snorted with a chuckle, “Geez, I can’t imagine the cock on this guy. Talk about splitting a woman in half, eh?”

Her heart crumbled. Her mind was shattered. Like the piano against the wall. Like that guard’s spine. Like the bloody mess of the man who’d kidnapped her. The whole world was red. 

“Did he tell you about Gwen?”

Her heart skipped at the sound of her name. Her eyes darted up to John’s—stunned. How did John know about the woman of Peter’s dreams—the other other woman in his fantasies? She gazed at him in disbelief. He snickered.

“Did he tell you they were married?”

Another stab to her heart. A phantom limb severed. 

“Did he tell you how she died?”

Another stone placed on her chest. She felt her lungs compress and buckle. 

“Did he tell you how he murdered his own wife?”

Now, she was nothing. Less than nothing. Pulverized. Crushed to dust. Ground into the dirt. No more a body than the bloody painting of Peter’s mistress.

“You know what’ll happen to me if something happens to Miles?” John said. 

He hooked a finger under her chin, pulling her gaze up to his. It was effortless. She had no fight left in her body. She was clay in his hands to mold however he wanted. A jellyfish washed up on shore. She had never had a backbone.

“Absolutely nothing,” he breathed, fixing her with a cruel smile. Tears were streaming down her cheeks, but she couldn’t feel them anymore. Couldn’t feel anything. 

“I won’t be the one that Parker goes after. It’ll be you. His sweet, saintly, slutty snake.”

She stared with lifeless eyes, like playing possum. That was a mistake. She knew it wasn’t any fun for John if he couldn’t see her suffer. He wouldn’t be sated. 

“Oh. One more thing. You forgot this.” He put his phone back in his pocket, retrieving another one. Her eyes went wide. It was hers—the one she kept hidden in her bedroom. “Can’t leave this lying around just anywhere,” he glowered. 

She felt an iron grip on her thigh. She gasped sharply, but he cupped her mouth and sealed off the cries. Viciously, he wrenched up her thigh, pulling her legs apart. His fingers groped beneath the hem of her dress. A scream bubbled up in her throat as he shoved his hand into her underwear. 

“Gotta make sure you keep this close,” he sneered through gritted teeth. Cold glass was placed crudely against her flesh, sending a chill that penetrated every cell in her body. In her mind, she thrashed, shrieked, kicked, hollered, scratched, bit, punched, yelled, clawed, bludgeoned, and punctured. But aside from sobbing, her body did nothing. 

Just like old times.

When he retracted his hand, her limbs were rubber. If his hand on her mouth hadn’t nailed her to the wall, she would’ve collapsed. 

Instead, he leered down at her, feasting on her anguish and relishing her torment.

He smirked. 

There was no need for threats. No need to worry about her at all. She was broken. Weak. She would fall apart if he pushed her—a dandelion in a hurricane.

He released her, letting her knees buckle. She slid down the wall, trembling, crumbling beneath the toilet bowl. She winced at the uncomfortable feeling of a foreign object between her thighs.

“You run along now,” he muttered, undisturbed. “You’ll be okay as long as you can manage to keep your legs closed.”

Peter leaned back against the wall, letting the coolness seep into his scalp. His eyes were closed as he hummed a tune playing on the jukebox. Every breath was measured steadily, trying to shut out the noises around him.

He’d almost lost it. Again.

And while he was dreaming up violent pictures and all the different ways he could slaughter the two drunkards—who had smartly disappeared—he felt the sensation of an icy breeze tickling his body. It started gentle, like a gust of late autumn wind against bare skin. A moment later, the temperature plunged. It was excruciating, stab wounds all over his skin like he’d been dropped into a frozen river. 

His eyes opened wide, a gasp filling his lungs. A chill he hadn’t felt in years shot down his spine. His gaze darted across the room, frantically searching. And then he spotted her—his girl stomping across the bar, rushing towards the exit. Her shoulders were rigid, arms wrapped tightly around herself, head down. She was a few paces away from sprinting. He could smell her tears from here.

His eyebrows pinched together. “Honey?”

She stopped for nothing. Scampered on shaky legs and unsteady heels out onto the sidewalk. Frozen tear tracks decorated her cheeks like glitter. She could hear Peter calling after her. The sound of his voice made her want to rip her face off. 

A bomb of vile fury— ugly, savage, and raw— had been set off beneath her ribs. Rage vaporized her insides, burning blisters across her heart. A firestorm in her stomach and chest threatened to incinerate everything in her path.

“Honey! Wait up!”

Her eyes were blurry—glazed over. She recognized the shape of a yellow cab in front of her. Didn’t hesitate for a moment. 

“Taxi!” she shouted, reaching for the door handle. She wrenched it open—if she had a fraction of Peter’s strength, she would’ve ripped the sedan in half.

Just before she crawled inside, the door slammed shut. Again. Peter tried to pull her back from the edge. Again. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa— what the hell—?”

“Don’t touch me!” she shrieked, voice like shattered glass. 

The shrillness of it caused him to jolt. Immediately, Peter removed his hand from her upper arm, a bewildered look on his face. He blinked in confusion, overwhelmed by the redness of her eyes and the streaks of mascara down her face.

“What happened?” he gasped softly. His voice hardened to a demand. “Who did this to you?”

“Get the fuck away from me!” she screamed in a tone that was sharp and piercing enough to cut through the concrete jungle of New York City’s streets. 

Peter suddenly felt every eye in the city on him, reminding him they stood on a busy Manhattan street. Flushed, he glanced around to see a crowd of bystanders turning to look. Curious and judgmental eyes attacked him from every direction.

Calming himself, he lowered his voice. “Honey, talk to me. What happened?”

Her eyes were wild. “Where’s Bella?”

“What?”

“Where is she, Peter? Where did you take her?!”

He curled a brow upwards, studying her, becoming more disturbed by her erratic outburst. “We talked about this,” he said placatingly, “I told you she was safe—”

“All you told me was that you took my family out of their home and hid them away from me!” She roared with a sharp, accusatory tone, “What did you do to them?! Where are they?! What did you do with my baby niece?!”

Compared to her, he was a whisper in the wind. “Honey, please, just calm down—”

“Forget it, I’m leaving!”

“What? No, I’ll drive us home!” Peter rushed after her, trying to maintain control of the situation. Panicked, he made eye contact with a man sitting at the valet stand just off the arcade entrance. He called to him, “Hey! Bring my car ‘round, will ya?” He hurried to give the valet his ticket, and the young man darted off immediately at the command.

Honey was now ten feet away from him and expanding her lead. The crowd was still eagerly watching the drama unfold. His senses buzzed him again as his eyes found a beat cop parked in a police cruiser nearby. He broke eye contact with the suspicious eyes of the officer, jogging away to catch up to her.

She turned a corner just as he approached. “Honey, I said I’d drive you—”

“I’m not going anywhere with you!” she hissed. He jumped into her path, fighting the urge to make contact.

“Wait a minute—!”

“Get away from me!” she hollered, her voice cracked and ravaged with cries. She stopped and backed up, putting several feet between them. A couple that was passing by slowed to a stop to watch. As did a senior man walking his dog. As did an off-duty driver watching from his cab.

Peter could recognize a power shift when he saw one. Now, standing on Fifth Avenue with her screaming her head off in front of a growing audience, she had all the power in the world.

He breathed heavily through his nose, his voice barely above a whisper, “Please, just slow down. Lower your voice. Tell me what’s wrong—”

“Or what?” she snapped, her volume still teetering on hysteria. “You’ll kidnap me again?” She was louder than a jet engine. 

He felt faint, with the constant sirens in his mind alerting him to impending danger. He was defenseless. 

“You're gonna throw a bag over my head and put me in the trunk?” she hissed. “In front of all these people?”

He swallowed hard, stomach twisting. Skin burning from dirty looks in the crowd. Cheeks flushed red with embarrassment. 

“That’s your weakness, isn’t it?” she speared him, relentless in her attack. “You thrive in the shadows. You can’t survive without the dark! Can’t live where people can see how dirty you are out in the open! You’re worse than a rat; you’re fucking vermin! You act like you’re different, like you’ve got some moral code! But you’re no different than those dirty cops! All you want is to control people!”

His chest heaved while his gaze blackened. He lowered his chin, quietly seething. “Honey. Let’s not talk about this here.”

“I’m taking a cab.”

“You’re not gettin’ in a cab by yourself.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not safe!”

She glowered resentfully, jabbing a finger at him, “You’re not safe!” He blinked rapidly, taken aback by the pure loathing in her eyes. Rage flowed through her veins like lava. He’d never seen her so savagely cruel, like she was savoring the violence in her mouth.

“You call that love?” she demanded, voice cracking with cries. “Devotion? That’s obsession! Slavery!” Her whole body was shaking, eyes ablaze. “Fuck you! You don’t know what it means to love!” 

The twist beneath his ribs was beginning to throb. Nostrils flared, he glared back and opened his mouth to speak. She unleashed another barrage the moment she saw his resistance. 

“You know how to fight, but you don’t know what it means to surrender.” Her voice was quieter but no less vicious. She stalked towards him, emboldened by her anger. “You think I didn’t want to leave home? I wanted to run away! But I didn’t! I stayed... because that’s my mother! I stayed there to protect my sisters!” She paused only for air. “Suffering! Sacrifice! That’s love! How dare you pretend you know anything about it!” 

“I’ve sacrificed,” he bit back, his hardened defensively. His eyes were lit up by the cars that passed by, the glimmer in them unmistakable. “And for the record—that’s not love. Love isn’t suffering. That’s fear.”

She eyed him lividly, words spewing out like boiling poison. “How would you know?” she hissed. “Everyone that ever loved you is dead. And everyone left alive is too scared to tell you the truth.”

He pressed his lips together, lifting his chin. His eyebrows furrowed together, eyes hung solemnly on her seething form. She spotted the tick in his jaw. The way he clenched it tight to keep himself from breaking down in her presence. 

Against her will, the sight soured her rage. She inhaled slowly through her nose, biting down her jaw to keep her lip from wobbling in response.

He sniffed, rubbing his nose briefly. “That feel good?” he said bitterly. He glanced up at her, tears brimming in his eyes. “I bet it did. Now you finally know what it’s like to stand up for yourself.”

He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple sliding up and down as if he was keeping something rancid from crawling up his throat. He sniffed again. Eyes flicked away. “Pretty nice bein’ on the opposite end for a change? Or do you get off on the pain more?”

Her irritation flared; his words sliced into her like a dagger. Her eyes burned with built-up tears. 

“You like that, yeah?” he glowered. His eyes flashed with anger, temper flaring. “Ain't that right?” He hissed through gritted teeth, stalking up until he was inches from her. “You love it when the bad men hurt you. Fuckin’ love being a victim. So much that you’re willing to apologize for it. Admit that you wanna be controlled! You wanna be tied up and kept! It’s your goddamn dirty fantasy, isn’t it?”

His voice reverberated off the buildings before he buttoned his lips. Nostrils flaring, he dropped his gaze to the cement beneath their feet. She glared back, but she wasn’t looking at him. 

Instead, she saw that slut writhing on top of him while she foolishly—stupid, stupid girl— worried for his safety. 

“You’re confusing your fantasies with reality,” she sneered lividly. “You bastard, you don’t even know my name. You don’t know anything about me.”

His jawbone twitched, eyes downcast. “How could I? How could anyone? You never let me in.” He glanced up at her beneath his lashes, bitterness in his gaze. “I don’t know if you won’t because you don’t trust me or because it’s just easier for you to lie. But I am the only one who has laid it all out for you! I’ve told you exactly who I am, and what I am!”

She shook her head, her tone virulent, “And I hate all of it.” 

The viciousness of her tone gave him pause. The sweet girl in the coffee shop was gone. Her humanity was ripped from her cells. He stood in horrified awe. Completely aghast and wondering who would have destroyed her like this. Who on Earth had the power to tear apart a soul the way hers had been?

“You were right, Peter,” she softly declared. “Your aunt and uncle didn’t deserve to die like that.” All the tears had drained from her eyes; the remnants dripped from her chin. Her quivering lip shook them loose. “But you do.”

The killing blow. That’s all he needed to hear in order to posit his answer. 

He had been the one to kill her. To break her spirit. Tear apart her soul. He just hadn’t realized it until now.

He heard the roar of a familiar V8 engine. Glancing over, still slightly glazed from the raw energy of their fight, he saw his Basalt Black Porsche Spyder pulling up to the curb. It stopped several paces away, high gloss shine glittering in the streetlights. It was a stunning jewel proclaiming his accomplishments, none of which he could immediately recall—or give a shit about.

Most of the faces on the sidewalk were now pointed away from them, but Peter could hear the cruel things they whispered under their breaths. Maybe they were right.

The valet popped out of the driver's side, smartly avoiding even a glance towards the couple. He disappeared, didn’t even wait for a tip. 

Peter stared at the ajar door, reeling with hot emotions and dreading the next fight ahead.

“Get in the car, Honey,” he muttered darkly. Any ounce of kindness or patience had evaporated.

“Fuck off.”

He flashed rageful eyes at her. “I’m not tellin’ you again. Get. In the car.”

She narrowed her eyes and scoffed at his empty threat. “You gonna have me whacked, Boss?”

He tilted his head. Glowered at her for several moments. “Of course not.” His tone was calm and his eyes gentle, a shocking contrast to his livid demeanor moments before. He strolled towards her until she was within arm’s length.

“I’m gonna let you go,” he said matter-of-factly. “Gonna let you run. Get as far away from me as you can, until I’m nothin’ but a bad memory. I’m gonna let you go free. Let you believe that you really won this time.” Like a feather, he drifted closer, stopping inches from her ear. He whispered icily, “Then I’m gonna hunt you down.” 

She flicked her gaze to his. His eyes were black, possessed by rage and whatever other evil lived inside his soul. “And I will bring you back. In handcuffs, if I have to. In chains.” He leveled his gaze at her, speaking in a hushed tone. “You think I’m scary now? You think I’m the bad guy? No. You haven’t seen me bad, Honey. You haven’t seen me angry.”

Her expression was stone. The threat lingered in the air, but she didn’t respond. He doubted she lacked the courage to do so. She likely didn’t have the energy.

She simply didn’t care anymore. 

“I’ve seen all I need to see,” she said calmly, letting out a tired sigh. 

Rolling her eyes, she rounded around him and began strolling towards the car. She walked with an airy gait, floating like a ghost. Untethered to this world. Empty and void of anything resembling life. “Dinner is over,” she bitterly muttered. “And I’m ready to go back to my room now—”

A force collided with her upper back like she took a punch to the spine. Before she could cry out, she was flying backward. 

The car shrank in her gaze. She came to a sudden stop, crashing against the brick wall of Peter’s chest, steel beams wrapping around her. They were both flying through the air, spinning dizzily, until coming to a hard crash on the pavement. 

The air ejected from her lungs as she rolled to her back. Peter’s body covered hers, shielding her.

A bright flash. Blinding light. A blast of heat. 

A shockwave erupted from the sportscar as it exploded into flames.

And then, there was nothing but silence.

Her lungs felt like they were on fire. She choked on methane, her chest trembling from damage. Her eyes fluttered open to see Peter gazing down at her. Doe eyes. Wide and terrified. He was sobbing. She could barely hear him over the ringing in her ears.

“Wake up, baby... Baby, please, please come back to me, wake up wake up, come back, stay with me staywithmeplease staywithme—”

It sounded like she was at the bottom of a well.

On the next inhale, she broke into a coughing fit. The change in pressure of her airways restored some of her hearing, but she was still trapped in a coffee can. The whole world rattled and buzzed around her. 

