#sucker punch fanfiction

[loki-hargreeves]

Cherry Pie

Pairing: Blue Jones x f!Reader Warnings/Tags: It's Blue which should be a warning as itself, crime, abusive ex-boyfriend (not named), violence, name-calling, guns, hurt/comfort Word Count: 3.5k Summary: Blue doesn't get attached to anyone, so why is he going out of his way to protect you, someone he barely even knows? You're supposed to just be the girl that works at his favourite diner. A/N: I'm deep into a Blue phase thanks to @lis-dotcom

Blue is a busy man. He spends most of his time running his business, caring for his affairs, his girls, his henchmen and whatnot. To fix everyone's messes and keep his ever-growing kingdom in check. His lifestyle requires his attention seven days a week, twelve months a year, especially as this town is filled with dense and reckless wannabe criminals plotting against Blue's carefully cultivated empire. He simply can't let anyone slip through any cracks so he has to work, work, work.

There are rare moments when he does have time for himself, such as when he eats an extremely late dinner at a diner near his club. Some people might consider it breakfast, as it is past midnight. The diner is almost always quiet, which is a nice change after spending hours at the club, listening to music and drunken patrons drooling after the girls. Blue finds an odd sense of comfort in the neon lights on the signs on diner windows, the soft sounds of the waitress tidying up after a busy day, and the smell of coffee and delicious, fried foods and desserts.

Today his favourite dessert is on the menu, cherry pie.

He sits in the corner booth, eyes on the entrance at all times. Not that he has to keep his guard up, he has henchmen surrounding the building and some are sitting in separate booths inside. Blue chooses to be aware at all times because he sure as hell doesn't trust anyone fully, not even his own men. He's seen a few backstabbers too many. Tonight, his eyes are more than just cautious. He's keeping an eye on the waitress, you. You recognized him today, not as the criminal he is, but as a regular of the diner.

The telephone rings behind the counter, catching Blue's attention. He's not exactly discreet as he keeps his dark eyes on you, out of curiosity. He watches as you wipe your hands on your white apron before grabbing the phone. He notices how you play with the cord. wrapping it around your finger.

"I'm working," You mutter into the telephone, attempting to muffle your voice. Unfortunately for you, it's almost 4AM and the diner is almost empty. Blue hears everything. He wonders who's calling you at this hour when you're working. By the looks of it, that isn't a welcome phone call.

"Please. I..I still have a few hours left. I'll call you in the morning," You attempt to reason with the person on the other end.

Blue digs into his dessert, tasting the sweetness on his tongue. It tastes extra good after a long day. As he eats, he finds himself thinking about you. Why are you working this late? In this town? If you have a boyfriend, Blue doesn't respect him. He should know better than to let a pretty girl work in a place like this without any security around.

"No!" You suddenly whisper-yell, sounding startled. Blue raises an eyebrow and takes a sip of his coffee. It's not even anything fancy, just normal diner coffee that has probably been in the pot for too long, yet it's what he longs for.

"Everything okay, sweetheart?" Blue speaks up, not at all too shy to speak to you. Why should he be?

You glance at him, now embarrassed that your personal phone call is affecting your job. Quickly, you hang up and put a fake smile on your face. There's no need to make the customers worry.

"Everything's fine, sir," You insist and look around. There are only a couple tables taken. Blue has a booth to himself and you notice a few guys in dark suits by another table. They don't talk much so you assume they're federal agents or something.

"You sure?" Blue smiles while taking another bite of pie.

"I promise," You tell him. It's a lie, obviously, but you wouldn't vent to a customer either. That's unprofessional.

Blue hates liars. He sighs and shakes his head. This isn't his club though, and your business isn't really any of his business. He can't force the truth out, nor should he care. He has bigger issues to worry about instead of some waitress he barely knows. Hell, the name on your name tag might even be fake.

"Care for a refill?" You ask him and hold up the pot of coffee, freshly brewed and meant to replace the old, bitter coffee by the counter. It's late and you're tired, so you're definitely pouring yourself a cup.

"Sure, sweetheart," He nods. He still can't shake the feeling that's growing in his gut, like something's wrong. He smiles as you get closer to his booth. "Why don't you join me?"

Your eyes widen in surprise. Then your mouth opens to speak, the first instinct is to tell him no. Then you realise that there is barely anyone there and you did want to get a coffee. Perhaps it wouldn't be that bad if you sat down with him. This man is a regular by now, as you've seen him here on countless nights. Always sitting in the same booth.

"I wouldn't wanna bother you, sir," You smile although you already grabbed a cup for yourself.

"Oh, you could never," Blue purrs. He enjoys watching you being so polite and treating him all nice. You have no idea who he really is.

You refill his cup and pour yourself one too. Then you join him, sitting on the opposite side of the booth. For some reason, doing this makes your heart race. No one ever said you can't have a coffee with a customer but something tells you your boss would yell at you for this. Luckily, he ain't there.

"Is it just coincidence or do you always work nights when I'm here?" Blue wonders. He can count on one hand, the times you haven't worked a nightshift when he's been to this place. You're always here. In your pretty pink waitress outfit and white apron.

"I was about to ask you the same thing, you're here almost every night," You smile and sip your coffee. You would be lying if you said he hadn't piqued your interest. Blue is mysterious and really attractive. plus he tips well. Every time you catch his rich, mahogany eyes watching you through his long, dark lashes, it gives you a rush. As of lately, you've found yourself thinking about what he does for a living, why he's always there at night and what his name is.

"I get off work late," Blue smirks, enjoying this interaction. He can talk about his life vaguely without revealing he runs a criminal empire, more or less. You treat him like a normal person. The innocence and trust in your eyes are intriguing.

"I see," You nod slowly, too shy to ask him too many questions. "Well, I do too. Or perhaps going home in the morning is early instead of late. Either way, my boss keeps giving me nights and here I am."

Blue narrows his eyes. Now that you're this close, he sees you in a different light. You're even more beautiful than he realized. At the same time, he sees the weariness on your face and in your body language. Poor thing.

"Your boss should know better than to give nights to pretty women like yourself," Blue mutters angrily, too seriously to sound like casual flirting. Like he actually feels pissed off at your boss.

His words take you by surprise. There's a compliment in there and you immediately feel flustered, trying to hide behind your coffee cup as you sit it. Trying to seem unaffected but he can see right through you.

"Darling, you don't have to be shy. I mean it," Blue teases you further, enjoying the way his words affect you.

"Uhm... I just, I guess he just gives me nights because it's convenient. It is what it is," You shrug, not focusing on his compliment at all. It's not fair how this man you don't really even know can make you squirm in your seat, just like that.

Blue watches your lips as they touch the edge of the cup. So pretty and soft-looking. He can't peel his eyes away from you.

"Convenient huh? How so?"

"Well most people working here have people waiting for them at home, or they study. They can't work these hours," You tell him, blindly putting your trust in him. Someone else might've left out the detail of not having anyone waiting for them at home. Blue almost takes pity on you for trusting him this much.

"Doesn't sound like it should be your problem, sweetheart," Blue says bluntly. He has a tendency to be very sharp and honest. He hates lies, even when they come from his mouth so he tries to avoid doing it.

"What about you? Who's the one keeping you at work until these hours?"

That's just sweet. Blue thinks you're endearing. He wonders how you'd talk to him if you knew who he really is.

"I'm my own boss," He tells you the truth but he leaves out all the nitty gritty details. "I own a club. I like to be there during open hours, to make sure everything goes by smoothly."

"Woah," You're surprised to hear that, as you hadn't expected some club owner to dine here. It isn't exactly the fanciest diner around. "You must be a busy man."

"You have no idea."

"What club do you own, if you don't mind me asking?"

Blue sips his own coffee now, taking a moment to think of what he should tell you. Would you even know if he said the name of the club? You definitely don't look like any of his regular patrons.

"A little place called the Lennox House," Blue reveals casually, studying your reaction. Just as suspected, you don't seem to have a clue what he's talking about. "A gentlemen's club," He adds after a while.

"Oh," You seem flustered again. He keeps surprising you. "That must be why I'm not familiar with it," You seem surprisingly calm about the revelation. He had wondered if you'd be judgemental but of course, you aren't. In his eyes, you're sweeter than the cherry pie on his plate.

"I don't think I've caught your name," You tell him with a hint of hope.

"You can call me Blue, sweetheart. Blue Jones."

At the end of your shift, as Blue and the strange men in suits leave, you find a tip left on the table for you. There are 500 dollars in bills on the table and a note that says; don't tell your boss about this darling. Treat yourself. - Blue

Later that week, Blue finds himself once again yearning for something sweet, sweeter than pie. After closing up the club for the night, he's already on his way to the diner with a few of his guys. Blue hopes that you're working tonight because seeing your cute face would make his day so much brighter.

He straightens his suit jacket and heads to the entrance, eager to get out of the cold, rainy street. As soon as the bell rings, signalling that he's entered the diner, he hears a man yelling. Blue's smile falters and immediately he's on edge but not scared. It's like an instinct, to find the source of yelling and deal with it. In a way, Blue has become possessive of this place.

"~you fucking bitch, how hard is it to understand?!" Some guy screams his lungs out behind the counter that's supposed to separate the staff from dining customers. Then Blue sees you, standing near the telephone nervously.

Blue glances at the man and doesn't hesitate to get closer. He's not impressed by what he's seeing or hearing. Blue sees red because this man had the audacity to insult you. By the looks of it, he's done more than just insult you. Blue catches the way you're clutching the side of your jaw in pain as if you've been hit.

"Leave her alone!" Blue demands as calmly as he can, giving this idiot one chance to leave quietly. Just one.

Blue's henchmen have surrounded the counter by now, standing beside Blue. They're all armed but their weapons remain hidden under their coats for now.

Your eyes are open wide in fear and shock. Not because of Blue but because of your ex who waltzed into the diner as soon as you were alone. It feels like a miracle that Blue showed up when he did because your ex was starting to get aggressive.

"And who the hell are you?" The man asks Blue, clearly too stupid to read the room and take his chance to leave.

It almost makes Blue laugh. If only he didn't feel murderous rage right now. The men behind Blue should know that Blue is very trigger-happy.

"I'm your worst enemy if you don't step away from her," Blue growls angrily. He can feel his blood boiling already, his fingers twitching with a need to give this man a taste of his own medicine.

"Now!"

The man glances between Blue and the men in suits behind him. If he were smart, he'd realize he's outnumbered and outgunned.

"So this is what's going on huh?" The man suddenly laughs. He's not in the right headspace, that much is clear. Whether he's on something or plain old stupid, it doesn't matter to Blue. The damage has already been done.

You step back in fear as your ex gets closer, "you've been fucking some gangster? Does that make you feel good about yourself huh? Getting over me by screwing some bad boy fantasy of yours?"

"Leave me alone!" You cry out and feel heat creeping up your neck and face, his words leaving you feeling humiliated.

"No-" He insists and grabs your wrist painfully, "you're gonna come home with me and I'll fix that messed up head of yours."

"Stop! It hurts!" You wince in pain and tear up. When you yank your arm, his grip just tightens.

"Oh boo fucking hoo," He mocks you, "Say bye-bye to your boyfriend, sweetheart."

Blue has had enough. Patience is not one of his virtues and he still gave this asshole a chance, yet he blew it. He grabs his pistol from its holster and doesn't hesitate to load it.

"Very few people make me repeat myself and live to tell the tale," Blue says chillingly. "So I suggest that you let go of the lady and step back."

Finally, one of the synapse connections in that man's thick skull seems to work. He lets go of your wrist and steps back, actually stunned by the sight of a gun. The brief silence is satisfying to Blue because he knows that he's in control now. Just like that.

"Woah, man," He eyes Blue's gun closely, too afraid to even blink. "We're on the same side here. This isn't the kind of girl you wanna help. She's-"

"Shut up!" Blue snaps in anger, not wanting to hear it. This piss poor excuse of a man has gone too far. There's nothing he could possibly say to sway Blue's mind.

"I don't care who you are," Blue makes it very clear and gets closer step by step, "I don't care who she is or was to you, I don't care what she's done," Blue adds, wanting to rub salt to the wound. To break the fragile masculinity this asshole has. "And I don't care about you. The only reason I haven't put a bullet through you yet is because I'd hate to get blood on such a pretty girl."

By now, they're almost face to face. For good measure, Blue puts the tip of the gun underneath the man's jaw. He looks him right in the eye as he gives him a good scare, and man it feels good. Blue knows that this is a coward deep down and that's why he has hurt you. It's also why he'll leave you be from now on and slither into his little hiding place to sulk.

"You won't ever bother her again, understood?" Blue tilts his head and pushes the gun against the man's chin, the metal ice cold against his skin.

"Yes," He swallows thickly and cold sweat begins to form on the man's forehead. He looks ghastly.

Blue wants to hurt him so badly but it takes one glance at you to hold himself back. You're standing there, eyes wide with fear and something else. Could it be intrigue? You're not trying to run away. You're watching Blue closely instead almost like you approve of his methods. Despite that, Blue won't risk scaring you off too by getting violent.

"Scram," Blue tells the low-life and steps back, towards you almost like a shield.

The man takes off as soon as the gun isn't pointed at his head. He runs past the henchmen and to the door, disappearing into the night. Blue looks at one of his men and nods, signalling for them to follow the guy and figure out where he lives, maybe even teach him a lesson.

Finally, Blue can focus on you. He puts his gun back into the holster and approaches you carefully. Even though you don't know each other that well, he reaches out to cup your cheek, feeling how you're trembling.

"Are you hurt?" Blue needs to know, scanning you all over with those dark yet warm eyes. Searching for injuries. Blue notices that your face seems tender and slightly swollen on one side. Then he sees the tears in those pretty eyes.

"I'm okay," You insist and lean into his comforting touch. Against your better judgement, you find comfort in Blue as he did just save you from your insufferable ex-boyfriend, and whatever he wanted to do to you. Even with the creepy men behind him and knowing Blue has a gun, you trust him.

"Thank you," You whisper and close your eyes for a moment, letting a tear roll down your cheek.

Blue sighs and caresses the side of your face gently, "Such a pretty thing like you shouldn't be in a situation like that."

He called you pretty again. It's almost shameful how that's what you focus on after getting the scare of your life.

"Don't worry, I won't let him get near you again," Blue promises. His protection rarely reaches outside his club. Usually, Blue has to protect his girls at the club from the wrong kinds of patrons. This is new territory, as you're not one of his dancers nor do you work for him. He just wants to protect you for the sake of it.

Blue pulls you closer into a hug and he presses a kiss against your head, wanting to comfort you. Perhaps it might seem tender but he is possessive of you. The light of his nights, sweeter than cherry pie. He'd be damned before he'd let someone take you away.

And you accept the hug because you need it. For some odd reason, his comfort makes you tear up even more. As if your fear can step aside and allow you to feel everything. You cling to his expensive suit and bury your face against his shoulder. The scent of his cologne and tobacco quickly fills your lungs in an oddly comforting way.

"Come on, darling," Blue coos and rubs your back, "you're safe now."

"He got mad because I left him a-and... I was trying to... get a restraining order," You reveal, professionalism far out the window at this point. Right now, Blue isn't a regular and you don't feel like acting like how a waitress is supposed to.

What a dick.

Add that to the list of reasons why Blue won't let that guy get away unchecked.

"Is that so?" Blue hums softly, still caressing your back. "It's okay, I swear he's out of your hair now."

It seems like your ex's words about Blue being a 'gangster' didn't register in your brain. Here you are, clinging to Blue for comfort and not knowing to fear him. That perhaps you too would be best off running away.

"You're not safe working late all alone, sweet thing," Blue reminds you, knowing he has made comments about this before on his many late visits to the diner.

Look how right he had been.

"I..I know," You sniffle quietly, "but it's my job."

"Screw that," Blue responds softly, "your boss has provided no security here at night, letting you work alone. We're closing up and you're coming with me tonight, okay?"

After saving your life and hugging you so tenderly, it's hard to even imagine saying no to that. You're aware that you shouldn't go anywhere with someone you barely know but right now, none of that seems to matter. Your ex knows where you live and he could come back to the diner, and at this ungodly hour, there's nowhere else to go. Perhaps, you'd be better off with Blue tonight. Besides, Blue's extremely generous tips have helped you save up and leave your ex in the first place.

"Alright," You nod, not giving Blue a hard time.

Blue smiles, feeling satisfied at how well you listen. It feels good that you trust him so deeply already. He's a complicated man but somewhere beneath all that, he does care about you in his own way.

"Good," Blue praises and rubs your shoulder, "come on. Let me take you out of here." Just like that, Blue puts an arm around your waist and leads you outside. Before you go, you throw your apron to the floor and don't even bother locking up, too shaken to think about such things. Fuck that place.

A/N: Okay I finally finished this instead of letting it rot in my drafts. I really hope you like it! If you did, a reblog would mean the world to me 🧡

[winniethewife]

Special day for a special girl (Blue Jones X F!reader)

A/N: For @ominoose Happy Birthday Mushi! Hope you enjoy!

Warning: smut under the cut, Blue is his own warning, fingering, Cunnilingus

Words:705

She woke with a start. Blue looming over her with an unusually cheerful look on his face. She instantly felt on edge. Blue was usually unpredictable, and his mood was hard to understand. She sits up slowly, apprehensive,

“Good Morning pretty girl.” Blue smiled at her a twinkle in his eye. He takes her hand in his and kisses it softly. She looks at him with a slight tilt of her head. He must want something. And want it bad.

“What’s going on Blue? You’re never this nice…”  She tried to pull away but he holds on tight.

“Hey…Baby baby…I just want to make you’re special day special…” He sits down on the bed next to her as she curls her legs up to her chest, he’s still holding on to her hand. . She feels confused.

“Special day?” she asks, she had no idea what day it was anymore, every day at the club was pretty much the same day in day out… it was near impossible to keep track. Blue just smiles.

“Yes, it’s your birthday. A special day…all about you.” He purrs as he takes her chin in his hand lifting her face to look at his. “I want to give you something special… something special for my special girl…” He presses his lips to hers, which was also surprising. As he pulled her in closer, putting his arm around her, bringing her chest to his, she softly moans. This was unexpected, unusual, and… nice. She puts her hands on his chest, the fabric of his suit was surprisingly soft. He took this as a sign… he pushes her down onto the bed, not daring to remove his lips form hers as she clutches his clothes in surprise. Her eyes open wide as he gets on top of her, her heart starts to race. She pulls away and opens her mouth to say something, to ask a question, he puts a finger over her mouth. “Shhhh….Don’t worry, I’ll take care you, My pretty girl…” he croons, kissing her on the lips, then her cheek, her jaw, neck…His hands caressing her skin, as he makes his way lower and lower on her body, His hands gentle, his soft words sweet. She was surprised, Blue wasn’t usually so kind, but shed take anything. Blue looks up at her from between her legs. “I’m gonna take good care of you baby. Keep your eyes on me pretty girl. That’s it…” He says quietly as he pulls her underwear to the side, sliding his fingers through her folds, rubbing his thumb in circles around her clit.

“Blue…” She moans his name softly, her breathing heavy, her eyes locked on his as he leans in to her, sliding his finger into her. She lets out a soft gasp as she feels him inside her, the feeling familiar but different, gentle, loving, not at all like her  clients. Her soft whimpers fill the room, like music to Blues ears as he carefully slides in a second finger curling them up into her. She bucks her hips into him, eagerly seeking his touch.

“That’s it pretty girl, making you feel good right? Tell me, who makes you feel this good?” He eggs her on stilling his fingers waiting for her response.

“You do Blue, you make me feel good” She cries out. She needs him badly.

“Good girl.” He praised her as he leaned in kissing her clit, pushing his fingers in and out of her, his tempo increasing as he sucks on her wanting to bring her to her climax. He runs his tongue along her folds and moving his fingers faster as she clenches her walls around his fingers. “That’s it pretty girl. Cum on my fingers. Can you do that for me baby?” He says into her skin, before nipping lightly at her thigh. She yelps slightly at the sting, then as he moves to bite the other side she feels the hot wave of pleasure come crashing down on her. As she rides out her high Blue smiles, pulling out his fingers and slides them into his mouth to clean them off, a satisfied hum leaves his throat. “A special day, for a special girl...”

~

Masterlist

[lis-likes-fics]

Would You Mind?

Pairings: Blue Jones x Reader Word Count: 7.5k words Kink: Begging Warnings: NSFW, dubcon elements, overstimulation, oral (m!receiving, brief f!receiving), face fucking, fingering, begging kink, praise kink, degradation kink, name calling, insinuated prostitution, dom/sub elements, dirty talk, spanking (briefly), very brief breeding kink (blink and you'll miss it), unprotected sex, creampie, multiple orgasms, dacryphilia... A/N: I've been trying to write a Blue fic for a while so this was fun. The song featured in this fic is Would You Mind by Janet Jackson. I hope you enjoy and thank you so much! Merry Christmas!

“Baby, would you mind touching me ever so slowly?”

Blue stares at the stage with a hard look etched into the features of his face. He flexes his hands at his sides, stuffing them in his pockets as he watches. The oiled up bodies of his girls twirl and grind against one another, a frivolous act put together by Madam Gorski, full of glitz and glam and leather and lace.

The fabric, the darkest blue and shiniest silver sticking to your body, is tight. Blue is sure it'll leave imprints in your skin, the lacey patterns of feathers and flowers in your stockings, the waistband of your tiny, tiny skirt, the lines of your tiny brassiere. You dance in too high heels like it's nothing, and he wants to take you in his hands and crush you with the weight of his desire for you.

“You're making me quiver and, baby, would you mind undressing me?”

You look right at him when you sing that, your melodies standing out against the harmonies of your backups currently surrounding you in their crouched levels. The feathers of your headdress fall over some of your face, huge and fluffy and adding to the seduction of your smooth, addictive voice. Your eyes flick away from him, as though you never even saw him.

His eyes never tear away from you. He's drunk on your song, as he always is when you open your pretty little mouth and become his own personal little songbird.

He watches intently as the girls pick you and hold you over their heads, turning you in a circle as though you were flying. They support you through your steady, hypnotic vocalizations, like you're sounding a mating call in an attempt to have every man in the theatre flock to you like vultures circling their prey.

They set you down as a few men enter the stage, some taking partners as a couple of them come to your sides. Their bodies flush against yours, standing firmly there as you lean against one and caress a hand down his chest, his hands coming to touch you as the other does the same.

Blue feels his heart battering against his ribs, the anger building inside of you at the way the men touched you. He watches your eyes flutter as your breath hitches and you continue to sing.

“I just wanna touch you, tease you, lick you, please you, love you, hold you, make love to you…”

Your hooded eyes meet him again, and he knows that you know what you're doing.

You sink to your knees, your back against one of the men as he watches you descend. You turn, placing your free hand on his thigh and making your way back up as you tuck your nose underneath his chin. His hand smooths along your side until he's dipping down to grab your thigh. He hosts you up and maneuvers you like you've practiced a million times before until you are hanging upside down, your legs on his shoulders and the back of your head resting against his lower stomach.

And you're so skilled, your voice is level and controlled as you continue.

“I just wanna kiss you, suck you, taste you, ride you feel you, make you cum too.”

The man's lips caress the inside of your leg carefully, the other man coming up too close so you're trapped between them. He dips down to hold you under your shoulders, slowly bringing you back up so you're balanced on the other man's shoulders with your crotch in his face as his strong arms hold you up.

Blue watches your fingers intertwine with his hair and clenches his jaw so tight, he feels like he may pop a vein. You move your hips in a rhythmic grind, though you never make contact with the man's face. It's all an act, Blue knows, but the thought of it alone makes his blood boil.

“Baby, would you mind kissing me all over my body?”

Blue is interrupted from his thoughts when someone's hand claps him on the back. He turns around, readjusting his posture.

“P, sweetheart, how've you been?” a man says jovially, a cigar between his thick fingers.

“Pleasant,” he corrects quickly. “I've been fine, Mr. Benny. How about yourself?” He fights the urge to clench his jaw. Benny comes at least once every week to get a look at the songbird. Every week he asks for a night with her, and every week he is denied. Blue really isn't in the mood to argue over the specifics of her ownership with this man, and he feels like heads might roll if he's forced to endure a moment of it tonight.

“Listen, I've been great,” he chuckles heartily. “I just came by to check up on you, see how you're doing.” He massages Blue's shoulder as he speaks, trying to coerce him as he does routinely. “See if your mind’s changed at all, because the price has.”

He sighs internally. “Has it now?”

“It has,” he hummed.

Blue’s irritation is getting the best of him. He's missing his favorite show.

“Look, Mr. Benny. If we could talk after this act, I would love i–”

“I'll give you 15 thousand for her.”

Blue almost chokes—and not just because you're on your knees again singing into one of your partners’ crotches about sucking and tasting him.

The price has tripled since last time. Fifteen thousand dollars, just for a night with you? You are certainly worth it, Blue would have to admit, but, Christ, was it a big jump.

“Fifteen thousand? One-five?” he clarifies, turning his body to face one of his clients.

“One-five. If that's still not enough, I'll give you 20. Call it a Christmas gift.” Blue nearly chokes again. “Just one night, Pleasant, that's all I'm asking.” Benny sighed, letting go of Blue in favor of snapping his fingers to get one of his bodyguards at his side with a suitcase. “I know she's exclusive to a very special client but you can't put her up on stage like that and expect the dogs to heel.”

