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jamminvroomvroom · 1 year ago

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stress.

ln x fem!reader

finally finally finally uploading this! returning from my fic hiatus with some good old fashioned lando smut. feedback is always much appreciated! love you guys, thanks for being here <3 (pls tell me if the format is weird)

in which lando is stressed and so are you.

warnings: 18+!! smut, language, lando being an annoying little bitch, sliiiightly inappropriate workplace relationship, tiny bit of angst

1.7k words

he’d barely spoken since he’d jumped out of the car, helmet shoved at the first person he saw. his fingers worked through his sweat dampened curls, sheer frustration coursing clearly through his veins. they’d failed him, yet again.

your eyebrows were furrowed, the tension in your face conveying your deepest sympathy to him. it only angered him further. you gulped.

lando didn’t look at you again.

you trailed behind him awkwardly, every step he took seemed to shake with rage. he’d strutted from interview to interview, hardly biting his tongue. your warning eyes did nothing to soothe the sting of his words, he wasn’t even checking himself, just spitting sarcasm, his own personal venom.

you were quietly seething yourself by the time you made it into the hotel lobby, huffing as he continued to ignore you. the way your heart ached for him did little to ease your growing anger. you caught him as he ducked into the elevator while you were speaking to the woman at the front desk, trying to lose you. you snapped. you apologetically excused yourself, darting across the floor and into the metal box, the closing doors jolting back open.

“where the hell do you think you’re going?”

“don’t want to talk to you.”

“oh, for fuck sake, lando. are you five years old? we let you leave the track but we still need to debrief. you have duties.”

“yeah well, the team has a duty towards me, too.” he sneered.

“don’t you dare take it out on me. i didn’t build that tractor.” you bit back, pointing your finger at him.

he looked down at you, smirking, perhaps at your offhand comment. he looked evil, you couldn’t think of a better word. you felt hot, face red. working with him was, more often than not, headache inducing, especially lately.

“maybe i want to take it out on you.” his voice had dropped an octave, sultry, nostalgic.

your mouth was dry, lips parted. you felt like gasping for air, thighs clenching at his suggestion.

you swore this wouldn’t happen again. oh well.

you closed the gap, sighing in defeat, lips against his. he smiled, victorious in something, finally. you hated the hold he had on you. he was warm, familiar, hands at home on your waist. he pulled away to nip at your neck, bruising you deliciously. you swatted his arm in annoyance.

“knew you wouldn’t be able to resist after last time.” he taunted. if your eyes weren’t squeezed tightly shut, you would have rolled them.

the elevator dinged, and you were stumbling out, poorly composed. the lighting was dim, dim enough that he thought he could sneak a hand on your waist. you slapped him, hard this time. he laughed.

lando seemed to have cheered up the second you’d dropped to your knees at the end of his bed. one of his hands was wound in your hair, tugging harder every time your tongue ran over the vein that made his eyes roll back. he was panting, his neck flexing every time he threw his head back. you could feel yourself getting wetter and wetter each time he did, his tanned skin dampened with sweat, torso on display, muscles rippling.

just when you thought he was nearing the edge, he yanked you off of him, your balance momentarily lost as he pulled you off your knees on the carpet. lando steadied you in the narrow gap between his legs, glazed over eyes staring up at you, lustful and wanting. he kept his stoney eyes on yours, pupils blown as he ripped each garment of clothing off your body until you were bare, your flushed skin pressed to his. you seemed to prefer each other this way, naked, no talking.

you swallowed hard as you caught sight of your mclaren polo, crumpled on the floor, your mind suddenly riddled with the image of you being fired. as quickly as the anxiety inducing mirage arrived, it was gone, replaced by bright white nothing as you felt his lips hit the soft skin of your stomach. his curls tickled the underside of your breasts, one of your hands threading through the messy strands. you pulled his head back, leaning down to kiss him urgently, his hands finding the backs of your thighs. you were on top of him before you could even process it, your back against the mattress even quicker.

you remembered the last time, the frantic tearing at each other’s clothes, the blurriness, the way his giant hands seemed at home in all the places he touched you. the way your eyes rolled back and your toes curled and the way your name tore from the back of his throat. it had been carnal and desperate and a long time coming. so good, that you’d almost decided it was worth the risk to do it again.

your attention turned back to him as his hands grabbed at your hips, grinding you into him while he pressed open mouthed kisses over your neck, his teeth grazing your sweet spot. you let out a breathy moan, your body moving with his.