Peter’s face filled with relief, albeit short. “I got you.” His voice trembled. She was no longer on the ground. She was freezing and soaked, covered in road mud and sleet. She shook against the heat of his chest. Her fingers were icicles, and it was painful to grip his neck.

“I got you,” he repeated. “S’okay. Gonna get us out of here, okay? Just close your eyes for me.”

The bright lights of a bonfire blinded her, and closing her eyes was a welcome relief. Then her stomach pitched, like she jumped off a building. 

She kept her eyes closed. Gripping him close, her nails dug into the leather of his jacket. She was so cold. Like she’d been walking through a blizzard. Could barely feel her toes. What happened to her shoes?

She jostled as she came to a sudden stop. Her head throbbed from the jerking sensation. It was like she’d been in a car crash. Or had gotten hit by a bus.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Peter repeated, terror stretching his voice thin. “Sorry so sorry so sorry I didn’t mean it, I didn’t mean it—”

She felt herself crying, shaking in his hold. The sharp prickle of gravel on the backs of her exposed legs startled her. Dizzied, she blinked up at him in confusion. His gaze was buried within hers. He cradled her close to his chest. 

She was disoriented. Where did the buildings go? Were they on the roof? When did they go upstairs? Had she blacked out?

“Baby, look at me,” he called to her, his voice as gentle as a lake. Her eyes struggled to focus. Her mouth opened, but she couldn’t breathe enough to speak. Choked on the frost in the air. Choked on the taste of blood in her mouth.

Her eyes went wide, gazing up at him as terror settled in. Her brain started to reboot, putting pieces together, but her pulse pounded as the picture came to life. The car blew up. Right in front of her. They had almost died. She had almost died. Peter had almost died.

She sobbed. Cried out his name.

He held her tight, rocking her like a child. “It’s okay,” he whispered soothingly. He dug his arm beneath her knees, elevating her legs while dipping his hold on her back. He was so warm, always warm all the time—practically burning up. She was so cold. 

“You’re okay. You’re gonna be okay. Just breathe.” 

Tearfully, she hiccuped, sucking in big gasps of air. “Pete—”

“Shh, shh,” he cooed. “Breathe for me, baby. Just breathe. Just like you taught me, yeah? In and out. We’re gonna take a moment to breathe.” 

“M’sorry... I’m sorry about everything,” her voice broke over the words. It felt like her tongue wouldn’t move as she wanted it to. “I didn’t mean it—” 

His face was filthy, streaked with tears and horror and blood. He shook his head, touching his nose to her. “It’s okay, baby. Just rest right now, okay?”

“Peter, what happened?” she cried, shuddering as he rocked her. “Wha...?”

“It’s okay, sweetie. S’okay, we just fell. We fell. You-you hit your head... and—fuck, I’m so sorry, this is all my fault—”

“I’m co-cold...”

“Here.” He shucked off his jacket, blanketing her with it. “We gotta get you warm. Just need t’get a good look at you, see where you’re hurt.”

“Di-Did I almost die?”

He winced. Squeezed his eyes closed, like holding back a scream. “No, baby.” He swallowed hard. “No. I was never gonna let that happen. I’m never gonna let that happen, I swear.” His face crumpled as he pressed an agonized kiss to her forehead. “I’m so sorry. I’ll never—I’ll never hurt you again, I swear it. I swear.”

Her face crumpled as he squeezed her body to his chest. She closed her eyes, burying her wet cheeks in the crook of his neck.

He was sorry. So was she.

But not nearly enough. 

Not yet. 

Continue to Part 16

[back to masterlist]

A/N yeeeeeaaaah. originally, i planned for 14 and 15 to be one chapter, but instead, we needed some semblance of joy. for a moment.

thank you so much for everyone that has given me beautiful feedback and notes and fun little ideas for the playlist—I have been going through a mountain of stuff but I appreciate you all so much.

want to be on the taglist for the next one? make sure you reblog!

take care, spider fam

[superman86to99]

Superman: The Man of Steel #36 (August 1994)

"WORLDS COLLIDE" continues! Somewhat out of order, due to the way we're covering this crossover, but let's face it: if you were reading this in the '90s, you probably would have read the issues in some weird order, too (or, more likely, skipped some and been just as confused). So, in a way, we're being faithful to the original reading experience.

Previously in Worlds Collide #1: Rift, a god-like being who thinks the DC Universe and Milestone Media's Dakotaverse are parts of his imagination (meaning he's taking credit for the work of Siegel/Shuster/McDuffie/etc.), grabbed an island populated by thousands of people and just dropped it into the ocean, causing a tsunami that threatened Metropolis. The tsunami has been dealt with (spoilers for Superboy #7, which we haven't covered yet), but now Superman has to break it to his new allies at Milestone's Blood Syndicate that everyone they loved drowned pretty gruesomely. Luckily, Rift emerges from the ocean and saves Superman from that awkward conversation... while musing about destroying Metropolis, too. Well, destroying it even more.

Superman doesn't like that idea, obviously, so he tries to fight Rift, but Rift thinks that a fight scene between a god-like being and a mere superpowered mortal would be pretty boring. So, he summons Superman's closest analogue in the Dakotaverse, Icon, and tells him and Superman they have to fight each other if they don't want Metropolis to go down the toilet too. Rift even blows up the midtown part of Metropolis to prove he means business (but I'm not sure anyone there noticed, considering Metropolis' current state).

So, Superman and Icon start punching each other as hard as they can...

...while trying to direct the fight towards Rift without him realizing it. Meanwhile, Rift sees Lois Lane on a boat and grabs her to tell her he used to be her mailman, Fred Bentson, and compliment himself on doing such a great job creating her. Superman attacks Rift, causing him to drop Lois from a dangerous height (nothing she isn't used to by now, though). Lois is saved by Icon, but Rift realizes he was worried about her, which means she must be real.

Rift reasons that Superman has to be real too... but he doesn't give a crap about who's real or fake anymore. They're all his puppets anyway, and he announces he's gonna "up the ante" on their fight as he transports Superman and Icon to the latter's city, Dakota. TO BE CONTINUED! IN ANOTHER UNIVERSE!

Plotline-Watch:

This issue also features appearances by Superboy, Static, Rocket, Steel, and Hardware. We'll go into more detail on their storylines once we cover their issues, but I want you to know three important things: 1) turns out some scientific knowledge did rub off on Superboy while he was growing up (or being grown) at Cadmus...

...2) Static's full name is Virgil "Electromagnetic" Hawkins, and 3) Steel, like his main inspiration, is also a boxers man (you'll have to wait until another post to find out why he's in his boxers, sorry).

Rift forcing Superman and Icon to fight so their cities don't get destroyed is like a lower-stakes version of the main plot from the DC vs. Marvel crossover (though the stakes are about to get higher). More evidence that they should have included Rift in that crossover, as we were saying in another post's comments.

Jeb-Watch: Rift isn't the biggest villain in this issue, since it also features the return of Jeb Friedman, the ponytailed douchebag who kissed Lois when everyone thought Clark Kent was dead. Don Sparrow says: "God bless Jimmy for giving Jeb the side-eye all readers want to give that loathsome character."

Jeb says he's organizing a charity concert for the homeless people of Metropolis (so, pretty much everyone in Metropolis right now), featuring Jimmy's old would-be rocker friend Babe, whose band Shredding Metal apparently hit the big time. Last time we saw Babe, she had a centuries-old vampire living inside of her. That must have done wonders for her metal singing voice.

The Daily Planet's publisher, Franklin Stern, thinks they should suspend publication because of the "everyone's homeless" thing (plus, their building blew up and stuff), but Perry White refuses to stop putting out the dang paper. Don says: "I like seeing Perry’s commitment to informing the people of Metropolis, even at the risk of financial profit, but it might also explain why the Planet always seems to be on the brink of bankruptcy. Weird to see Lois swearing in that scene."

Whit cameo up there! Also: wonder if that's Alice the intern sleeping in the temporary office, for old time's sake.

Speaking of which, the other Alice in Perry's life (his wife) is volunteering at a medical center in Metropolis. There, she meets Superman's pal Keith the Unlucky (Probably) Orphan, who's trying to reunite another kid with his mom. Keith recently lost his second mother figure, Myra the Orphanage Lady, while Mrs. White lost her son Jerry Luth-- uhh, White some years ago. Hmmm...

The fact that Rift blows up part of Metropolis isn't really acknowledged by the other characters, probably because we all know that, like Paris Island's gruesome fate, it's gonna be undone by the end of the crossover. That makes me think they might as well have gone ahead and made Rift undo Luthor's damage on Metropolis, while at it -- it'd still be kind of a cop out, but I think it would have been a bit more organic than what we actually got.

Shout Outs-Watch:

Rift-sized shout outs to our supporters, Aaron, Chris “Ace” Hendrix, britneyspearsatemyshorts, Patrick D. Ryall, Bheki Latha, Mark Syp, Ryan Bush, Raphael Fischer, Kit, Sam, Bol, Dave Shevlin, and welcome aboard Dave Blosser! Join them (and get extra articles; we have a Byrne Superman-related one coming next week) via Patreon or our newsletter’s “pay what you want” mode!

Also, have you checked out our friends at @fortressofbaileytude recently? They haven't updated their Tumblr in a bit (9 years) but there's some seriously awesome stuff going on at their other sites, like a whole week of fascinating articles about Superman/Doomsday: Hunter/Prey (including the action figures) and holy crap a podcast interview with Mike Carlin! Like us, they're also in BlueSky.

And now, more from the great @donsparrow.bsky.social...

Art-Watch (by @donsparrow):

We start with the cover, and it’s a good one, another piece in the puzzle that makes up this crossover with the Milestone characters.  Our heroes are slightly crowded by all the trade dress graphics, but not excessively so, as the DC and Milestone heroes fly out of a rift.  I always love yellow rim lighting, so it’s a winner for me.

For the most part I’ve found this crossover a bit hard to follow, especially since it has, in certain chapters, barely touched on the already seismic events of the destruction of Metropolis, so it can be hard to know how much we’re supposed to care about it.  While the story has been something of a letdown for me, the art in this issue is not, as Bogdanove and Janke are bringing their best work to this chapter.  Right from the opening splash, with Superman running ahead of various Milestone heroes, we’re off to a dynamic start.

We are so used to seeing Superman flying, it’s a pleasing change to see him running, especially when he’s drawn so well, in all his Shuster/Fleischer studios looking glory.  Only a couple pages later, we get another poster-worthy image, also a full page splash, of Superman soaring through the clouds toward the reader.  I especially like the white halo effect around Superman’s edges, defining his torso in front of his cape.  It may not be realistic, but man, does it pop.  As Superman surveys the damage on Paris Island, there’s a treasure trove of Easter eggs, that are worth the research.  Under the water, Superman finds himself at the cross-streets of Vesey Avenue and Prosser Boulevard.  These are references to real-life former slaves Denmark Vesey, and Gabriel Prosser, who both separately raised insurrections against slavery with deadly consequences.  [Max: I did not know that! In my ignorance, I kinda wondered if they were the names for Milestone creators...]

There’s also a reference to “Big Otto’s”, a Polish soul food restaurant.  At first I thought this was a shout out to famed comic writer Otto Binder, but Wikipedia informs me Binder was of Austrian descent, not Polish.  So maybe it’s just a gag, as it’s hard to imagine the Polish form of Soul Food.

Our first look at Rift, the villain of the piece, is a real showcase for the colouring techniques of this age, with very little of his form defined by the black lines of the rest of these pages, giving a bright, glowing look to his shape.

With Icon’s flowing cape, Bogdanove seems born to draw the character, and it’s hard to think of a time the character looked better.  Hardware also looks great in these pages, but he’s overshadowed artwise by the great penumbra image of Steel on page 16, which is just a terrific drawing.

The image of Superman and Icon speeding toward Rift, who is menacing Lois Lane is a good one, and it’s fun to see her caught by someone other than Superman for a change as Icon is the one who makes the grab here.

SPEEDING BULLETS:

Nice to hear Babe Tanaka and Shredding Metal mentioned, if not shown here.

Speaking of “shown here” it’s odd that they have Ron Troupe in this scene without him speaking at any time. [Max: He hates Jeb so much that he can't even speak. I sympathize.]

Is Jimmy being sarcastic, or does he think that a concert is really a good idea?  I’m betting on the latter, but I’d say a concert would be pretty low on the priority list at that present moment.

Static and Superboy make a very dynamic teen team, and wouldn’t be out of place on a Saturday morning cartoon together.  [Max: Superboy and His Amazing Friends, co-starring Static and Rocket! I believe they did appear together in Young Justice, but that show doesn't sound very Saturday morning-ish...]

It’s interesting that Superman’s Milestone counterpart is named Icon, since, many years later, Ra’s Al Ghul adopts that nickname for Superman himself, the Man of Steel version of Ra’s’ insistence on calling Batman exclusively “Detective”.  “Icon” is an absolutely terrible fit to describe Superman, essentially meaningless, but that issue is beyond the '86 to '99 timeline, and handled by a writer whose work on Superman I hated, so the less said the better. 

Is the Alice who is washing dishes, and who meets Keith and Lucan the same Alice that works at the Planet?  It’s hard to tell without her glasses, but she has a similar body shape. [Max: C'mon, Don, that's Alice White! How could you forget such a memorable character... who, based on our tags, hasn't appeared since 1992?]

I can’t find much information on Lucan.  His name seems so unusual that I wondered if he’s a regular character or something from the Milestone stories, but I haven’t unearthed much.  His design looks similar to a character from the cartoon, Richie Foley, but under the name Lucan I can only find references to Shining Knight or a character in Image’s Invincible. [Max: The DC wiki doesn't even list him in this issue, so I'm gonna assume he was a one-time character and an excuse for Keith to talk to Alice... but then again, the wiki doesn't list Keith or Alice either.]

I still can’t believe the cosmic power behind this storyline is a nebbishy mailman.  

[tdciago]

Tiresias, Actaeon and Gator's Oedipus Complex

This post will contain some spoilers for episodes after 5.3. In case you haven't already noticed, season 5 has been drowning in bathroom references. Dot lures Donny Ireland to the master bathroom to attack him with fire, then attacks him again in the restroom of the Gas 'n Go with frozen water, causing him to slip to his death by hitting his head on the toilet.

Roy relaxes "in moist repose" in his hot tub, and later perches on the closed toilet as his twin daughters take a bubble bath. He mentions a law that forbids horses from sleeping in bathtubs. Dot has to sponge her pits in Lorraine's commode. Wayne tells Indira he threw up in the downstairs commode. Danish tells Wayne, "Broke his skull in the commode of a filling station." Witt says, "I'm guessing there was a perp in the commode?" Dot attacks Gator's buddy Pace with a toilet tank lid during the Halloween home invasion.