God, the urge to say yes was stronger than anything he could ever imagine. Twenty thousand is a lot of fucking money. The things he could do with twenty thousand dollars…

His eyes looked back onstage, and your gazes met in the middle of you laying on the floor in between a man's legs, your back arched off the polished wood as your lips formed your wishes and desires for his body. At least, he assumes it's for his body. You belong to no one else.

Twenty thousand dollars was a lot of fucking money…

“Mr. Benny,” he begins, turning to face him again as he clasps his hands. Rubbing them together, he signals one of his own guards and smiles nicely. “It's a pleasure doing business with you. My friend here will help you work out the details of this negotiation.”

Benny smiles, a big smile that flashed one of his gold teeth. He claps Blue on the back, a hearty laugh coming out of him as he takes the briefcase in his hand. “Oh, Mr. P, I'm so glad you could come around!”

Blue smiles back and conceals his annoyance at the stupid nickname Benny had insisted on calling him, nodding at his guard and watching them both leave, a hand on Benny's wide back with the other braced over the gun hidden in the guard’s coat. Blue turns back to the stage, where both men are touching you too closely, knelt in front of you like your personal servants as you sigh and moan into the microphone. Your head is raised to the ceiling and you brace yourself on their shoulders as they touch you on either side of your body, closing you in and feeling you all over.

“Oh, yeah, baby, ooh. Just like that, ooh yeah.”

You belong to him.

~

You push open the door to one of the many bedrooms lining the Pleasure Hall, flicking on the light, which casts a golden glow over the room. Shutting the door behind you, you quickly shed the top layer of your performance clothes from your skin and fold them nicely on one of two chairs.

You’d worn a special pair of lingerie tonight. You’d just had them bought special with your allowance money from Blue, and you were more than excited to show him the spoils of his good nature toward you. Still waiting, you situate yourself in front of the golden pole on its little platform, leaning your back against it with your arms crossed over your head and your fingers gingerly stroking the metal rod.

As if on cue, the door opens to reveal your wonderful sponsor.

“There’s my favorite girl,” he smiles, closing the door behind him. “How are you, Birdy?”

You smile wide, shrugging a shoulder and keeping position. “I’m doing good. Enjoy the show?”

Blue wipes a hand down his face, remembering briefly the show you put on tonight and the offer that was presented to him for you, along with the hefty donation he suddenly received in support of Lennox by an…anonymous donor.

“Your show…was fantastic. So good, in fact,” he sits back in the other chair, crossing his legs as spreading his arms over the back, “I would like my private show.”

You smile, “Whenever you’re ready then, Mr. Blue.”

You and Blue had a routine.

Ever since you joined Lennox, Blue has taken a special interest in you. Every girl he owns has a special little talent he uses to seduce men out of their money to put in his pocket. When you came to him—or, rather, when you were given to him in the hopes of putting you to good use—he was quick to discover your gift of song. He’d put you on stage for the first time, and it was the biggest kick in his business he’d gotten in years.

But Blue is selfish, and he wants you all to himself.

So after your shows, you come here, in what has now become Blue’s reserved room, and perform it once more for him and only him. He loves to hear you sing to him, to seduce him with your smooth voice and then remind you who you belong to. It fills him with such light to know he has you in his pocket whenever he wants you.

The music begins to play through the room’s speaker, and your eyes close as you feel it, swaying gently as you sink into your routine.

“Baby, would you mind touching me ever so slowly?” you whisper, letting the music fill in the spots where your stage partners no longer existed.

Blue watches you, a primal look glittering in his eyes as he grip the arms of the chair so hard, he wouldn’t be surprised if he’d left imprints in the fabric.

“Cause I'm gonna bathe you, play with you, rub you, caress you.”

You come up to him, placing your hands on his thighs and leaning into his face, your lips inches from his. “I just wanna touch you, tease you, lick you, please you, love you, hold you, make love to you.” You sink to your knees in front of him, stroking your hands along his thighs and whispering dangerously close to the bulge in his pants as he watches you, enchanted by your voice. “And I'm gonna kiss you, suck you, taste you, ride you, feel you deep inside me, boo.”

“Oh, Birdy,” he rasps under his breath, his hands moving to cover yours as you stand once again, your ass in the air and your lips hovering over his own.

When you turn and make your way back to your pole, he has to catch his breath again as you sway your hips to the rhythm of the music.

The things you do to the pole could make him cry. He needs you so badly, he needs your little body to rub against his. You manage to hoist yourself up on the pole as you’d done with the boys on stage, supporting your weight upside down as your legs wrap around the top end of it. “Baby, would you mind tasting me? It's making me all juicy, feeling your lips on mine.”

Blue is so hard in his pants, he thinks he might burst just looking at you. You grind on the pole, and he knows he saw you make contact when your eyes flutter and your voice wavers just a bit, blending with the moaning lyrics of your song.

You keep teasing him, giving the pole everything he’s wanting from you, telling him everything you want to do to him but keeping your hands off of him all the while.

Blue raises his hand and curls his fingers to get you to step closer. And you do, making your way toward him too slowly to wrap your hands around his thighs once more. You lean forward and whisper in his ear, “I just wanna kiss you, suck you, taste you, ride you, feel you, make you cum too.”

A shudder runs down his spine as he pulls you back to look at you, a hand hooking around your inner thigh as your breath hitches a little. The music begins to go wherever it wants as you divulge into the ending, breathy moans and whispers and pleas for him to keep going when all he’s doing is putting his hand on your thigh and stroking it.

“Just like that, ooh yeah,” you breathe. “Shit, oh, oh, my, yes, oh, oh.”

Your face contorts with an imagined pleasure, your O-shaped lips and clenched shut eyes illustrating how you would look if he gave in to the song already. You’ll give him this—he lasted a lot longer than you thought he would.

The music finishes off, and you’re still unsatisfied. Blue’s face lingers away from yours, watching the pleasure in your face sink away as you look at him. His knuckle strokes your jaw, dipping behind your ear and easing down the side of your neck before hooking underneath the strap of your lacey bra.

“This is new,” he rasps.

You nod. “Mhm,” your voice is breathy. “Bought it just a couple days ago. Do you like it?”

He moves you to stand to your full height, towering over him in his seated position as he keeps his hands at your waist and turns you around to get the full view. It’s blue, all lace and no support, hiding nothing from him so he can see what you’re working with. The color is perfect with your skin, and the size is one too small so that it hugs tight to every inch it “covers”.

“I love it, babygirl,” he says, losing breath.

You preen under the brief praise, turning around again. “I’m glad.”

He pulls you close, digging his nose into your hip to smell you. His eyes close as he holds you still. “Mr. Benny came to visit you again.”

You frown. “I don’t like Mr. Benny. He’s pushy, and he smells like gas.”

“I know you don’t, baby bird,” he sighs, looking up at you again as you set your hands on his shoulders. “But I have a little gift for you.”

“What is it?” you ask, your eyes glittering at the prospect of a gift.

“Mr. Benny won’t be coming around anymore,” he smiles. “And he left us alone with a nice, big donation.”

You bite your lip, hiding your tiny grin. Good. You hate that scumbag. Whenever he managed to get close, he’d grab your arm or your thigh and touch you however he could. He was sticky and smelled like gasoline and was too warm.

“What’d you do to him?” you wonder briefly.

His thumbs rub circles into your sides. “Don’t you worry about that, little bird. He’s gone, I’m raising your allowance, and that’s all that matters.”

You smile wide. “Okay, Blue.”

“Now, what does my Birdy want tonight?” he asks.

You pretend to think, conjuring your song in your mind as you bent down to his lips. “I just wanna…touch you, and tease you, and lick you, and please you, and love you, and hold you, and make love to you.”

“Is that all?” he chuckles. “What else?”

“I wanna,” your voice is softer, breathier as you whisper in his ear and let your noses bump one another as you speak, “kiss you, and suck you, and taste you, and ride you, feel you…make you cum too.”

He shudders. “Yeah?” You nod, humming in his ear. He opens his fluttering eyes to look at you, his smile going sour as a new look takes his face. Primal and dangerous and the same look he gave you when you were on stage, rubbing your body against those boys while you looked directly into his eyes. “You’re gonna have to beg for that, baby bird.”

“Please?” you mutter. “Please, can I have it?”

He shakes his head, holding your elbows in his hands and caressing the length of your arms. “No… No, you can do better than that, can’t you? Beg me.”

You step closer between his legs. “Please, Blue, can I kiss you?”

He shakes his head. Letting go of you, he sighs. “You know, I don’t think you’re really wanting me, are you?”

You nearly whimper, sinking to your knees quickly as you kneel between his thighs, your hands on his knees as you set your cheek against the inside of his leg and look up at him.

“Please, Blue, please can you kiss me? I want you so bad, please.”

He considers for a moment, but he’s weak when you’re kneeling all pretty between his legs. He takes your chin in his hand and pulls you forward until his lips can crash against yours in a bruising kiss. You immediately sink into it, humming against his lips and becoming putty in his hands as you kiss him back.

Your hands find the buckle of his belt, and he stops you. “No, no, no. You gotta beg for that, too, baby. You gotta ask for the things you want. Isn’t that right?” he teases, though he’s completely serious as he stares you down.

“Please, Blue–”

“Ah, ah, ah,” he interrupts. “I let it slip the first time, but you’ve gotta do it properly.”

“Please, sir,” you correct immediately. “Please, can I suck your cock? Please?” You sound like you’ll cry. You’re probably aching with need right now, he can smell it off you…

“Well, how are you going to suck my cock if my cock is in my pants?” He casts you a dark grin, leaning back and shrugging his shoulders. “I think you skipped a few steps, Birdy.”

“Can I please take off your belt?” you ask, the frustration reaching your eyes.

He smiles slyly. “Yes, you may.”

You do, forcing open the buckle and ripping the belt from its loops to be rid of it. The heady scent of his cologne is sinking into your senses and driving you crazy. “Please, sir,” you whisper. “Please can I pull your cock out?”

“Go ahead, baby,” he relents, watching you with hooded eyes as your hand disappears into his underwear and comes back with his cock in your hand. He almost moans at the sight, his hard erection leaking precum already in the grasp of your little hand. Your thumb begins to stroke the length of him and his hips jerk slightly as he reprimands you.

“Have—fuck.” He takes a moment. “Have you asked for that yet?”

It takes everything in your power not to groan and roll your eyes at his insistence. “Sorry, sir,” you whisper. “Can I suck your cock now?”

“Please?” “Please?”

“Please who?”

“Please, sir.”

“Now put it all together.”

You’re going to lose it, and he can tell. He loves teasing you like this, he loves how impatient you get and how much more impatient he can make you still. The gentle squeeze of his cock drives him insane as he fights not to let it show.

“Please, sir, can I please suck your cock? I wanna make you cum so bad. I wanna be your good girl. Please?” you whimper. His head spins at your little rant, imagining every little detail your pretty lips wrapped around his cock.

God, the things you do to this man.

“Well, since you want it so bad,” he sighs. “Go on, baby bird. Get what you want.”

You immediately begin stroking his cock, encouraging the precum pooling at his tip as you lean forward on your knees and take the head of his cock between your lips, swirling your tongue over the slit and licking up the pearly white drops gathered there. His muscles tense at the feeling of your warm mouth on him.

His hands grasp either side of your head, tangling in your hair as one adjusts itself around the back. You tease his tip, licking and suckling and driving him as insane as he’d driven you.

“Good girl,” he moans, relishing the dip of your head halfway down his length. You grip his thighs and stroke them slowly as you wrap your hands around his hips.

“Look up at me, baby, look,” he says, shifting his hand in your hair to lift your head. You stay where you are, turning your eyes up at him as you suckle around his tip. His breath shudders.

His cock slowly fills your mouth as you take him farther down, taking your time to ease him into your throat. Your nose brushes his pelvis, and he chokes when he looks down at you through lidded eyes.

Your eyes prick with tears, clouding your vision. When you go to hum around his girth, you gag a little. The constriction pulls a grunt from his throat, and he opens his eyes once again to look at you with a devious grin.

“Good girl,” he huffs again. He draws out the word just as he draws your head back a little to pull himself out of your throat. You whimper lightly, a high-pitched and breathy sound that makes him bite his lip.

His hand flattens on your head as he cards his fingers through your hair. When he grips it, pulling on the hair at the base of your skull, you feel like you'll go limp as your mouth falls open a little more.

You breathe a moan and flatten your tongue along the underside of him. Humming again, you wrap your lips around him and start to bob your head again. He guides you, tightening his grip in an attempt to get control of himself.

You listen to him, to his grunts, the way he moans like he's going to blow any second. One of your hands shifts from his thigh, cupping his heavy balls in your palm and sighing at the precum spilling over your tongue.

“Oh, fuck, Birdy,” he huffs, his hips jerking up into you as he teeters on the edge. Just as you feel him getting ready to unload, he pulls you away and leans his head back.

You sigh and catch your breath, your tongue hanging out from your mouth as the tears welling in your eyes spill down your cheeks. Your jaw aches as you move it around to massage.

Blue huffs as he looks at you and your tear-stained face. He smiles a little. “You look so pretty like that, baby bird.”

“Thank you, sir,” you smile slightly.

He lightly smacks your cheek, and you move to stand. You turn toward the bed, crawling on top of it to stand on your hands and knees, waiting for him.

Blue comes up behind you, his hand smacking your side again and pulling you back by your leg. You turn to look at him, but he just picks you up and puts you back on the floor. You look up at him, obediently awaiting his next move until he's shucking off the rest of his pants and underwear and moving to be rid of his shirt as well.

You watch him undo each button as he stares at you with his dark eyes, burning into you with a glaring dominance. “Get on your knees.”

You do, shifting your legs underneath you and rubbing your palms into your thighs. When he's naked, he steps forward.

“Beg me,” he says.

You tilt your head, looking up at him. “What do you want me to beg you for, sir?”

He shakes his head, “Just do it. I wanna hear you beg for me.”

He towers over you, looking down his nose at you as his hard cock stands stiff in your face. You bite your lip, “Please do what you want with me, sir. I want to feel you, wanna be yours.” His face doesn't shift, unconvinced. “Please, sir, please use me. Wanna be your good girl, please.”

It feels out of place, begging him for something without knowing what it is, but you obey. When he's standing over you like this, intimidating you with his height alone, you can do nothing but obey and hope he's kind enough to give you what you want.

He sighs, “Such a sweet girl.” He sets a hand on your cheek, the other moving to your neck as he takes another step closer. “Open your mouth.”

You do, and he lines his cock with your lips before slipping himself back into the warmth of them. His cock hits the back of your throat, and it makes you gag again when he does it again. His grip on the side of your neck tightens, and he's almost guiding you again as he slowly fucks into your mouth, his eyes focused on you and his lips parted at the sight of you so undone.

More tears begin their descent down your cheeks, your mascara running as it does. Your lipstick has begun to smudge, red lining the base of his cock and smearing over the corners of your lips.

He shudders. “The things this mouth can do is magical. It's fucking perfect, baby.”

After a rough thrust into your mouth, your hands find his hips as you pull him back a little. You gasp, catching your breath as a cough rattles your chest. He only gives you a moment to adjust before his cock is in your mouth again.

He listens to you, the sound of your hums in the back of your throat being interrupted by the tip of his cock rubbing against it. He curses under his breath, holding you by your head and keeping you still as he continues to rock his hips into your mouth.

It's when you can't breathe once more that you tap your hand against his side quickly, pushing him back when he doesn't listen. You gasp, coughing again and keeping your hand at his waist to keep him back. You wipe at your eyes to clear them, looking at him once you've calmed and watching him stare at you like a predator would a hunk of meat.

“Sorry, sir,” you mutter, stroking your hands on his thighs again to appease him. He just smiles, running a hand through your hair.

“That's okay, Birdy,” he says. “Get on the bed.”

You stand on trembling legs, crawling back onto the bed for the second time on your hands and knees. Once you're comfortable, you lean forward to press your face against the plush, red pillows on the bed.

He sighs appreciatively, fingering the waistband of your lingerie. He unhooks them from your stockings and pulls them down your thighs, revealing your sticky, wet pussy. With a hum, he rips them up to toss the fabric away. Your breath hitches.

Blue stares at your pussy, watches you clench around nothing, watching your arousal seep from your folds. He rubs his thumb through your slit, coating it in your slick as your hips jerk in response. He licks his thumb, closing his eyes and humming at the taste of you.

His hands grope your ass, smacking you a couple times. You feel the bed dip behind you, and moan when you feel his hot mouth against your cunt. His tongue flattens against your dripping folds, collecting your arousal on his tongue as he hums roughly against you. His tongue digs insistently between your folds, and you feel him suckle around your clit.

“Blue,” you sigh. “Oh, please don't stop.”

He grunts into you like a crazed beast, groping your flesh and eating you up. When he pulls away from you, you whimper and feel your body tensing uncomfortably.

He shoves two thick fingers inside of you, pressing them as far as they'll go and stroking them roughly. You bite your lip to stifle your moans, fisting the sheets as you struggle to keep still.

“Fuck, you're still so tight,” Blue sighs. “You'd think I'd break you in by now.”

You wiggle your hips slightly, not entirely of your own volition as the thought of his cock inside of you excites your rushing blood. “Please,” you begin again, almost sounding whiny with how needy you are.

“Please what?” he asks. “What do you want, huh? You want me to fuck this little hole, Birdy? Is that what you want?”

You nod quickly. “Yes, sir, please! Want you to fuck me so bad, Blue, please.”

His hands massage your hips, “You want me to use you?”

“Yes!”

“You want me to ruin you?”

“Yes, sir!”

Without warning, he shoves his cock inside of you, thrusting all the way in with one slap of his hips. You moan out, gripping the sheet tight as you feel the glorious stretch of his girth.

He bends down over you, hooking an arm around your neck and pulling you up to support yourself on your hands. He pushes his fingers past your parted lips, making you suck your arousal off his fingers as he pushes your tongue down to the bottom of your mouth.

“Fuck,” he huffs. “Love this tight little pussy.” He grips your waist, pulling out of you just to smack his hips into you once again. You let out a loud, breathy moan as he does. Feeding off your validation, his pace picks up as he begins thrusting into you at a punishing force.

You clench around him, your weak arms shaking as you try to keep yourself up. “Ah, please don't stop.” Your voice is teetering on the edge of a sob as he continues to fuck you like he's been starved of you for years. “Fuck, Blue, yes!”

“Yeah?” he grunts. “You like when I fuck you like this? Nice and rough?” His voice is low and gravely, depraved. “Does this little whore cunt like being fucked?”

You nod, letting your head fall forward. “Yes, sir!”

“I know it does.” A rough thrust comes with a low growl from him. “My cock hungry little slut needed this, didn't she?”

You nod again, clenching the sheets until your fingers start to tingle. The slap of skin on skin is loud and sharp, a rhythmic beat of slk! slk! slk! as you soak his cock in your arousal.

He pulls out of you suddenly. You whimper at the loss of his thick length, but you're interrupted when he shoves you onto your side. He lifts your leg, spreading you out as he sets it over his shoulder. His tip presses between your folds and he's thrusting again, bottoming out as the whole of him is sheathed in your warmth.

Your reaction is immediately, high-pitched moans worthy of a professional porn actress and clenching walls that squeeze his cock and make him twitch. “Fuck, look at you,” he huffs as he fucks into you. “Greedy little slut takin’ my cock. You my greedy whore? Hm?”

“Mhmm,” you moan, turning your head into the bed to stifle your moan.

“Nah-ah, talk to me, baby. Lemme hear it. You're my little fucktoy, aren't you?” He pulls your body closer to the edge of the bed, grunting.

“Yes, sir,” you huff. “‘M your little fucktoy. All yours!”

“Good girl,” he urges, shifting your legs again to close them to thrust into a tighter pussy. He curses again, you can feel each little movement of his cock inside of you and you whine as he thrusts into you, a steady in-and-out rhythm that drags along your walls and makes you light-headed.

“Fuck, sir, please. More, I need more,” you moan, giving him what he wants. His thrusts become rougher still, relishing in the delicious feeling of your pussy so tight around him. “Please can I come?” you cry. “Please, I needa cum, Blue. Please, please, please.”

He scoffs. “I don’t care, baby bird. Cum for me.”

Your finger finds your clit now that you have the permission to touch yourself in your hands. You rub tight, fast circles, ignoring the ache in your arm that quickly builds at the exertion. Your cunt tightens more and more around his pistoning cock as you get closer and closer to your own sweet release. The pleasure is so intoxicating, it melts your brain as you succumb to the pleasure.

He can feel you beginning to quiver, steeling his jaw as you do. “You gonna cum for me, Birdy?” he grunts. “I know you are. I’ve got you whining and moaning like a little bitch. Listen to yourself, so fucking pathetic.”

His words make you rub faster at your clit, building the pleasure as you balance on the edge, ready to jump off. “You wanna cum, baby? Do it. Do it for me. Cum for me, little bird.”

The coil in your belly snaps as you go flying off the edge, your release crashing down around you like a mighty wave. You cry out, moaning loudly, whining like a little bitch. “Ah—Blue! Fuck, yes, yes, yes! Fuck, I’m cumming.”

He fucks you through it, his pace quickening and his cock twitching as you clench around him, gripping like a vice. His breaths are growing louder, his control slipping piece by piece.

As you come down from your high, the sensitivity kicks in and the tingling of your release turns into a dull burn. Your clench for a different reason, reaching toward his abdomen to push him back, to no avail.

“Blue, sir,” you mumble, stuttering slightly. “Fuck, slow down.” He doesn’t listen. “Blue, please, slow down. I—Ah—I need a second.”

He keeps thrusting away inside of you, his hips not stopping for a moment as he continues to use your little hole like you’d begged him to moments before. “Blue–”

“Shh, just shut up,” he breathes, impatient. “Shut up and take it, little bird. I know you can do it. You were made for this, yeah?”

You try again. “Bl–”

He pulls out of you quickly, spreading your legs wide and turning you on your back just so he can shove his cock back into your sensitive cunt. When you whine, he slaps a hand over your mouth to silence you. His face, inches from yours, is marked with lust and impatience and something far more primal as he stares at you. “Shh,” he eases, his punishing pace immediately as he ruts into you, an unsentimental beast. “The only thing I wanna hear coming out of you are those little moans when I fuck you dumb, you understand me?”

You can’t answer, he’s got his hand clasped tight over your lips. His cock keeps pounding into you, his other hand gripping your thigh so tight, his dull nails dig into your flesh and leave little crescent marks. He’s usually not this insistent.

It takes a moment, but the sensitivity washes away into another wave of arousal as his hips keep slamming into you. You wade into the pleasure, letting it take you as you moan against his palm. He removes his hand, clasping it over your throat instead just to hold you as he thrusts. “Such a good girl, listening to me, moaning for more. You wanted it bad, didn’t you? That’s why you were on stage letting all those boys touch you like that, grinding on them like the little whore you are, huh?”

You nod, “Yes, sir.”

“You just wanted a nice fuck,” he scoffs. “You can come as much as you want, Birdy.” He punctuates his words with a finger to your clit, and your hips jerk at the feeling, not yet recovering from the sensitivity there. You try to wiggle your hips away, but he doesn’t let you as he starts with a cruel pace, playing with your clit like making you cum is a punishment.

Your moans are loud as he pleasures you, for better or worse. You clench his cock and moan his name and beg him for nothing in particular. “Blue, please. Fuck, please.”

He answers you by making his thrusts just a little harder, almost bruising with the way he slams his hips against yours. You’re light-headed as the pleasure rattles in your skull, in your bones. You feel tears pricking at your eyes as the pleasure builds, a blinding pleasure that warns another release. When you cum a second time, it’s with a whining sigh as the sensitivity carries on through his continued assault on your clit.

You’re out of breath, your voice barely above a whisper as you try to convince him. “Slow down. Ahh, fuck, Blue, please.” But he’s not convinced—or he doesn’t care. He keeps fucking you like he’ll never touch you again.

His thrusts start to become sloppy, and you know he’ll cum soon. The faster he does, the faster you get a moment to recover from your consecutive orgasms and let your body rest. You clench around him, grinding your hips to meet his thrusts as you coax him closer to his own release.

Blue’s cock twitches and he groans. Just as you’re expecting him to cum inside of you, he pulls out with a heavy sigh. He grips the base of his cock, staving off his release. He leans over you again and kisses you roughly, a hand wrapping around the back of your neck to pull you up enough to sit. You close your legs, but he forces them open once more as he continues to kiss you.

His hand massages the inside of your thigh, and when his hand finds your clit again, your legs jerk. He keeps them open. You gasp when his hand rubs at your clit, fast and rough and making your head spin with how wonderful and how aching it feels. Your hips jerk up to meet his hand, but you also try to move away from him as your still-fresh release hangs over your head.

With the way he touches you, you’ll come again in no time, regardless of how fast it was. “Blue, please, ‘s too much. I can’t.” He just shushes you, rubbing a little faster.

You cry out when he pulls another orgasm from you, a sharp, aching one that fills you with so much ecstasy for a few seconds and quickly falls back into a stinging pain. And just as you suspected, he doesn’t let up.