“you don’t know how much i’ve missed this. think about that night all the time.” he whispered. “this body, your pretty little noises, god. so perfect for me.” his breath fanned over your neck, your back arching.

“lando, please.” you whimpered, uncaringly desperate for him. he laughed, low.

“i know, pretty girl, i know.”

you were a mess beneath him as soon as his fingers found your core. you could feel him smile against your skin, taking a break from the bruises he was leaving against your neck. presumably he’d felt how much you needed him, your pussy slick. lando ran his fingers through your folds, finding your clit, teasing it between his fingers. you whined, writhing, thighs snapping shut to trap his hand.

lando pulled away, forcing your legs apart once more, snaking down your body until he rested between your thighs. his grip was iron-clad, unrelenting. your eyes rolled back the second he leant in, his tongue meeting your clit just as his fingers glided inside of you. he moved quickly, hard, the sound of your wetness doing nothing to shame you, and everything to get you both even needier.

“you like it like this, don’t you?” he taunted, as his fingers hit that spot your legs kicking out from the pleasure. you couldn’t respond, hearing him snicker quietly. it made you flushed, almost embarrassed to be so vulnerable underneath him, but it felt too good to care.

“please.” you cried out once more, no shame in your desperation.

he pulled away, crawling up your body painfully slowly, the kisses peppered across your abdomen making you shake.

“do you think about that night too? bet you’ve been waiting for this just as much as i have.” he whispered, hovering over you. “god, every time i see you at the track or in the factory, bossing me around like you run the place, i just want to bend you over and remind you who you think of at night.”

you blushed, hard, you lip caught beneath your teeth as he inched inside of you, teasing you further.

“come on, lando.” you groaned, wrapping your legs around him, pulling him deep.

you both moaned, ecstasy, stress relief.

“oh, so that’s how you wanna play it?” he asked, grinning down at you. the smirk painted on your face was wiped away instantly by his immediately unrelenting pace.

he was harsh, filthy, taking it all out on you. one of his hands dug into your thigh, keeping you in place, reminding you who was making you feel so good. the other hung loosely around your neck like a piece of expensive jewellery, making sure you kept your eyes open. the look on his face, that lazy, devious smirk, was enough incentive to keep you transfixed on his face, his eyes gleaming, the dark rings around them framing his intense stare.

just as you were nearing your end, he pulled out, flipping you onto your stomach like you were nothing. he forced you onto your elbows, back arched, ass up, your face lost to the pillows. a haze washed over you, bright white nothingness clouding your vision as he went even deeper. your mouth fell open, your silent scream burrowing into the comforter as you lost yourself, your orgasm beginning to wash over you.

lando felt you let go, pulling you up until you were on your knees in front of him, your back to his chest, the angle change making you whimper into the warm air of the hotel room. he held you still, his hand snaking around you until he found your clit, prolonging your orgasm, your body shaking against his.

you both collapsed into a heap, his sweaty body covering yours. you could feel his curls tickling your shoulder, his heavy breath fanning sending shivers down your spine. an open mouthed kiss to your shoulder blade had your eyes shooting open, your stomach twisting. it was soft, intimate, the opposite of how you usually spent your time together.

this was not like last time.

you needed to leave, urgently, escape before things got worse, weirder, even more unprofessional. it was stress relief, a way of releasing all of the pent up tension your jobs created between the pair of you.

you assumed he’d be happy to see the back of you, now that you were done with what you came here to do. you were proven wrong when he rolled off of you, pulling the duvet over your knackered body.

a complete silence fell between you as he switched off the bedside lamp, rolling over onto his side, facing you. he seemed pensive, like he was trying to decide what to say. and then, finally, he spoke.