Gator stops at the Gas 'n Go to "drain the snake," and Roy calls Donny "the guy with his head in the toilet." When Mama Munch investigates the noise upstairs, we see the bathroom as she walks down the hall, and it remains in the left side of the shot as we discover Munch in the rocking chair. Later, an overhead shot tracks from that bathroom to the bedroom. The description of the first episode of season 5 notes, "A series of unexpected events lands Dot in hot water and she is plunged back into a life she thought she left behind." In episode 5.3, Witt reads a newspaper story that finds Gator "in hot water" again. Bathrooms seem like dangerous places. Movies like "The Shining" and "Psycho" have depicted bathrooms as especially threatening for women, but this season finds them just as treacherous for men. I am reminded of a scene from "Jurassic Park" in which a female T-Rex (they were ALL female) kills a guy named Donald on the toilet. And, as Gator points out, Dot's a bird, and birds used to be...dinosaurs. My recent post on Tiresias reminded me that there are two myths from Greek mythology that involve unfortunate men seeing a goddess bathing naked, and being punished for it. The first is Tiresias himself, who, in one account, is blinded by Athena for the transgression of seeing her naked. The other incident involves the hunter Actaeon, who stops at a spring to cool off, only to see Artemis (Diana) naked as she bathes with her nymphs. As punishment, she splashes Actaeon with water, turning him into a stag. He is then chased and torn apart by his own hunting dogs, who don't recognize their master. Remember: Roy is present as his twin daughters bathe. Do the daughters represent these two goddesses? Gator has been likened to Oedipus. So, what if, as a teen, he saw Nadine bathing naked, setting off a sexual attraction to his (step)mother? It seems as though Munch, the Tiresias truth-sayer of this season, is grooming Gator to be the new Tiresias. If the episode title "The Useless Hand" refers to the Tennyson poem "Tiresias," then Munch breaks Gator's wrist to simulate that idea. Dante places Tiresias in the circle of hell with fortune tellers and false prophets, whose heads are turned backwards as punishment, so they can never have foresight again. And Gator wears his sunglasses on the back of his head. If I'm right about the gruesome accident in 5.4 being the woman's head getting twisted around like the Mayor of Halloweentown, then that's another reference to Tiresias. Tiresias also had the gift of augury, meaning that he could hear the future in the songs of birds, and Dot is compared to a bird. And certainly Gator being blindfolded fits with the story of the blind Tiresias. It's interesting that, in the 16th century flashback, the priest is filmed with his head centered against antlers on the wall, so he looks like a man turning into a stag. Could Bryn's transgression have been similar to Actaeon's? There will be a reproduction of a Velazquez painting used in season 5, in the scene with Lorraine at a restaurant, of Cardinal-Infante Ferdinand dressed as a hunter. Wikipedia notes that he is supposed to represent Actaeon in this painting. Nadine is an anagram of Dianne, a variation of Diana. If Gator and Nadine are connected by "hot water," that would explain at least half of Gator's comparison to Oedipus, and it would go a long way toward explaining all the bathroom/water references this season.

Photos: https://imgur.com/a/nKFYMUa Actaeon: https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Actaeon Cardinal-Infante Ferdinand as a Hunter, by Velazquez: https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cardinal-Infante_Ferdinand_of_Austria#/media/File%3ADiego_Vel%C3%A1zquez_-_Retrato_del_Cardinal-Infante_Fernando_de_Austria.jpg Fargo: This Useless Hand! https://www.tumblr.com/tdciago/735839243983896577/fargo-this-useless-hand?source=share Fargo: It's a Twister! https://www.tumblr.com/tdciago/735299222722740224/fargo-its-a-twister?source=share

[finalgirlkateausten]

Grace + “I feel you, no matter what”

since this is going to be a whole Ordeal of a fic, I thought I would post the moodboard for it here 👻 CW for injury, brief mention of blood, and references to unhealthy relationship dynamics

"Grace!" She's in the master bathroom, dabbing neosporin on the superficial cuts on her knuckles. The one on the side of her hand is deeper, though, and when she pulls the wad of folded toilet paper away again, dark red blood soon oozes down her wrist. She curses as another few drops join the stain on her jeans. "Grace, what the hell happened?" She looks up as her husband appears in the doorway, panicked in a rather endearing way. From the way he'd been yelling for her, she guesses he can answer his own question. "Punched a mirror," she says with a shrug. Charles gapes at her, shaking his head slightly before he steps closer to her, grabbing the hand towel from his side of the sink and pressing it against the gash on her hand. "Yeah, I saw," he mutters. "What'd you do that for?" When she tries to answer, just thinking about it makes her throat feel like it's closing, so she does some square breathing instead, staring over Charles' shoulder. His free hand is warm on her thigh, his thumb stroking back and forth over the denim of her jeans. "Gracie," her husband asks, "what's the matter?" She leans forward, resting her chin on his shoulder. His hand moves to her hip. "Midterms are gonna be brutal this year," she mumbles. It's his turn to sigh at her. "I'm gonna need a little more than that." "Did I ever tell you the full story, of the one and only time I dated on the campaign trail?" She reaches her good hand up to the back of his neck, her fingers scratching through his hair. "Uh, just that he was older than you, and he was a dick," Charles answers. She can hear the trepidation in his voice. "He was also married," Grace admits, her cheeks flaming. "And I should've known better, but--" the old humiliation is threatening to drown her again, and her words fail her mid-sentence. "I recovered from what he did. I moved on. Somehow." "That was so long ago," Charles murmurs, still confused. He hasn't put the pieces together, and why should he? A lot of people have spent a lot of time and money ensuring it's not an easy connection to make. "Doesn't feel like it," Grace huffs. "Not now that he's running for senate."

↣ now that i'm grown, i'm scared of ghosts

[elizaviento]

Green on the Vine — Strawberry Wine (Part 14 of ?)

(Stardew Valley — Shane/Female Farmer/OC)

This chapter is rated NSFW — 4084 words. Blow job and come swallowing amid some wholesomeness. lmfao.

(FYI: Additional chapters of Green on the Vine — Strawberry Wine can be found in the Stardew Valley Fic Masterpost link in my blog description.  Or, you can click the #green on the vine strawberry wine tag in this post, within my blog, to access all additional chapters.)

*****

Shane spent every step back toward the ranch replaying his evening with the farmer, looping specific moments over and over until he was sure they'd imprint on his soul like a fresh brand, raw and searing. 

"I love you."

Had she really said the words, or had his desperate sense of longing manifested them from thin air and embedded each syllable into his ear canal like an intangible specter? It was hard enough to reconcile his unabated self-loathing with the reality of Kristen presenting him with a bouquet. He recalled learning of the saccharine tradition among Pelican Town shortly after he and Jas had moved in with Marnie. He'd scoffed and declared it cheesy, confident that he'd never indulge in such a mortifying display. Even while he planned to purchase one at week's end, he wondered if Kristen would laugh and call him a stupid sap. 

She would never do that. Just because you despise yourself doesn't mean you get to shove those insecurities onto her , he thought as he kicked a rock in his path and watched as it skittered into the tall summer grass. 

It all seemed so surreal in a way that Shane couldn't describe. He wasn't dumb enough to believe that fairy tale romances exist. Hell, every relationship he'd witnessed or been a part of had folded like a house of cards, with the exception of one — Yana and James. If any two people truly loved one another, it was them. Jas was proof of such love, inheriting the best parts of each of them, nurturing their essence even while what remained of their physical bodies merged with the earth, unrecognizable. Ashes to ashes; dust to dust.

Bullshit. They shouldn't have died, and no amount of poetic blather will make it okay. They deserved better. Jas deserves better…

Recognizing the infinite void he threatened to spiral into if he kept dwelling on things he couldn't change, Shane felt the seductive pull of some invisible thread guiding him toward a path etched with his footsteps over the years. The ranch was in sight, and those footprints nearly glowed, leading from the front stoop directly toward the faded oak door of the Stardrop Saloon. How many times had his fingers curled around the iron handle and pulled that door open to the aroma of marinara sauce and melted cheese? How many times had he drowned his traitorous memories under foam that bellowed over the rim of a frosted mug? How many times had he spewed them into a bucket, a toilet, Marnie's kitchen sink, his own bed? 

You're three days completely sober, Shaney boy. You can stretch it to four. You can do whatever you put your mind to.

Her voice echoed within his skull, almost as clear as a bell. Though, Yana had never seen him at his worst. She didn't have the opportunity to find him passed out on lake docks in lonely forests in the middle of the night. She didn't have to witness him guzzling cans upon cans of Joja brand clearance beer while he sloppily played James' favorite first-person shooter alone. And she certainly didn't have the misfortune to find him neglecting her precious daughter in favor of spending nearly every evening at some small town saloon where everyone surely despised him.

Shame burned the tips of his ears as these thoughts plagued him, especially when he realized that he was glad Yana wasn't alive to discover the deadbeat he'd become. It seemed that Kristen had taken up the torch as his designated babysitter, finding him in every one of those situations and more, drunk off his ass or altogether unconscious. And he'd treated her so horribly in the beginning.  

"Who even are you? Fuck off."

"No, I don't care what your name is. Go tell it to someone who gives a shit."

"Why can't you just ignore me like everyone else?"

Anytime her shock of curly auburn hair caught in his peripheral vision, or when the tinkle of her cute giggle wormed its way to his earshot, or when he noticed her dark brown eyes boring a hole through his head as if she could read his every thought, he wanted to scream. She was nice. Too nice. He'd been convinced she'd been put up to befriending him by Marnie, or she had a fucked up savior complex, and he couldn't decide which one was more unappealing.

He wasn't sure exactly when her presence ceased to feel like nails on a chalkboard or the scrapping of a fork across porcelain, but he could acutely pinpoint the night he'd looked her directly in the eye without forcing a scowl. He'd been standing on the edge of the very lake dock his feet found themselves thudding across now, early fall, a crisp chill nipping at his calves while he chased the bottom of his fifth beer can. One remained, and he'd handed it off to the farmer when she saddled herself up beside him without so much as a word in greeting. He supposed she'd grown weary of his insults but somehow still felt compelled to approach him regardless. He supposed he was glad for that.

The booze and his meandering broody thoughts had loosened his lips, confiding things he'd never said aloud to another human being, wondering if she'd look at him in abject horror. It would have been easier that way. Most people, especially those in Pelican Town, didn't like to ponder anything deeper than a mud puddle or a teardrop overflowing a thimble. If the frustratingly adorable farmer had been so shallow, perhaps he might have drank himself into oblivion by now. Instead, she listened — actually listened — and offered nothing more than her companionship, gulping her beer as if it didn't taste like warm piss on a good day.

"A woman after my own heart."

Pathetic. Shane had hated himself the second the cliché phrase tumbled from his mouth and abandoned her shortly after, standing alone in a halo of golden light from the lantern he'd left behind so she wouldn't be stranded in the dark.

He'd dreamt about her for the first time that night. The finer details had slipped from his mind and rolled down the length of his spine in the form of cold sweat by the time he'd stumbled to the bathroom to vomit. Despite telling the farmer that his liver was begging him to stop, he'd done anything but. The bottle of cheap whiskey he'd stashed above his closet door sang to him — a siren with the sweetest lullaby, promising a moonless night devoid of light or conscious thought. He gave in, slipping into the darkness like aching joints into a warm bath. Relief… alongside her freckled face. 

Night had fully fallen by the time Shane returned to the present, standing at the edge of the lake dock, fireflies twinkling over the water, reminding him of childhood and Marnie convincing him they were tiny fairies. Even then, Shane had wondered why fairies would waste their time in the presence of a little boy when they probably had important fairy business to attend to. He was nothing. He was no one. 

Except, maybe he wasn't. The farmer somehow found worth in him, despite all he'd done to discourage it. And, no matter how hard his self-loathing tried to convince him otherwise, she cared about him. She loved him. 

Suddenly feeling light-headed, Shane swayed slightly before stepping back from the edge of the dock, certain that if he looked down, he'd topple headfirst into the lake. 

You didn't say it back. Why didn't you say it back? She said you didn't have to, but you should have. You should have said it back.

"Shit," he hissed while running a trembling hand down his face. Summer evening humidity and sweat from his walk clung to his skin, coating his dry palm. A question formed in the back of his mind, the words swirling like a tornado around him while held captive within its tranquil eye.

Do you love her?

The question had never been posed before, so he'd never explicitly ruminated on the answer, even if its certainty had existed for longer than he’d realized. It had crept up on him, slow and undetected, biding its time while sprinkling pinches of adoration here, a drop of dependence there. Until the day he found her bloody and semi-unconscious in her kitchen, terrified that if he lost her, he'd lose the last piece of him that he considered human. 

Do you love her?

Yes. He did.

❦❧🍓❦❧

"Shane, is that you?" Marnie shouted over the cacophony of upbeat bubblegum pop and Jas' voice singing along to the lyrics at the top of her lungs. 

"Yeah, Marn, it's me!" he yelled, shutting the front door and greeting her with a half-hearted wave. Her frizzy hair was tied up in a high ponytail while she stirred a pot of something steamy on the stove, seemingly unphased by the ear-splitting racket threatening to crack his skull like a ball pein hammer.

"Good! Dinner will be ready in a bit! Go fetch Jas?"

He nodded, unable to muster up the energy to yell back at her when he knew he had to step into the lion's den known as his goddaughter's bedroom. When he saw the door was closed, he winced. How much louder could it possibly be inside ?

When he tapped the dancing little girl on the shoulder to get her attention, wiggling in front of a stereo that used to belong to her father, she launched upward like a rocket, a blood-curdling scream slicing through the music.

"Uncle Shane!" she squealed when she swiveled and caught him laughing, playfully slapping him on the arm while he reached over her to turn the volume down. "You scared me!"

"Uh-huh," he said, folding his arms as he stared down at her. "Yasmeen, how many times have I told you that you'll blow the speakers if you keep turning it up that loud?"

She wrinkled her nose at the use of her real name, knowing that he meant business this time. "Okay. I'm sorry," she mumbled, fiddling with the hem of her dress. "I won't do it again. Promise."

"You'll also damage your hearing, just like —" He cut himself off, biting his tongue before the remainder of the thought could be vocalized. 

"Just like what?" she asked, her large doe-like eyes staring up at him, brimming with curiosity. 

Unsure what compelled him, he placed a hand on top of her hand and continued. "Just like your mom, kiddo. She used to listen to music so loud her ears would ring. Drove your dad nuts."

"Oh," she replied, her face drooping so suddenly that Shane mentally cursed himself for being such an idiot. But she surprised him, as she often did, by reaching up to remove his hand from her head and clasp it in hers, tiny in comparison. "Will you tell me about the music she liked sometime?

"Yeah, I will." Rapidly blinking his eyes to keep the traitorous tears at bay, he scooped her up and carried her to the kitchen.

Dinner consisted of Marnie's famous spaghetti and meatballs, Jas' favorite, and the usual conversation. Shane was content to listen, mainly when Jas spoke about school and the things she'd learned that day, occasionally challenging her with questions. But the thinly veiled glances from Marnie in his direction indicated she had several questions of her own that he would be obliged to answer. Luckily, she'd kept her lips buttoned until Shane led Jas to bed for the night.

"Uncle Shane," Jas began as she snuggled under the covers and clutched her favorite teddy bear under her arm, "Aunt Marnie said you were at Miss Krissy's farm today."

"Did she?" he asked, tucking the sheets and blanket under her legs and feet, hoping his face didn't betray his unease. 

"Mmhmm," the little girl confirmed between gaping yawns. "Do you think I can visit the farm sometime? I wanna pet the kitty."

"You have lots of kitties here," Shane said, unsure why the thought of Jas romping around his girlfriend's farm put a sticky lump in his throat. Especially when he'd just agreed to move the both of them in just hours before.

"I know. But none of them are white."

"That's true," he relented, forcing himself to relax. It would be best to get Jas acclimated to the new environment sooner rather than later, right?

"So can I?"

"Yeah, kiddo. I'll tell Kriss you wanna come over soon. But now, you need to sleep," he said, smoothing her hair from her face while another vortex-like yawn overtook her, eyelids fluttering and sealed shut by the time he softly closed the door behind him.

"So —" Marnie spoke as he meandered back into the kitchen, anticipating her probing questions as if he were about to be presented in front of a firing squad. "Lewis told me someone bought a bouquet from Pierre earlier today."

"That's interesting," he replied, skirting past her to pull open the fridge and pluck a can of Joja Cola from the top shelf. Only then did he realize he'd forgotten the damn bouquet at Kristen's, discarded on the tea table by her front door. 