The tears fall down your cheeks, the pleasure and the pain mixing together too much for you to handle. He smiles at the sight of it, watching it roll down your face with a terrible grin. “So fucking beautiful when you cry for me.”

“Blue–”

“Shh…” His brutal pace on your clit continues on for as long as it needs to in order to bring another release from you. You cry when he does, a mix of a moan and a sob as your body trembles.

He finally steps away from you, giving you a moment to breathe as you lay slack on the bed with shuddering thighs. But he only gives you a moment.

Blue takes you in his arms and rolls you over onto your stomach. You gasp lightly, collecting your thoughts as he lifts your hips up to present you again. You whine insistently when he hooks his thumb inside of you, and you shudder when his cock follows.

“Ah, Blue!” His hands find your waist and use them to guide you on his cock, building his pace once again. You grip the bedsheets and mewl under him, your body arching into the bed when he pushes you down roughly.

He fucks you from behind hard and rough, punishing you for an unknown crime as your sensitive pussy flutters around him. It aches with a dull pain and with a mind-numbing pleasure. You’re conflicted by all the sensations, but the sense is slowly slipping away as he does what he said he was going to do: fuck you dumb.

You can’t think straight, not with the way his cock pistons inside of you. Your moans and sighs huff out of you as they wish, your pussy quivers with each rough thrust, your legs tremble as the slap of his hips make it harder to hold yourself up.

“You like this, baby? You’ve been fucking needing it.” A harsher thrust has you crying out. “Take my fucking cock like the fucking whore you are. Fuck, take it, Birdy. Just like that. Good girl. Good girl.”

The praise and the degradation mixes in your mind. You can do nothing but moan, doing as he says and taking what he gives you as you whine and moan. With the pleasure so hot in your body, the pain has numbed and left a tingly feeling that resides in your fingers, in your toes, in the tip of your tongue.

“Mmm, f-fuck, sir,” you mumble incoherently. “S’good. Feels so good.”

“Yeah? You like being fucked like this,” he says, grunting as he feels himself reaching his own limit.

“Yes,” you breathe. “Yes, Blue.”

“You’re out of your little mind.” He punctuates his sentence with a harsh thrust. His hand snakes around your waist to play with your abused clit again. You mewl and wiggle your hips and do nothing more. He builds you up quickly, and you shudder as your release nears again. You don’t know how many times you’ve come.

“Fuck, Birdy, I’m gonna cum inside this perfect little pussy.” You moan at his words. “You want that? You want me to fuck my cum into your belly? Make you nice and round, perfect fucking belly for a baby.” His hips are getting sloppy, his measured thrusts not as rhythmic and his thrusts more shallow as he grinds inside you. A rough groan scratches his throat as he pushes in deeper and grips you harder. “You’re gonna make me cum, baby. Ah, fuck!”

He spills inside of you, hot and molten and filling you up to the brim as he shoves his cock as far as he’ll go. You shudder, a sobbing moan rising from your sore throat as you reach your own release, fluttering around him and encouraging him.

“Fucking take it,” he grunts, his voice low and gravely. “Take my—mmm—fucking cum like a—hah—a good girl.” Shallow, rough thrusts fuck his cum deep inside of you, and you whine at the sore pleasure it brings.

Blue’s breaths ease very slowly, the pleasure fading off until he can catch his breath and clear his mind. He stays sheathed inside of you, relishing in the warmth of your cunt for a little longer. He bends down, kissing the back of your neck and your cheek. He turns your head so he can reach your mouth, licking your bottom lip as he pulls you into a gentler kiss than the rough ones he’d given before.

When he pulls away, he takes your lip with him before releasing it with a dull slap back against your teeth. His hands push down on your back as he pulls out of you, sighing heavily. “Fuck,” he curses.

He lets you go, and you allow yourself to fall off the bed, your body heavy and limp. He stands, moving you over to lay on your back. He leans over your body, kissing your lips again and gently rubbing his knuckles along your cheek. You manage to look at him, offering what you can of a gentle smile as you try to stay awake, though the fatigue pulls at you.

He runs a hand along your face. “Would you mind singing for me again, little bird?”

Oscar Isaac taglist: @loki-hargreeves @hb8301 @tessarqctt @fanreader @alexxavicry @gublur @katsukis1wife @hatterripper31 @papichulo120627 @anotherblackreader @kmc1989 @the-nerdy-goddess @minigirl87 @woahhajime @notzammm Tag yourself here...

[melodygatesauthor]

A Broken Toy

Club Blue Jones X Sex Worker f!Reader

Not Beta Read - Requested By @saraicus

Prompt

His eyeliner running down as he’s banging you against his desk.

Summary

Blue likes to play with all his girls, and he calls on you specifically for what he calls, 'play time'. Some girls never return from their 'play time', and the ones who do come back...act different.

Tags/Warnings

NSFW, Blue Jones is his own tag, dubious consent, rough sex, reader is a sex worker in Blue's club, p in v sex, p in v creampie, Blue is mean, threats of violence, crying (Blue), ruined makeup (Blue), spit kink

Word Count: 2.1k

----

Blue had you right where he wanted you, all pretty, flustered, and an outright mess while you writhed underneath him. You were such a little bitch, slapping him the way you did when he told you he wanted to play. You were there for one thing, and one thing only…to do as you were fucking told. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t like the fire you had inside of you. The new ones always had a little fight in them…in the beginning anyway. He was going to fuck it out of you one way or another.

You remembered the way your fear overcame you when his henchmen opened your door. They walked inside your room, being the only men allowed in there other than Blue, of course. They gave you a pretty red dress to put on, and you did so obediently. Then they escorted you down the hall to his office, where you stood, shaking like a leaf while Blue approached you, waving his henchmen away.

The door closed behind them, and you felt terror wash over you. It was silent in the room, save for Blue’s notoriously heavy and irritated breaths. He brushed his fingertips over your cheek, telling you how beautiful you were all dressed up for him. His breath reeked of alcohol. In a rough and quick motion, he tugged you close and told you how he was going to ‘play with you until you break’. 

You’d heard stories of what happened to the girls who left his office after what he liked to call, ‘play time’. Some of them didn’t act the same after leaving. One girl seemed to have completely lost her spirit. She was still friendly, but overall stopped interacting much with you and the others. Another girl that he took to his office never left…at least…no one ever saw her again.

You didn’t know what came over you when you slapped him across the face, but in a moment of bravery, and pure self preservation, you struck him. It would seem that your instincts were off. A smart girl would’ve been as obedient as possible, throwing herself at him willingly. Self preservation, in this case, meant giving the man with all the power over you whatever he asked for, and you’d slapped him across the face.

“I’m sorry! I’ll behave, I–ah!” Blue was slamming you around like a ragdoll in his office.

You landed on the floor with a thud, covering your face with your hands as he closed in on you quickly.

“Shut up!” He picked you up off the floor and put you down on the desk, grabbing your throat tightly in his strong hand. “You’re gonna learn the rules really quick honey,” his face was close to yours while he spoke. He started undoing his belt with his free hand. “You don’t get to say no to me.”

“I know Blue I know I’ll give you what you want now, I’m so, so–” you choked on your words when he squeezed tighter.

“Doesn’t matter, gonna teach you a lesson,” he lined himself up with your hole, pressing the fat tip of his cock to your dripping entrance. “Your job is to satisfy the men in here, that includes me honey. I was going to play nice with you, I really was, but since you wanna act out, I have to get rough now. You made me do this.”

“I’m sorry! Please! I’ll be good, Blue I’ll–!”

He thrust into you, forcing a gasp from your lips as his thick cock made your walls give out around him. You grabbed the edge of the desk while he started his even paced motion, grunting with every hard rock of his hips. He huffed out an irritated laugh, clenching around your neck even harder. He loved the way you looked with your little throat in his large hand.

“You think I like doing this? Huh?” He leaned in, squeezing tighter to pull your face closer. “I just wanted a turn to play with you. You’re my toy after all. You don’t belong to them, you belong to me.”

Blue fucked the cries out of you, relishing in the tears that fell down your cheeks. He wished you hadn’t made him so mad. He didn’t want to hurt you, but you’d left him no choice. All the other girls knew that when it was time to play, they were supposed to be nice and pliant, like good little toys for him. This was the only way for you to learn.

“I’m nice enough to share you because you make me lots of money, but do you know how hard it is to watch–f-fuck–watch other men play with you?” He pressed his sweat soaked cheek to your face while he rasped in your ear, “I have to watch them walk out of the room, all smug and satisfied after playing with what’s mine.”

He pulled his face back and looked at you. Black streaks were smearing down his cheeks from the eyeliner mixed with the perspiration. He started choking you harder. While he looked at you, you realized something else. He was…he was crying. He kissed you, pressing his lips firmly against yours before brushing his tongue against your bottom lip. You let him in, melting your mouth into his passionately, trying desperately to show him that you could behave.

He sobbed into you, angry with you for denying him and angry with himself for showing weakness. He broke off the kiss with a wet smack, looking at you with big glistening eyes. He didn’t look angry. Instead he looked…hurt.

“I do everything for you.” He was spitting while he talked to you. “I take care of you, and yet you still treat me like an enemy. Look what you’ve made me do to you.”

“I won’t do it again, p-please!” You gasped when he finally let go of your throat, coughing and trying desperately to get as much air into your lungs as you could.

“Fuck-you-feel-so-good.” He never slowed his pace, even through the crying and the scolding, he was unrelenting. “I see why they like you so much, such a perfect little pussy, such a good little t-toy-f-fuck!”

You grabbed his shoulders for stability, and he held onto your hips tightly, fucking into you even harder. You leaned forward and kissed him, touching your forehead to his while his gaze bore into you.

“If you ever fucking tell me no again, I’ll make it impossible for you to speak, okay?” He was sort of growling in a low, dark, tone that made a chill roll down your spine. “I’ll make sure that you have to be the most well behaved girl in the club whether you want to or not, understand me?”

“Yes, yes Blue. I’m sorry.” You kissed him more, showing him your willingness to obey.

He slowed down his movements, savoring the way his cock felt when he pulled back. He stopped, the bulbous head of his length rested at your entrance, glossed over with his precum and your juices. You wondered why he stopped, feeling so empty all of a sudden. Involuntarily, you grabbed his shoulders harder and slid your rear forward, trying to get him back inside of you, but he managed to keep it just out of reach.

“T’oh, honey…” He taunted, tsking you while shaking his his head slowly, “you want more don’t you?”

His cock was throbbing and twitching while it sat, still pressed up against your little hole. His fat, glistening head just rested there, taunting you. You didn’t even have to tell him out loud that he was right. Despite yourself, you did want more. You felt your pussy dripping with arousal, your insides burning with a need that only his cock could satisfy in that moment. You gripped the lapel of his suit jacket and looked deep in his eyes.

“Yes, I do.”

“Of course you do…beg.”

You looked at him incredulously, “what? Y-you want me to–”

“Fucking beg for it if you want it so bad,” he hissed through clenched teeth.

You tried to slide forward for even the slightest bit of friction, but you were met with a hand to your fragile throat once again. Blue squeezed, pushing you back to laying on the desk while you tried desperately to get a satisfying breath.

“P-please give it to me, please!” You grabbed his arm, trying to keep some of the pressure off of your throat, “I’ll be a good toy, I’m a g-good toy!” You squeezed his waist with your knees trying to coax him into your hole.

“I don’t believe that you mean it honey, I want the whole club to know how bad you want me. Scream it.”

“PLEASE BLUE! I FUCKING WANT YOU!”

“Now was that so fucking hard?!”

The desk scuffed over the floor with the force at which he plunged into you again. He leaned over you, punching his cock into your needy hole while you gasped and cried under his tight grip still caged around your throat. It felt so good. You cursed yourself internally for fighting him so hard on this. Why had you fought against him again? Something about girls being broken or disappearing? Another harsh thrust brought you back to the moment immediately.

“Open your mouth!” He shouted, and you obeyed immediately.

He drove two fingers past your lips and pressed them against your tongue, pulling your jaw open further. It ached, but you didn’t care. He leaned in, collecting a glob of spit in his mouth and letting it drop down over his fingers. Some of the spit dribbled onto his chin, making it shine in the harsh light, but he didn’t seem to notice.

Blue smirked, watching the way his saliva trickled down his digits and into your throat. You looked up at him before closing your mouth around his thick fingers and sucking on them, letting your tongue roll softly around them. He moaned heavily at that, lurching forward and slowing the pace at which he thrusted into you. Blue pressed his face between your breasts, deep groans making your chest feel like it was vibrating. 

He felt the way your soft walls fluttered around him, and your moans rumbled up through your chest under his lips. They got harsher, as did the way your cunt squeezed his girth. You sounded so pretty, so sweet when you were coming for him. He looked up at you again, eyes blurred with tears once more.

“Yes, that’s good isn’t it? Huh? Don’t you fucking ever deny me again…fuck-fuck-ah!”

You felt the way his cock twitched inside of you, like it was fighting to tear your hole in two. His grip on your jaw was harder while he rolled his hips forward, fucking his cum into you further. The new lubrication made everything sound so much wetter. It took several moments of you both breathing heavily before you could collect yourselves again. Standing on shaky legs, you walked to the door alongside Blue.

You couldn’t for the life of you understand why the other girls who went in there got such harsh punishment, but you decided to wait until you were in the doorway, close to the exit, before you finally asked.

“Blue?” You looked at him.

His cheeks were reddened from the runoff makeup he’d wiped from his cheeks before stepping out with you into the hall.

“Yes honey?” He smirked at you.

“I thought…” you let out a heavy sigh and contemplated your next words carefully. “The reason I was so afraid is because of what happened to some of the other girls you ‘played with’,” you made air quotes.

He chuckled, stepping up to you and getting his face so close to your ear you could feel his lips against your skin.

“Those are the ones I had to break in order to make them behave,” he stepped back, looking you up and down before his eyes met on yours once more, “I don’t think I’m going to have that same problem with you, right? I hope not. Some of them were broken beyond repair…and I really hate when that happens.”

You shook your head, “no, Blue. I’ll be good.” He walked up and kissed your cheek, “very good, now get back to work, I’ll be seeing you again very soon.”

----

Club Blue Masterlist

Blue Jones Masterlist

A message for Saraicus (requester) -

Ty for sending along so many prompts. I would've loved to have done them all but it just wasn't feasible for me in the long run. You're amazing and this was a lot of fun to write! I hope you enjoyed it!

[awxcoffeexno]

unholy

mean!loganhowlett x mutant!reader one shot

fic masterlist

summary: you work at a shady dance club that offers other services. logan is a regular but this time he decides to implement his claws.

content warnings: very very VERY 18+. MDNI. claw worship and knife play!! mentions of blood and cutting. logan is very very mean and he likes hurting reader because he knows she can take it. reader is a mutant and a sex worker. please proceed only at your own risk, this is pure degeneracy and very very nsfw. also, sex, piv, mild slapping, lots of sucking and mention of bruises (only from the sex). vaguely set in the 70's after stryker's experiment (mostly only in my head because origins logan lives in my head rent free). also cameo from blue from sucker punch as a shout-out to baby me.

word count: 4k. longest from me.

a/n: since my utterly disgusting thoughts rubbed off on a lot of other people and the last claw worship fic was quite well received, i went ahead and wrote an nsfw version. this is pure filth and his fckin claws will never not make me feel some typa way. i will not apologise.

it's sweltering in the club, the music pounding, and the air filled with rising smoke from the hand-rolled cigarettes in the patrons' ashtrays. your mind is buzzing from the overstimulation and your muscles ache from the dancing, begging for a rest.

you love every last bit of it.

a man reaches up to where you're standing and tucks ten dollars into the string of your thong. you smile at him flirtatiously and sway down onto your haunches so you can lean in and thank him properly.

you've been in the trade long enough to know that the better you thank them, the more they keep coming back for. you're in the business of sales, really; conversions are everything. this business is fast business—there's the wall street boys and the dance girls, the two most proficient sales people in the world.

the man grins at your sultry voice, rewarding you with another ten dollars and a hot kiss to your neck. this isn't a no-touch club and that might be your favourite thing about working here. men are more likely to behave when they're allowed to touch rather than when they think they're rebelling by touching.

your hair, damp from sweat, sticks to your forehead and it almost makes you sad thinking about how nicely you'd done it earlier in the night. real big and fluffy, just like blue likes it.

and just as you think about him, he appears at your pole. he runs a hand up your sticky calf to catch your attention and you slide down, knowing from his expression instantly that there's more work to do.

tina quickly takes your place on the pole and you thank her with a kiss to the cheek and five dollars from your string. it's simple courtesy, and an unwritten club rule. if you're leaving your post for higher paying activities, you thank the other girl who is covering for you with money.

"hey, babydoll," blue says in your ear over the music, sliding a hand around your bare waist. "big ol' guy's here for you. the one with the…" blue rubs his cheeks, "fluff."

"logan," you say, more to yourself than blue, and he tips your chin to him.

"ask for 200, and only let him bring you down to 180. you gotta make up the difference for last week, sugar."

200 is asking for a lot for the hour. your going rate is a hundred and that's only because you're one of blue's favourite girls and he brings you his best clients. but logan's been a regular for the better part of six months now and blue knows he can hustle him for at least 180. besides, you were sick all week last week and blue warned you he'd make you pay.

so you lean in and give him a kiss, promising him the money.

"attagirl," he smirks, tugging your mouth open with a thumb and slipping a pill in.

you smile at him gratefully and start up the stairs, the roar of the music fading into a hum. quickly spitting the pill out into your hand, you tuck it into your bra. you'll flush it down the toilet when you get to your room. blue says the pills make it easier but you hate how groggy they make you feel. in any case, you like your sessions with logan.

he's good for you, keeps you from floating off into the sky. you're fairly certain there's an old roman story about flying a little too high. or was it greek?

slipping into your little red room, you quickly wash up and change into a silk robe that you know will not last the night. not around logan. but blue keeps a steady supply of them coming so long as you bring him good money which you do.

once you've refreshed your make up and puffed on a cigarette, you press the buzzer, letting the boys downstairs know to send logan up.

his broad shoulders fill your doorframe under a minute, the warmth of his presence sending a shiver down your sweaty body. he's clad in all black formal wear that rather reminds you of a funeral.

"whiskey?" you offer, watching him sit down on the plush leather chair that most others don't even bother to notice.

logan likes it slow, taking his time to unwind and ease up before he takes his stress out on you. it's rather nice, your usual routine.

however, when he grunts a yes and you start pouring his whiskey, you notice that something's off about him today. his eyes are a little droopy when they're usually so alert. his skin paler than the usual golden tan he sports.

something's wrong and you don't like the feeling that settles in your gut at that.

you take the whiskey over to him and climb into his lap, offering him the glass.

"what happened?" you ask, your voice betraying the concern you should probably never feel for any client.

he looks at you and snarls quietly, "poison arrow."

fuck.

logan's not particularly well beloved by the kind of gentry that a place like this attracts or the people he crosses paths with regularly. this much he's told you before and he's nothing if not honest.

but a poison arrow?

fuck.

your recent knack for eloquence aside, you ask quietly, "and… are you okay?"

"m'fine. fucked my healing though," he grumbles, pulling the collar of his flannel to the side, showing you the ugly gash that stretches from his shoulder, disappearing into his shirt.

you and logan share that power, a gift really. accelerated healing. it's come in handy plenty to you and you're only a dance girl. you cannot begin to imagine how a man like him will survive without it.

he sees your cringing expression and barks out a single-syllable laugh. the sound breaks you out of your thoughts and you look at him, startled.

"look at your face, pretty girl. told'ya m'fine. it's getting better already," he says and his voice, though tinted with his usual casual condescension, is gentler than you've ever heard him. he's… reassuring… you? you think??

"now, c'mere," he downs the whiskey and uses both hands to pull you closer by the thighs.

and then his mouth is at your neck, and there's the logan you know. rough and uncaring, cruel because he knows your body can take it. knows you can take what he can never do to anyone else.

he savours the salt on your skin, running his large paws down your arms tucking your wrists behind your back. he likes you detained, pliant and ripe for the taking. his throaty groan on your skin in the dip of your now exposed collar bone makes the need curl in your core.

real need, not the kind that you summon with other clients. need that is amplified when he squeezes your wrists tighter together to make you quit squirming.

"lo–"

"shut up." he commands, licking and sucking down your neck and shoulder, and that's that. you snap your mouth shut immediately.

logan slips your robe off both your shoulders with his free hand and his teeth sink into the flesh in the nape of your neck hard enough to draw blood, making you cry out his name. he's exhausted and healing too slowly and he needs to use you as his stress ball and fuck you until he feels better.

you want to cry out, you want to beg him until he gives you what you need but you know better than to do that with him. your hips however rut into him, making him yank you back and glare at you.

"and who let you do that, princess?" he says so calmly, voice oceans deep and velvety smooth, that you don't realise for a second that it was a question. a rhetorical one.

you blush and it makes his lip curl in a patronising smile.

"oh, i'll give you what you need alright. all you gotta do is ask, sugar."

you want to remind him that he was the one that told you to shut up but that won't end well, so you oblige.

"logan, please…" you whisper, hands trying to readjust in his grip, grasping for a more comfortable position. "please let me have you."

"that just won't do. need me to help you put together full sentences too?" he grumbles, readjusting because he's clearly in pain. "say it like you want it. say you want my fat cock to fill your needy little pussy. say you want her to feel good."

logan's mouth is disgusting. the words aren't too different from what the other men that come to your room spout but on his tongue they sound particularly dirty. and apparently you like dirty because god fucking dammit… his words and his voice and his scent and his everything make your need for him desperately worse.

"please, please, just need your fat cock to fill my pussy, to stretch her out, logan." you grovel. "need my pussy to feel good, please."

"jesus fuck, princess. got quite the mouth on you." he smirks as if he wasn't the one to draw those words from your lips. "let's put it to good use."

he isn't going to let you have his cock in you to quench that need that easy. he always, always makes you work for it.

he juts his chin out, gesturing to you to get on the floor and you slip between his legs, looking up at him reverently.

you like him in your mouth anyway. you like the way he uses you just hard enough to make you cry but never hard enough to make you feel like you're drowning–unlike some people who come here, the ones that make you bury your face in blue's chest later as he lectures you about needing to toughen up.

but when he reaches our for you, his hand comes into your focus and it makes you gasp softly. the space between his knuckles, home to his claws, is bared open, dirty and covered in blood. the claws cut him open every time but heals immediately so it's never mattered before. you take his giant hand with both of yours to examine the wounds but he yanks it away. the back of his hand comes down on your right cheek in a sharp, firm slap.

"focus," he growls and you rub your cheek, eyebrows setting into a frown.

your tone is firmer than it is around him when you speak. "show it to me, logan."

he shifts in his seat, gauging you. he isn't used to hearing any form of authority in your voice. nor is he used to being taken care of. he cracks his neck, shaking it off and then leans forward.

"you wanna see?" he says, voice so low it makes your toes curl.

you swallow thickly and nod, chewing on the inside of your lip.

"then you're going to have to pay, princess."

your tummy jumps as he puts his fist in front of you. you're about to reach over to grab his hand again, leaning in close to take a better look, but out come his claws making you shuffle back in alarm. they stop at your lips, drawing a hitched breath from you.

"open your mouth, angel. it'll hurt too much if i push them in myself."

the old man has lost it.

"lo–" you start to protest but he's retracted all but his middle claw with a loud snikt, and is pushing the flat of the remaining one into your mouth.

the cold adamantium of logan’s claw presses against your tongue, the sharp edge demanding obedience. you part your lips further slowly, letting the flat of the blade slide deeper inside, grazing your tongue. the metallic taste is sharp, a reminder of the danger you’re playing with.

logan’s gaze never leaves yours, dark and unyielding. there’s no softness in his eyes, no hint of gentleness. this isn’t about comfort or care—this is about control, about reminding you who’s in charge. his other hand grips your jaw, fingers digging into your skin just hard enough to bruise, forcing you to keep your mouth open.

“good girl,” he mutters, the praise laced with a mocking edge that makes your stomach twist. his tone is condescending, amused by how easily you submit to him.

he begins to draw the claw out, then slides it back in, a slow and deliberate rhythm that forces you to focus on the sensation—the cool metal, the danger of the sharp blade so close to your skin. your breath hitches, a mix of fear and something darker curling in your gut.

“look at ya, angel,” logan sneers, his voice dripping with disdain. “so eager to worship something that could slice you open without a second thought.”

it’s as if he knows exactly how to push your buttons, how to make you crave his approval despite the cruelty in his touch.

his grip on your jaw tightens as he tilts your head back further, forcing you to take the claw deeper into your mouth. “don’t bite down,” he warns, the threat clear in his tone and you realise… he can feel it. he can feel your mouth on his claw and it's stoking the fire in him.

you nod as best as you can in response to his words, your eyes locked on his, wide and pleading. the pain from his grip mingles with the strange pleasure of submission, and it’s almost unbearable. you feel like you're on fire. logan watches you struggle, a twisted smirk playing on his lips as he revels in your discomfort.

“you like this, don't cha?” he taunts, pulling the claw out just enough to let you breathe. “you like being reminded of what i could do to you if i wanted. y'like knowing that i’m the one who decides how far this goes.”

he’s right, of course. you hate how much you like it, how the power he holds over you only intensifies the burning need in your belly. it’s humiliating and exhilarating all at once, and logan's reading you like an open book.