“i appreciate you, you know?” he said softly, quietly into the pitch black space between you.

you smiled, thankful for the darkness surrounding you. you knew you’d gone red at his admission. your heart may have skipped a beat; you were probably just tired, you told yourself.

“see? i knew you weren’t a total asshole.” you murmured, back to teasing him. it was the safe option. you kicked yourself immediately. you’d just had sex with him, what good was playing it safe?

“you love it.” you could practically hear the smirk on his face.

“go to sleep, norris.”

thank you for reading! <3

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tomhardymyking · 20 days ago

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And more 𝑽𝒆𝒏𝒐𝒎: 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑳𝒂𝒔𝒕 𝑫𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆 interviews are to come, announced with this adorable photo of 𝗧𝗼𝗺 with 𝗞𝗲𝗹𝗹𝘆, and the interviewer! 😍💓

⠀⠀⠀⠀

¡Y más entrevistas de 𝑽𝒆𝒏𝒐𝒎: 𝑬𝒍 Ú𝒍𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒐 𝑩𝒂𝒊𝒍𝒆 están por llegar, anunciado con esta foto tan adorable de 𝗧𝗼𝗺 con 𝗞𝗲𝗹𝗹𝘆, y la entrevistadora! 😍💓

⠀⠀

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hollywoodoutbreak · 20 days ago

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Tom Hardy wasn't just the star of Venom: The Last Dance, he was also a co-writer! Teaming up with director Kelly Marcel, Hardy made sure the film delivered an action-packed spectacle that pushed the stunt team to their limits. Hear Hardy and Marcel discuss the challenges of bringing their vision to life!

Venom: The Last Dance is now playing in theaters.

#Venom: The Last Dance #Tom Hardy #Kelly Marcel #action movie #behind the scenes #movie making #stunt team #Movies #Movie News #Entertainment #Entertainment news #Celebrities #Celebrity #celebrity news #celebrity interviews. Venom #Venom 3

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zyonsay · 11 months ago

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heard you write for seb👀 how about rbr seb x reporter m! reader? 😼😼

Jealous? SV5

Fem aligned people may read but not f3tishize my work!!

Summary: Seb left a lil something on your neck...

Warnings: Slightlyyyyy Suggestive (only a lil bit tho)

Now playing: 'Doin Time' by Lana del Rey

AN: Hey there leo! I actually paired your Request with another Seb request, because i saw the opportunity to squeeze them together!

Hope you have a great day pooks <3

You thought no one had seen you leave the drivers room of a certain blond german. You thought…

Sebastians cheeky, teasing smile made you fluster slightly. This was so unprofessional. “You’re looking awfully good today y/n l/n, I was waiting for you to ask me a question all day.”, a shit eating grin adorned his lips, and he twirled his hair like a little schoolgirl. He was known to shamelessly flirt with people, especially interviewers, but this was something different.

You both have been dating for a few months now, the first time you met was at a party after the Monaco Grand Prix. His easygoing character immediately pulled you in and his sweet, cheeky smile was the cherry on top. Seb treated you like a god, even if he gets a bit much with his teasing sometimes. Both of you wanted to wait a little longer before announcing your relationship publicly, but if you were completely honest it was all just procrastination. Many people felt the chemistry between you two, though they only cracked a few jokes about it and nothing more.

His eyes darted down to your slightly exposed chest; the top few buttons of your dress shirt were unbuttoned. “Aren’t you looking fancy today?”, he knew exactly that just a few minutes ago his own hand was feeling up your chest in his driver’s room. The red tint on your cheeks deepened a little more before you started asking race-related questions. Seb definitely didn’t make a big effort to hide his shameless and obvious flirting. His gaze danced over your figure during the whole interview, you could feel him undressing you with his eyes.