"Indeed, it is. He doesn't know who bought it, though. He was collecting taxes today, and Pierre's weekly sales manifest only shows quantity, which I guess makes sense. Why would he need to keep track of who buys what?" She crossed her arms over her chest, her eyes slashing through him like lasers as she attempted to discern his inscrutable expression. The crack of the soda can as he pulled back the tab caused her to flinch and then roll her eyes.

"Pierre didn't just tell him?" he asked, almost bored as he sipped his soda and sat in one of the kitchen chairs.

"No," she replied, frustration creeping into her tone.

"That's shocking, considering how much everyone loves to shove their noses in other people's business. Guess I had the wrong idea about Pierre."

"Shane." She approached and stood directly beside him, arms still crossed and clearly incredulous by his blase attitude. "Were you really not going to tell me that you bought a bouquet for Krissy? We're family, and I want to be happy for you. Did she say yes?"

He took another deep gulp from the soda can, allowing her to flounder in uncertainty a few seconds longer before finally replying, "I didn't buy it."

"What?" Her face fell so fast it was almost comical, and Shane bit his lip to keep from smiling. "Then who?"

"She did." He wasn't disappointed when his aunt's expression morphed from sullen to confused to cautiously delighted within a second. When she opened her mouth again, he cut her off before she could ask if Kriss had bought the bouquet for someone other than him. "I said yes. Guess I got a girlfriend now."

"Well, what do you know…" Marnie said, her eyes already swimmy and red around the edges. "That girl always did have spunk." Without another word, she grasped her nephew by the shoulders and yanked him up into a rib-crushing hug, pressing her wet cheek into the hollow of his throat. "I am very happy for you, Shane," she mumbled as he awkwardly patted her on the back. He honestly hadn't expected such an emotional reaction and wondered if Marnie had doubts about his ability to function in a stable relationship. If so, he couldn't exactly blame her.

"Uh — thanks," he said when she finally released and leveled him with serious eyes.

"When you tell Jas, be honest. She's too smart for her own good and picks up on everything anyway." The implication of that statement wasn't lost on Shane, and he shifted his eyes to the side, not particularly interested in discussing her weird "secret" relationship with Lewis.

"Yeah, Marn. I know. She's just like her mom."

The slightly uncomfortable conversation wrapped up with Marnie capturing him in another hug before she took a phone call from someone with a familiar male voice. Shane gestured that he was heading to bed, resigned to the fact that everyone in the Valley would be aware of the newest official couple in town by morning.

A text from the farmer lit up his damaged phone screen just as he switched off his bedside lamp, and a thrill shot through his body like a low jolt of electricity.

You left your bouquet here.

With a guilty sigh, he tapped out a reply, the pads of his fingers sliding over the cracks. 

I know. Sorry. You gonna break up with me?

He unconsciously held his breath; a small part of him actually worried she might have a change of heart.

No such luck. You're stuck with me for a while. I put the flowers in water so they won't die. Did you leave it so Marnie wouldn't find out?

He supposed that was a fair question. He wasn't blind to his caginess, and neither was she.

No, babe. I told Marnie. I'll tell Jas soon.

Her reply took longer than usual, and Shane found himself chewing on his thumbnail, waiting.

Good night. I love you.

A breath caught in his lungs as the words popped on screen, slightly warped by the cracks but unmistakable, confirming it hadn't been a one-off fluke.

Good night, pretty baby. See you in the morning.

❦❧🍓❦❧

Shane attempted to keep his breathing even while Kristen's tongue swirled around the head of his dick, her deep chocolate eyes staring up at him, nails digging into the back of his thigh as she anchored it for leverage. Even without the use of her other hand, she bobbed her head effortlessly, hollowing her cheeks for the perfect amount of stabilizing suction, holding him captive in many more ways than one. 

He'd arrived at 5 am and found her waiting for him outside the coop with a cup of coffee so strong it could wake the dead. Considering he hadn't had a drink since Friday, he'd felt surprisingly light on his feet. The usual deep thirst that drenched every cell in his body still made itself known, especially in the quiet moments when he was alone, and his mind wandered and dwelled on intrusive thoughts. ( What if this is all an elaborate prank? She can't really be this into you. She'll change her mind. They always do.) The burn at the back of his throat, the trembling of his hands, the cold sweat that shone on his forehead and pooled in the dip under his nose. But those troublesome symptoms and the aching thirst itself became slightly less prominent when he was with the farmer. Like now, with his cock fully lodged in the warmth of her pretty mouth.

He wasn't exactly sure how he'd ended up with his shorts and boxers around his ankles while leaning against the wall next to the front door. He'd fully intended to only give her one quick kiss after he'd tended to the hens and told her he'd return in the evening. But she was persuasive, and he quickly gave in the second her deft fingers pulled down the zipper and smuggled their way inside, whispering that she wanted to make sure he wouldn't forget her while he stocked rows and rows of shelves with imitation food products. The notion was absurd. She was constantly on his mind, lurking around every nook and cranny, having burrowed into the gray matter of his brain like a parasite he would carry for life. 

"Pretty baby…" He threaded his fingers through her unruly hair, curls wrapping around each digit, creating the illusion of crimson waves across his flesh. His stomach was beginning to tighten along with his balls. "Honey, I'm gonna come if…" He trailed off into a deep groan when she shifted below him, grasping the shaft of his cock in her hand to stroke him in time with the movements of her mouth, her tongue trailing slick pleasure in its wake. Of course, her goal was to make him come, and her quickening pace proved that assumption correct. He was dangerously close.

"Do it in my mouth," she demanded in the few seconds she released him to speak. "Come right down my throat."

"Holy fucking shit," he whined, gripping at her scalp as she laved the flat of her tongue from the base of his shaft to the tip, pulling back his foreskin to swirl her tongue again, a maneuver that made him weak in the knees. "Are you sure, babe?" She simply relaxed the back of her throat and nestled her nose in his pubic hair in response.

Never in his life had a woman willingly offered to let him come in her mouth. He'd done it once by accident when he was 18, and the girl gagged before storming out of the back seat of his car with her shirt and bra clutched to her chest. He'd heard of women enjoying such an act during bar crawls with drinking buddies but always chalked it up to male bravado, convinced they were probably making it up to win the latest dick-measuring contest. But now, here he was, a beautiful woman on her knees before him, requesting the very thing he thought was a myth.

"Kristen," he croaked, brushing his fingers across her forehead. "Look at me." Her dark eyes rolled upward to lock with his, even while maintaining a steady rhythm with her hand and mouth, captivating him. "Fuck yeah, you're gonna make me come. You're so beautiful." The praise poured from his lips like sweet wine, effortless. Every minute he spent with her, the less he second-guessed himself. She made him feel powerful and wanted and desired. Like a heady drug that dulled his anxiety while somehow heightening his self-confidence to levels unheard of, and he was quickly becoming irrevocably addicted.

She hummed in appreciation, switching up her technique, taking his cock deeper, nudging the back of her throat in preparation while Shane clutched the curls at the crown of her head. His stomach tightened, and his thighs quivered, forcing him to lean heavily on the wall, hoping his knees wouldn't give out. 

"Shit, babe — are you ready?" His gasps seemed to echo within the darkened living room, even as the first rays of sunlight peeked through the curtains at his left. It suddenly occurred to him that anyone could glace through the crack at the right angle and catch him receiving the blowjob of a fucking lifetime. The somewhat perverse thought helped tip him over the edge, intense pleasure ripping through him on a wave of euphoria that softened his tense muscles, threatening to spill him to the floor while his cock pulsed against the back of his girlfriend's eager throat.

"Mmm," she hummed once she'd swallowed and clumsily wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "Guess I don't need breakfast now."

He weakly snorted in response as he watched her stand and walk toward the kitchen for a glass of water she'd left sitting on the counter.

"I dunno if I'll ever get used to the shit you say," he remarked, pulling up his boxers and shorts. Once his belt was buckled, he slipped his phone from his pocket to check the time. 

"Told you I wouldn't make you late," she said, approaching him with a seductive sway to her hips. When she was close enough, he didn't hesitate to tug her in for a parting kiss, emotion swelling in his chest that he still felt hesitant to speak aloud.

"I won't doubt you again." He was slowly drifting back to earth but didn't feel the usual weight that rode his shoulders like an unwanted phantom, tethered to him since childhood. "Hey, um —" He faltered, uncertain if this was the right time. When she regarded him with a questioning smile, he shouldered on. "Jas wants to come over. You think Saturday is a good day?"

"Yeah, that's perfect!"

Her enthusiasm — how her face instantly lit up, causing her eyes to sparkle in a stray sliver of sunlight — melted the anxiety seizing his lungs, and he exhaled, relieved.

She captured him in another kiss, much more passionate than he'd expected, before shoving him out the front door. Seconds later, he heard her ancient record player roar to life, Frank Sinatra flying him to the moon, even if it was just a Joja Mart.

[leftistfeminista]

U.S. Woman Details Chile Torture

By Jack Anderson

Without a murmur of formal protest from the United States government, an attractive, 31-year-old American art teacher was brutally tortured last month by Chilean air force officers in an insect-infested prison.

The young university instructor was threatened with death, forced to ride with breasts bared through the streets and thrown on a bed where she was menaced with rape. She was subjected to obscene questioning, catapulted down stairs while blindfolded, deprived of water, denied sleep, and forced to stand until she almost collapsed.

When 13 days of this treatment failed to draw a false confession from her, the "officers and gentlemen" of Chile's air force told her she was being taken to an infamous torture center where prisoners were known to have been given electrode shocks on the most sensitive parts of their bodies, stretched on racks, and immersed in human excrement.

Faced with a journey from which she might not return, she finally broke and signed a prepared pack of lies on Oct 24.

The Chilean junta leader, Gen. Augusto Pinochet, has assured the world that torture no longer exists in Chile. Yet this incredible story of torture by a regime now seeking $85 million a year in U.S. aid has been sworn to by Amy Conger, now in Chicago.

Except for a partially paralyzed thumb, the art history teacher, whose specialty is the gentle 15th Century painting school of Fra Angelico, appears to be recovering.

In long talks with my associate, Les Whitten, and in extensive affidavits, she has spoken eloquently of her agony.

She was brutally arrested Oct. 11 about 7 p.m. by four men in street clothes with submachine guns," one affidavit states. She was told she might be killed, then was tightly handcuffed and literally thrown into a car.

During the ride, one of the officers pulled her sweater over her head. "Needless to say, I felt conspicuous passing through the city bare-breasted," she said.

Although she was blindfolded throughout much of her 13-day interrogation, she was able to learn that several of these air force officers had studied in the United States. She identified two of them as "Lt. Cbl. Ceballos" and "Col. Horacio Ibaiza." Ceballos spoke excellent colloquial English, she said.

Her relentless questioners sought to wrench from her a confession that she knew "undesirable" Chileans. This, she said, could refer to almost any of the 44 percent of Chileans who had supported the late Chilean Marxist president, Salvador Allende.

"They threatened me with rape and to send me to the Direccioifde Inteligencia Nacional, a military group specializing in brute physical torture, particularly electric shock, the rack, choking or drowning in excrement."

At one point, she was led blindfolded to the head of a stairs. She plunged down 10 steps and thereafter was in fear whenever she was being led blindfolded through the corridors of the Academia de Guerra prison.

"I stood for hours and hours against a wall," she attested. "They gave me two cups of water each day to drink, 900 calories of food, a perfect starvation diet.

"The bathroom had running water for only about 15 minutes a day to serve the needs of about 60 prisoners. The unflushable toilets were teeming with flies and brimming with great quantities of blood and excrement.

"The three stalls were calf-high with newspaper which had served as toilet papers," she swore. All around her, guards were nervously playing and experimenting with submachine guns, cocking them, changing to automatic, and, ironically, a cassette player (constantly) repeated Joan Baez's 'Happy Birthday.'"

Other prisoners were tortured while she was blindfolded, she said. "I heard horrible, prolonged screams in the night ... I learned to peek around my blindfold ...

"I saw two officers slugging and kicking an 18-year-old ... I heard his sharp, quick screams of 'No!' and afterwards, long cries of 'No,' like a dying animal. Finally, he confessed to anything they suggested." Afterward, he was dragged off to the dreaded Direccioifde Inteligencia Nacional for still more torture.

She saw the youth when he returned, his chest covered in black and blue marks and with inflamed red points. His face was totally without color, white as plaster—it seemed anemic because of blood loss. He had a deep cut about five inches long, open and unbandaged on the inside of his left arm, she said in her affidavit.

Finally, she said, she "confessed" falsely to knowing "subversives." At about the same time, she said, word of her arrest reached the American consul in Santiago, Fred Purdy. He began working for her freedom right away, but it took him 30 hours before the Chileans were willing to release her.

By that time, "the nerve in my left thumb (was) disabled due to the tightness of handcuffs ... I had acquired an impressive vaginal discharge, I was somewhat black and blue, incredibly filthy, badly dehydrated, nine pounds lighter and with protein and cholesterol levels abnormally low."

Shortly thereafter, she left Chile. The United States has yet to make a formal protest, as was made in the case of American citizen Fred Morris, who was tortured at about the same time in Brazil.

1974, United Feature Syndicate

[nolanhollogay]

did you plan on ever telling me ?

chad finds out about vincetate 😳

+

Stab 4 was playing on Tate's laptop, lulling him to sleep. It was his comfort movie, his go to when he had a bad day. And he really needed it on a day like today.

His day had started with him peeling his dad off the bathroom floor, puke surrounding the toilet and staining his t-shirt. It took half an hour to convince him to clean himself off, that he didn't deserve to wallow in his own filth and self pity.

Then, once he'd gotten him into bed, his mom called and they ended up getting into an argument. He couldn't remember exactly what it was about. Probably her inability to be a good mom, or express basic human empathy. That was their go to, when they tried to talk about anything, really.

After that, he went to the convenience store, only for his bike to get stolen.

But that wasn't all bad. He'd managed to get it back by way of Vince seeing the guys who stole it and threatening them with his stupid switch blade.

That was a curse disguised as a blessing, however, because Vince demanded some sort of repayment for his "heroic act", meaning Tate now owed him a favor. He didn't want to owe someone like Vince anything, let alone something as open ended as a favor.

It was like the universe was testing how many small things could happen to him before he'd break.

So, Stab 4 it was.

He was buried under his comforter as he watched lightning strike Ghostface's grave. He could hear his dad snoring on the couch, almost drowning out the audio of the movie.

Ghostface's glove covered hand, holding a knife, shot up from the dirt, as someone knocked on his window.

Glancing over, he saw Chad crouched down, waiting expectantly for Tate to let him in.

Tate hopped to his feet, unlocking the window, and watched him climb through. "Why didn't you use the door?"

"Didn't want to wake up your dad. And it's more fun this way," he said with a shrug.

Tate laughed, scooting over so he could climb into the bed. "What's up? You didn't say you were coming over."

Chad scoffed. He stole Tate's bag of chips from his hand, grabbing a handful. "I need a reason to come over?"

He didn't meet Tate's eyes as he said it.

"What're you hiding?" Chad purposefully moved his eyes to the screen, watching the landline ring. "Hmm? What are you not telling me, cariño?"

Tate didn't speak Spanish often, because he never really had any reason to. He only used it on rare occasions; with Tara because they both wanted to make sure they didn't lose the ability to speak it, and when he wanted Chad to give him his way. A carefully placed turn of endearment and he melted like ice cream in the summer.

"It's not what I'm not telling you, it's what you're not telling me..." Chad said before he shoved a handful of Doritos into his mouth.

Tate laughed again. "What the hell is that supposed to mean? Do I have to answer your riddles three?"

He rolled his eyes, and then with an aggression he never gave to Tate, he explained, "Nancy told me last night that she saw you and Vince Schneider outside of a bar. She said that he was basically eating your tongue."