“now, let’s see if you’re really worth the trouble,” he growls, sliding the claw out entirely, leaving your mouth empty and aching. he leans back in his chair, holding his hand out in front of you, the metal gleaming under the dim light as the other claws come out too. “kiss them. show me how much you want it.”

your heart pounds as you lean in, pressing your lips to the cool metal with reverence. the taste of them lingers on your tongue, and the weight of his gaze is almost suffocating. but you do as you’re told, kissing the blades as if they're something sacred, something you’re desperate to prove your devotion to.

logan’s smirk widens as he watches you. “that’s it, princess. make it worth my while. maybe then i’ll give you what you’re begging for.”

the claw lingers against your lips and you tilt your head slightly, pressing a softer, more deliberate kiss to the adamantium, tasting the faint tang of blood and iron bloom on your lips. the edge is sharp against your skin and you aren't surprised you've managed to cut yourself. but your body takes care of you and the wound is gone before you even lick the blood away.

your tongue flicks out, tentative at first, tracing the length of the blade. you can’t stop yourself, your need to please him overpowering every other instinct. logan’s eyes narrow as he watches you, the barest hint of approval hidden beneath the hardness of his gaze.

“that’s more like it,” he murmurs, his voice quiet… tired. “show me how much you love it. show me how much you’re willing to do to keep me happy.”

you press your tongue flat against the claw, dragging it slowly along the length, tasting the cold metal. you wrap your lips around his claw and carefully start sucking the way you would his cock, making him groan your name. you cut yourself over and over as you suck but it bothers neither of you, the pain translating directly into the wetness between your legs.

“attagirl,” logan growls.

“thank you, logan,” you whisper against the claw, your voice trembling with need. “thank you for this.”

a dark chuckle rumbles from deep in his chest. “thank me when you’ve earned it,” he replies, pulling the claw away just slightly, taunting you with its absence. your lips chase after it, a whimper escaping as you realize how much you're genuinely, truly enjoying this.

“please,” you murmur, your voice shaking. “please, logan, let me have you. let me take care of you.”

he raises an eyebrow, the cold amusement in his eyes never wavering. “take care'a me? is that what you think this is?” he presses the claw back against your lips, harder this time, making sure you feel the point against your skin. “you’re here to serve me, princess. and you’ll do it how i want, not how you think i need.”

a shudder runs through you at his words, the sharp edge digging just enough to leave a thin line of red along your lower lip. your eyes sting with tears, but you don’t dare pull away. instead, you lean into it, pressing your lips against the claw in a silent plea for mercy, for something more.

logan’s smirk deepens, his other hand coming to rest on the back of your head, pushing you forward just enough that the point of his claw cuts into your lip again. you gasp at the sting, but the sound is muffled as he presses down harder, forcing your mouth to open.

logan watches you, his expression unreadable, but his grip on the back of your head tightens, holding you in place as you continue to worship the deadly weapon in your mouth. “want to take care'a me?” he mocks, his voice rough and dark. “you think that's what i need?”

you nod as best you can with the claw in your mouth, your eyes pleading with him.

but logan isn’t done with you yet. he pulls the claw from your mouth, leaving your lips wet with a mix of blood and saliva. you gasp, trying to catch your breath, but before you can say anything, he shoves the claw against your chest, just above your heart, the point pressing into your skin.

“thank me,” he growls, his voice a low snarl. “and mean it.”

“thank you, logan,” you whisper, your voice cracking with desperation. “thank you for your claws.”

the cruel twist of his smile is all the reward you get, but it’s enough. he drags the claw down, slicing through the thin fabric of your robe, leaving a trail of red in its wake. you flinch, but you don’t pull away, your body trembling as you try to keep still under his touch.

"been good, babygirl." he relents finally, watching as your wound heals. "c'mere."

he hauls you into his lap with ease, despite his injuries. you make quick work of his buttons and throw his black shirt open. your eyes snap up to his and then back to his body.

he's covered in bullet holes. five that you can count anyway. your hands reach for them but he grabs your wrist.

"m'fine. they'll heal. two already have."

oh.

so you plant your mouth on his, kissing him deep, savouring the tobacco and musk of his breath. he tugs you closer, hooking a finger into your panties and dragging them down your smooth legs. it makes your toes curl.

the sticky mess between your legs leaves a dark patch on his trousers as he goes back to sucking soft bruises into your neck.

and then you hear his claws before you feel them, the cold metal cutting through what's left of your robe like butter, pressing into the soft skin over your scapula. you brace yourself, nails sinking into his broad shoulders and he cuts the claws in, slicing you open.

"logan, please!" you cry out but the pain is only momentary, delicious and burning hot, before your skin stitches itself back up like clockwork.

"fuck… me," he gasps and you've never heard him so affected.

he undoes his belt with a practiced hand and slides it off, tossing it off to the side and tugging his pants down. quickly, you position yourself over him, sitting down with your head rolled back, sheathing him with your warm, wet walls. he's splitting you open, stretching you the way you begged earlier.

and then he resumes cutting, slicing your back open as you move up and down on his cock. you bury your face in his neck, hiding your tears of pain and pleasure in his neck as he undoes you.

he grabs your jaw when he notices you start to lose yourself.

"no, you pay attention, bub." he snarls in your ear, kissing you roughly. pulling away when your eyes are wide open again, he slips a finger into your mouth.

the salt and blood on his skin makes your mouth water and this is beyond fucked up but you regret nothing. you suck diligently and he reaches down and wraps his mouth around your nipple, making you suck a sharp breath in. you feel his teeth sink in and it sends a shiver down your spine.

your hands in his hair, you tug sharply, making him growl and switch to your other nipple.

"logan…" you whine around his finger, thighs aching from the effort of riding him through it all.

he grunts and takes his hand away from your mouth. both hands on your waist, he starts to fuck you like a fucking fleshlight, moving you up and down on him like you weigh nothing.

you hear a snikt and a claw comes up to your face, running down the side of your cheek and making you mewl in pleasure.

you only just realise how much logan's wound you up in the hour that he's been in your room. you're hurtling towards the edge and he's barely been in you for a few minutes.

but you've wound him up too, the nerves in his body alight with pleasure.

"fuck, doll," he groans in your ear, retracting his claws and steading you with his hands again. "not going to last long tonight."

fuck. blue is going to kill you for letting Logan go so quickly.

yet you cannot seem to care.

you mewl his name and pick up speed at that, panting and gasping, and aching to please. he feels the telltale sign of your edge in the quivering of your walls and yanks you down on himself, pushing you over the cliff.

it's like fireworks and butterflies and pure fucking ecstasy.

"been a good fucking filthy girl," he whispers in your ear, knowing it'll make you react around his cock. "lettin' me cut'ya open like that."

you press your damp brow against his shoulder, riding your high weakly but your pussy does enough to bring him to his climax as well. he grunts and wraps his arms around you, holding you tight down in his lap, filling you warm and deep.

he pants softly in your ear and you look at him with a giddy smile. you reach for his hand to press a kiss to his knuckles and…

his hand is healed.

and… so is his other one.

you pull back to check the rest of him and… they're all gone. all of the bullet holes.

a sly smile spreads across your lips and you look at him with satisfaction dancing in your eyes.

"took care of you after all."

he lets out a surprised laugh, eyes softening with something you haven't seen in him before. he pulls you back into his embrace, and this softness is new. nice, but new.

"yes you did, princess."

i need to be committed and lobotomised with logan's claws. blue would love that.

love, d <3

taglist: @techwrecker, @saltwaterburns, @lilaccmilk, @clevah-girlboss

divider: @rookthornesartistry

[hyperfixiation-station]

Welcome Home

Based off this post by @simon-rileys :))

Pairing: GhostxReader

Summary: Picking Ghost up from the airport after 3 month long mission with your 4-year-old daughter. What could possibly go wrong?

I did write this on my phone, so please please please let me know if there are any errors. And, as always, no beta!

"Layla!" You say sternly, "stop running around, you're going to get hurt." Your 4-year-old daughter completely ignores you, just giggles and keeps running in circles around the baggage claim.

You sigh and shake your head, grinning ruefully. You can't blame her for her excitement. After all, she's going to see her dad after 3 longs months away. You'd be running around too if your body could manage it. Your heart rate quickens in anticipation at the thought, and you bounce up and down for a moment before getting winded and going back to monitoring Layla.

You watch her little braids with pink bows at the end flop up and down as she runs, zig zagging every which way. Oh well. As long as she is in your sights you can't get too upset. You shake your head as she squeals again, barely dodging an old man as she makes another lap, her chubby little legs never running out of energy

Where she gets it from, you'll never know. You certainly don't have that much energy. Especially not now. You laugh to yourself, looking down at where the small but obvious bulge in your stomach is, the sign of life that you have so carefully hidden with one of Simon's hoodies. Your hand strays to your pocket to touch the ultrasound photos, the ones you got a week ago when you went to find out the gender. You run your finger nervously along the edge of the photos, equal parts excited and anxious to tell Simon you are pregnant again.

You still remember telling him when you were pregnant with Layla. He'd been home at the time, and you had been absolutely terrified. You weren't even married at the time, and had never spoken about wanting kids. You almost had a breakdown when you handed him the positive pregnancy test and he just stared at it in silence. That was, until he looked up at you with a genuine smile and tears in his eyes and asked you to marry him. He didn't even have a ring.

Distantly you hear your daughter shriek, snapping you out of the memory. Your head shoots up, eyes wide and searching for her little form. You rake your eyes over the room, but you see no sign of a brunette in a little pink dress.

"Layla!" You cry, hurrying towards where you heard her voice, at the junction where the wrong terminal meets the baggage claim, "Layla, stay where I can see you!" She doesn't respond, and your heart rate picks up as you start to list off the worst-case scenarios.

"Layla!"

Ghost steps off the escalator, lips twitching under his mask. He had gone the roundabout way, take an extra 15 minutes to walk all the way to the other terminal, just so he could surprise his girls.

Gods he can't wait to see them. Yes, 3 months was really not that long compared to some of his other deployments, but to him, anytime spent away from his family felt like torture.

He never thought he would end up like this, a wife and a kid and a figurative white picket fence. It had always been in the cards for him to die alone. Or at least, he thought it was. And then you forced your way into his life, gave him something to fight for, gave him something worth living for. And gods how he loved you.

He hears a familiar giggle and freezes, snapping out of his reverie. He trains his eyes on the end of the hall, watching the crowd for you and Layla. Sure enough, a little pink ball of destruction comes hurtling around the corner, running full-speed for him. He drops his duffle bag to the ground, and waits for you to show, brow furrowing when you don't follow behind her.

He doesn't have time to dwell on it though, as his daughter appears before him in all her pink, glittery glory.

"Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!" She shrieks, launching herself at him. He wraps his arms around her, and hold her tight to his chest inhaling deeply. He can feel her small shoulders shaking, can hear her sniffing, can feel her tears on his neck. Guilt overwhelms him for a moment, self-hatred overpowering him for making her cry. Its gone in an instant, his frown vanishing as Layla places a sloppy kiss on his eyebrow, his cheeks are still covered by a mask.

"Daddy!" She squeals again, burrowing her face in his chest. "I mithed you!" Tears prick his eyes at the sound of her voice. He forgot how much he missed her adorable little lisp.

"I missed y' too, baby girl." He presses his forhead to hers for a moment before looking up, his eyes scanning the hallway for you, frowning again when your still not in sight. "Wh're's y'r mother?"

"She was being thlow tho I lef' her." She informs him, grinning happily as she plays with his dog tags, her head resting against his shoulder. He grins, closing his eyes for a moment as he savors the feeling of his daughter in his arms.

"She's slow, huh?" Ghost huffs, shaking his head at his daughter's antics, "well then le's go meet 'er."

Layla grabs at his face, shaking her head rapidly, looking a serious as an over-excited 4-year-old can manage.

"She has an 'uprise for you." She informs him solemnly. He tries nto to laugh, knowing shes trying to be very serious, but fails. She frowns, squeezing his face with her chubby little hands.

"I'th no' funny." She says crossly, " Mommy 'as an 'uprise for you."

"A surprise?"

"Yeth." She looks around, eyeing the strangers in the terminal before leaning next to his ear, "I'm not appothed t' thay nothin', but-" she breaks off into peals of laughter as Ghost covers her mouth with his free hand.

"If mommy says you're not supposed t', then y'r not sup-" He pauses, hearing your frantic voice echoing from around the corner, "y' didn't tell y'r mother where y' were goin', did ya now baby girl?"

She at least has the decency to look ashamed, hiding her face in his jacket as she shakes her head. He laughs softly and shifts, bending to pick up his duffle bag with his free arm. His daughter clings to his neck, her head buried in his chest as he moves down the hallway, heading toward your panicky voice.

"Layla where did yo-"

"I've got 'er luv, dontcha worry." You freeze in your tracks as Simon rounds the corner, your daughter in his arms. You stare at him wide-eyed, drinking in the sight of him af6er so many months apart. He's in a hoodie and jeans, a black mask covering the lower portion of his face. His dogs tags are out, Layla twirling them in her fingers. He looks exhausted and scruffy, his clothes dirty and torn, but you could care less. Just the sight of him alive and well is enough to make you cry.

He drops his bag to the ground and kicks it out of the way, opening his free arm to you. Tears well in your eyes as you launch yourself at him, wrapping you arms around him and Layla. His arm wraps around you and yoi feel him lean bacm, pulling you slightly off the ground, gently swinging you side to side before setting you down.

You stand in his embrace for a minute, face pressed into his side, savoring the feeling of being in his arms again. Your shoulders begin to shake, tears slipping from your eyes as you inhale deeply, the scent of him like manna to your soul. You let out a small sob and tighten your grip, digging your fingers into his side. You stand like that for a few minutes, a little family reunion in the middle fo the hallway, you sobbing silently while Simon rests his chin on your head, Layla's heel digging into your ribs. You pull back a moment later, rubbing a hand across your eyes as you inhale shakily.

"I missed you Si'." You laugh wetly, looking up at him. He doesn't say anything, just grabs you and pulls you in again, your head resting on his chest. Your daughter's chubby hand moves to rest on your head, her fingers twisting your hair into painful knots. You don't notice, to focused on trying not to cry again.

"I missed y' too luv." He murmurs after a minute, his chest rumbling beneath your forehead. He holds you for a few more seconds before stepping back, his eyes suspiciously shiny. "Now Layla says y' have a surprise f'r me?"

"That I do, dove." You sniff, rubbing your nose with the the back of your hand. You look down, biting your lip nervously as you take another step back. You slip your hand into your pocket, fingers closing around the little bundle of photos.

"Y'gonna expla-" His voice trails off as you pull the pictures from your pocket, handing them out to him. You watch as he gently sets Layla down and takes a slow step forward, his movements almost reverent. He takes the photos from your waiting hand, his eyes growing wet as he studies the photos of the 4 month old baby you have growing inside you. He can't read them, but he knows what they represent. After all, he has one of Layla's ultrasound photos in the pocket of his vest.

"Is this-are you…"

"Yes." You laugh, your voice thick, "we're having a baby boy. In April."

He laughs, a rare, genuine one, and sweeps you up in his arms, spinning you around in a circle. He sets you back down but doesn't let go. His hands slide down to your waist as he leans forward, pressing his forehead against yours. His eyes close as your arms wrap around his neck, and he exhales shakily, the warm air making your eyes flutter. You stand like that for what feels like ages, forehead-to-forehead, just breathing in the other's presence.

"Mommy!" You are brought back to the real world by your daughter, who is standing with her hand on her hips and glaring at you, "Th'op hogging daddy to yourthelf! I wanna turn!"

You chortle softly, stepping back from Simon. He huffs and shakes his head, giving you a very 'she gets this from you' type look. He scoops her up as she squeals, positioning her on his hip. He crouches and grabs his bag, hoisting it on his shoulder before grabbing your hand amd interlacing fingers. You step forward, tugging him behind you as you lead him out of the airport and back home.

"Was it a good surprise?" You murmur as you walk to the car.

"Very, luv."

"I'm glad. How would you feel if I tell you we're having twins?"

So here it is, a month later than promised @simon-rileys @dwkfan , sorry 'bout that

Lemme know what you think :)

[boredzillenial]

Day two of @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction’s Kinktober

You find out exactly how Blue keeps all the girls in line (teratophilia - incubus 😈)

Themes: Dead Dove, dub con, Blue is his own warning, incubus surprises

Blue’s men drag you into his office and drop you with a thud into the plush chair across from his desk. The entire room tilts as you try to get your bearings. You hadn’t eaten much or drank anything except a glass of red wine, supposedly a gift from Blue to “his new girl”. You kick yourself internally as you do your best to keep a grip on the present moment, of course he would’ve drugged it.

You sit up at the sound of Blue strolling into his office behind you, closing the door and turning the lock deliberately slow. “Welcome to the club.” He purrs, coming to sit behind the ornate desk. The sight of him ignites something hot under your skin. “I hope the drink was decent enough.”

“Y-you, you drugged me.” You slur, earning a condescending chuckle and eye roll.

“Drugged? Not exactly-“ his grin widens, your heart pounds in your chest at the sight of his teeth. His canines are sharp, how would they feel grazing across your neck…

“W-what then -“ You stammer, that fire under your skin turns to tingles and your gaze lingers on his lips, the way his eyes seem to burn into yours, the way his fingers curl around his glass. Oh to have his fingers curl in your-

You shake your head to try and rid the thought, “That won’t help.” He smirks, you look up at him confused. “Those dirty little thoughts coming already?” He stands and makes his way over to you. “That itching under your flesh, I bet your soaking already.” He stops to stand infront of you, your gaze locks on the bulge in his satin black pants.

You salivate as another image forms in your mind, his hips rutting against your mouth - swallowing down every inch of him.

“I’ll give it to you, all you gotta do is ask.” He coos.

“W-what’d you do to me.” You gasp, digging your nails into the fine dark leather of the chair.

He smirks, locking his gaze with yours as he leans down and holds his drink between your faces. Then, he spits into the drink, swirling if for a moment before offering it to you. “What, you don’t want more?” His voice is something dark and low as his eyes flash auburn.

You look at the drink, a mixture of disgust and arousal dripping like honey.

“Doll, I’ll lay it out plainly. I own you. Body and soul…” He caresses your face for a moment, running his thumb across your lower lip.

Your instincts scream at you to run, but something rich oozes deeper still into you. Down to your very bones you begin to ache for more. His touch, his teeth, his anything…

“Am I understood?” He hisses, shifting his grip to your throat. Pinpricks of pain dance like lightening across your senses where his fingertips press into the tender skin of your neck.

“Yes.” jumps from your lips before you can stop it.

His eyes flash again, “Open.” Blue’s command resonates low and your lips part of their own accord. “Good pet.” He lunges forward, is tongue feeling impossibly long as it explores your mouth.

A wave of sticky sweet fervor washes over your senses as his tongue works. The last remnants of yourself struggle to hold onto reality. The sound of fabric ripping pulls you from your stupor only for a moment and you feel him notch himself against your core.

Blue’s hum comes low in his throat as he gathers the torrent from your aching heat along his length, “perfection.”

He shifts again, just barely pressing into you before another sensation jolts you. Something just as hot, just as firm notches against your rear, “Deep breath doll.” He purrs

“W-what -“ he swallows your gasp with a groan as he pushes into you. The tandem sensation rocks through your nerves, feeling so full all at once and he’d barely begun.

His hips move slow and steady as he swallows every little sound with a smirk. You’re already panting and writhing weakly as he bottoms out in your ass and pussy.

“What a pretty little thing.” He murmurs as he looks down to where you’re joined. Your gaze follows his, widening as you see exactly what’s happening.

“T-two -“ you stammer.

“All the better to fill you with.” He ruts a little faster, his own breath turning ragged. “F-fuck yes. No more questions, no hesitation. Doll you’ll never want for anything but me.” He grits, both cocks already pulsing hot white ropes into your channels.

A simmering warmth scours over your remaining senses. The last thoughts of running, fighting, getting away leave completely. The only thing that remains, is him. Him in every possible way.

“B-blue-“ you sigh, focus solely on him. “More, please-“

A wicked grin spreads across his face as his pace quickens, “There’s my girl.”

———————————-

Taglist: @melodygatesauthor @ominoose @romana-after-dark @lunar-ghoulie @flowercrownonapegion @howellatme @mooksmouse @ahookedheroespureheart @beezusvreeland @auntiegigi @moonkxight-blog @faretheeoscar @queerponcho @for-a-longlongtime @silvernight-m @ierofrnkk

[the-oscar-isaac-collective]

Hello everyone!!

We're looking for bonus contributors to join us in finishing this project!

If you missed the initial deadline back in February and wished you'd joined, now is your chance! There are plenty of characters to work on for both artists AND writers.

Just send us a message here before September 1st if you're interested! As long as you're 18+ and have an interest in Oscar Isaac then you can join!

Back to Mod and Contributor Masterlist

Coffee & Cream Masterpost

The Oscar Isaac Collective Masterpost

[apathmakerstale]

G'raha and Zenos Shipping

G'raha Tia and Zenos just have so many parallels to the WoL when it comes to many things.

The fact that both of them built a foundation of their identity based of the WoL. G'raha with them being his literal hero and Zenos with him being their only friend. The sacrifices they did in their name and for them. I made two posts on it!

The sheer duality they share with the WoL and it's obvious why they are two of the most popular ships in the fandom. The potential is limitless in fics. Even as a platonic ship or friendship.

It is a shame that I am a Lyse/WoL shipper and therefore the literal connection of souls and sacrifice means nothing to me in the face of a woman kicking a fish and punching garleans.

[pimosworld]

My name is Priscilla but you can call me P,Pimo,Miss Priss or any variation of your fav nickname for me. My blog is 18+, and I mostly write fluff and smut. I’ve made a lot of friends here and I’m open to write for anyone. This community has helped me heal in ways I can’t describe so I hope you enjoy my writing. 🤍

Please turn on notifications if you would like to stay up to date on my posts.

Link to my kofi if you’re feeling so inclined to donate to my writing efforts

My ask box is always open

AO3

700 Follower Celebration

Read it again

Masterlist by pimo

I started out writing for Moon knight and that quickly evolved into other characters so I will say that I’m open to write for anyone.

I don’t have a lot of rules but I generally won’t describe my reader to stay inclusive as a poc and this is a safe space for the lgbtqi community so no ignorance will be tolerated.

Im open to requests (angst,fluff,smut…any character) but I work a full time job so please be patient with them as well as my wips.

Triple Frontier

Frankie Morales

Joel Miller

Santiago Garcia

Dave York

Moonknight

Javier Peña

Blue Jones

Miguel O’Hara

[averydavery]

Marvel’s Spider-Man x Ghost of Tsushima Fic!

Based on a poll I recently put out, I’ve started writing a crossover fic with Peter Parker/Jin Sakai. I’ll be doing artwork for every chapter as I usually do, as well! So if you’re interested please go check it out!

[lis-likes-fics]

Property of Blue

Pairing: Blue Jones x Reader Word Count: 15.5k words Warnings: NSFW, smut, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, light degradation, light praise, a lot of throat grabbing, daddy kink and daddy issues, oral (m!receiving), dacryphilia, intense dry humping sesh, a lot of making out, a sprinkle of voyeurism, a shit ton of smoking, creampies, rough sex, Blue deserves his own warning tbh... A/N: This is the rewrite of Property of Blue from like...two years ago. I should be working on other things but like...who even does that anymore. For reference, the first one was 9.7k words. The Panther is absolutely imagined as Pedro Pascal because how could he not be? Anyway, I hope you enjoy! Thank you! P.S: No beta, we die like men.

Your sneakers squeak against the dark linoleum floor, and the sound reverberates along the expensive walls enclosing you in what you assume to be your future prison. These men surrounding you—two of them dull bodyguards in suits and one, your father—practically push you along as you lazily resist at every turn. Though you want to scan the area surrounding you, you keep your eyes on the path ahead, but it looks like you’re in a fucking pleasure house.

It’s got the whole shabang—dim golden lights, long winding halls, a dark tabled hall, and a huge stage lined with a dark red curtain. What kind of bullshit was this?

You’re torn from your thoughts when you meet an abrupt stop. You actually bump into the guy in front of you, who acts like he hadn’t even felt you. You don’t know if he’s doing it to be kind or condescending, but you scowl either way. He steps out of the way, and your eyes fall once again upon the large stage.

There are people going through a run, their clothes rather entirely unfitting for the act they're rehearsing. They’re dressed so casual, but there are men grinding on the floor and women standing over them feeling themselves up. You swear you see one of them wink at you. If you weren’t so pissed, you’d wink back.

“Mr. Pleasant.”

You focus again, turning your attention to a man walking your way. He’s dressed for the best, his tailored suit the picture of perfect. He’s got slicked back hair, a golden chain hidden under a deep blue tie, a pencil stache on his lip, he’s wearing dark eyeshadow. He looks like a fucking pimp.

He doesn’t look at the man in front of you, he doesn’t look at anyone around you. His eyes fall directly upon you. They’re dark, they’re cold. You suppress the shudder attempting to work its way up from the base of your spine. He watches you like he’s imagining every little curve and every little mark you’ve got hidden beneath your clothes. You try not to squirm.