Your partner Interviewer had just finished interviewing one of the other drivers as he came walking towards you. Sebastian was well aware of the ‘little’ crush the other man had on you. He couldn’t stand his lingering gaze and the way he hungrily licks his lips while looking at you. “Y/n and Sebastian! My two favorite Lovebirds.”, your coworkers smile was almost venomous. He was quick to glance over your figure, but his gaze halted on a violet-colored spot on your neck. Seb was quick to snake an arm around you, pulling you closer to him. “Jealous?”, his signature grin now spread across his face as he could basically see the other man fuming.

#ZyonsRequest #My pookie leo #<3 #male reader #f1 x male reader #f1 x reader #reader insert #male reader insert #x reader #f1 fanfic #sebastian vettel x reader #sebastian vettel x you #sebastian vettel #gay #x male reader #male!reader #male x male

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unhappy-eef · 2 months ago

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Dude I need more info on your pressure OC IMMEDIATELY!!! 👏👏👏

Also sick fursuit, love the design!

Thank you so much!! And of course I’ll be happy to share some stuff about this goober :3

I have A LOT of interview logs written up with this guy during his experimentation. So if you’re interested I might post some :3

██████ ████ or Z-27 was once a male scientist working as a marine biologist within the hadal blacksite. He conducted an experiment which later resulted in █ casualties. Z-27 went behind the team overseers back and in result has been forced to take part in the █████ experiment as punishment until further notice.

Fish that were added :))

- alligator gar

- The bowfin

- Spotted, Longnose, Shortnose Gar

- lion fish

- Sea snake

- cat fish

- Some fish with bioluminescence

Special Precautions: The spines of Z-27 delivers a venomous sting that can last for days and cause extreme pain, sweating, respiratory distress, and even paralysis. Do not come into contact with them, if you do seek medical attention.

Z-27 is a very independent creature, do not disturb it. It will not hesitate to kill you if it feels threatened. All scientists are recommended to not interact with Z-27 under no circumstances because it will become enraged and attack.

Z-27’s skin is too thick for bullets, so it is recommended to use a flash beacon in its eyes to scare it away.

Z-27’s eyesight is incredibly poor so it goes of water movements and other senses. It’s very quick and has great agility in the water. Walks on all fours while on land like a freak LMFAO it also uses the vents around the site.

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imjustmessy · 5 months ago

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I’m pretty sure the scene where vee and Eddie save the dogs from those guys in the trailer of venom 3 was idea of Tom hardy cuz he had said multiple times in interviews and social media that he loves dogs a lot (I’m crying rn)

#eddie brock #venom #venom the last dance #venom 3 #venom movie #marvel

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hiemaldesirae · 7 months ago

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LOOL YES!! That's what you get Alastor!! Cursed cat!Alastor adores Vox and would never hurt him. Honestly it'd be hilarious if Vox does an interview that night and the entire hotel (plus Lucifer) catches it and Cursed cat!Alastor is on Vox's shoulders just purring away and happily nuzzling Vox's screen and being happily petted and Alastor is gripping his fixed staff, grinding his fangs, jealousy leaking from him.

Charlie is pleased: "Alastor, I knew you could find that cat a good home! Thank you! =D"

Everyone else is fucking shocked. They know Alastor threw that cat at the Vees for entertainment and hell raising purposes (and in Husk's case, a way to try and get Vox to come back to him. Most of Alastor's schemes involving the Vees always, always revolve about getting Vox back.)

The interview is about a new product of Voxtech, but at the end of it, they ask about Vox's new pet and Vox just puffs up, proud as can be:

Vox: "This little demon just charged into the lobby, brutally attacking my staff! 2 or 3 died, I think 4 or 5 were maimed so I of course had to keep him! Isn't that right, Venom? (Cause Vox thought he had rabies....and he foams at the mouth when he attacks...so...and the V theme.) Isn't he precious?"

*sir is fine, for future reference. but YEAH, alastor would definitely be seething with rage- like whole fucking cartoon ass face too, he's NOT having the time of his life rn. why the FUCK was vox petting that hellspawn???? that should've been HIM ???????????

also venom is a perfect name for that little shit, honestly, though ill be fr i can only think of the. You know. Venom.

anyway whatever here's another writing snip. (vv short because i have morning classes tmw and im going to freak if im late again) you guys are greedy asf but whatever ill provide like any good father would

"Oh, dear... and he *kept* it, is that right?" Rosie gasps as she watches Alastor grip his hair tightly, head cradled in his hands. She giggles as she continues teasing the poor demon, "My, Alastor, isn't he quite the catch? Compassionate and caring to boot, not to mention that he seems to be *quite* popular among the denizens of Hell!"