Tate felt like a kid with his hand stuck in a cookie jar. "Uh–"

"Is it true?" he asked, somehow managing to look extremely upset for a guy with a mouth full of bright orange chips. When Tate didn't immediately respond, didn't immediately say no, he repeated himself. "Is it true, T?"

"I–" The words wouldn't form in Tate's mouth, caught in his throat. He nodded.

Chad's face flickered through emotions, before his expression went blank. "Did you ever plan on telling me?"

"Yeah," Tate replied, honestly. He hated keeping secrets from Chad. It felt like a crime, and he'd never gone more than a day or two before he spilled the beans on whatever he was hiding.

"Then why didn't you?"

Tate pressed his hands to his face. "I don't see why you suddenly care who I'm hooking up with."

"I don't!" Tate rolled his eyes. Chad made an annoyed noise "I don't. I just.. Why him? He's a scumbag. And a creep. And probably a criminal. He carries around a switchblade like an extra in West Side Story!"

Tate laughed and the tension faded, just a little. Tinny screams played from Tate's computer. "I don't know. I just.. I know he's not a great guy but.. He's nice to me. He makes me feel.. wanted. It's nice."

Chad scoffed. "I'm nice to you."

Tate's heart stuttered. He forced a laugh. "Yeah, but, that's different."

Chad took in a breath, eyes lit up with something, opening his mouth to speak. "I–"

Before he could speak, a knock on Tate's door stopped him. They both turned and saw his father standing there. He'd obviously just woken up, because his hair was a disaster and there were lines from the couch on his cheek. "Tater Tot, your mom's on the phone. She said you blocked her number?"

"I don't want to talk to her," Tate said, sour mood flooding his body like venom. Chad made a sad little noise, and rubbed a hand between his shoulder blades.

Tate's dad sighed. "Tate, we've talked about this. You can't just ignore her–"

Tate lied back until he was basically in Chad's lap. "I'll call her later when I want to talk to her. Chad and I are having a movie night."

His dad sent Chad an exhausted look and Chad sent him an apologetic smile in return. He left a moment later, muttering apologies to Tate's mom.

"Get off, you're crushing me," Chad teased, but made no move to push him away.

Tate sent him his best pout. "But I've had such a bad day. A day that only cuddling my bro can help!"

He crawled into Chad's lap, looping his arms around his neck. "Hold me, C! Please?" He squeezed him tight. "Por favor, mi amor?"

Chad grunted, wiggling out of his hold. "You're so fucking annoying," he said, even as he wiggled around to make Tate more comfortable.

"It's why you love me," Tate teased.

Chad's voice was soft, fond, when he said, "Yeah. I really do."

[drrutherford]

Reaction @mobscene-awards​​

╰─▸ ❝Biggest Sass Queen❞ x

He couldn’t be sure, it’d been a few months, but the woman who’s picture flashed onscreen looked nearly identical to the one who’d had the gall to threaten one of his nurses into forced aid of a mobster. A mobster presenting not through the legal doors of the A&E department like every other person in need – but through the backdoor – perpetuating the ever-popular idea that mafiosos were somehow more important than everyone else. Gideon loathed that attitude. Loathed even more the woman’s rude and threatening demands to his staff. If that wass what counted as ‘sass’ these days, then she could flush her awards down the toilet.

And as for the man who went up to accept the award on her behalf – the one he now recognized as Berat thanks to Ayda’s stories, the same one who’d had the gall to make a joke about Lara’s demise months ago – he was proving himself to be every bit as barbaric as the bitch whose trophy he was collecting. After that especially tasteless remark that his family should drown, Gideon got up, excusing himself to the restroom. The Turk could tell it to the back of his head, for all he cared. And after a comment like that, the only thing that would drown were the man’s chances of getting onto said Rutherford Yacht for the after-party.

@nazli-ersan​, @berat-yalaz​

[dhr-deleted]

2023 February - Uploaded

Abby McD. Everything (6KB - One Shot - PG) Two wrongs don't make a right... Perfect As Eden (8KB - One Shot - G) Draco is dying. As he lies in bed, he calls for his granddaughter to tell her his tale--the tale of his own living Grey Lady.

Aleathiel The Price of Harry Potter (52KB - 8 Chapters - R) There are so many fics where Draco turns good because of Hermione. What happens if it's the other way round? Hermione has just lost her family during an attack by Voldemort designed to get Harry. She's extremely confused and one night she meets up with Draco, who offers her a way to bring them back. In response to a challenge.

aliboballi Blurred Lines (222KB - 36 Chapters - R) "Friend?" she asked. He grinned lopsidedly, his blonde hair falling down into his eyes. "I guess I did say that, yeah." "Wow. The mudblood and the Malfoy Prince. No one expected that." he cringed at the term. He didn't actually think of her like that, which she knew now. But no one else did. He was the one she was supposed to confirm as a deatheater and turn in to Lupin for torturing. And for the first time she questioned the Order of the Phoenix.

Alina (RoseDemon) Darkness In My Heart (27KB - 4 Chapters - R) Draco is evil, not misunderstood. With an unexpected ending. Not completely mushy, and be warned that sex in the fic contains elements of S&M.

Aquamarine You've Got Owls! (95KB - 15 Chapters - PG) It's a few years after Hogwarts and Hermione is running her own small Auror firm. When things start to go down hill and the ministry threatens to close her down, she is offered a place in a competing firm with Draco Malfoy. Meanwhile, she's taken up an owl correspondence with the man of her dreams! Who is her secret friend? Based on the Meg Ryan movie "You've Got Mail". (Loads of fluffy humour).

Ara Nothing Else Matters (One Shot - PG-13) Draco is in Azkaban for a crime he didn't commit. The whole story is told for the first time since the Crime when Harry Potter comes to 'visit.' It's a tragic ending to a Draco/Hermione... Enjoy!

Bertie Bott Alone Together (7KB - One Shot - PG-13) 'In the space of a few heart beats, Hermione Granger had forever changed my life, without uttering a single word...Resting my cheek on the top of her head, I finally realize that she and I were meant to be alone…together.' Believe in Love (9KB - One Shot - PG-13) Sequel to "Alone Together."-- 'I believe that we will make it. I believe that we will find a way. I believe that, together, we will conquer all; I believe in love.' Father of the Year (15KB - One Shot - R) 'Lucius Malfoy had no illusions. He knew he was probably the least likely candidate to win Father of the Year, but he had only acted in his son’s best interests. But what if he had been wrong all this time? What if his son didn’t need power or money; what if he only needed her? That was the precise moment that Lucius Malfoy changed. For better or worse, this girl had affected him. She had unknowingly saved a drowning man that had not even known he was drowning...' Must Be Hell Freezing Over (62KB - 8 Chapters - PG-13) His grip tightened protectively around the book. It wasn't that he cared about the thing; for all he cared it could be torn up and used for toilet paper, but Hermione seemed to care a great deal about it. And, well, if it meant so much to Hermione, it was only right that he took care of it for her…right?

Bipolarquirks Contradictus Totalus (150KB - Incomplete - R) It's Draco and Hermione's sixth year at Hogwarts, and it is clear that Voldemort is back. Dumbledore hires a new (and wee bit eccentric) professor to teach a newly created course, Survival Defence Against the Dark Arts, in preparation of the Dark Lord's return. It is this class that serves as a catalyst for the unthinkable. Is it possible for a person to love someone whom he or she used to hate? To Draco and Hermione, this is illogical and impossible, and they would have it no other way! However, as they find out, love is anything but predictable, and far from logical. Witness the effects of Orwellian trinkets, carnivorous mushrooms, giant squids, and that little thing called Slytherin pride ...

Gravidy Afterimage (74KB - 5 Chapters - NC-17) Abandoned as an infant, Draco is raised by Walruses but is tragically clubbed to death by Canadian fur trappers for his furry white pelt (and I mean that in the nastiest, most perverted way possible) and flung into Hell where he meets Hermione the Queen of the Damned and her very gay entourage. Now only a suicidal Tom Riddle and a mad horticulturist named Neville Longbottom can return the passion of ballet to Draco’s heart. Will Draco be Lord of the Dance? Or will Harry Potter die too young. The Beggar-Thief (152KB - 8 Chapters - NC-17) DH compliant until epilogue. Hermione Granger has enough problems without worrying about Pureblood kidnappings and techno-geeks. The last thing she needs is Draco Malfoy breathing down her neck Chosen’s Trial (117KB - 8 Chapters - NC-17) A spell is cast that sparks a devastating chain of events. The world is ending, the dead are awakening. And Draco Malfoy is at the center of it all. Crazy Little Thing Called (28KB - 4 Chapters - PG-13) One-shots and Drabbles on various subjects. Mostly unrelated, mostly light-hearted, many DM/HG, many trio-centric. Beware of crack. Includes "Inlaws, Bylaws and Just Desserts", "Teacher's Pet", "Dungeons and Dragons" and "The Dark Secret" The Crimson Jess (18KB - One Shot - NC-17) The aftermath of the final battle as told by Draco Malfoy Dial G for Granger (60KB - 3 Chapters - PG) Hermione Granger is exploring a plethora of career options, such as lawyer, psychologist, and Supreme Dictator for Life. She’s going to make the Wizarding world a better place, whether they like it or not. Post DH, EWE, humor The God of the Lost (510KB - Incomplete - R) Lost, alone and wandless, Hermione and Draco rely on each other to survive. While back at Hogwarts a war is brewing between Slytherin and Gryffindor. This story was started pre-Ootp. Ootp elements have been added (or not) as seen fit. The Lions of December (48KB - 2 Chapters - NC-17) She calls me Goliath and I wear the David mask. I'd like to believe we could reconcile the past. Resurrect those bridges with an ancient glance. But my old stone face can't seem to break her down. She remembers bridges and burns them to the ground. Stone Dragons (57KB - 3 Chapters - R) Sometimes there are no right decisions. There are only actions and consequences. Hermione's only choice now is who to betray.

malf0y101 Nightcrawlers (129KB - Incomplete - NC-17) Returning to Hogwarts for her eighth year, Hermione Granger is depressed, resentful, and suicidal. That is, until Draco Malfoy presents an enticing offer to keep her alive. Soon after, the two embark on a torture spree of students, professors, and acquaintances while simultaneously engaging in a clandestine and dirty relationship. How long can they keep their game up? What crawls in the night stays in the night.

Mistrus A Year and A Day (Original) (447KB - 53 Chapters - PG-13) It's one thing to marry your enemy but it is completely idiotic to actually fall in love with him. Could it be Stockholm Syndrome? I doubt it. It could have been necessity, I mean I was abandoned by Harry and I felt alone. That must be it. New version here.

Motherof4dragons Bound (Original) (333KB - 42 Chapters - NC-17) Harry. I like to flirt with trouble, and I always get what I want. All it took was a bit of liquor and a playful taunt between my best friend, Draco, and Hermione, my wife. Then what I wanted was them. Together. Bound and beneath me. And it was better than I could’ve imagined. The three of us? We were perfect. Earth-shattering. Addicting. And buckets full of trouble. Now I just have to convince Draco that we are worth fighting for. New version here.

Samhria Blind Love (155KB - 23 Chapters - R) Hermione devotes every summer to her volunteer work at St. Mungo's. This summer will be more different than any other. Draco was in a horrifying accident that causes him to lose his sight. He's assigned a nurse to aid him in things so he can learn to cope without his sight. Guess whose Malfoy's personal nurse? Hermione isn't so thrilled to be taking care of someone

Susie Asparagus Perfection (6KB - One Shot - PG) All perfect moments have to end, when we say good-bye.

TheMourningMadam All Hallows' Eve Fun (36KB - 5 Chapters - R) A collection of five one-shots inspired by aesthetics made by sleepygrimm. Featuring a trick-or-treating Lucius/Narcissa, a vampiric Draco/Hermione, ghost-hunting Draco/Hermione, creature-tracking Harry/Theo and Neville/Pansy visiting a muggle funhouse. All written in pure fun! Includes "A Night of Frivolity", "Mischief in the Mortuary", "Hall of Mirrors", "Three Sisters", "Sanguinary" Captive (48KB - Incomplete - R) noun. /'kap-tiv/ 1. A person who has been taken and held, as of a prisoner of war; 2. An animal that has been confined. "Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars." Post-Hogwarts, dystopian, AU. A dark tale of two people falling in love during a War. Werewolf!Draco. Caught With Honey (15KB - Incomplete - R) "I would rather fight with you than make love with anyone else." Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy know how to fight spectacularly, but can they love even more fiercely? A Clash of Colors (16KB - Incomplete - PG-13) All witches and wizards, from birth saw in shades of grey—pewter, silver, mercury, ash. When the day came that an individual appeared in brilliant shades of violet and peach and gold, if ever, it was a race against Father Time to create a powerful coupling with that hued being. For, if a soulmates' bond was not forged, both individuals' magic would fade into nonexistence. The Divine and the Damned (150KB - Incomplete - R) Draco's world came crashing down when he lost what he loved above all else in this world: his witch. An obliviation story. Sequel to The Princess and the Pariah Fire and Ice (391KB - 33 Chapters - R) She had a fiery personality that drove him wild. He had an icy way about him that chilled her to the core. A simple story of how two broken, completely opposite people fell in love in the aftermath of War. Slow burn Dramione. Re-posting here. A Great Perhaps (67KB - 5 Chapters - R) Hermione convinces Draco to join her team of curse-breakers and it leads to travels all over the world. Despite their obliviousness to the obvious attraction between them, a love unlike any she ever expected to find begins to smolder. Pure romance and fluff. The Hazards of Love (94KB - One Shot - R) Someone wants Draco Malfoy dead so the Order places him at the Burrow. It is there he discovers he and Hermione share an ancient magical bond. Read on as they cultivate their bond and grow to love one another. But all good things must come to an end. Her Hardest Hue to Hold (8KB - One Shot - R) Draco knows he will have to cross to his parents in the Final Battle. Because nothing gold can stay. His Sweet Oleander (160KB - Incomplete - R) Hermione convinces Draco to join her team of curse-breakers and it leads to travels all over the world. Despite their obliviousness to the obvious attraction between them, a love unlike any she ever expected to find begins to smolder. Pure romance and fluff. Re-posting here. I'll Fly Away (50KB - Incomplete - R) The world ruled by the Light is nothing like Hermione had once imagined. When one-time heroes turn to savagery and malice, she makes a split second decision to save a man's life. Draco had wished for the sweet caress of Death to end his suffering but soon finds that there is a life worth living, with his witch. A dark tale where Dramione dwell in the in-between shades of grey. January Hymn (9KB - One Shot - R) Draco goes to Hermione's grave to mourn her loss, to mourn everything he'd never gotten the chance to say to her. A short, but tear inducing one-shot. Rated M for suggested adult content. Memories Fade (36KB - Incomplete - R) Draco wakes up in St. Mungo's, unable to recall any details of his life. An infatuation with his Healer witch quickly grows, but why does she seem to hate him with every fiber of her being? And how long before Harry Potter hauls him off to Azkaban for his role as a Death Eater? Mind If I Slither In? (14KB - One Shot - R) Hermione Granger knew what she wanted and tonight, she was going to get it. A story about a timid virgin's first time. The Princess and the Pariah (366KB - 40 Chapters - R) Hermione Granger spent the Horcrux hunt obsessively consulting a scrying mirror to watch visions of Draco Malfoy's past, present and future. Now, back at Hogwarts for her "8th year," she is determined to bring the broken, outcasted man closer to her, to make her visions become reality. Sequel to The Art of Divination. It can stand alone. Re-posting here. Properly In Love (248KB - 24 Chapters - R) Sequel to Fire and Ice. Draco and Hermione are off to New Orleans to begin their life together. But they will soon find out that being properly in love doesn't save them from turbulence and heart ache. Silly Muggle Traditions (10KB - One Shot - G) Hermione and Draco ring in the New Year in the library and she teaches Draco about a silly Muggle tradition. Speak Softly to Me (16KB - Incomplete - R) Emotionally damaged from the burdens of war and physically damaged by a latent curse, Hermione is sent to a rehabilitation center for veterans. While there, she begins to deteriorate rapidly and the one person she least expected to befriend becomes the one person who can Heal her, inside and out. Strung Up (11KB - One Shot - R) Draco finds a creative use for a couple strands of Christmas lights, effectively distracting Hermione from decorating their tree... Does contain bondage. The Sun Will Rise (23KB - Incomplete - R) "In all the world, there is no heart for me like yours. In all the world there is no love for you like mine."-Maya Angelou. Years after the War, Hermione finds Draco a changed man. Seeing just how grief and loneliness have overtaken him, she helps him heal and see what true love can be. An old-fashioned love story that explores the age old concept of twin flames. Susie Q (10KB - One Shot - PG-13) An extremely weird story I wrote for the Houses Competition. Draco meets a ghost by the name of Susie Q, who urges him to rekindle his relationship with Hermione. A Tryst Between Foes (32KB - Incomplete - R) Draco Malfoy, sick of the libelous defamation of his family's name, has bought the Daily Prophet. Hermione Granger is looking for a career change and lands a position as a photojournalist. What will happen when long-time foes work in close proximity, attraction welling more and more with each passing day? Twenty-Six Minutes (27KB - 4 Chapters - R) After a chance encounter, Draco can't keep his mind from wandering to the gorgeous girl he saw on the London Underground. Thoughts of her fill his every waking moment. Muggle AU. When I Wasn't There (13KB - One Shot - R) Hermione finds her way back to Draco, a little bruised and battered, but whole. He ruminates over how strong and brave his fierce little witch really is. Whence Cometh Darkness? (22KB - Incomplete - R) Draco Malfoy finds himself entangled in the rising Dark Lord's snare, with two monumental tasks at hand during his sixth year-to find a way to get the Sacrifices out of Hogwarts and to kill Albus Dumbledore in exchange for Hermione Granger's life spared. Hermione finds herself trying to assist Draco in his tasks, no matter the cost. A dark!dramione AU. With This Child (13KB - Incomplete - R) As Hermione and Draco return to Hogwarts for their seventh year, the Ministry puts a marriage law into place. Unable to stand the thought of Hermione facing a lifetime of unhappiness, Draco proposes an unorthodox solution: get pregnant by another wizard before the marriage contract can be enforced. In turn, their decision sets off a ripple effect with dire consequences. HEA Your Favorite Hello (26KB - Incomplete - R) So...can a witch and a wizard just be friends? Hermione and Draco seem to think so. A lighthearted short story of two people falling together.