When his eyes finish sweeping over you, he sweeps again. He takes in the sight of your biker boots, your dangling chains, your messy hair. He hums lightly to himself, stepping even closer until he’s hardly inches away from you. You’re forced to look up, swallowing the lump in your throat at whatever it is swarming inside of you. Your restless limbs ache to fidget, but you force them not to move.

He raises a hand, and you flinch away from it with a scowl. His lip twitches, ignoring it and brushing his knuckles along your cheek. You can’t stifle this shiver. It makes your whole body shake. He runs his fingers through your hair, an appreciative sigh passing through his nose. You take in the scent of his cologne with every breath and feel like your brain chemistry is being altered with each inhale.

When you can’t take the scrutiny so close anymore, you take a step away from him. It’s a small step because of the guard standing so closely behind you. You’re only glad he doesn’t shove you forward again. This man—Mr. Peasant, was it?—preens under the amusement of your distaste. He finally turns away.

“What have you brought me today?” His eyes sneak back to you only moments after asking.

The man introduces your father to speak, and he stands a little straighter. He seems quite proud of himself as he adjusts the old tie he’s wearing. “Mr. Pleasant, hello. We spoke on the phone.” He doesn’t respond. It gets awkward for a moment until your father begins to recap the reason he had brought you to him. Mr. Pleasant’s eyes keep watching you as he does, paying him little mind.

Your jaw clenches with every stupid word that falls from his disgusting mouth. Your skin seethes with the urge to hit him, to spit in his face, to do something. This man, your “father”, was selling you. Isn’t this illegal? This is supposed to be illegal.

Although selling you was a bit extreme in your opinion, you cannot say that you find this outcome entirely outrageous. You are, through your hardworking efforts, a difficult daughter. A difficult person in general. It isn’t unprompted, of course, your father has dealt his hand in your efforts. You can’t blame him for this abandonment. You made his life a living hell, in exchange for him making yours so.

If he had been kind…

But now he would be rid of you, for good. You would never see him, and he would never see you ever again. Perhaps you should be thanking him for this. But that would be too much credit, so you won’t.

Even with this deep hatred, it’s hard to focus on his traitorous words when Mr. Pleasant’s gaze remains constantly glued to you. It’s hard to stare back at him when he so rarely looks away from you. It feels like an obligation to hold his contact, as it is so cold and dark. It holds a possession and predation that ignites your urge to disobey, anything to avoid being thought of as a scared little girl. You couldn’t be weak.

Long after your father has shut his mouth, he stares without a word. When he speaks again, he does it with a long breath that is followed by another long silence. “I’m sure we can find a place for you here.” He takes a small step toward you. His voice is low, not to be mistaken for passive. He is well aware of his power and control. You’re well aware of it, too. “Lennox is the perfect place for…wayward girls just like you.”

He breathes in, and you hear the slightest waver that you know isn’t some kind of infirmity. Whatever is on his mind can’t be good for you.

You pool a lot of attention on keeping your feet firmly planted on the floor. You have to be strong, you are already vulnerable by the hands of your father. His eyes pick you apart, breaking you down to see what you’re made of, to see what would make you bend…what would make you break. He wants to know what he’s going to do to you.

After far too long, he steps away from you and turns his attention to the man at your side once more. He moves his hands to his pockets. “Have Sweet Pea show her around. I’ve got work to do.”

Just like that, you seem to be out of sight, out of mind. He begins to turn on his heel.

“I expect you’ll behave now,” the sorry excuse for a father says, smirking down at you like he’s won. “Here, you can’t afford to be the little brat th–!”

Before he can finish his sentence, you’ve raked your nails into the flesh of his face. He shouts, garnering the attention of nearly everyone within the vicinity, as he brings his hand to touch the angry red marks that have begun to bloom upon his skin. When he pulls his fingers away with a hiss, he sees the blood you’ve brought on. He glares at you with eyes full of rage.

You spit at his shoes, your voice low with your malice. “Fuck. You.”

Shock is ice cold along every inch of your body when your jaw is gripped by the hand of Mr. Pleasant. That frost is replaced by a consuming heat when his dull nails dig into your own flesh and he jerks you away from your father. You can feel his breath against your face, and your cheeks burn with his tight grasp. You’re only inches apart, your lips puckered by his hold as your charged breaths mingle between you. It really hurts, you have to bite back your squeal.

He seems amused, a smirk and a sneer mixing across his lips as his hold has you shaking. He laughs, shaking his head as he drinks in the sight of you. This is the first time he’s seeing your fear clear among your face, and he’s loving it.

“Look at that,” he breathes. He looks past you to lay his eyes on the men watching the two of you. He can hardly contain his amusement, not when you react so well to his obvious threat. “My new pet has claws,” he hums, watching you once more.

The pressure of his hand clasping your face is only growing under his excitement, and you swear you’re beginning to taste the phantom taste of blood on your tongue. You can’t tell if it’s better or worse when his nails drag back along your cheeks to graze over your skin until he reaches your throat. His fingers press into the sides of your neck, and your head feels warm. Your breath sounds so strained as you gasp against his hold.

He mulls over something in his mind, nodding down at you as he does. Something goes off in his eyes, some kind of spark. You shudder.

“Yeah… That’s what I’ll call you.” He grins. “My new…little…Kitten.”

You huff at the mere idea of it, of being called on left and right with the name “Kitten” plastered to your forehead, wrapped around your throat like a collar as you answer his every beck and call. You turn your face away from him, attempting to resist him, only to be met with his correction.

His other hand raises up as his palm clasps over your mouth, his thumb brushing your ear as he turns your face to look at him once more. He leaves no room for debate, he ensures that you have no choice but to obey him.

“No, no, no,” he tuts, shaking his head. “Look at me, Kitten.” You mumble against his hand, protesting him but finding your protests to be weak. Not longer after your defiance, you find yourself submitting—for the moment—to the man whose hand is clasped around your throat. He currently had your life in his hands, and you are already beginning to understand how much that meant to him. He could hurt you at any moment. It wouldn’t take much…

He smiles at your compliance, a dangerous edge to his voice as he speaks. “Now,” he begins, “you’re gonna find that we do things a little differently here. Nothing you do is without my say-so. You do not eat, you do not sleep, you don’t even use the fucking bathroom unless I tell you you’re allowed.”

By the time he’s reached the end of his sentence, his voice devolved into a low, rough growl. He keeps you close, your bodies nearly touching, if it weren’t for his hands on your face.

“We do things my way, and I don’t like it when I don't get my way.” His eyes glint with something dark, something truly sinister.

After a moment, he takes a deep breath and sighs nice and slowly. His hand eases from your throat, shifting to cradle the side of your neck as his palm on your mouth moves to the other side. He holds you, his hands suddenly so soft but just as threatening as before. You don’t move.

He seems a little calmer now, tilting his head to look down on you. “I want us to be friends. Okay? I do… And all you have to do to make that happen is listen and do things my way.” His thumb caresses the front of your throat. “Do you understand that, Kitten?”

You don’t know what it was that possessed you to speak—Defiance? Plain stupidity, perhaps?—but it didn’t really matter. Your voice is quiet, still trembling with the adrenaline coursing your veins. “That’s not my n–”

His hands squeeze as he jerks you a bit, stunning you to silence as the smallest whimper falls out of you. His thumbs shift to cover the front of your throat. You fall in line immediately.

“See, I’m sorry. Really, I am,” he mutters. “But that didn’t sound like a ‘Yes, sir,’ to me, and ‘Yes, sir,’ is part of my way.” He turns to his guards, his brows furrowed. “Did that sound like a ‘Yes, sir,’ to either of you?”

They both shake their heads quickly. “No, sir,” they stagger.

He turns back to you. “No, sir,” he repeats. “So I’m going to ask you one more time, just so we’re absolutely clear.”

He leans in close enough that you think he’s going to kiss you. You hold your breath, your eyes wide and your limbs charged with fear.

“Do you understand, Kitten?” You’re so stunned, you forget to speak. This does not please him. His voice is a growl. “Answer me.”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, sir.”

He lets go of you immediately, his hands falling back to his side as he smiles. He’s pleased. He inclines his head, nodding to himself. “Good girl.”

A rush is sent straight down your spine, settling in the base and curling in your belly. Your knees feel weak, and you think you forget how to breathe for a moment.

The slightest sound of a chuckle from your father turns your rousing heat to a raging one that curls your fists and furrows your brow.

But you’re not the only one irritated by this.

“What the fuck do you find funny?” he asks, turning a dark gaze to him. Your father’s gaze slowly fades from his face, turning into something a little more frightened than he anticipated. You try not to be too smug, lest you receive the same punishment, or worse.

He clears his throat, glancing down to the floor as he stuffs his hands in his pockets and shakes his head. “Nothing.”

He stares at him for a long time, watching him until he squirms. And he does, the minute shuffles of his feet barely perceptible but not going unnoticed. Mr. Pleasant huffs finally. Wordlessly, he nods to one of his guards, who escorts your father away where you shall never lay eyes on him again. He says nothing more before he’s turning away at the sound of a woman’s voice.

“Sweet Pea, honey,” he says, casting a grin at the blonde beginning to make her way over. He wraps an arm around her waist as she comes to stand next to him. You stifle the curl in your belly, willing it away. “Come show around our newest girl.”

She nods, granting him a cordial smile. “Yes, Blue.”

“Thank you, darling,” he says, letting go of her as he takes a step away. He grins darkly at you, chuckling under his breath. “Goodbye, Kitten.”

You swallow thickly, watching him take his leave.

Sweet Pea weaves her arm through yours, pulling you away from the guards. She walks with you slowly, but there’s no fondness in her hold. She’s very pretty, you decide, even with the coldness in her eyes.

“Rule number one,” she begins, her voice stern but quiet. “Don’t be an idiot. Blue tells you to do something, you do it. No questions asked.”

You coast past it. “Your name’s Sweet Pea?”

“Blue given,” she says. “And you’re Kitten.”

You hesitate, unsure of how well you’re taking to this new nickname. “Blue given,” you mutter. “My real na–”

“I don’t care what your ‘real name’ is.” Her interruption is abrupt and cold. She stops walking, watching you and ensuring you hear every word she says. “Forget it exists because one is ever going to call you by that name again. From now ‘til the day you die, your name is Kitten. Understand?”

You blink a couple times, slowly sighing as you nod. “Rule number one,” you agree.

She nods as well, satisfied with your answer.

“Good.” She turns, beginning to walk once more with you at your side. She walks a little faster. You keep up with her. “Rule number two…”

There’s something swirling in your belly that consumes your mind, this gnawing feeling that you know you’ll have to sort out later. Whatever it is, you know everything is going to be different from now on.

You feel like you’re going to fit in better than you realize.

~

Sweet Pea had been right, though you never doubted she was. From the moment you stepped into the building and until the moment you die, you are Kitten.

It wasn’t a hard role to fit.

You do what is required of you. You sing, you dance, you cook, you clean, you do as you’re told and keep your head in return. Your old life has faded away into something entirely null and void. It doesn’t exist anymore, that name and everything that came with it was gone. Considering everything… you’re okay with that.

You belong to him, this man called Blue. He is your employer, your owner. You serve him, you do it his way.

It’s sort of fun, in a twisted sense of the word, being owned by him. He treats you rather well, as long as you behave. He loves his girls, loves all that they do for him. When you’re good to him, he’s good to you. He spoils you all with gifts, clothes and jewelry and all the things a girl needs to be happy.

The girls warned you about him. Told you about all the things he’s willing to do, implied some of the things he has done. It should have kept you away, holding him at arm’s length to ensure your preservation.

But it hasn’t.

That swirling in your belly, the curling in your gut, it had taken root into something rather…unorthodox.

You wanted to please him.

You danced, and you danced well. You’d taken lessons as a child, continued to dance sparingly in later years. It came naturally. Madam Gorski was impressed by your skill, the girls were impressed, too.

But most of all, Blue was impressed. And that was your goal.

You want to be worth watching. You want his eyes to follow you wherever you go. Once intimidating, a shiver rushing down your spine, it’s now the kind of thing you dream of. You long to feel his eyes on your body, drinking you in, appreciating you for the pet you’ve become.

So you became his favorite. You thrived in this place. You work hard in the hopes that he will notice, and God, did he notice.

He notices the way you dip a little lower when he enters the dance room. He notices the way your eyes find him through the reflection in the mirror. He notices the way you stride through the halls, your posture the picture of poise, whenever he walks by. He notices every little detail.

But you don’t.

He’s dragging it out. He pretends not to care, he acts as though the sway of your hips is nothing of an allure to his obsessive mind. He doesn’t want you to know just how much he craves you. Not yet.

So when it comes time for you to finally be put on stage, you decide that tonight has to be the night he knows just how good you can be.

You’re standing in the wings, covered in glitz and glam, wrapped in lace and silk and a tight corset you’ve grown accustomed to by this point. Your white pantyhose are thin, your powder pink skirt is tiny, your hair was done to the Nines. Every inch of your body is coated in glitter, so you’ll shine like a diamond under the lights of the stage.

Your finger wraps around the leather of the collar slapped around your throat. There’s a little golden bell on it that rings whenever you move. They put fucking cat ears on you.

You’re rubbing your palms along your thighs as Madam Gorski’s voice rises above the crowd, the music of the last show fading away as she steps up, just as painted and primmed as the rest of you.

“Such a riveting performance from our girls tonight, don’t you think?” she announces, her accent rolling off of her words as the audience whistles. “For our next act, I would like to personally welcome a new girl of a new spirit.”

You straighten your spine, calming your beating heart. “Gentlemen, this lovely lady is known for her silky smooth purrs and her razor sharp claws; so if you favor your hands, you’ll have to treat her well.” You have to roll your eyes at the theatrics, especially when the men in the audience snicker at her remarks.

“Gentlemen, it is my pleasure to introduce to you,” she holds her arm out toward you, “the little Kitten.”

The lights blind you for a moment as you step onto stage, the music slowly building as you stalk toward your starting position. They had begun cheering before you had begun to dance, the choreography you’ve practiced a million times becoming as natural as breathing.

As you glance out into the audience through the glare of the spotlight, you finally find Blue. He’s staring as he always does, one hand in his pocket and a cigar in the other, looking as though he’s going to snap. You send him a wink, and you can’t mistake the smirk that crawls onto his lips.

As the others begin joining you on stage, shadowing your dance as your scene partner comes to accompany you, his eyes don’t leave yours. Anthony’s arm wraps around your waist as he pulls you close, and Blue’s jaw clenches when you’re staring into the each other’s arms, being dipped and spun and knelt across the stage like he’s going to fuck you right there.

The men drink it all up, and Blue devours it. Such an intoxicating draft you are, something he’d like to consume whole. The moment he gets his hands on you, you shall be ruined for anyone else…

After that, you truly become his top girl. If it hadn’t been for your charm, it would have been all the money you’re bringing in.

You come in high demand. Every man wants a piece of you, and some women have come in for a taste, too. As much as he hates all these people coming in, putting their hands on his pet, it’s profitable. Every time he boosts the cost, someone comes in offering more.

He has to find solace in the fact that he knows you crave him. As long as that remains, it doesn’t matter how many people touch you, you’ll always belong to him.

It isn’t long before a big-name patron comes stalking through those doors. One of the girls told you about him, had spoken so highly of this “Panther” for his undeniable charm, his dark alluring, his arousing seduction. He’s supposed to be just as dangerous as Blue, but he was too charming for anyone to care.

“He always shows up when we get new girls, especially when they’re so popular,” she’d said, excited by the idea of you bringing him in. She runs a hand through her hair, shrugging a shoulder. “I’m one of his usuals.”

You’d been wanting to meet him, to see what all the fuss was about. And if he does come in looking to scope you out… you could probably use it to your advantage. If this doesn’t work to allure Blue, at least you’ll get a good lay.

Blue has been anticipating his arrival, but had hoped against all hope that when he arrived, the Panther would seek out his usual conquests instead of Blue’s favorite girl.

When he comes in, Blue greets him with a firm handshake and a box of his most expensive cigars.

“You spoil me,” his smooth voice rolls off his tongue as he removes his glasses from his face, slipping them into the pocket of his sleek black suit. He takes one as Blue does, lighting them both up and taking a generous breath, and sighing out his smile.

The Panther runs a hand through his dark hair, turning toward his friend. “Now…” he says, “show me this little Kitten I’ve heard some muh about.”

Blue jaw aches as he opens his mouth to say you’re busy today, or you’re not working, or you’re not available. Anything to get him to forget about so he can keep you to himself. Before he can get a word out, you’re stepping on stage with a wink in your eye and a sway in your hips. You’re in baby blue tonight, your skin sparkling just as much as it had the first time.

Blue sighs, partly out of arousal from seeing you and partly out of frustration at you being seen. Turning to his friend, he strains a smile. “You just saw her.”

The Panther grins, raising a hand to his chin as he brushes it over his lightly bearded face. “Promising,” he hums, turning toward Blue. “Very promising.”

Blue nods stiffly, watching him turn to find a seat to watch you from. He sucks in a hefty amount of smoke to swirl in his lungs before going to join his “friend”.

The Panther lounges in his seat, crossing his legs as he watches you. “I’ve heard a lot of good things. Some say she’s like an angel,” he says. He looks over at Blue. “But you’re up close with her every day. What do you say?”

Blue sighs, his finger stroking his lip as he shrugs. “If she were like an angel, I would have named her Angel.” He shakes his head, his eyes falling back upon you as he drinks up. “No… this one’s just a kitten.”

The Panther hums. “Well, if this kitten is as good as they say,” he lets out an appreciative sigh, “then I will pay you handsomely for her.”

~

Both men look toward the door to the private room when it opens, Madam Gorski stepping inside to introduce you. You trail in behind her, your eyes hooded and a smirk settled gently upon your lips. Gorski closes the door behind you.

The Panther smiles at the sight of you, your charm rolling over him with a smooth seduction. You only glance at him as you make your way first to Blue. You set a hand on his shoulder, stepping between his legs as your hand smooths along his neck until you’re cupping his jaw. You give it a light scratch.

“Hello, Blue,” you purr.

His dark eyes gleam with possession and something darker. He smirks, resting a hand on your hip and squeezing. “Hey, Kitten.”

The lightest chuckle puffs from your chest before you’re turning back to lay your eyes upon the Panther once more.

The girls weren’t lying. He’s a very handsome man with sunkissed skin, eyes just as dark as Blue’s, his hair soft and tousled. He’s beautiful.

Your hand falls gently on his shoulder, the other falling suit as you stand between his legs. You shift them to cup his neck, brushing your thumbs along his chin. He sets his cigar in the ashtray.

He hums, tilting his head. “Not a shy little thing, is she?” he wonders, never looking away from you.

Blue grunts. “Not shy, at all. In fact,” a ghost of a smile shifts onto his lips, “this one scratches.”

One of your hands travels over the bump of his throat, your finger brushing his skin until your hand rests atop his exposed chest beneath his blazer. Your gaze never strays from his even once, content to watch him forever.

“Well, that’s just fine.” His hands come to your waist, pressing his thumbs into your side to rub soothing circles. He pulls you forward a bit, moving his hands to lay flat against your back. “I’m a biter myself.”

He snaps playfully at you, and you actually let out a giggle. The sound deepens his smile. “You’re such a delicious little talent, you know.”

He hums as he looks down your body, making you squeal when he turns your back to his chest, pulling you down onto his lap. His nose presses into your back, trailing along your spine as his hands caress your sides. You shudder as they gently squeeze the top of your thighs.

“Do you know what they call me, sweet Kitten?”

A slow nod tilts your head as you lean back into him. Your voice is soft, as soft as a feather as you reach a hand back to run through his hair. “The Panther.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Blue watching the two of you, his eyes on his hands, on your thighs, on your fucking fingers curling in his hair. The smoke of his cigar swirls around his head.

He hums, pressing his nose to your neck and inhaling the scent of you. He thinks you’re deletable. “A panther and a kitten are a good match, no?”

You breathe a chuckle. “I think so.”

Again, he hums his agreement. With a deep breath, he smiles, “Me, too.”

His hands stroke along the length of your body, feeling you up like he’s trying to estimate your size. He squeezes your thighs, your waist, your breasts. Breathy sighs leave your chest as you continue to lean further into him. Your hips roll absent-mindedly into his lap, making his hands tighten where they squeeze.

“Kittens are much smaller than panthers, aren’t they?” he breathes. “Small and precious…sweet little things.”

It’s your turn to hum as you slide down from his lap, sinking to your knees and turning with your hands on his thighs. He stares at you, his gaze dark as he watches you look up at him through your lashes. You can see the bump bulging at the seat of his pants.

“Maybe not as sweet as you’d think,” you murmur, leaning forward to press your mouth to his belly, just above that rise in his pants. The slightest grunt spills from his mouth.

He chuckles, reaching for his cigar as he watches you feel him up. Smoke rushes from his lips as he shrugs. “No?” He tilts his head. “What are you, then?”

He cradles his cigar between two fingers, placing it once again between his lips. As he takes a hefty breath, you move up to his mouth and breathe in the cloud of smoke he puffs out. Your hands continue to squeeze the meat of his thighs, your ass swaying slowly in the air. He chuckles deeply when the smoke releases from your mouth.

You smile, your eyes hooded as you lick your bottom lip. You bring a leg up to rest next to his own, the other following suit. As you lower yourself into his lap, he sets his free hand at your side, allowing his touch to travel wherever he pleases. You wrap one arm around his shoulders, taking the cigar from his fingers and setting it between your own.

Your gaze never strays from the other as you bring the cigar to your lips, inhaling the smoke and allowing it to swirl in your chest, clouding your mind with the haze of it and the lust tainting your skin. You lean forward, your lips ghosting over his as he opens his own mouth to meet you.

Deciding you aren’t close enough, the Panther wraps a hand around the back of your head and pulls you in as your lips crash down against one another. You moan into his mouth, pressing your bodies flush against the other. He’s so intoxicating that you nearly forget about the heavy gaze burning into your back.

You whimper when the Panther’s fingers tangle in your hair, pulling at the locks at the base of your skull and making you weak. His other hand grips your ass, and you’re putty in his hold.

When he pulls away from you, your breathless lips parted with your growing desire, you smile when smoke pours out of his nose. A smirk curls his lips.

Fully enamored by you, he pulls you close. “Such a prize.”

He rolls your hips when he says it, and a small whimper slips out of you as your clothed heat rubs against his own. You do it again of your own accord, seeking out the friction as you relish in it.

It turns into some sort of dance as you grind yourself down on his lap, your breath heavy as you lay your forehead in his neck. You catch sight of Blue, his eyes glaring at you. It burns your skin, spurs on your pleasure. You raise your head, tipping it back just to frustrate him further.

The Panther’s nibble on the white leather collar wrapped around your throat, chuckling to himself. “I like this. I like you,” he breathes, ghosting his lips over the circular golden tag attached to it.

KITTEN

This amuses you as you continue to move your hips upon his lap. You set his cigar down to tangle your hands in his hair, shuddering when his teeth nip the skin of your neck.

“I’m interested to see if this little kitten can handle a bigger cat like me.” His hands encourage your hips, becoming even more insistent. You shudder at his implication, looking forward to seeing if it was true. Your head drops down to his neck once more, your mouth pressing against him as your lips and teeth and tongue make quick work of tasting him. He clouds your senses, makes it hard to think straight. When his hand travels up and down the length of your spine, your mouth devolves into something less organized, just a mess of raw desire.

“Unfortunately…”

The both of you turn swiftly to Blue, partially torn from your heated bubble, which has been burst by his potential decline. There’s something so dark in his eyes, a dangerous kind that tells you you’re probably going to be in trouble after this.

“This little kitten can’t do that for you tonight.”

You sigh gently, moving back to his neck to return to your work. You tug at his hair, revealing more skin for you to lick and suck and bite. He hums at the feeling, his attention still turned towards Blue.

“And why is that?” he asks, raising a brow.

Blue’s eyes keep trailing down to you, watching the way you move, the way you serve this man who isn’t him. He breathes in a heavy breath, releasing it on a heavier sigh.

“She’s been put on a strict ‘Look, Don’t Touch,’ basis,” he drops his cigar to his lips.

You press your lips against his Adam’s apple, darting the tip of your tongue out to lick his skin. The Panther snickers as you do, clearly amused by Blue’s claim, especially when you grind your hips down into his lap again.

“You should tell her that.”

He gently tugs at your hair, guiding you back to expose your neck to him. His nose presses to the underside of your chin, breathing you in again as he kisses your neck gently. You shudder at the softness.

“I’ll pay you extra,” he tries.

Blue sighs, clenching his jaw. “I’m sorry, my friend,” he says. “No deal.”

“Double.”

His eyes almost twitches. He shakes his head. “No deal.”

The Panther’s hands fall to your waist, his thumbs smoothing circles into your sides as you allow him to touch you as he pleases. “I will pay you six times the normal amount.” Blue nearly chokes on his own saliva but remains still. “I can go higher, Blue. You know I can.”

You tear yourself away from the Panther’s neck to watch as a long silence fills the air between them. The two stare each other down, even as you pull his head to rest on your chest, the warmth of his cheek in your bosom. It’s amazing, being in between it all, to know how deeply these two men must desire you in order to have a cock fight over it.