ThusAtlas The Fuckening (875KB - Incomplete - NC-17) The Fuckening (noun): When your day is going too well and you don't trust it and some shit finally goes down. In this case, this day was fourteen months into Draco Malfoy's Azkaban sentence - September the 8th, 1999. Ever since the war ended, he had just been existing. His mother just exists. He didn't know if his father still existed and he wondered whether the outside world continued to exist. Unbeknownst to him, the 8th of September proved to be a remarkable day for many. Harry's frustratingly benign desk job took a turn off the deep end, Hermione's convoluted work with the Ministry became more extraneous than she thought possible, Ron found another wrench in his life plan and Theo found a cat whilst trying to find a horse. But then again, it was The Fuckening, so everyone's existence was inevitably going to change.

viridianatnight An Anthology of Love and Other Heartaches (37KB - Incomplete - NC-17) A collection of drabbles and ficlets either from twitter or a spur of the moment thought. Often prompted. Look for additional tags and characters in the author's notes or chapter summaries of each 'chapter.' Various pairings. Hang Up (5KB - One Shot - R) Hermione answers the phone while having sex with Ron.

[error-rambles]

11/11/2023

Some concerning yet entertaining highlights from my call with my mother:

- She was drinking a whole wine bottle and was pretty drunk

- Went into detail about how she wanted to unalive my sister-in-law in front of her children and husband, and other unspeakable things that I shall not mention here. While unhinged, her emotional support was very much appreciated after everything that happened this year.

- Proposed a trip to Florida next year and promised to pay for out tickets (that would be actually nice!)

- Told me how she snapped at her own father after he called her a fucking bitch and like the normal person she is, she threatened to drown him in the toilet and dissolve him in acid while laughing like a maniac (he wants to be cremated and the thought of anything else freaks him out). She got kicked out for that one, but she’s putting her parents in a home so that’s a win I suppose. I don’t blame her on that one tho, he probably deserved it.

- Went on a tangent about the time when she was bulimic while sobbing after I told her I missed my dead best friend. She kept going on and on about how much she missed her dead best friend who she used to puke with. I could not get a single word in about my dead best friend, but hey, got mom lore I guess.

- She did mention she missed me and my wife, and looked forward seeing us again next year so that was sweet.

- She was very fixated on talking about murder, more than usual. Said she’s old and is at the point in life where she does not give a shit about going to prison. We’ll see how that goes, I’ll keep y’all posted on her journey 🫡

- She sounded uncannily protective of me and my brother which is unusual since she’s not exactly the loving type. Kept saying how she’d kill anyone anyone who dared hurt us. Maybe she’s looking for carry it out? Who knows.

Overall could’ve been worse. Didn’t ask about my job or berate me much so it’s a win to me.

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Torture ~ Part 2

MAIN MASTERLIST

Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 9,145ish

Summary: You and Bucky get captured, and it’s definitely not an easy time.

Warnings: ANGST - torture, nudity, mentions of sex, unwanted sexual experiences, near drowning, blood

< Part 1

Bucky groaned as he began to come to. Though his eyes were already shut, they clenched as he slowly remembered what had happened. 

You had gone down and it was clear the agents were purposefully trying to get Bucky away from you. But then there was the white smoke that made him tired. He couldn’t remember anything after that.

Slowly, he blinked, his eyes needing to adjust to the brightness of the room. The lights on the ceiling were LED, he immediately noticed. He was laying on top of a thin mattress that did nothing to support him. There was a silver sink and a silver toilet in the corner, with a silver chair besides them. Sitting up, he could tell the wall in front of him was pure glass, while the wall to his right and behind him were pure white. Looking over to his left, he first thought that that wall was a mirror until, instead of himself he saw, he saw you.

You were lying on an identical mattress in an identical looking room. You were still out like a light, which concerned him, but at least he could see you. Bucky noticed in that moment that they had stripped you both of your tac gear and dressed you in short compression shorts and tank tops. He slowly pushed himself to his feet and walked over to the glass wall that separated you. He knocked on the glass with is metal hand.

“Y/N,” he called. “Y/N, wake up.” You moaned as you started to stir awake. “Come on, sweetheart, wake up.”

“Wh—what?” you rasped, eyes slowly opening. You tiredly looked around as you pushed yourself up and leaned your upper body against the wall behind you. “What… How—“ you turned to see Bucky standing on the other side of a glass wall, his metal hand pressed against the glass. “Bucky? Where… where are we?”

“I have no clue.” He shook his head, studying the two rooms again. “It’s too clean in here.”

“Have no fear, Soldier,” a man’s gravelly voice interrupted. “I have a feeling that it won’t be that way for long.”

Two completely uniformed HYDRA agents walked in through a hidden door on the other side of the glass wall at the front of the rooms. A tall, middle-aged man in the same uniform was right behind them, with two more agents behind him. It was clear that man in the middle was in charge. 

You pushed yourself up against the wall, wanting to make sure that you didn’t look threatened by the man. Which you really weren’t, you just needed to make sure that he didn’t see you as weak. Both you and Bucky carefully watched as the man stood in front of the two rooms with a smug smirked etched onto his face.

“Welcome back to HYDRA, Winter Soldier,” the man said. “It’s been too long.” You bit the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from doing anything stupid. From the corner of your eye, you could see Bucky’s jaw clench. “And Agent L/N, nice of you to join our ranks.”

“Who are you?” Bucky asked, his voice low and dangerous.

“Oh, yes,” the man chuckled. “Of course you wouldn’t remember me. I’m Jack Snow. I was simply like one of these men back when you were here, Soldier,” he motioned to the guards near him. “Just doing what I needed to for my beliefs and to rise the ranks of HYDRA.”

“What do you want with us?” You asked, keeping your voice strong and steady.

His dark blue eyes, almost black, bore into you as his snapped his head in your direction. His eyes slowly went up your form as he studied you. You tried not to shiver and tense under his gaze. You could faintly hear the whirling of Bucky’s metal arm as he clenched his fist.

“That, my dear, all depends on the two of you,” Snow responded. “I need information on the Avengers and my Soldier back, you two will be able to give me both.”

“Let her go,” Bucky said. “If you want the Winter Soldier back, she has nothing to do with it.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. Since the trigger words are no longer working with you, we need leverage. And she,” Snow pointed a finger towards you, “is your perfect leverage.”

“I won’t do anything for you unless you let her go.”

“I’m not so sure about that.” 

Snow stepped forward and tapped on the glass of your room. A small rectangular control panel appeared. You and Bucky watched as his fingers pressed a few things. It was a quiet change, but noticeable to you. The vents were making a rushing sound, like they were sucking something in. It quickly began to get harder and harder to breathe. You lifted your hands and they gentled clawed at the bottom of your throat. With wide, frantic eyes, you looked to Bucky, falling to your knees as you started choking.

“Y/N!” Bucky shouted as he rammed his metal fist into the glass, failing to make a single crack or dent. “Y/N!”

Your eyes were growing heavy as less and less oxygen reached your lugs. You could faintly hear Bucky’s shouting and pounding from the other side of the glass. With your body quickly giving out, you collapsed onto the floor, still taking shallow, barely there breaths. 

“Y/N! NO!” Bucky screamed, falling to his knees. John Snow cackled. “I’ll do anything you want! Just stop hurting her!”

John grin grew victoriously. “Excellent.” 

His fingers reach back up to the controls.  Air was swiftly pushed back into your cell, causing you to choke slightly as it began to fill your lungs once again. Bucky closed his eyes in relief at seeing your chest rise and fall normally again.

“You both will do what I want,” John said, “but first I will have to break you both in order to know that I have pure compliance.” The man turned and began heading towards the door out, the guards following. “Welcome home, Soldiers. We have a lot of work to do.”

The door shut and Bucky pressed himself up against the glass, trying to reach you.

“Sweetheart, can you hear me?” He asked, the worry in his voice was also compressed against his chest. You nodded, opening your eyes and turning your body to face him. “I’m so sorry this happened. I’m going to get you out of here. I promise.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Buck,” you rasped, crawling over to lean against the glass wall that separated your two cells. 

“I’m so sorry, doll… for everything.”

“Are you saying that because of the situation we’re in or because you actually mean it?”

“I mean it, Y/N. Every word. And once we get out of here I’m set on proving to you that I mean it.”

All you could get yourself to do was swallow harshly and then nod. Your body was tired, having the oxygen taken from it. Your eyes fluttered shut before your whole body jolted awake, almost like it had already decided it was too scared to fall asleep.

“You need to rest,” your half-opened eyes met his blue ones. “I’ll keep watch and wake you before anything happens.”

Only because you felt your body giving into the rest it so desperately craved, you nodded in agreement. The mattress was on the other side of the cell but you didn’t care. Your body was too tired to reach it and you wanted to be as close to Bucky as you could possibly be. As soon as you were fully laid out on the ground, you were out.

Bucky let out a long breath, unsure of what to do. So he simply sat there, barely taking his eyes off of you. He couldn’t allow you to be harmed, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he did. But, unfortunately, Bucky didn’t have that luxury of choice.

~~~

You slept soundly for a few hours, Bucky waiting for the next shoe to drop. He was moving his mattress closer to the glass wall that separated you with the glass wall suddenly turned black and he couldn’t see you anymore. He rushed to the glass, punching it over and over again.

“Y/N! Y/N!” He shouted. “Can you hear me?”

You jolted awake from the sound of Bucky punching the wall. Looking around, you realized that the wall between the two of you was black. Jumping to your feet, you stood in front of the glass wall.

“Bucky!” You responded, hitting against the glass as well. “Bucky! What’s happening?”

“I don’t know,” he replied. “But we need to keep talking to each other so that we know the other is there.”

“Okay,” you nodded. “Yeah.” You didn’t hear the secret door to your cell slide open and John Snow with two guards step in. “Okay… Bucky, I—“ Snow kicked you in the back, slamming you into the glass. You gasped out a yelp in surprise.

“Y/N? Are you okay? What was that?”

One of the guards grabbed one of your arms to restrain you, while the other side the same on the other side. You began to thrash around, trying to get loose when Snow grabbed you by the neck from behind and slammed your head into the glass.

“Y/N!” Bucky shouted. He kept scanning the pitch black wall, like it would eventually be able to see right through it. “Come on, Y/N! Answer me!”

Snow dragged the metal chair in your cell loudly behind you. The guards swiftly pushed you into it. They used their feet to trap your legs against the lets and their hands to trap your arms. Snow sent a nod to someone you couldn’t see and suddenly metal cuffs pinned you to the chair; two on each limb, one around your thighs and the other around your waist.

“Time to have some fun,” Snow whispered, leaning down against your ear.

“Y/N! Y/N!” Bucky continued to call out for you as he hit and rammed himself against the barrier.

Snow, without his eyes leaving your face, reached his hand out and motioned for something. One of the guards handed him a black stick looking thing.

“This is going to be painful,” Snow told you, quietly. Like he was trying to prevent Bucky from hearing anything. “And I’m going to enjoy every second of it.”

He leaned away from you with a wicked smirk on his lips. You watched as he pushed a button just above where his thumb was resting on the stick. The top of stick began glowing orange. You had been put through rigorous training to deal with torture, so your breathing was even and your weren’t giving anything away on your face. You weren’t going to give Snow the satisfaction of what he was about to do to you.

Looking at you dead in the eye, he pressed the tip of the stick into your right shoulder. You bit your tough to prevent you from screaming out at the searing pain of your skin burning. You glared him down at he removed the stick and pressed it against your another shoulder. You inhaled sharply, still not allowing yourself to scream, cry or wince, even though your brain was screaming at you to do all of those things.

Bucky was still shouting for you and hitting against the glass. Snow rolled his eyes at the seeming annoyance of Bucky trying to get to you. 

“Make his cell soundproof, so that we can’t hear him,” Snow ordered, loud enough for Bucky to hear. “But make sure that he can hear her.”

“Yes, sir,” one of the guards responded, quickly pulling out a tablet and pressing on it. “It’s done.”

“Great. Let’s keep this going then.”

He raised his arm and swung the stick into your face. It burned as it hit across your face and your head snapped to one side. He then did it to the other side, with still no response from you. Snow frowned before jamming the burning stick into your stomach. You bit down on your tongue harder, drawing blood as you lurched forward. You clenched your eyes shut at the threat of tears falling. You would not give him the satisfaction of seeing how painful it all was.

“You are a surprisingly tough one,” Snow commented. “Especially for the lack of serum and powers you have.”

“Sometimes, there’s strength in normalcy,” you panted out a responded, trying to sound stronger than you felt.

Snow hummed. “Well, we’ll see how long that lasts. Let’s head out. We’ll leave her in the chair for now. See how the Soldier handles it.”

Snow stomped out, with his goons following after him. Once the door slid shut, you let your head hang and the tears slip down your face. 