Blue takes his cigar between his fingers, his lip nearly twitching and his hands itching to break something. He shakes his head with a heavy sigh.

“No deal.”

A deep sigh works its way through his chest. Leaning back in his seat, he shakes his head, disappointment settling in his bones at the thought of this night turning out to be a dud.

He smooths his hands along your sides, his thumbs still working gently into the dip of your waist. You cradle his head in your hands, shrugging a shoulder with a sigh of your own. It was a nice thought.

Without looking at Blue, he speaks. “I’ll pay double for a lap dance, then.” He taps your ass twice. “And I’ll take my usual, as well.”

Blue nods to himself, running a hand down his face before pulling a generous amount of smoke into his mouth. “Sure.” He stands, fixing his suit.

Blue walks over, setting a hand in the crook of your shoulder and bending down to your face. His palm rubs your skin as he mutters. “Treat our friend.”

You nod obediently, closing your eyes and smiling almost slyly when he leans in to kiss your forehead. He lingers there for a while, his kiss almost forceful against your temple as his hand tightens at your shoulder.

You’re in a lot of trouble.

He sighs loudly when he straightens his spine and begins to walk away. He stops by Madam Gorski at the door, leaning in close and keeping his voice at a murmur.

“Send her to my office when she’s done here.” He glances over his shoulder, his lip nearly twitching as he watches the way you hover over his lap still, your hips swaying in a faux grind. “Make sure he doesn’t get too handsy with her.”

She nods. “Yes, sir.”

“Thank you.”

Blue storms out of the room, his barely controlled rage leaking out of his ears. So much time, so much money—Wasted! Down the drain in a matter of seconds because of you and your damn seduction. Your cruel, evil seduction. It all comes so easily, like some fucking siren trying to drown his entire ship.

His blood boils, his fists clench and unclench alongside his jaw. This simply would not do.

You needed to be reminded who it was you truly belonged to.

~

The long winding halls of Lennox can drive a person to madness—you should know, you’re close to it now. (Though, you’re sure there’s probably another reason why you’re so close to losing your head.)

The sound of yours and Madam Gorski’s heels clicking against the laminated floors resound off the walls, and it’s the only sound you can hear. It’s so deafeningly silent.

You’re already worked up after your lap dance (and, let’s be honest, dry humping session) with the Panther. You’re burning to your core, and the anticipation of seeing Blue pissed off by your, in his mind, insolent behavior is making it all the worse.

You haven’t felt a high like this in a while.

It’s part of the whole reason you’re here in the first place—defiance. It was the whole point of you, being the biggest nuisance and pissing some people (mostly your father) off. You’ve gone as far as gotten arrested and made him pay your bail—in return, he locked you in the basement for three days.

But you don’t think Blue’s going to lock you in a closet.

All the ideas rushing through your head about what he might do to you is making it a little harder to walk in these heels. You’ve definitely caught his attention now.

As you reach Blue’s office, Madam Gorski turns to you with a reassuring breath. She raises a hand to your cheek, pats it gently two times, and then nods as she turns away again. She knocks three times on the door before she opens it to let you pass. She leaves once you’re inside, closing the door quietly behind you.

Blue sits behind his desk looking at a file. He rests his head in his hand, his pinky nestled on his top lip while the cold of his ring pressed against his face. His second hand holds his cigar, allowing a stream of smoke to lift into the air. It looks the same as when you left, as if he’s put it out and re-lit it. He’s vaguely disheveled—his hair is slightly tousled, his tie is loosened, and he’s missing his blazer. You couldn’t help but to let your eyes fall on his forearms, exposed by his rolled-up sleeves.

He doesn’t acknowledge you in the slightest, acting as though you aren’t even there as you stand awkwardly before him. He doesn’t even look at you, and you can feel your confidence leaking out of your fingertips like water from a dripping faucet.

When his eyes finally find you, your breath is almost forced out of you by the hardness in them. Lifting his hand, he gestures toward the chair at the other side of his desk, his voice just as stern as his glare.

“Sit.”

You think, briefly, about denying him…but you really don’t think now is the time. He seems fairly upset already. So you sit, timidly sinking into the chair and bowing your head. His gaze never leaves you, gliding over your face, your chest, anything his hungry eyes could find and devour before he must speak.

When he stands, he takes the files he had been examining and folds it as he puts it back in his drawer. He puts one hand in his pocket, the other setting his cigar between his lips as he stays there for a moment. There’s more silence as he stands there, smoking, watching, seething.

“Twelve grand.” You look up at him, your lips parting. “That’s what he was going to pay for you.” His lips twitch in a sneering grin, shaking his head as he wipes his face with one hand. He looks away, chuckling humorlessly. “Twelve thousand fucking dollars.”

This is doing nothing for your ego. You have to fight the tiny smirk trying to find its way to your face at the idea of that—rather god-like of a man, in your opinion—would pay that much just to spend a single night with you.

You’re not as slick as you think you are. Blue sees the expression on your face, the smile in your eyes, the chuckle caught in your throat. He turns to you, his head tilted to the side as he smirks at you. His eyes are hooded with a possessive intent in them that sets you on fire.

“Oh,” he chuckles, “you like that, don’t you, Kitten?” He motions a hand toward you, lifting a brow. “You feel special now? You like knowing someone wants you that badly? Hm?”

You bow your head once more, finding his gaze, his taunting a little too intense now. You rub your hands together, lacing them and rubbing some more. But he’s not having it.

“Look at me.” You obey his command, his livid glare boring holes into you. He leans forward, pressing his fingertips against the cold wood of his desk, his cigar still snug between his thick fingers.

“I know you’ve been wanting my attention…” he sniffs. “Well, now you fuckin’ have it. All that money lost just because I said no.”

Your tongue darts out to lick your bottom lip, a single question bouncing off the walls in your head as you think about everything that’s gone down tonight, the past few weeks, the past month. Your voice is weak, faint, as you look up at him through your lashes.

“Why did you?”

He turns his ear to you, as though he can’t quite hear what you’re asking him. He feigns surprise, his eyes squinted. “Why did I– Why did I say ‘no’?” It’s like he can’t fathom how you could ask him such an ignorant question. Again, you look down at your lap, playing with your hands.

Blue sets his cigar in the ashtray, the smoke lifting into the air and intoxicating you both. He walks toward you, rounding his desk to stand in front of you. You hold your breath, refusing to look up at him as he bends down with his hands gripping the arms of your chair. Your faces are so close, merely inches apart as you breathe each other’s air.

You don’t flinch as he lifts his hand, sliding his two fingers underneath the white leather and pulling hard on it. He tugs you so you have to look at him, and your noses are nearly touching as he does it.

“Do you know what this is?” he asks, his eyes darting between your eyes and your lips. His fingers grip tighter around it and his thumb brushes over the golden tag, your breath hitching.

You swallow thickly. “My collar.”

He nods. “Do you know what it says?”

Your mouth feels so dry, but you squeeze your thighs together as you try to keep your breath in check. Your voice is so small, merely a squeak of a thing as you nod with as much room as you’ve got to.

“Kitten.”

He hums, licking his lip. “Do you know why it says ‘Kitten’?”

You’re barely breathing, forcing yourself to look him in the eyes. “That’s what you named me.”

“And why did I name you that? Hm?” His grip tightens even more. His knuckles dig into the skin of your throat and make it harder to breathe. “Why did I give Kitten a new name?”

You whisper your response, too caught up in the closeness, the whirling sensation of his cologne invading every part of your senses. “Because I belong to you.”

He clenches his jaw, tugging on the collar as he presses his cheek to your own, growling in your ear. “I can’t hear you.”

“Because I belong to you.”

The smile that devours his face is wide as he lets go of your collar just to wrap his hand around your throat. You gasp lightly as his fingers tighten just right, making your breath thin and your head light with the feeling. Heat covers every square inch of your body and makes it hard not to let yours search his out.

“That’s right!” he praises, chuckling heavily. He lowers his voice just above a whisper. “That’s right, my sweet, little Kitten.” He punctuates every word, caught up in the powerful sensations of his dominion over you.

His hand slips off your throat, taking the tag between his thumb and forefinger as he strokes the cool metal. “Have you seen the back of my little trinket?”

You shake your head, your eyes falling between his and his lips. He seems pleased by this.

“You’re the only one here with this, you know?” He flips it over, reading the back with a huge swell of pride both in his chest and in his pants. “Property of Blue Jones.”

You like the sound of that. It’s fitting. You’ve gone through guy after guy after guy, you’ve picked them up and dropped them, not even your father could keep you in his house, much less in line. And now…now you’ve found a man who could actually keep you, with a collar slapped on your neck to display his possession of you.

He lingers there, staring at the pendant like he’s been put in a trance. His lip twitches, his fingers tighten, you can feel his breath pick up by the way it fans against the mostly exposed flesh of your chest.

You gasp when his hand wraps around your neck, this time with a little more force as he tightens it and forces you to stand. You raise your hands to grab his wrist, his grip barely loose enough to allow you to breathe.

“Me,” he growls. “My property. My sweet, little Kitten. I got you this collar because I thought it would help you to remember, but you seemed a little forgetful before.”

He lets go of you, and you almost stumble as you try to take a deep breath in. It feels good, breathing. He watches you, a gleam in his eyes that tells you he enjoys doing this to you.

He walks around you, examining every inch of you with the hunger of a predator stalking its prey. You feel every layer being pulled away, bit by bit—first your jewelry, then your clothes, then your flesh, then your meat, until you’re nothing but chilly bone.

“Did you like the way he touched you, hm?” he wonders as he comes up behind you, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling your back flush against his chest. You can feel the hardness in his pants pressing against you, and it’s maddening.

“You like the way he groped you?” You shiver at the words he whispers into your ear, his voice low, hollowing you out until you’re nothing.

“You like the way he kissed you?”

His other hand lifts this time just to feel the way his hand slots so perfectly around your throat. You sigh, your breath so light and the feeling stirring within you so teasing.

“Answer me.”

You nod, the movement so slight but he can feel it in his hand. “Yes,” you whisper, your knees weak and trembling. You feel like you’ll fall if he lets go of you.

But he does. He lets you go like you’re nothing, and you stay on your feet. You look down at the floor, catching your breath as he walks away to sit back down in his chair. He sinks down, spreading his legs wide as he takes his cigar between his fingers again.

It’s uncomfortable, the way your panties are sticking to you. You don’t want to move your thighs and entice Blue some more with his tactics, not like they aren’t working already.

Smoke billows from his nose as he juts his chin toward you. “Come here.”

You swallow thickly, turning and walking slowly over to where he lounges in his chair. He watches you the whole time. He’s always watching you.

When you stand before him, he hums lightly. He looks you up and down, thoroughly enjoying the view before patting his thigh. “Bend down.”

You set your hands on either side of his chair, like he’d done to you, and lean down so your faces are barely inches apart. He raises his cigar slowly to your lips, and you let them part as he sets them there, watching your mouth wrap around it with an earnestness that feeds your ego as the Panther’s generosity had done.

You breathe it in, nice and slow, filling your lungs as easily as you had done before. It’s a lot stronger than the smoke you’re used to—cheap cigarettes and rolled up blunts—and it feels good. He pulls it away when you stop.

Your eyes flutter as you lean forward just a bit, your lips ghosting over his parted ones as you begin to blow the smoke into his mouth, feeling the way his breath sucks in to taste it and you on his tongue.

You pull away when your breath blows clear, and he stays there for a moment as he lets the dissipating smoke linger in his mouth.

He breaks the silence. “You started smoking to piss off your father, didn’t you?” His eyes open, and they’re black with lust.

You nod. “Yes,” you admit. “I was…rebelling.”

He shakes his head. “You are rebelling,” he corrects you, sitting up a little straighter as he flicks the ashes of his cigar into its tray to hide the way he fixes himself. He sniffs, turning back to you.

“But no worries,” he shrugs nonchalantly. “Daddy can fix that.”

Your breath gets caught in your throat, and you forget to breathe. Your eyes go wide and heat flushes into every crevice your body has to offer. It curls in your gut and leaves you practically shaking before him.

A smile spreads over his lips, it’s this dark thing that does nothing for the curling lust in your belly. “Oh, yes…” he purrs, sitting up just to be closer to your face as he raises one hand to your chin. He cups you in his palm, his fingers finding their purchase in your cheeks in a less than kind manner. “I read your file. Part of my job is to know everything about my girls. It helps me know how to keep them in line.”

He pats his thigh, his eyes unblinking as he watches you. You swallow dryly, moving on unsteady legs to do as he wants and lower yourself onto his lap between his spread legs. His hand falls on your lower back, rubbing dangerous circles up and down the length of it.

“Your father thoroughly complained about you. Wrote about all the stuff you used to do,” he begins. You fight the urge to bite your lip when his palm comes to rest on your knee, stroking the bare skin like treasure. “You used to stay up late blasting your music, go out all night with your little friends—and you wouldn’t return ‘til morning. You smoked around the house, cursed, talked back.”

He tuts like he’s disappointed in you, though you can see the amusement glistening in his gaze. “Said you used to bring back boys. You’d lock yourself in your room and scream all night,” your breath hitches when his hand travels away from your knee, moving up and up and up until he’s caressing the delicate skin of your inner thigh. “You moaned and whined, and you kept him up the whole time.”

You bite your lip when his fingertips brush the soft fabric of your panties, already soaked through with the arousal he’s been pulling from you since day one. You can see the delight whispering in his eyes. He hooks his arm around you as he shifts you onto his lap, your legs on either side of his own to make you straddle him, to make your tiny skirt ride so high up your thighs that your sheer underwear is easily exposed to him. It’s a nice position, albeit a jealous one. He must have been quite upset, seeing you doing this to the Panther a mere hour or two ago.

“You’d yell ‘Daddy this’ and “Daddy that’,” he sighs. His hands grope your ass tightly, and your lips part on a sigh at the way he grinds you down into his lap. “What were you saying, hm? What were you begging for?” His expression shifts into that of a pout, his lip jutting out as he mocks you. “‘Yes, Daddy’, ‘Please, Daddy’, ‘Fuck me, Daddy’.”

Your head is dizzy with the pressure of his hands, his meanness, even simply his breath on your skin. You keep grinding your hips in his lap, back and forth, enjoying the feeling of his bulge pressing against the wet fabric of your panties.

“Is that what you were saying? Hm?” His heavy breaths keep fanning over your skin, driving you to madness. “Were you a good little kitten for all those ‘bad boys’ you fucked?”

You don’t respond, you can’t. Between the grinding, the gasping, the teasing, your mind is so full of all the things you want to happen.

You’re torn crudely from your fantasies as he stops the insistent movement of your hips, his hand already wrapping around your throat before you can even open your eyes. He pulls you close to his face, the smell of tobacco and leather and wood filling your senses.

“Tell me what you did,” he demands. “Show me.”

You fight the urge to smile, lifting your hands to rest on his shoulders to steady yourself. You gently push him back against his chair, slowly leaning forward so your lips brush the lobe of his ear as you speak in the sweetest, softest voice you can muster.

“I did whatever he asked me to,” you breathe, rolling your hips once more onto his lap with a slow, teasing, maddening leisure. “I moaned, I screamed. I bent over and let him fuck me.” The tiniest whimper slips from your lips, your voice going just the slightest bit higher the more you grind and the more you imagine. You press your hand to his chest, feeling his beating heart underneath your palm as he watches you with hooded eyes and parted lips. He’s just as bad as you. “I got on my knees, and I sucked him off. I obeyed…” your lips curl into a little smirk as you lean down to his lips, “...like a good little kitten.”

You know you’ve got him in the palm of your hand by the way his eyes flutter, his unsteady breath fanning over your lips. Now that you’ve both got a hold of the other…it’s mutually assured destruction. Neither of you are letting go.

“Well,” he says, “you don’t have to concern yourself with boys anymore.” Just as you had done for him, his lips brush your ear and a shudder runs down your spine. “Daddy’s got you. You belong to me now. Only me.”

He pulls you back, his hand rough at the back of your neck. He lowers his voice to a dangerous murmur, each word distinct as just as threatening as the last. “And no one else is allowed to touch you, unless he wants his head wrapped around a bullet with my name written into the side. Do you understand?”

Breathlessly, you nod, realizing how very real his threat is and not caring enough to be properly scared. This is what you want, this is what you need, and no one is going to take that away from you now.

“I’m yours,” you whisper. And this time with conviction, “I belong to you, Daddy.”

His lips twitch, thoroughly pleased with your declaration. He leans in, so close yet so far.

“Now give us a kiss.”

The kiss that consumes you both is the equivalent to a wild beast ripping out the throat of its food. Neither of you knows who is who, and yet you both breathe in the scent of the other’s succulent blood through your nose, taste the sweet iron in its flow, embrace the warmth of it on your skin. You’re starving for it as your teeth sink into the skin of his bottom lip between the glide of your mouths against the other’s.

His hand wraps securely around your throat as he devours you, and you moan at the fuzzy feeling tingling in the back of your brain. He tastes of tobacco and whiskey as he licks into your mouth, taking what is rightfully his as you explore your pleasure with a roll of your hips.

When he pulls your face from his own to slot his lips over your throat, you feel your mind reeling. His teeth nip at your flesh, his tongue laps at the taste of your sweet skin, his lips suck at the unmarked skin, ready to right the wrong of you being unclaimed by him until this moment. You can already feel it, the purpling of your skin tomorrow when you get to see the results of his conquering.

Blindly unlacing the strings of your corset is hard, especially when your fingers shake with the thrill of his touch, when there are so many strings and not enough mind to undo them all. It loosens from your chest and you gasp at the feeling, feeling a shudder rushing down your skin at the way the corset brushes your sensitive skin. And when it’s gone, the heat of his flesh against yours is igniting. You squeal lightly when his large hand swallows your breast whole, kneading and groping and pinching until your nipple is a hard peak upon it.

“Fuck,” he sighs as he ventures his mouth down to suck your other one between his lips. You arch your back into him, pulling him close and enjoying the feeling of it, the attention, the sensation. You glide a hand down his chest, feeling the soft material of his button down, hardly hearing the gentle tap of your nails against the buttons over the sound of your breathing. You bite down on your lip—now cut from his insistent kiss—as you tug on the belt still wrapped around his waist.

His free hand grasps your own so quickly that you hardly have time to process it as his teeth graze the delicate flesh of your earlobe. You hold your breath as he whispers in your ear. “Beg for it.”

He pulls away to look at you, tilting his head as he awaits your response, his hooded eyes unblinking as his gaze bears into you. Blue watches as your face changes. He watches your bottom lip jut forward and tremble, he watches your brows pinch together. He watches as sadness suddenly fills every little feature of your face.

But he knows there’s no agony in those eyes.

“Please,” you whimper weakly, your voice pitched and almost whiny. “Please, Daddy, need you to fuck me. Please, I need it.”

The sound of it goes straight to his cock, which grows harder and harder with every second you spend pressed against his body. He grins, leaning in until your foreheads are pressing together so he can look up at you like he pities you. “You should beg more often,” he chuckles lightly. “You’re so pretty when you beg.”

“Please, Daddy,” you indulge him. “I’ll do anything.”

Fuck, he loves hearing that. It’s like music to his ears as his hand tightens so slightly around your throat. If he squeezed a little harder, pressed his palm just a little more into the column of your neck…

A surprised yelp tears from your throat when he stands to his feet, his arms wrapping tightly around you to hold you up. You hook your ankles so tightly behind him that you feel like you’re squeezing the life out of him.

Blue retrieved his cigar before sweeping everything off the desk and onto the floor with little regard for having to clean it all up later. He laid you down on the desk, looking down on you with a smirk. “Open your mouth for me, baby.”

You do as you’re told, and you’re happy to do it as he sets his cigar between your delicate lips once more. “Hold that for me, won’t you?” You nod with a little smile, watching as he begins to undo his belt with deft fingers. If he weren’t standing between your legs, you would have rubbed your thighs together to ease your rising need for him. And as he unbuttons each and every single little button on his shirt, unveiling more and more skin for you to discover, you feel like you’re going to blow.

You shudder when he grabs your hips, feeling the skin with an appreciative grin. He turns you on your side and grabs the top of your skirt, pulling a shocked sound from you when he’s ripping the clothing off by the zipper until it’s entirely useless. He strips you bare with as much barbarity and as much kindness as he cares to give.

He straightens his back, peering down at you as he begins to circle the desk. He stands on the other end, bending down to take the cigar from your lips when he’s met with a cloud of smoke billowing in his face. He breathes it all in, chuckling deep in his chest as you smirk up at him.

He looks at you, a primal grin spreading over his lips as he stubs the end of the cigar until it flickers out. He attacks your lips with his own, enjoying the taste of you as you raise a hand to bury in his hair and keep him close to you. When his mouth travels to your breasts once more, you pant and huff at the way he tastes you.

It all becomes so much worse when you feel his finger dip between your folds, brushing over your clit before teasing the lips of your pussy. The slightest whimper escapes you before he even does anything.

But then he pulls away from you, standing up again with his unbuckled belt as his hands grip his pants to push them down his legs. You lose breath at the sight of him, his hard cock so close to your face as it aches for you.

“Open wide, Kitten,” he orders, his eyes as black as licorice.

Once again, you do as you're told as you let your mouth open wider to let him in. He guides the tip of his cock to your lips, and you suckle around it, eager to taste the drop of precum that immediately leaks out onto your tongue.

He groans, his need slipping into something more volatile as he presses himself farther into your mouth. It’s warm and wet and irresistibly glorious as you suckle around him, eager to please, eager to make him feel good as you accommodate for his size.

“Good girl. That’s a good kitten,” he pants, his eyes drooping low as he looks down at the way your throat stretches around him the farther he goes.

When you’re tapping his thigh, telling him to pull out to let you breathe, it takes a moment for him to even heed you. You just look so delicious, feel so delicious. He pulls out, and you’re gasping for breath as you attempt to catch it.

He doesn’t give you too much time, though. No, he likes you too much. He slides his cock back between your lips, going farther and farther until your lips are pressing against his pelvic bone. He places a hand on your throat, not caring that your chest shudders for breath as he feels his cock through the stretch of your throat.

He groans, pulling out and pushing back in and pulling out and pushing back in as you try to get used to his rhythm, catching breaths where you can catch them. When his fingers tease your folds, it becomes so much worse, and it only continues to do so when he pushes two of them between your folds and curls.

He pulls out of your mouth to let you breathe just as he begins to thrust his fingers in and out of you, his deft fingers working to make you high off the pleasure. You arch off the table, your mouth wide open and your thigh opening and closing of their own accord. You’re caught off guard when he pushes his cock back into your mouth at his own need.

“Fuck, you’re so perfect,” he breathes, his hips seeking out that pleasure. Your lungs squeeze, begging for air as little gasps and gags wreak havoc over your body.

And when he finally pulls out, catching his breath with his fingers still shoved inside of you, you’re entirely breathless attempting to do the same.

You watch with teary eyes as he pulls his fingers out of you next, bringing them to his lips to taste you. With a heavy sigh and a deep hum, he licks your arousal clean. “Like fucking honey,” he breathes.

You wipe at your tears as he walks around the desk again, his eyes never leaving your body. When he’s bending over your body once more, his lips hovering over your own and his hands coming up to pin your arms at either side of your head, you can’t help but to breathe in the scent of his cologne, his breath, the fucking gel in his hair.

“Do you know what I’m going to do to you, Kitten?” he whispers, his lips ghosting over your face. You shake your head gently, staring up at him with wide, wet eyes, like you’re just terrified of what he’s about to say, as though you can’t feel the arousal flushing through you at the mere idea of the possibilities rushing through your head.

His voice is low, gravelly, a growl in your ear as his grasp tightens around your wrists. “I’m going to fucking ruin you.”

Your tongue darts out to lick your bottom lip. Your breath is shallow and unsteady as you speak in a whisper of a voice, “Please, Blue. Please ruin me.”

The humor has left his eyes, any that may have been lurking within them. His face drops into something devilish, something possessive and twisted as the grip of his hands tighten. The slightest whimper escapes you, the pain ignites something both in you and in him at the buzzing pain in the tips of your fingers and the pressure of your wrists.

You lean forward—as best you can. Your words are gentle breaths in his face. “Ruin me so that no one can please me but you.”

He grunts as his heavy breaths erupt. You don't have time to think before he's turning you over so the front of your body is pinned to the dark wood of his desk, your warm cheek pressed into the chilly wood beneath it.

Without warning, Blue thrusts himself into the wet plushness of your pussy, his thick cock stretching you out in such a delicious way. You moan as you grip the edge of the desk to steady yourself, closing your eyes shut to enjoy the stinging sensation of his sudden intrusion.

Blue presses himself into you until his pelvis pushes insistently into your ass, burying his cock inside of you. A heavy breath forces its way from his chest, his whole body relaxing at the way you squeeze around him.

“Fuck, my perfect little Kitten. So fucking perfect for me,” he rambles. His hands find your waist, holding you tightly as he begins to pull himself out of you.

“Perfect, just for you– Mmph, fuck!” You're cut short when he thrusts into you again, a spasm of pleasure consuming every nerve in your body.

Blue’s thrusts are hard and rough but in no way measured or controlled as he fucks you to his need. His mind is reeling with his own pleasure, his gasps and grunts in your ear making you clench around his cock and inspiring another rough thrust.

“I'm gonna make you fucking scream for me, Kitten,” he huffs, accentuating his words with hard thrusts. “You want that? Hm? You want Daddy to make you scream? You wanna fuckin’—Mmh!—scream for Daddy?”

You nod, his—rather teasing—pace driving you insane as you yearn for the erratic and cruel rhythm you know he's dying to show you. You've known since the moment you saw him. The moment he gave you that dark and monstrous gaze, you've known he's always imagined you as the precious little kitten he's come to know just so that he can bury his teeth in your neck and rip out your throat.

You know there's no possible way this predator isn't dying to tear you limb from limb and enjoy the taste of your blood dripping from his lips.

“Wanna scream for you, Daddy. Make me fuckin’ scream.”

You would die a happy woman for a fucking like this.

He's rough and ruthless. He grabs you by your hip and hair and holds you down while he fucks into you. His thrusts are so hard that every time he punches that spongy spot inside of you, you see stars. He grunts on top of you, pulling on your hair and smacking your ass like he's punishing you for something—perhaps he is.

His hips continue to snap into you as he drives himself deeper, rougher, pulling each sound from you like plucking the strings of a guitar. The tight leather of your collar is a welcome feeling, like his hand around your throat, keeping you safe and warm. It reminds you with each and every thrust who it was that wrapped it around your throat in the first place.

It feels nice—dizzying, even—to be owned. You have no worries, no cares. You serve Blue, and you gain all the luxuries a girl could want. They’re easy conditions, ones you would happily live by. You don’t think you’d care if you spent every day crawling on your hands and knees, eating and drinking from a bowl, taking treats out of the palm of his hand. If it meant he’d fuck you like this, growling in your ear that you belong to him, that he will take care of you, that he’ll protect you—dare you say, that he’ll love you, even if it’s love in the way that a dog loves his favorite chew toy—you would do it with a smile and a purr on your tongue.

You don’t know when you began to cry. If you hadn’t felt the warmth of hot tears spilling over the apples of your cheeks, you don’t think you ever would have noticed them through the rush of pleasure. A broken moan slips after a harsh thrust. You felt Blue’s hand detangle from your hair and slip his thick fingers over the column of your neck.

He pulls you roughly back to look at your face, watching your tears change course to rush down the sides of your face. His face twisted into a pout, a mean and cruel pout that mocked glistening in your eyes, like diamonds.

Never missing a beat, he let out a faux whine. “Aww,” his brows knit together, “is my little kitten crying? Hm? Is it too much for her to take?” The fake sympathy is interrupted by another drive into you, his fingers flexing around your throat. “You can't handle how good I'm making you feel, is that it? My little slut is just so hungry for more.”

You whimper weakly, clenching around him and nodding, a disheveled mess underneath him, a slave at his mercy.

He smears your tears all over your face, smudging your already messy lipstick and mascara. “You're so beautiful when you cry, Kitten,” he groans, his heavy breath loud in your ear.

Your mouth falls open to let out a breathy cry as your hand flies up to wrap around the beck of his neck. You pull him down, your lips mashing in a brutal kiss. It's a primal sort of passion, the hot and heavy air is charged with the desperation and desire for destruction and decimation. You kiss with mangled lips and biting teeth, reaching for the other in a reckless attempt at consuming the other.

He wants to take you in his jaws and rip your throat out, pick you from his teeth and savor the taste of your blood on his lips. You want to bury your claws in his flesh and never let go.

His name dangles off your lips, and he laps it up hungrily. “Fuck, Daddy, don't stop.” Your senseless blabber fills the space between you, accompanying your whines and his grunts and the slick sounds of his cock pressing deep inside your sopping cunt. “Feels so good, I can't—mmph, Blue!”

He lets go of your throat in favor of wrapping an arm around your neck, pulling you into him as he buries his face in the space between your neck and shoulder. He inhales your scent, reveling in it—the smell of your sweat, your perfume, the shampoo in your hair.

You can’t what?” He taunts you with all the sympathy of a parasite draining its host. “Oh, you can’t handle it? Huh? You can’t take my cock like the good little kitten you’re supposed to be?” His voice is laced with all his mocking, his meanness and venom corrosive to your skin and creating the most delicious burn. He takes the lobe of your ear between his teeth, grunting harshly at the way you clench around him. “You’re gonna have to, baby,” he says, thrusting into you like it’s taking all his strength not to completely ruin you for even himself to use. “You gotta be good for Daddy. You’ll be good for me, right?”

You bury your face in his arm, kissing the flexing muscle at your face and trying not to sink your teeth into him like you really, really want to. “Yes,” you stutter. “Yes, I’ll be s-so good, Daddy.”

He smiles, admiring the teardrops on his arm, your kisses on his skin, the brush of your tongue. “Good,” he laughs. “Good girl.” He presses his mouth into your neck, shifting so that he’s sucking and biting at the skin, eager to mark you up some more, show everyone who you belong to in the rare case that they ever forget—in case you ever forget. You mewl at the feeling, unable to fight back the urge to taste his skin as you nibble at the little slips of flesh that you find.

His thrusts begin to stutter after a while, rough and erratic, losing their rhythm as he devolves. His low groans have weakened into shorter mewls, desperate gasps. The pleasure deepens and your head spins with it. It’s so much, too much and not enough as it purges every space in your body as your clit aches for his touch. You’re so, so close to the edge but so, so far without the rough pad of his fingers abusing your mewling bead.

“Fuck—I’m gonna cum, Kitten.” His confession is followed by a heavy breath. “I’m gonna cum, and you’re gonna take it all.”

A shudder rushes down your spine but gets lost in the muddle of ecstasy coursing through your confused mind, full only of the sounds of your slick and his grunts and your moans and the squealing of the desk beneath you, abused under the weight and exertion of you both.

You mumble through the fuzzy, hazy mess of your brain. “Yes, Daddy. M’gonna take it all.”

His arm tightens around your neck, his hand crushes your hip in his grasp. The sloppy smacks of his hips against your ass continues on as he fucks into you with all the enthusiasm of a man seeing his treasure waiting for him.

Blue cums with a growl, spilling inside as he pumped his cock in and out and in and out and in and out of you. He paints your walls with his warm cum, his head spinning with the way you milk him with your squelching cunt. He presses inside of you as deep as he’ll go, ensuring none of it slips out as your name and little curses and uncontrolled gasps fall from his lips.

You whimper as he crushes you under his weight, glad to take it all, everything he had to give you—his weight, his touch, his cum, the mercy of even allowing you the pleasure of this.

You listen to the way his breath slows, feel the way his thrusts become slow and deep, grinding inside of you just to relish in the feeling of you responding to him in the perfect way that you do.

After a moment, you feel him pulling out of you and whimper at the empty feeling he leaves you with. He breaks away from you, standing and walking away with a deep breath and a sniff. You lay there, your limbs trembling and charged with an unshed tension that continues to coil in your gut without his cock to soothe you.

You lift yourself onto your hands, looking over your shoulder at him and feeling the need and desperation gnawing at your bones. He doesn’t even look at you, like he’s completely disregarded you from his mind. You feel like you might cry—as though you hadn’t been already. You need so badly to cum, to come apart by his touch.

You sit up on his desk, knowing that if you tried to stand, you would only wobble in place. You lick your lips, bringing up the courage to grovel at his feet. He’s already broken you down to this mewling creature crushed under his weight, there’s no lower you can go right now. You just need him.

“Blue?” you nearly whisper, your lip jutting out just a bit as you try to make yourself look as small as you can. He just hums, his back still turned and his attention still divided. You lick your bottom lip, taking in a gentle breath. “Please, Daddy,” you plead gently. “Can I cum?”

He looks over his shoulder at you, leaning back against the wall as he looks at you, his eyes still dark with the lust eating away at them. He rakes his gaze over your body, taking in the sight of you: your hair and makeup a mess, your body completely bare, your skin stained with his marks, your thighs smeared with his cum and your arousal. You look like an angel.

Perhaps he should’ve named you “Angel” instead.

“I don’t know, Kitten,” he says. “I don’t think you’ve been a good girl for me, yet.”

You push yourself off his desk, walking over to him as you take his face in your palms. “Please, I’ll be good,” you beg, pulling him close as your lips hover. “I swear, I’ll be good.”

He grabs you by your hips, still sensitive from his abuse before. Blue hoists you back onto the desk once more, standing in between your thighs as he raises a hand to wrap around your throat. “You’ve been teasing me, fucking taunting me.”

You hold your breath as he leans in close, so close yet so far from kissing you that you can’t help but to whine. His hand brushes your skin until he cradles your cheek, offering a false sense of security as he holds you with the softest hand you’ve ever felt. “I need you to know that you’re my plaything, not the other way around.”

Your breaths fan over his face as he stares at you and you at him. You raise a hand to hold the back of his, your eyes fluttering shut to feel his embrace. You think, for a moment, that you could stay here forever.

You’re broken from the intimacy of his touch when his hand wraps once again around your throat, tightening so slowly around the collar he’d slapped onto you. He sighs deeply, serving as your only warning as he steps even closer.

“Do you understand that?”

You nod, your eyes fluttering at the way he holds you. It’s an intoxicating feeling. Your hand travels down his until you're grabbing his wrist, pulling his hand even closer as you yearn for him to grip you just a little tighter. “Yes, Daddy,” you breathe. When he doesn’t move, you open your eyes again just enough to see him. He watches your face change, watching your brows knit and your lip pout. Your eyes glitter with submission. “Please, I’ll behave. I’ll be so good.” He tilts his head, and you actually manage to shed a tear. “I belong to you. I’ll always belong to you, Daddy. Blue’s good little kitten.”

The way you whisper the last part makes his eyes flutter, the muscles in his neck flexing to contain himself as he inhales sharply. A smile begins to curve his lips until he’s tightening his grin on your neck. He leans in, fully aware of the way you hold your breath as he whispers in your ear. “Good girl.”

No. He’s certain now. You’ll always be Kitten.

He picks you up, pushing you back onto your back and pulling you to the edge of the desk. He wraps your legs tightly around his waist, pumping his cock three times before he’s pushing into you. You gasp, arching your back off the desk as your head spins with the quick and sudden pleasure. He holds you tightly by your hips, filling the office once again with the sound of your wet pussy and filthy moans, the loud smacks of skin and helpless little mewls.

Blue builds his steady rhythm, and once he’s got you right where he wants you, he reaches between you as the pad of his thumb finds your aching clit. A deep gasp rips its way through your chest at the pleasure that blossoms there. It’s immediate and it comes with a dizzying mind as you struggle to keep it together.

He circles your clit, his pace quick and messy and perhaps a bit too rough. The heels of your feet dig into his back, pulling him in and trying to heighten your pleasure as you already feel that perfect release nipping at your fingertips. You reach up and wrap your hands around the back of his neck, pulling him down until he’s forced to press his body against yours, his pace still quick and harsh, building his own release along with yours.

You tuck your arms underneath his own, burying your nails into his back and raking them down. You can’t wait to see the angry red lines that are bound to embed themselves into his skin. A whimpering sort of groan slips out of him at the way you scratch him, marking him with your own claim.

“My kitten still has her claws.” He smiles through clenched teeth, pride shining behind his eyes at the stinging of your sharp nails.

You bite your lips as the sparks of pleasure fill you up, your mind cloudy with the haze of your ecstasy. Your body is buzzing, and your limbs are trembling. You could feel your building climax taking you higher and higher, closer and closer to that sweet release.

Blue continues to rut into you, fucking you with all the energy he has left as you moan and whine and whimper. “Who do you belong to?” he demands, his lips mere centimeters from your ear. “Who owns you?”

It’s hard to speak through the fog of your mind, but you know that if you don’t, he’s going to stop, you can’t think of anything worse right now. “You, Daddy,” you gasp.

He shakes his head. “Say my name. Who owns you, hm?”

This pathetic whine unfurls from your throat and he knows you’re going to cum. His hips snap harder into you, startling his name from your chest. “Blue.”

He nods, the flick of his wrist working harder to bring you closer. He growls into your ear, “Say it again.”

The coil snaps just as you cry out, “Blue!” You cum with a shout, your vision flashing in and out as all the sounds of your pleasure blur into this strange symphony. All the breath is knocked from your lungs, your nails sink into his back to mark him once more in your own claim. Your words are entirely incoherent, but along the lines of “fuck” and “yes, daddy” and “oh, Blue”.

You flutter around him, your walls climbing down as you cum. The last of Blue’s restraint is flushed away by the way you clench around him. He buries his face in the crook of your neck as he spills inside you once again, clenching his jaw as he floods you with the last of his cum. “Mm-fuck, Kitten.”

Your bodies rock with one another, grinding and moaning and searching for the other as your pleasure fills the space between you. You imagine this is what it feels like to be so full of the adrenaline and bloodlust that a predator gets when it catches its prey within its jaws. This pulsing, rushing feeling throbbing in your ears and filling every nerve ending with pleasure. You can taste the blood and sweat on your tongue, you can feel the meat in your teeth.

Slowly, very slowly, you come down from your highs. It’s a slow dwindle, like a leak in a faucet, but you do. The ebb and flow of your releases dulls to a quiet wave in the back of your mind as you catch your breath. You feel so full, filled with his cum and his possession as you lay there, your thighs aching with the stretch of being spread so wide for so long.

Blue pulls away from your neck, your nose brushing and your breaths mingling. You’re consumed once again by him when he captures your lips in another bruising kiss. He tastes you, memorizing the feel of your soft lips, your warm tongue. It’s hard to keep up, but you do. Because you’ll be damned if you miss one beat of this primal play that keeps your heart pumping with this hunt that goes both ways.

Blue straightens his spine as he pulls out of you. He chuckles when another whimper comes out of you, mourning the loss of him. He pats your side twice, once again reaching for the nearly spent cigar in its tray. He sets it between his lips and lights it, letting the smoke billow from his mouth with a heavy sigh.

He turns around, stretching his limbs. You nearly drool at the sight of his flexing muscles, the red scratches lining his back, all the way down. You couldn’t help your smirk, proud of your good work.

He is yours. Blue Jones belongs to his Kitten, just as much as she belongs to him. You’re in his blood, in his lungs, in the very fabric of his skin.

“Like what you see?” he mumbles, feeling your eyes on his back. He glances over his shoulder, smirking. “I bet you got me good.” He chuckles.

You lean onto your elbows, watching him with all the tired lust left in your eyes. His gaze wanders from your eyes and down between your thighs, watching the way his cum begins to leak from your abused hole.

“You’re making a mess.” He bends down to pick his slacks off the floor, stepping into them absent-mindedly.

“Hm,” you mutter, standing to full height and ignoring the feeling of his warmth slipping down your leg. You grab his white button down, discarded somewhere on the floor. With your clothes destroyed, you have nothing to wear. You don’t think he’ll care about you stealing his shirt. “Something tells me you don’t care much.” You raise a brow at him, smirking slyly.

He smiles darkly, walking toward you with his cigar between his fingers as he takes your face in your free hand and kisses you again, still as hungry and as possessive as before, but a little softer than it had been in the mess of desperation that came with fucking you. His kiss is smokey, and you breathe it all in.

As he separates from you, his eyes darted from your own to your lips, then down to your breasts, and up once more to your eyes, he sighs. “I want you back in here tomorrow night. You and I have an appointment.” Your eyes flutter when you feel his hand drift down your body and back between your legs, cupping your leaking heat and pressing two fingers into you to shove his cum back in.

You swallow thickly, smiling as you wrap your arms around his neck. “Yes, Daddy.” He licks his lips, kissing you again quickly. When he pulls away, his hand follows as he’s bringing his cigar back to his lips. You pluck it from his fingers and set it between your own lips.

You turn away as you smoke it, listening to him lower himself into his seat as he watches you with a great amount of interest. You don’t bother even looking at the scraps of clothing left on the floor. You bend down to pick up your shoes, turning back to him and seating yourself on his spread lap.

You straddle him, arms wrapped around his neck and faces inches apart. You perch the cigar between two fingers, taking a long drag before blowing the smoke into his face with a very long breath. His lashes flutter, and his lips form a large grin. He loves when you do that. He breathes it in like the sweetest perfume. You’re in his lungs.

You lean in and kiss him again, addicted to the taste of him as you giggle. He meets you with just as much need, adoring the taste of you on his tongue. You sigh when you pull away, returning his cigar to his lips as you stretch your arms tightly over your head with a moan. Blue watches appreciatively, sighing as his eyes drift down to your perfect breasts.

You relax after a moment, like putty in his arms as you lean in too close, your face in the crook of his neck as you press kisses into the skin just to have an excuse to be this close. His hand flattens against your back, and he’s kind enough to rub two circles into it as he offers a long and unsteady breath.

Then he pats you gently, pulling his cigar from his lips. “Go get some sleep, Kitten.”

You sigh, pressing one last kiss to the skin before pulling away. You smile at him, full of faux innocence and all the charm in the world. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Blue.” You kiss him quickly before hoisting yourself out of his lap.

“You better.” It’s not up for debate, but you weren’t going to argue in the first place.

As you laid in bed that night with your collar in hand, you couldn’t help but to stare at the words engraved into the back of the tag like the claim you’ve both engraved into each other’s skin.

Property of Blue.

Oscar Isaac taglist: @loki-hargreeves @hb8301 @tessarqctt @fanreader @alexxavicry @gublur @katsukis1wife @hatterripper31 @papichulo120627 @kmc1989 @the-nerdy-goddess @minigirl87 @woahhajime @notzammm @queer_poncho @motopoppp @feyresqueen @quickslvxrr @patchesofwork @rattymess @hc-geralt-23 Tag yourself here...

[rogueshadeaux]

Chapter Thirty-Three — Shadow Play

“I see the mark on each affront to God, now. The Mark of the Beast. It burns in their chests like the pits of hell, it’s on their hands anytime they use their powers. They’re all branded. All marked, even me. But I see it now, I see why God has made me what I am.”

7k word count | 2 spacers provided as pause points | TRIGGER WARNINGS: a lot of words, possible claustrophobia [they are UNDERGROUND please remember that!], human experimentation, military mention. ONE imbedded link.

Our footsteps echoed back a thousand times as we walked along the crescent-shaped dais on the other side of the room, Dad the first to step up onto it. “How far back do you think this goes?” He asked, shining a light down the rounded archway of the hall he was standing in front of. ADVANCED SYSTEMS. The last words of his sentence reverberated in the chasm, Brent joining him to look down it. 

“Hey!” He hollered, his voice overlapping Dad’s as the single syllable hopped around again and again. Brent turned back to face everyone, motioning down the hall. “It’s gotta be long.”

“Has to be some sort of tech lab,” Dad muttered in agreement. 

Brent smirked at the thought. “Think we have enough time to go look? Maybe they have, like, ray guns back there,”

“If we’re talkin’ Vermaak,” Zeke started, looking over my head at Dad, “We should probably start here. Advanced systems has gotta mean power transfer device, right?” 

Dad, though, wasn’t listening, not really; his phone’s flashlight had traveled along with his stare, looking across the dais to the hall on the other side, brow furrowed. His eyes narrowed a bit like he was trying to decipher something in the shadows, and he stayed quiet long enough for me to share a worried glance with Brent. “Dad?” I eventually asked. 

“Hmm?”

“You okay?”

He blinked hard, coming back down to earth from wherever his head had dragged him as he looked over at me, then to the other men. “Y-yeah, sorry,” he stammered, giving the hall at the other end one last look before turning fully to Advanced Systems. “We should see what’s down there.”

 Everything looked insane, so futuristic, and I felt bad for laughing at Bertrand when he said he was amazed by what he saw because I couldn’t help but agree. This place was amazing. 

Dad blew past the unmarked doors in the hall, moving deeper into the hall as he sensed something I only caught onto the further we traveled; there was something at the end of the hall echoing our footsteps back just a little too loudly, the sound coming back like an irregular heartbeat as it tried to match the loud drumming in my ears. Zeke stayed behind Brent and I as Dad held up a hand, light sweeping the rounded ceiling and noting the strange change: “It’s getting taller.”

“The entrance was wider too,” Brent muttered, shining his own against the wall. “Means there’s something at the end, doesn’t it?” 

“Probably.” Dad agreed. 

And they were right; as the ceiling widened like a maw, it spit us out into a rounded room littered in broken glass and severed wire, the walls lined with pods built into the walls. It looked like the shattered glass came from there, rained down by nearly a hundred of something escaping. A raised platform stood in the middle of the room, the perimeter circled by computers while the center held some excavated hole, something ripped up out of the ground and the concrete remains left strewn among the glass. 

And hanging from the ceiling were two cuffs, and a thick dangled wire with its copper ends sticking out. 

“Jesus,” Zeke muttered, shining his light behind him at one of the pods. They also had wires dangling from their enclosure, the ends looking like the pasties of EKG machines and some still holding catheters for veins. Zeke came to the conclusion I did, first to verbalize it: “They look like experiment pods.”

“Think this is where the Vermaak were?” Dad asked, stepping up to the platform. The computers stood on metal podiums with no visible wires, some with broken screens. “Wish Eugene was down here…”

“Could be,” Zeke hummed, messing around with the electrodes. 

Brent followed Dad up onto the platform as I slowly walked around it, shining my light at the base. There was no gap or welding or something that connected the platform to the floor; the ends simply bent out like the platform had been molded from the ground on a pottery wheel, no actual bolts in sight. It was so sleek, so unnaturally smooth and perfect.

There was a flash on the side and I glanced over to see Brent taking pictures of the pit, probably just as much for his own files as Dad’s. ‘Course. But the shine was enough to distract me, and I didn’t know there was something in my path until I could feel it under my ankle boot.

I lifted my foot to peel off the little thing off of it — it looked like a tag? Like the sort of paper tags I’d put on my gymnastics bag before going to a meet. It was in near-perfect condition, having been untouched since it was dropped.

Date and time of capture. Circumstances. Weapons, physical conditions, name rank, all duplicated three times on a page that signified needing to be cut. I flipped the page over, the sections on the back more for the holder than whoever the form was supposed to be attached to, the top titled ENEMY PRISONER OF WAR (EPW) CAPTURE TAG (PART A). “I found something,” I announced. “I think it’s some sorta…some sorta army thing?” 

Dad’s head snapped up. “What?” 

I didn’t bother answering, instead following the rounded edge of the platform again to where he stood and handed him the page. He breezed over the front before flipping it to the warnings on the back, huffing. “‘DA Form 5976,’” he muttered, looking over his shoulder at Zeke. “Direct Action form. The military raided this place."

“Oh yeah, more than likely,” Zeke agreed. “New Marais was under martial law for a bit as they dug around for information on the Beast and the First Sons. Guess they got here first.” 

Dad made some sort of dissatisfied noise in his throat, flashlight going from the form back to the computers — and then to the divot in the floor. “If this is where the Vermaak were…that had to be where the power transfer device was. They came in here with the intention of detaining anyone they found.”

Zeke left where he stood to join Dad on the platform, his light adding to the one shining down into the pit. “Guess now would be a good time to tell you they didn’t get the original device, huh?” 

Dad perked up, looking at Zeke. “Really?”

“Yeah. Bertrand tried shipping out the device, the original one meant for one-on-one transfer, when I was spyin’ on the Militia for Cole. He was trying to get it outta there before Cole got to it. You know the whole story about that gang fight at Fort Philippe?”

“Yeah,”

Zeke nodded once. “It was for that. We captured the place from the Militia, got the device, and Cole used it right there with Kuo. It exploded after.”

“What happened to it after?” I asked. Sure, it exploded, but it had to go somewhere, right?

Zeke shrugged. “It was basically scrap. Even if they got it, they wouldn’t have found anything useful in it.”

Dad’s brow furrowed. “So they never actually got the power transfer device?” He asked Zeke. 

“If it’s what was in this hole? No. Most the military coulda done was download whatever was on the computers.”

“And probably wipe them,” Dad added, more a complaint than an observation. “I’m surprised they didn’t rip these things out of the ground.”

Brent stared thoughtfully at the computer we were standing in front of, finger tracing the pole of steel that was holding it up. “We could.” 

I blinked. “What?”

Brent looked up, glancing between Dad and I. “You can recover deleted stuff from computers, right? Even if you’ve done everything to scrub it off. If we take the computer up to Dr. Sims, maybe he can find something.”

Dad rubbed the back of his neck, looking at the pedestal and the defunct computer on top of it. “We’d have to find its hard drive,” he eventually mumbled before looking back up at Brent. “We can’t just take the monitor, that’s useless.” 

“Wouldn’t the army take the hard drive?” I asked. It seemed illogical that they’d sweep the First Sons base and leave behind something so crucial. 

Brent’s eyes traveled down the metal pole, all the way to the floor and along it. “Maybe they didn’t know where to look,” he muttered, following some line we couldn’t see. His eyes raised to follow the wall and I saw all green was gone, replaced with a silver that reflected the light like…well, steel. He tracked whatever he saw to the wall next to the atrium’s entrance, eyes narrowing slightly.

“Hold this,” Brent asked Dad, not even looking at him as he passed over his phone and causing Dad to almost drop it on the ground. Brent stalked over to the wall and ran his hand along it, looking for some bump in the smooth texture and cursing under his breath when he couldn’t find it. “There’s something…under this…” Brent growled under his breath, sounding sure. “But the wall isn’t steel. I don’t see any…any bolts either.” 