~~~

Bucky was going crazy. He couldn’t see you and he knew that you couldn’t see or hear him. Deciding that it was useless to fight against the seemingly unbreakable glass, he had started to pace. His anxiety was at an all time high. You were getting tortured just mere feet away and he couldn’t do anything to stop it.

He was just about to turn once gain, when the black disappeared from the wall separating the two of you. Bucky rushed towards it, letting something between a gasp and a growl escape his lips.

“Y/N!” He called for you. “Can you hear me?”

“Yeah…” you breathed out, rolling your head back up. 

“Are you okay? What did they do to you?”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” you forced a small smile. “I’m okay, Bucky.”

“Don’t lie to me, sweetheart.” He shook his head slightly. He studied the bleeding burn marks along your body. “I didn’t hear you screaming,” he whispered.

“I couldn’t do that to you… or give him the satisfaction.”

“Y/N…”

“Stop Bucky. I can see the guilt and the worry and the weight of the world in your eyes. This is not your fault.”

“I should be protecting you.”

“Sometimes that’s not possible. And that’s okay.” 

Suddenly the cuffs that were holding you down released you. You sighed in relief, visibly relaxing. Bucky watched as you slowly left the chair, grabbed the mattress in the corner, and moved it to mirror where Bucky’s was. You laid down, looking into Bucky’s cell. Bucky copied you, able to meet yours.

“Just…” you nervously breathed out, “just don’t leave me… okay?”

“I’m not planning on it, sweetheart.”

~~~

The two of you don’t know how long you were left alone for, but Bucky was sure it was a little over 50 hours. You had to take his word for it. The small amounts of food you got were from a slit that appeared against the wall. It was always old and stale, whatever they gave you. But you both knew that you needed to get to preserve your strength.

Bucky and you didn’t do much talking, the tension still very much there. Both of you wanted to say so much but it was not the place or time to do so. He did often share concern about the burn marks, one of them looking infected. You waved it off as no big deal, though in all honesty it actually hurt to move your right shoulder because of it.

The two of you were laying side by side, with the obvious glass wall between you, when you noticed smoke slowly exiting the vents into your cell.

“Bucky…” your voice was clearly scared as you sat up and stared at the smoke.

“What is it?” He sat up as well, looking into your cell.

“Smoke.” It was like you triggered something just by saying that word out loud. “Bucky.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Bucky moved so that he was on his knees facing you. He lightly tapped on the glass to try and get your attention on him instead of the smoke. “Look at me, Y/N. Focus on me.” You looked over and saw how he was positioned, and you copied it. “There you go. I need you to put your shirt to your mouth. It will act as a filter and buy you some time.” You nodded, quickly did as instructed. “Now, keep your eyes on me, okay?” 

It was breaking Bucky that he couldn’t do anything to really help you or erase that glint of fear from your eyes. The two of you knelt there, staring at each other as the smoke continued to fill your room. Soon, you began to cough, the shirt not working very well as protection. Your eyes were getting heavy, but you fought to keep your focus on Bucky.

“You’re doing so good,” Bucky pressed, trying to keep you fighting. 

He knew it wouldn’t last must longer, that you’d be given no choice but to give in. You were swaying, your body weakening. Then with one last glance at Bucky, your eyes closed and your body went slack on the mattress. Almost in that same moment, a vacuum turned on and the smoke disappeared through the vents, leaving you passed out in the room. 

A few minutes later, Snow and two guards entered the cell. Bucky stood up, trying to look like he was defending you when he knew he actually couldn’t. Without a word, the guards grabbed you, causing Bucky to growl.

“Don’t touch her!” He hit the glass.

Snow smirked. “What are you going to do to stop us?” 

He pressed a button on the tablet he had in his hand, cause chains to be released from the ceiling. The guards attached you to them, clearly causing strain on you because your toes were barely touching the ground.

“For this one, I want you to watch,” Snow told Bucky. 

A guard entered the room with a whip. Bucky immediately noticed that there were small, broken pieces of glass imbedded in it. He tensed, stepping as close as he could to the glass.

“I’ll do anything you want me to,” Bucky was trying to sound strong, but there was a hint of begging in his tone. “Just don’t hurt her.”

“I’m afraid that won’t work,” Snow grinned. “Like I told you before, I need to break both of you to ensure pure compliance. And to break the both of you, I need to torture her. So that’s exactly how I intend to do it, how ever long it takes and using whatever methods I choose.”

Bucky clenched his jaw, glaring daggers at the man. Snow turned and took the whip’s handle from the guard. He released the whip, throwing it back over his shoulder before slashing across the side of your left hip. Bucky had to hold back a flinch as you suddenly awoke with a scream of pain. Snow threw the whip back over his shoulder, revealing how the whip tore through before your shirt and skin, blood dripping down your legs and onto the floor.

Snow repeated the action, again and again. Each in different spots. You were still out of it because of the smoke, that you couldn’t stop yourself from crying out in pain. Bucky eventually had to look away as he started flinching every time the whip hit you. Snow had a huge smile on his face as he heard each of your screams and noticed Bucky had turned away and began flinching.

After about 20 minutes of whipping you, Snow decided that he had had his fun for the day. The guards followed him out of the room, leaving you dangling there by your wrists. The door slid closed and Bucky let a tear fall. He pressed himself up against the glass, like if he were to just will it, if he could press up against it hard enough, he could reach you. 

Bucky watched you carefully, focusing on your breathing. It was ragged and unevenly, but it was there. Your head hung down, having passed out because of the pain, and blood was running down your body into a pile below your toes. It was bright in contrast to the white walls and floor of the cell you were encased in. Bile slid its way up Bucky throat, but he wouldn’t let it come out. He couldn’t give Snow the satisfaction of that.

~~~

“It’s been three days, and still no signs of them,” Natasha sighed as she collapsed in one of the conference room chairs. It had been turned into a command center for the search. She ran a hand down her face as she propped her feet up on the table.

“At least Vision and Clint haven’t reported in about finding their bodies,” Steve said. “It means there’s still hope.”

“Yeah, but for how long?”

“We all know that HYDRA won’t kill Bucky without trying to get the Winter Soldier back out of him.”

“And they have the perfect leverage to do it… Y/N. They’re going to use Y/N to get Bucky to do what they want.”

“Or vice-a-versa.”

“We need to find them before we’re too late.”

“Yes, but when will that be?”

“I don’t know but we an’t give up until we bring them home.”

~~~

Bucky flinched when the chains were released at you fell to the ground, landing in your own blood. His heart raced as he itched to hold your tortured body in his arms. He fell onto his knees so that you’d be able to see him better when you finally woke. The sound of your slight groans gave Bucky the sign that you were waking up. You turned but froze as a cry slipped through your lips.

“Don’t try to move,” Bucky said gently. “The wounds haven’t stopped bleeding, they’re still open.” 

Your eyes blinked open, searching for Bucky. When they found him, you could see the weight of guilt weighing down on his shoulders. Like if they were to put him in water, Bucky would easily sink down to the bottom.

“Stop that,” you rasped.

“Stop what?” He played dumb.

“Blaming yourself for all this… it’s not a good look on you.”

“He’s torturing you because of me… so it is all my fault.”

“A relationship is a two way street, Buck. And this is nothing I can’t handle.”

“You’re laying in your own blood, you can barely move. How much more of this do you think you can handle before you just resent me?”

You bit your bottom lip as you pushed yourself to a sitting up position. “You don’t get it do you? I love you, James. It will take a lot of work for me to actually resent you. That’s how it works when you love someone, in case you didn’t know.”

“Y/N, I—“

“No. I don’t want to hear it. I need to rest, since I might bleed out and die anyway.” 

Staying where you were, you turned your body and laid back down. You made sure that your back was facing Bucky. He sighed, wanting to defend himself but unsure of how to exactly go about doing that. So he moved so that he was sitting up against the wall. He chose to watch you breathe, your chest still unevenly rising and falling.

Bucky was sure they left you two alone for another three days. You refused to even look at him. You hadn’t moved much from your mattress after finally getting there. The blood on the white floor was definitely now a large stain. Bucky still felt sick every time he saw it, wanting to just throw up everywhere. 

Most of the cuts across your body were healing nicely. The rest, not so much. You were pretty sure you were going to die of an infection before you died during the torture or got out of here. You could feel what it was starting to do to your body, but you couldn’t let Bucky know. For one, because you were still angry at him and other was because he didn’t need to carry any more guilt and worry than he was already.

The both of you were laying down on your mattresses when Snow and his guards entered the section in front of the two cells. Bucky was quickly to his feet, where you couldn’t move that fast so you just opted to sit up.

“I see our Soldiers have been resting,” Snow commented. “How perfect.” Neither of you were willing to give him a response. “Today, I wanted to try something different.” The vents made a loud noise as white smoke began to rush through them. “And I need you both out for it.”

~~~

You woke up in a glass box, in an empty room. You were leaning against one of the walls, your legs folded under you. Looking up you noticed that the walls reached all the way up to the ceiling, with the whole thing not being very wide. Using the walls for support, you pushed yourself onto your feet and began studying the outside room. It was perfectly square, a door on each wall.

“You two are awake, good. Let’s get started,” Snow’s voice boomed over speakers. “Soldier, let’s see how good your locating skills are. Your precious Y/N is somewhere in this maze, locked in a glass container. You have 20 minutes to locate her before the container fills with water and she unfortunately drowns. But beware, some of my guards might be standing in your way. Don’t be afraid to let the Winter Soldier take control. Good luck.”

Water quickly came raining down on you, drenching you almost immediately. You began hitting and ramming up against the glass, only for it to mockingly do nothing. Time seemed to speed up in that glass container. Before you knew it the water was up to your waist.

“You’re running out of time, Soldier,” Snow’s voice taunted. “Let him in.”

“Don’t Bucky!” You shouted, not knowing if he could hear you or not. “Don’t let the Soldier in!”

“How sweet, even as her life hangs in the balance, Y/N’s still watching out for you. But are you doing the same for her?”

You had to start treading water once it had reached your shoulders. It was tiring and you were worried that you didn’t have enough strength to hold yourself up before the water filled the whole container.

“Bucky, I don’t know if you can hear me,” you started speaking, panting slightly. “But I’m sorry.”

“No!” He growled, responding over the speakers. “You do not get to apologize!”

“Please don’t blame yourself. You didn’t put me in here.” You were treading still, taking in the last few inched of air you had left. “I love you. Even if you never feel that exact some way about me… I love you.”

“Stop it! Y/N! I am not doing this right now! I’m going to find you because I need to tell you how I feel in person. Not while scouring this maze for you. I will find you because I need you to realize how much I regret not telling you that night you did or even way before that! I will find you, I promise!”

“Bucky…” Tears rolled down your cheeks as you readied yourself to take your last big breath. “I love you.”

You took a large inhale before the water had completely consumed the container. You could faintly hear Bucky’s screams from under the water, breaking your heart. Because of your training, you knew you could hold your breath longer than the average person. But even that wasn’t long enough, because you gave into the darkness more quickly than you would have liked.

~~~

“Bucky… I love you.”

“Y/N? Y/N? NO!” Bucky screamed. “Y/N, answer me!”

“Looks like your times up,” Snow said. “I guess you didn’t want to save her as much as I thought you did.”

Bucky growled, running down one of the maze halls. He needed to get to you and do whatever it takes to do so. He had only been injuring and knocking Snow’s men out so far. But now you could actually be dead, so they deserved to be too.

The next guard Bucky ran into didn’t stand a chance. Especially because he needed the weapons. Bucky took the guns from the guard he had just choked the life out of. The next guards he found earned a bullet straight into their hearts. Not one of them stood a chance against Bucky, which made Snow grinned wickedly as he watched from the screen in his office.

Bucky eventually reached a door. He opened it, ripping it off its hinges as he did so. If he was in his right mind, he probably would have halted at the sight of you lifeless floating in that glass container. But he wasn’t in his right mind. Bucky shot a few rounds at the glass, only cracking it, before going up and using his metal fist to hit right at one of the cracks. The glass shattered, spilling the water out everywhere, with you along with it.

Your body was too cold and you weren’t breathing, even with you being out of the water. Bucky picked you up and took you to a corner of the room that was the least wet and glass cluttered. You were barely flat on your back before he began CPR. The sound of your ribs cracking beneath the force of his hands should have caused him to flinch, but it didn’t. He leaned down, plugging your nose and forcing air into your mouth before continuing compressions.

There was little relief when you began coughing and breathing again. You heaved and Bucky turned you onto your side, allowing you to throw up. Once you were all out, he held you close and let you curl up against him. Your breaths were labored and you were shivering as you tried to get smaller and smaller. But you couldn’t curl in too much without a whimper slipping through.

Someone clapping sounded from behind the two. “Very good,” Snow smirked. “Very entertaining as well.”

Bucky’s jaw clenched as he tightened his grip on you. Guards filed into the room, reminding him of who was really in charge. Snow waltzed closer to the couple still on the ground.

“Leave her there, Soldier, and come with me,” Snow ordered. Bucky didn’t move. “I don’t think you want me to rip her from your arms. So let her go and come with me.”

With a hard glare, he slowly let you go, laying you on the ground in front of him. He looked at your face as he took his time to stand up. Snow nodded to a few of his guards, and they went to pick you up. Bucky growled and took a protective step forward.

“I wouldn’t try anything if I were you, Soldier,” Snow warned. “They’ll kill her on the spot if you do.”

Bucky watched at the guards hoisted you up from under your arms and dragged you away like a rag doll. His eyes didn’t leave you as they dragged you through the door, still staring after you were gone.

“If you want to see her again, there’s some work you must do.” Snow stepped in front of Bucky. “Starting with some training.”

~~~

You were back in your cell when you finally came to. Your body was still weak, tired, and cold, but you had to stay awake. You were scared you might really leave this earth if you rested again. Looking over to Bucky’s cell, it was dark. The lights were off and it was very obvious he wasn’t in there. That worried you. 

If you were alive and in your cell, it meant that Bucky had to let the Soldier out. One of his worst fears. But he had done that to save your life. Which you could have blamed yourself for, but you knew the real culprit was John Snow. You were going to make sure that you killed Snow with your bare hands before you left this awful place.

Shivering, you needed to curl up to get warm. Turning on your side to face Bucky’s cell, you cried out at the pain in your ribs. You lifted your shirt to reveal very painful, large purple bruises. Using an arm to support your ribs, you finished the turn onto your side, curled up, and you waited. And waited, and waited. The longer the minutes ticked by, the more worried for Bucky you became.

You jumped when the glass between the two cells went completely black. You pushed yourself up so that your back was up against the wall. And continued to wait. You didn’t have to wait very long, because the door to your cell slid open and in waltzed Snow, without any guards. You obviously didn’t pose as a threat to him anymore.

“I really am glad to see you up,” he started. He moved to the metal chair, pulled it up to the mattress, and sat in it. “I was worried you were actually going to be a goner.”

“Where’s Bucky?” You asked.

“Oh, he’s back in there.” He pointed towards Bucky’s cell. “I simply didn’t feel like rewarding him with see you just yet.”

“What did you do to him?”

“Only what he was made to do.”

“He wasn’t made to do anything.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. He was made to inflict pain and to enforce the will of HYDRA.”

You shook your head. “You’re wrong. Bucky was made to be a hero, to love and to be loved. He’s stronger than you even realize and he will give you what he wants to protect me, nothing else. Including protecting himself.”

“You’re right about one thing, he will do anything to protect you.” 

Suddenly, Snow lurched forward and grabbed you by the neck. He hauled you up to your feet and held you against the wall. The black separating the two cells disappeared, causing Bucky to snap towards your ceil. He went to stock towards the glass when John stopped him.

“I wouldn’t move if I were you,” John warned, “or she getting a knife to her carotid artery.” He slipped a knife out of his sleeve, pressing the blade against you. Bucky froze. He couldn’t let you get hurt. “Very good, Soldier. Bring in the present!”

Bucky’s cell door slid open and a clearly drunk, giggling, barbie looking woman was pushed into the room. Once she caught sight of Bucky, she was quickly batting her lashes and leaning up against him. He tried to step away and the blade was pressed harder against you.

“I told you, don’t move,” John smirked, a drop of blood trickling down you. “This is your present, Soldier. You have three options to choose from: a, you kill the woman right away and Y/N here lives, b, you have sex with the woman while Y/N watches and both women live, or c, you do nothing to the woman and Y/N dies. The choice is yours.”

Bucky meet your gaze, tears filling up your eyes at the impossible decision he was being forced to make. To him, C, wasn’t on the table at all. Option A would kill the innocent woman and force you to watch. Option B would save her life but force you to watch him have sex with this woman, which would hurt you emotionally. 

You both took your eyes off one another as a cart got rolled in. There was a gun and a condom laying on the top of them, showing two of the three choices. Bucky looked back at you again for guidance, only for you to look at him with so much guilt and sorrow. You couldn’t help him make this decision. But one thing was clear, he couldn’t do anything that would hurt you. Before you even blinked, Bucky had the gun in his hand and fired. The woman lay bleeding out on the floor. Y/N gasped, letting the tears fall.

“I knew you’d make that choice,” John smirked. He harshly let you go as guards rushed in to take the woman’s body away. “You have tonight together before your first mission back. Enjoy it while it lasts.”

John waltzed out, the guards disappeared, leaving you and Bucky alone in the two cells. Bucky’s head was down, back turned to you, as he stared at the woman’s blood.

“Bucky,” you called carefully. You walked up to the glass, hand pressing against it. “Look at me.” He didn’t move. “Her blood isn’t on you.”

“Yes it is,” he responded, his voice rough and raw. “There was another choice. But the thought of you watching—“ He sucked in a breath. “I couldn’t do that to you.”

“I know… I know…” 

You teeth clattered against each other as you were reminded of the cold. Your arms wrapped around yourself, trying to warm you up. You were about to say something to Bucky when the glass between the two cells slipped into the back wall. Bucky didn’t move but you took a careful step in his direction, testing out the new rules. Once you realized it was real, you made your way in front of Bucky.

“Look at me,” you demanded gently. He reluctantly did. “Please don’t waste our time like this. They’re letting us be with each other before they probably take me away from you and force you to kill our friends… please just hold me…”

Bucky couldn’t say no to that. He gently, yet swiftly, brought you into him. Slowly the two of you moved to his mattress, where the two of you laid together, entangled in each other’s warmth. You reached up and pressed a kiss to his lips.

“I love you,” you whispered, tears rolling down your cheeks.

Bucky kissed you again, harder. “I love you too,” he responded. “I’m going to get you out of here… I promise.”

~~~

The next morning, the two of you woke up to guards marching into the room. Four of them quickly went over and tore you off of Bucky. He began retaliating, trying to fight them off of you. One pressed a gun to your head.

“Bucky…” you cried out. “Do what you have to to get free… don’t worry about me…”

“I can’t do that,” he responded quietly, shaking his head. “I love you too much.”

The guards dragged you away. “I love you.”

“I promise nothing’s going to happen to you, Y/N.”

“I’m more worried about you.”

Then you were out the door. You watched as the door to your cell disappeared along the long hall they were dragging you down. You let the tears roll down your face as they took your farther and farther away from Bucky. They took you into a small room, clean room. It was white like the other one, with a twin bed on one side, an open shower on the other. The shower was next to a sink and toilet. On the other side was a shelf with some folded clothes on it.

“I need to keep you in good health to ensure the Soldier will do what I need him to,” Snow strolled in. “Just know, the situation can change whenever you or him act out.”

The guards tossed you from their grip, onto the floor. You turned to look up at Snow.

“I hope he breaks free and run,” you growled.

“I hope, for your sake, he doesn’t.”

~~~

It had been two and a half weeks since you had seen Bucky, or anyone else for that matter. They had left you alone since bringing you to the new room, when you assumed was a good thing. Except that Bucky was out there doing their dirty work, losing all the progress he had made to become himself again.

You were sitting on your bed when the slit under your door opened and in slid a box. You furrowed your brows and you moved towards it and noticed a little note on top of it. You picked up the note and unfolded it.

Your Soldier’s coming home tonight. Dress up to reward him. - J.S.

You took a deep breath as you brought the box over to the bed.  Opening it, you immediately noticed it was lingerie. You lifted it out of the box to find a black, lacy bodysuit. You knew that you’d probably be in more trouble if you didn’t wear it, so you had no choice. You changed into the lingerie and waited on the bed for Bucky to arrive. 

When the door finally swung open, a guard entered first, aiming a gun at you. You curled in on yourself on the bed, trying to keep some of your dignity. Bucky followed after the guard. To them, he looked like their strong Soldier. But to you, he was the beaten down man you met after had escaped HYDRA. Snow stepped into the room from behind, eyes roaming over your barely clothed body.

“The Soldier is here for the next day to rest,” Snow informed you. “Treat him well. And, Soldier, she’s all yours.”

Snow nodded towards the door to the guard, signaling for them to go. The door shut and locked behind the men leaving. Bucky didn’t move, and neither did you. You sat them, studying the way his shoulders shagged and eyes were darker. Exhaling slowly, you moved off the bed and to him. The second his eyes met yours, you knew that you were actually dealing with the Soldier and not your Bucky.

Suddenly, and very roughly, the Soldier pushed you up against the wall. He pushed his body into yours as he began to suck at the open spots of your skin.

“Bucky,” you rasped, trying to push him off of you. “Bucky, please stop.”

That seemed to get the Soldier going more. He shut you up with his lips on your, shoving his tongue into your mouth. You tried to push him off, thrashing around, but he gripped you tighter. Bruisingly tight. You gasped as he tossed you onto the bed, pinning your hands above your head with his metal hand and pinning your legs down with his knees.

“Please,” you cried. This wasn’t your Bucky. “Please, stop.”

He pushed himself against you sucking away at the skin you had on display. You clenched your eyes shut as tears trailed down your cheeks. The Soldier, still kneeling on your legs, let your arms go and straightened his back. His face was void of emotion as he went to strip himself of his own clothes. You took this chance to reach up and smack him across the face. He growled, metal hand coming down on your throat and pinning you to the bed.

“B—Buck—y,” you strained. “Pl—please… Sto—stop…” You looked into his eyes. “Please…”

Within seconds, he was off of you and across the room. You were choking as air began to go back through your windpipe.

“Oh my— I— Y/N. No,” Bucky rambled, staring at you in horror. “I… I’m so sorry. Oh my gosh. I almost— I—“ You didn’t respond, curling in on yourself on the bed. You watched him warily. “Y/N…”

“I’ve never ran into the Soldier before,” you whispered. “He was cruel.” Tears streamed down your face. “He… he wasn’t you, Buck.”

“Then why are you still looking at me like that? Like you’re scared of me to come anywhere near you.” You looked away, ashamed. Bucky leaned against the wall behind him, sliding down it onto the floor. “I was worried about this happening. I’ve let him back in… scared you.”

“It’s not your fault, Buck. It’s what they’re making you do.”

“Did he make you dress like that?”

“Snow gave it to me. Told me it was to reward you.”

“I… I would never—“

“But the Soldier would. He… he almost did. Next time he might just…”

“I’m going to bargain for your freedom.”

“What? No!”

“I’ll stay here in exchange for you to be able to go home.”

“No!” You jumped off the bed. “I will not let you do that. We are making it out of this, together. Or not at all.”

“I can’t let the Soldier or Snow keep hurting you. Just look at your skin, Y/N! Bruises are forming right before my eyes and the scars he’s given you! It’s killing me to watch it.”

“Don’t you think it’s killing me to watch what this is putting you through?! Every time I see you, I can see what all of this is doing to you. I feel my heart shatter.” You made your way over to him. “This is what they want though, for it to break both of us. Even to break us apart. We can’t let that happen.” Your hand come up to his cheek, rubbing your thumb along it. “Please don’t let them win.” Bucky sighed into your palm, leaning into it. “We will get out of here. I can’t imagine that our friends have stopped looking for us.”

~~~

“Ten assassinations in four weeks,” Steve sighed. “All with his MO… It’s Bucky. It has to be."

“They must be using Y/N as leverage to get what they want out of him,” Tony said.

“There’s been another one,” Natasha stated, entering the room. “A political party member of a rising party in Europe.”

“We need to find him and Y/N,” Steve said. “Stop what’s going on.”

“Guys! Guy!” Clint and Scott shouted as they ran in. 

“I think we found something!” Scott announced. He handed his tablet over to Tony. Tony’s eyes bulged as he looked at what’s on the screen.

“Holy shit, I think you did.” Tony looked at Steve, showing him the picture of the note left on one of the assassinations. 

“He’s leaving us clues,” Clint said.

~~~

You hadn’t seen Bucky again after those 24 hours you had with him. You two spent most of the time holding onto each other, trying to ease the others’ worries. It didn’t really work, but it was still nice trying. It was a week and a half since all that. You were laying on the floor, staring at the ceiling, when a box got slipped under your door with a note on top. You sighed, figuring you had a good guess about what was inside. You crawled over to it and opened the note.

He’s coming back tonight. Wear it and do what he wants. I won’t let you stop him this time. I’m waiting for a show. - J.S.

This set of lingerie was red and really was useless as it didn’t cover much. Once you were changed into it, the door opened and Bucky entered. By looking into his eyes, you knew it was your Bucky.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I made a mistake on the mission and now… If I don’t do what he wants, he’ll kill you. And I can’t—“

“It’s okay,” you whispered, coming up to him. “Do what you have to… I can handle it…”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Bucky…” you gently took his face in your hands. “It’s okay.”

He turned around, ashamed, as he stripped down until he was naked. You could hear and see him take a deep breath before he spun around and slammed you into the wall. You winced and could see the apology in his eyes. He didn’t say anything and you knew it was because he was going to get in trouble if he did.

You allowed him to use you like a rag doll and did everything he directed. With each demand, you could feel how sorry he was. You didn’t fight, knowing that Snow was watching and that it was life or death. You were bleeding in many places, and exhausted, by the time Snow’s order came over the speakers for Bucky to step away from you. He ordered for Bucky to leave you there and clean himself up.

You passed out as the shower turned on. Bucky kept his eyes on your chest rising and falling as he quickly did as he was ordered to do so, changing into the clothes that were on the shelf for him. He was just about to go and clean you up when the red alarm began going off. You groggily woke, pushing yourself to sit up.

“Don’t,” Bucky softly ordered. “Don’t move. You’re too weak.”

“What’s going on?” You asked.

“I don’t know.”

“I need to get dressed. If they come into move us, I… I don’t want…”

“I’ve got it.” 

He picked you up and rushed you to the shower. With a washcloth, he wiped you down carefully before helping you change. Just as he finished, Snow stormed into the room with a handful of guards.

“You two, up and with me,” he ordered. “Now.”

Bucky helped you up, your legs wobbly with what you had just been through. Snow quickly snatched you from Bucky’s arms and aimed a gun at your side. Bucky’s hands formed into fists and his jaw clenched.

“You and my guards will do whatever’s necessary to get me out of here, or she dies,” Snow threatened, moving the gun to aim and your neck.

The guard offered Bucky a gun. He took it, eyes glaring at Snow. Bucky then took the lead, now knowing the ways out of here because of the missions he had been on. Being out in the hallway now, you were able to hear the fighting going on. The familiar sounds of repulsers firing and a vibranium shield clanging against the walls. 

You took a deep breath in as you felt hope flood your veins for the first time in what seems liked forever. With a gun pressed into your neck, Bucky led your group down the halls. You hoped that Bucky was leading you closer to your team and not farther away. But you also knew that, to him, your life was in the balance and he wasn’t going to do any more to hurt you than he already had.

“Stop right there,” Tony instructed, stepping into the hallway and blocking the way. 

His hand came up, ready to fire, as his helmet disappeared into his suit. He looked at you, relief filling his eyes until he noticed the gun pressed against your neck. Tony’s eyes flicked from yours to the gun against your neck and then to the gun Bucky was aiming at him.

“I thought we were good now, Barnes,” Tony said. “Hate to see you pointing a gun at me again.”

“I have no choice,” Bucky responded. “He’ll kill her.”

“The Soldier is right,” Snow interrupted. “If he doesn’t get me out of here, I will kill her. So, Soldier, what are you waiting for? Kill him.”

Bucky’s finger twitched over the trigger before he pulled it. The red, white, and blue shield came flying between Tony and the bullet, blocking it before the shield lodged itself into the wall. You could see Bucky let out a sigh of relief, like he had been hoping that was going to happen. Sounds of bodies falling behind Snow, yourself, and Bucky made you turn to look. They each had arrows in them. Clint was not too far down the hall with Nat, waiting to make their next move.

“Shoot them Soldier!” Snow demanded. “Before I shoot her!” 

He pressed the gun against you harder, which you didn’t think was possible. You noticed the slight nod of Bucky’s head to Steve and Steve’s response. Shots were fired. You don’t even know who shot first in all the commotion. But suddenly, both Snow and you were on the ground, bleeding. John Snow was dead and you were definitely going to bleed out with out fast the blood was leaving your stomach.

“Y/N!” Various voices shouted. 

Bucky was quickly on one side of you, hands pressing against the wound. Tony was kneeling on the other side, while the others stood around. You could hear Steve calling in for a med team and a quinjet, using his Captain voice.

“Stay with me,” Bucky begged. “I promised you that I’d get you out of this, I told intend on breaking that now.”

“Hey kid,” Tony forced out a smile. “I need you to hold still because I’m going to try to seal the wound until the med team arrives, okay?”

“Okay,” you breathed out.

Bucky lifted his hands so that they were hovering above you before Tony pointed his armored finger and began spraying nano particles on the wound. The bleeding immediately slowed. You knew it wasn’t a permanent solution, but it would help you survive. Tony studied the rest of your body that he could see, noting the bruises and new scars that marked your skin.

“Hey,” you caught his attention. “I’m okay… I survived.” You reached up and took a hold of Bucky’s metal hand. “We survived.”

~~~

You slept on the quinjet back, body exhausted from everything you’d been put through. You woke up in the med bay. Looking around, you noticed Bucky in a bed beside you.

“We had to drug him in order for him to let us give him a check up and for him to get any rest,” Steve told you, revealing his position on a chair in the corner.

“That’s good,” you said quietly. “He needs it. He hasn’t had very much rest since we were taken… too worried about me.”

“He told us what happened. He feels incredibly guilty… He’ll be blaming himself for awhile.”

“I know.” You looked back at Bucky. “And I know that there will be things that haunt me too… but we’ll work through that together. I know we will.”

“I’m glad you too figured out the whole ‘I love you’ situation. At least that’s in the past.”

“Yeah… it will definitely make dealing with all this crap easier.” You paused, studying Bucky for a moment. “Steve, do you mind moving his bed closer? I want to hold his hand.”

“Sure.”

Steve quickly stood up and rolled his bed closer to you. He put down the barrier so that it merged into one large bed. You took his hand and intertwined your fingers into his. You brought his hand up, pressing a kiss to it.

“I’ll leave you two to rest,” Steve said. “I’m glad you guys are back.” 

He left and you moved closer to Bucky. You lifted his arm over your shoulders and curled into his side. You craned your neck up and kissed the corner of his mouth.

“I love you,” you whispered.

“I love you too.”

~~~

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