“Think it’s welded straight on?” Zeke asked. 

Brent shrugged. “No idea. Either way it’s way too smooth to get through, unless I…”

Brent stared thoughtfully at the wall for a beat before bringing up his fist and turning it to steel, some extra metal shavings layering against the ridges of his knuckles as he reared his fist back and slammed it against the wall. 

Whatever metal was there instantly gave away, revealing a hidden server farm sitting stagnant behind it, all ziptied servos wires and electrical tape. “Oh, shit,” Zeke muttered as Brent moved to grip the second panel and rip it off, more of the server bank being revealed. He looked over to Dad. “That’s gotta be for every pod in here and these computers."

Dad nodded slightly. “Alright. Okay, Zeke, you’re our best bet for this, so salvage what you think might be useful,” 

Thirty minutes later, Zeke was zipping up the sling backpack and Dad sighed, turning to look back in the room. He looked absolutely displeased at how much nothing there was in this room. “The ice Conduit, Kuo — you said she was activated down here, too?”

Zeke nodded. “She came outta here cold as a corpse. Said they injected her with something to get her goin’.”

Dad mulled over those words. “We should try Bio-Science, then.” he decided unilaterally, voice making it very clear that this wasn’t up for discussion. “Whatever activated her here had to be made there.”

It was unsettling how loudly our footsteps echoed back at us as we walked out of the hall and back into the atrium, across the floor to the space where the Bio-Science hall stood. Dad was leading the pack, steps sure the entire way to the hallway before he faltered, staring down the hall with reservation. 

“You okay?” Brent asked. 

It took Dad a moment to even register that Brent spoke, glancing back at us. “Yeah, yeah, I just…” he drew off, attention going back to the hall. “You ever get a really weird feeling, like something’s wrong?”

“It’s probably the shitty horror movie lighting,” Zeke joked. 

“Not like that,” he chastised. “I mean, there’s just…there’s something wrong here. In this hall. I don’t know what it is or…”

He drew off, growling under his breath as he failed to translate just how wrong it felt to him. I could sort of relate; I’d get a bad feeling in situations that did turn out to be bad, and there was whatever that gut feeling was when the ice soldiers appeared on the Sound. Maybe Dad was getting that weird sixth sense right now too? “Do you want to leave?” I asked. 

“No,” Dad answered almost immediately. He flexed his shoulders, and that unsureness left him. “Come on,” He decided, “Let’s go see what we can find.”

Our footsteps rang out sharply like slamming gavels as we walked into the wing. God, how huge was this place? The hallway seemed to go on forever, large spaces in-between the labeled and rounded doors. And those labels didn't exactly help. Once we passed the basic ones that said things like 'Laboratory Supplies' or 'Restroom', the placards began to list off actual project names: Project Emerald, Project Mirage, Project Fracture.

I wasn't feeling very hopeful about much, especially when Dad just blew past the doors to keep walking down the hall. “There's...a lot of rooms to go through,” I mumbled, shining my phone light at another door that said 'Project Helix'.

“I know,” Dad replied. “Try to remember all the names. Let's get to the end of the hall, see if there's anything there,”

The end of the hall came swiftly after that conversation, the placard reading 'Project Metamorphosis'. The door…it was scratched to hell and back, chipped away like someone took an axe to its front and failed to take it down. Dad’s hand traced the edge of the door, that pensive look still on his face. He stayed unspeaking for so long that I finally cracked, saying, “Dad? Are you okay?” 

Dad nodded. “This is it,” he said with so much assurance. His phone light traveled around, inspecting the weirdly shaped door. 

“You sure?” Zeke asked. 

Dad nodded slowly. “Yeah, I…” his brows came together, like he was confused by his own knowledge. “I’m sure. Let’s go.”

“Looks like someone else tried getting in, too,” Brent pointed out. “Think the military tried taking down the door with no luck?”

No one answered. If that was true, it meant we probably wouldn’t have a chance to get in, either. 

Dad stepped up to the door and tried opening it. Tried. He pushed against the door, he fit his hands in the linear grooves to try and pull. Brent put his hand against the door only to flinch away at the attempt to drain it, and I crouched, running my hand along where the door met the floor — or, more accurately, where the recess was. “It lowers,” I said, looking up at them two. “Goes down, like a car window,” 

“Without electricity, it’s basically useless,” Zeke said as Dad got to my level, looking at the recess. “Delsin, I know you’re intent on this, but it doesn’t look like we can get in—”

“No.” Dad snapped a bit. “This…there’s something in this room. I need to see it.” He pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment before turning his head to look at Brent. "Well, any advice from the architect?"

Brent huffed, humored at the recognition but unable to answer. “Couldn't tell you. Haven't really looked into how to tear down buildings, yet. I don’t even know what kind of metal this is.” He hit the metal with his knuckle, the metallic ping that reverberated back high in pitch. 

Zeke’s eyes narrowed at the sound, and before long he was digging in his pockets for something, pulling out his keys. He held a little flashlight-shaped thing on it up to the door, sliding it around its face. “It’s not magnetic,” he declared, shoving his keys — with the magnet on them, apparently — back into his pocket. 

“So then, what’s that mean?” Dad asked. 

Brent was the one to speak next. “Means it’s probably titanium,” he said, pushing his own hand against the door. “Which means it’s strong.” 

“So we’re not gonna be able to get in?” I asked, standing. 

Dad’s face darkened. “No. We’re getting in.” He said, determined. “How do you break titanium?” 

“You don’t,” Brent said, almost sounding offended at the idea. “Do you know how strong it is?” 

“There’s…” I drew off, unsure how to ask what I wanted to. “There’s rankings or classes or something for metal strength, right? Are there any stronger metals?” 

“Steel,” Zeke hummed, looking over at Brent. 

Brent shook his head. “I don’t know if it’d be enough,” he admitted. 

“It's worth a shot,” Dad said, standing straight. “We throw enough steel at this door and it’s bound to break,” 

“Yeah, and it could also take down the entire hall.” Brent stressed. “We have no idea what’s load-bearing in here and what’s not. Most doors are connected to one—” 

“The door sinks into the ground,” I interrupted. Not only that, but this one was round. Didn't load bearing walls have to be vertical? “What’s the likelihood of it being one if it does that?”

Brent’s words faltered as he looked down at the rubber flaps on the door’s edge. “I…” he drew off, thinking hard. “Less…less likely, but still—”

Dad seemed to think that was enough. “Then we just aim for the door,” he decided. “And try not to bring anything else down.” 

Brent’s eyebrow cocked. “‘We?’” 

Dad nodded, saying, “We should use our powers together. Steel and concrete.”

“What about Jean?” 

Dad’s eyes broke from Brent’s to glance my way, and he dedicated all of seven milliseconds to the thought before saying, “Jean, you and Zeke move back, be ready to help if something happens.”

I tried not to let the request get to me. My water probably couldn’t help here, anyways. 

Dad and Brent passed me their phones and Zeke pulled me a good eight feet back as they both positioned themselves in front of the door, Dad hovering over Brent’s shoulder. I hadn’t realized they were nearly the same height before now. “You prep, I’ll add, we both throw. Okay?” He asked Brent, who nodded. 

The steel Brent produced caught the light from the phones, little beams bouncing around and the very large and very threatening looking beams Brent was making grew over his shoulder like some magical spear being materialized from thin air. I guess, in a way, it was. But what was different this time was Dad putting his concrete-laden hand through the shrapnel cloud to reach for the bars and touch them, the black rock on his arms sloughing off and onto the steel to make a jagged battering ram. 

“Now!” Dad yelled, moving to cross his arms over his face. Brent’s arms flinched as Dad threw his out and the battering ram went flying, the sound it made as it slammed into the titanium door something unpleasant I could feel in my bones as it screeched in protest, making me cringe so hard I accidentally bit my cheek. The door jolted hard, but stayed standing. 

“Again!” Dad yelled over the echoes of the grinding metal. Brent built up another large spear, Dad touching it with his gravely grace before they both threw it at the door a second time. This impact came with sparks and a divot in its center that exposed a way darker metal beyond the painted surface, a bullet hole in the kevlar the First Sons gave the door. “Come on, almost,” Dad encouraged. 

They ran the same race, Brent putting his entire upper body into this next throw, and the way the entire hall shook as the battering ram made impact with the door frightened me so badly that my water was reacting before I even saw the shrapnel, phones falling to the ground to instead let my hands shoot out to weave a wall of water between them and the wall they took down. The remains of the bent circular door shot back, taking out multiple desks in the room behind it and careening into a wall as my water caught whatever rubble it tried to throw back at the two men. The shaking stopped and the horrible sounds died off soon after, and within a beat, everyone breathed. 

And then immediately groaned as the broken door slowly fell forward, revealing the hallway it couldn’t fit through. “God, it's neverendin', isn't it?” Zeke muttered, glancing at me. All I could do was sigh in return.

I let my water fall and we all entered the lab dedicated to whatever Project Metamorphosis was, shining our flashlights around the room. God, even the furniture was white, pure metal desks laid in rows in the center — well, minus the ones Brent and Dad sent flying — with standing laboratory tables lining the walls, the expo marker on the white boards posted on the wall above them faded out but still legible.

Zeke beelined it towards some leftover lab equipment while Dad moved to shift through the contents of the first desk. Brent and I glanced at each other and simultaneously shrugged, moving to the edge of the room and exploring on our own.

With no luck at my station, I moved back towards Brent, him not even looking up as I moved. “This is insane,” Brent murmured, looking down at some files. “It looks like they were trying to do something with inactivated Conduits,”

“What, like what the DUP did?” I asked, looking around his shoulder at the document. Or, trying to — the font was so small that it looked like gibberish to me.

Brent shook his head. “No, different than that. Not sure how, though...” His flashlight left the laboratory counter to shine on the board screwed to the wall — which we only then realized wasn't a board at all, but one of those x-ray lightboxes. There were still some x-rays attached to it, but Brent's phone light wasn't hitting the picture right to make it show.

“Here, hold this,” he said, passing me his phone so quickly that I almost dropped it on the ground. After throwing a quick glare my way, Brent leaned forward, ripping the x-ray from off of the board and holding it in his hands, elevated a bit. “Okay, shine the flashlight under it,” he requested.

I did — and immediately cringed after. God...what happened to this person? Their jaw simply wasn’t there anymore, shatterings of bone protruding out of the open orifice in ribbons. I've seen brain x-rays before in health class, and while you're not supposed to see every nook and cranny, it's also not supposed to be foggy white, almost like it was riddled with infection or melted to mush. “Jeez,” I murmured, shining the light farther down the x-ray. It stopped just after the clavicle — not that that was one anymore, either. It was riddled with extra growth, as if wrapped up in solid tumors. “What the hell happened to them?”

Brent opened his mouth to retort when Dad, in the center of the room, called out, “Found some stuff on the Ray Sphere!” looking up at Zeke.

Zeke turned, in the midst of wrapping a stoppered glass vial with his sock while handlessly shoving his foot back into the tennis shoe. “What's it say?” He asked, taking off the sling bag so he could store the vial away.

“A lot of big words I don't know,” Dad started, holding up the rather thick file as Zeke and Brent's light landed on Dad's form, illuminating his tall shadow against the wall. “But it has a beginning note — apparently, the Ray Sphere can corrupt a person's powers?”

Zeke's head tilted to the side as he slipped the sling bag back on, looking at Dad curiously. ""Corrupt?'” he repeated. “Corrupt how?”

Dad looked back down at the file, phone light traveling across it in tandem with his eyes. “Says it makes a person's power stronger, but more volatile. Harder to control.” He looked up at Zeke. “Were Cole's power like that?”

Zeke shook his head, almost seeming offended at the accusation. “No, he was in control of what he could do.”

“And his power didn't affect his daily life? He wasn't having issues with—” Dad looked down at the file in his hands, “—his 'enhanced capabilities exceeding the threshold of practical applicability in routine activities, leading to the unintended manifestation of his powers in a potentially disruptive or uncontrolled manner?'”

“What does that even mean?” Brent scoffed.

Zeke's eyes, though, went wide. “Son of a bitch,” he muttered. Then repeated it, louder. “Son of a bitch!” With a foot stomp, like he just made the world's biggest breakthrough.

Dad glanced back up, eyebrow quirking. “So is...that a yes?”

Zeke nodded fervently. “Cole couldn't do anything with electronics 'cause his power would short circuit the wires. He couldn't sit in a car or hold a gun 'cause he'd make 'em explode. You're telling me that's why he couldn't do that? The Ray Sphere corrupted him?”

Dad looked back down at the document. “More like made him too powerful for his own good. Which I mean, did help with the Beast, but he would have had a horrible time trying to live in the Age of Technology.”

Zeke nodded. “Yeah, you've got that right. Had to create a double insulated phone pouch just so he could call me whenever we were off doing stuff,”

“These powers,” I interjected. “The, uh, corruption. Would it be enough to turn someone into a monster?”

Dad looked over at me like I was insane — but Zeke just nodded sagely. “Guess that would make sense. Bertrand, his power was...well, it was somethin'. He could turn himself and other people into these things, buncha fucked up looking creatures.”

Brent held up the x-ray, and we both immediately shined our phone's flashlight behind it to brighten up the image of the jawless person. “Like this?” Brent and I asked in unison.

“Jesus Christ,” Dad muttered, looking at the image as Zeke nodded.

“Exactly like that. Well, one of them, at least.” He replied.

Dad looked equal parts confused and bewildered. “So there was a Conduit that could turn just anyone into monsters?” He asked Zeke.

Brent let the x-ray fall, turning back to the table. “Not just anyone,” he said, grabbing his own stack of documents. “People with inactivated Conduit genes,”

“That's somehow worse,” Dad's murmur echoed easily to us. He raised his voice. “But if someone's able to manipulate a Conduit like that, we need those notes. Anything that can affect their powers is close enough to what's going on with your sister.”

We nodded, Zeke motioning for us all to come here as he took the sling bag off once again for us all to put our found documents in. As I worked on rolling up the x-ray and slipping my hair tie around it so it would fit easily, Brent muttered, “You don't think you're gonna turn into one of those, right?”

I could feel the blood leave my face as I thought of the possibility. “Oh God, I hope not?” I said. “I mean, the notes said it was nearly instantaneous, right?”

He nodded. “They did, they did. Just wondering, 'cause it seems like it would be a great cosmetic improvement for you,”

My smack against his head rang out loudly through the room and into the adjacent hallway, his yelp bouncing around just as vibrantly. Asshole. 

As Dad tried to find a way to fit the large x-ray into Zeke's bag, I watched Brent turn, shining his flashlight across the room and to the gap in the wall where the vast hallway stood. “What do you think is back there?” He asked me.

“I don't know,” I shrugged. “Probably more human rights violations.”

“Was there anything else over by that x-ray viewing box?” Dad asked us. We both sorta shrugged, giving him some noncommittal sounds that had him huffing hard. “Alright, I'll go double check. Do me a favor? Go check out the desk we flung next to the hall.”

We nodded, separating from the group as Zeke moved to fiddle with the other desk that was thrown to the side when Brent and Dad broke in. Brent put the flashlight on me like a spotlight as I tried to shift through the contents of the desk despite the weird angle it was at, pulling out nothing but useless to-do notes and nicotine gum foils.

“Anything good?” Brent asked me.

I scoffed, “Unless you wanna count old McDonald's receipts as loot, then no,”

I sat back on my heels and looked up just in time to see Zeke straighten, holding his hand up triumphantly like he had found gold — but whatever was in his hands was too small to see. “Got something!” He declared. “Some sorta recording chip.“

Dad turned to look over his shoulder. “Any idea what's on it?” He asked.

“Not yet,” Zeke hummed. He grabbed at a little pouch on the strap of his sling bag and there was a quick snap as he unbuttoned something. “But luckily, I brought Cole's old phone. I had tinkered with it a bit way back when — gave it a chip reader.”

Dad's eyebrow raised, and he 100% looked like he was not buying whatever Zeke was saying. “And you're sure a 25 year old piece of technology will work?”

Zeke snorted. “I modified a Nokia. I'll die before this thing does.”

Dad began walking over to Zeke as he fiddled with the old phone and the chip reader. The beam of light above me slowly started to move, and I glanced up to see Brent's attention — and inadvertently his phone — begin pointing towards the hallway again. “C'mon,” he finally said as I rose to my feet. “Let's go check out what's back there,”

Brent was already walking away by the time I called out to Dad to tell him what we were doing. “Okay, just shout if you find something, alright?” he requested as I jogged to catch up to Brent.

The hall was squared, which was different from the others — it felt like a normal hallway. Brent flashed the light everywhere; the high ceiling, the floor, where they met. He had this studious look on his face that left me wondering if he was taking notes for his own build down the line, or if he was critiquing the place and thinking of how he could have done it better. “Wonder if every other room is this big,” he hummed, light jolting to shine behind us. I couldn't blame him; I wasn't really a fan of treading through the dark underground, either. It felt like there was always something breathing over my shoulder. This entire place was freaky enough even without the fact that it was entirely powered down.

“Well, it's going to be a very long night if they all are,” I murmured back.

We turned forward simultaneously, just in time to see the light of the phone catch in the reflective surface of a pane of glass. It was as long as Brent was tall, following the curve of the wall in a slope. “What the hell...” Brent muttered.

The closer we got, the more I realized it wasn't a window, but a door, some large and super thick plexiglass thing that had five separate locking mechanisms on the outside. None of them had a keyhole though. There was a screen the size of a small television on the side, and a laminated piece of paper above it haphazardly taped to the wall like it was an afterthought, the 'TEST SUBJECT 0409' in giant bold.

There was nothing else about the corpse in the viewing room. No name, no demographics, no gender. Just a set of numbers the First Sons only bothered to throw on the wall after the fact. Barely cared about, barely human.

“What the fuck…” Brent drew off as he looked into the chamber. I couldn’t say much, I was too shocked. 

The glass was iced at the edges, patterned spreads of white frost that made the hairs on my arms stand on end. There wasn’t a bed in the room, no sink or anything. There was barely something that constituted a toilet — but it was all frosted over. The corpse in the corner of the small observation room was curled in on herself, arms wrapped around her knees as if she was trying to keep every little bit of warmth she had left contained to her core until the very end. She was perfectly preserved. That’s what was worse; I could see her frosted eyebrows still screwed close together, how she seemed to have froze in the middle of chattering her teeth. The folds of the thin scrubs she was in were stiff with icicles, her lips softly blue. 

“They froze her?” I whispered, the reminder of that feeling making shivers run down my spine.

Brent moved his phone’s flashlight around, up and down, trying to get a good look inside the chamber. “Look, see that?” he asked, pointing to the corner of the room. I looked up where he was pointing; it was one of those old flip signs, the kind they’d have at super old airports that would flip to say if a place was boarding or whatever. The white on it was damaged from the frost, but the dark black lettering showed through with ease; PRESERVATION ENGAGED.

“Do you think it was something to keep her body…” I drew off, unsure of how to even say what was going on, “...mummified?” 

Brent flashed his light around the room once more before letting it settle on the 5 locks. “That, or keep her from squealing.” he sighed hard, turning. “C’mon, let’s look at the others.”

I threw one last look at 0409 before letting my eyes fall to my feet, following Brent. 

There was a cshchsk that echoed into the hallway from the main room of the lab, like a walkie talkie was receiving interference, and then that same sickeningly sweet voice from the other dead drops came back, the voice of the Bertrand guy. 

“At first, I questioned His choices,” Bertrand’s voice echoed down the hall, the gross drawl of his accent making another shiver go down my spine after the one wracked up it by the cold hallway. There was another testing room, this time a man in it, hands frozen to the wall as he died trying to claw through the frost. I couldn’t help but hold my arms close to my core and Brent noticed, dragging me along. “Why would God turn me into such a monster when all I’ve done is follow His word? I never strayed far from His grace,”

Brent scoffed. “Isn’t this the same dickwad that was a fascist?”

I shook my head in disbelief at this asshole’s words, looking into the next testing chamber — and pausing when I did. In this chamber, there was definitely…someone, but I couldn’t see them well. Not when they were buried under the frost like that. But there was something off about the lump in the frost that I couldn’t put my finger on, like they were misshapen in a way. 

I mean, of course, that could have been a side effect of being frozen alive. 

“I prayed for days after I used the Ray Sphere to ask God why. Why turn me into this beast, this monster?” He asked no one. I’m pretty sure it was just to hear himself talk. “Why would He damn one of His most loyal soldiers to be a demon for the rest of his life? But I don’t believe that’s it anymore, no. I think I finally see what He has planned for me.”

Brent stopped dead in his tracks, making me run into his side. “Wh–, dude!” I snipped, rubbing where the bridge of my nose hit his hard bicep and blinking back the tears from the impact. 

Brent didn’t react. He didn’t even really care. He was too busy staring wide eyed into the next testing chamber, face a bit paled even in the dim light of my phone’s flashlight. I followed his stare, my own eyes widening as I looked at what was in the room. 

There was a human…I think. It was definitely the remains of one, at least. Their skin was leathery, grayed out in the way you only expected corpses to be. But the color darkened to match the texture the further it crawled down their arms, the skin growing and hardening to become these scythes of a pollex crab claw. It looked shelled, too, just like a crab’s would be. There was still a face to the person, still a mostly human body…but those claws…

“I understand what the auras I see are now. Marks of the Beast, of the devil’s influence. I’m branded with my own, and that’s why the Lord has made me what I am. I must atone for my sins.” Bertrand’s voice said from the other room as both Brent and I looked at each other and then rushed to look in the next cell. This one had the same claws and grayed skin, but there was more. Jagged frills of shell climbed up their — its — arms, clubbed claws where its feet used to be. It laid curled, back to us, so I couldn’t see its face — but I could see how its back seemed larger than humanly possible, like there was an extra set of muscles along its spine. 

“What the fuck?” Brent murmured again, more aghast this time. 

“I see the mark on each affront to God, now. The Mark of the Beast. It burns in their chests like the pits of hell, it’s on their hands anytime they use their powers. They’re all branded. All marked, even me. But I see it now, I see why God has made me what I am.”

 I followed Brent as he walked briskly down the hall, glancing into each chamber before quickly moving on. God, they were all the same; the huge claws long enough for them to use as crutches, the bent backs. At some point we got to see the horrors of that x-ray in all their fucked up glory; black bled through their abdomen and up their spines like something was poisoning them from the inside, their jaw shattered by the force of those thick appendages that jutted out of their jaws like tentacles. I guess the only solace I could cling on to when looking at these monstrosities is that they looked tranquil, curled up in the frost. Hopefully the people they once were passed peacefully. 

“He is giving me a chance to repent. To be more. His son was betrayed by one of his own, yet through that betrayal, we received salvation for our sins. That sacrifice is what He is expecting of me now.” Bertrand said, sounding so sure of himself. “I’m to be His sword and His might. I’m to cure the world of these demons by turning them into such and exposing them to the world.”

Brent’s steps slowed as the phone’s flashlight moved to face forward again and started traveling up, higher and higher as it caught the red and black exoskeleton of whatever that was in front of us. The chamber was at the end of the hallway and double the size of the others with the little crab-guys — but it needed to be to hold that creature. It was doubled over, reinforced arms being used as forelegs as it glared forward, three eyes on each side of its elongated head. It looked like something out of a horror movie, especially with its mouth open like a lotus, three long pincers coming together over a row of razor-sharp teeth. You could barely see the skin of the human it used to be under the exoskeleton of its hard shell, just as grayed and veined as the other crab-guys only an evolved form. Was this the end stage? Two segment claws as long as my arm and knees facing the wrong way?

“I’m meant to be the cure to the monster Kessler saw in his visions, the Beast that will burn the world to the ground,” Bertrand affirmed to himself. “I’ve done it, and watched them be hunted like the vermin they are. I’ve built the Militia to help track them down. These Conduits are not human, and they won’t be when I’m done with them. We are in the end times, and I am one of the disciples God intends to help salvage the world.”

Brent and I stepped closer to the frosted glass, standing on either side to get a look at just how tall, how wide this thing was. It had blades that ran up its elbows like knives, one elbow nudge away from spearing through someone. “Let them devour New Marais like a swarm of locusts. Let them see the monsters that are hiding among the meek, and let me be their savior. Let me lead them away.”

As I was looking at the jaw ripped open with tendrils of tissue holding the bones together, a volt of electricity shot up my spine when I realized the thing was staring back at me, blinking ice off of its translucent eyelid. 

“Let them ravage the world and get rid of the sinners, and may God help those that fight against them.”

“Jean,” Brent warned when he saw the head of the creature, the ‘Ravager,’ snap sideways to look at him.

We both took a half step back as the Ravager’s elbows flexed and it stood straighter, looking down at us from behind the glass. The three pincers on its mouth flexed open so it could give off a garbled scream that even the thick glass couldn’t keep silent, making me flinch and move to cover my ears. Its limbs moved lazily as it awoke from whatever hibernation the frost had it in before its super thick and long claws slammed into the concrete ground, shattering it with each rake. 

It was trying to dig its way out. 

“Run,” Brent said as Dad’s voice yelled something from the lab. “Go, run!”

[melodygatesauthor]

Blue Jones

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