"Rosie, my dear, please. Stop talking. For the love of God, stop talking," Alastor's ears flatten more as he begs his friend, Rosie merely laughing softly in delight as she watches.

"You can hardly blame me for being curious, Alastor! I mean, you always refused to take your sweet little picture box to Cannibal Town when the two of you were still talking... why, I had to learn of your dalliance through Mimzy! And, not to devalue my beloved's qualities, of course, but she's *hardly* the greatest source of information one can find-- I married her out of love, not for her communication skills."

"That *thing* probably has rabies," Alastor spits out, looking as if he'd just swallowed a particularly bitter pill. "I don't *understand* what he sees in it!"

"Well, it does look quite like you," Rosie points out leisurely. She takes a sip out of her teacup before continuing, "Perhaps he's treating it as a substitute for you? You know, in the way that some would treat their plushs like pets, he's treating his pet as... well, you."

Alastor narrows his eyes at her. "Vox *knows* that if he wanted to talk to me, he could easily just go over and tune into our shared frequencies. He's *replacing* me with it, Rosie, I just know it!"

"Hm... well, in that case, why don't you just go and make it clear to him that you aren't replacable?" Rosie taps the edge of her cup with a knowing glint in her abyssal black eyes, holding her good friend's gaze steadily. "You've never shyed away from confrontation before, have you, Alastor? Why be hesitant now?"

Alastor licked his lips, staring down in his lap before he picked up his own teacup and downed the liquid inside like a shot.

"Thank you for hosting me today, Rosie. I think... I've reached a conclusion."

A knowing smirk crosses the Cannibal Overlord's face. "Of course you have. I expect to be formally introduced to your lovely little muse soon, you understand?"

"Yes, my fair lady," Alastor rolls his eyes with amusement. "But you had better not try and take a bite of him."

"Who, little old me? I'd never, dear!"

"You had better not," Alastor frowns. Though his tone is joking, his expression falls flat.

Elsewhere, in the Entertainment District, Vox sneezes into Venom's fur as he cradles the fluffball of red fur. The freaky kitten turns to look up at him with a questioning look, but he only ruffles Venom's ears apologetically.

"Sorry, Ven. I don't know what came over me just now- oh, look at this! Should we get you this collar, or that one...?"

#ran rambles #chai writes #hazbin hotel #general asks #radiostatic #cursed cat alastor #the sneezing is because of the superstitition by the way #where if someone speaks about you you sneeze

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fandomwritingbit · 1 year ago

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serial killer william afton x (afab) law enforcement reader pt.3!

A/N: We're back, baby! You're probably going to have to read the previous parts for this as it's been fucking ages, you can find them here (pt.1 and pt.2) especially for a refresher on William's bizarre ability.

Reader is forced to return to Afton, even after what happened last time. And finally he gets to make her his.

Warnings: smut, dub con, violence, injury detail, blood/pain kink?, predator/prey stuff. This series continues to be fucked up, so bear that in mind lmao.

“I just can’t.” you say bluntly into the phone, quickly to be met by a sigh from your boss. There was no way you could face Afton again. Your body physically wouldn’t let you and the thought of it crippled you with fear. Hence this call, letting your superior know you won’t be attending the scheduled interview for today.

“But you won’t tell me why.” he scoffs, “Look, y/n. Obviously this case isn’t to your liking, but what were you expecting? He’s a child murderer, it was never going to be pleasant.”

“Yes, I know but-” The man on the other end of the phone didn’t wait for your argument and you could tell that his decision was already made.

He sighs, “We don't have the resources to send someone else. Moreover, you have taken and categorised the information yourself so far, it would take time for you to share this with another agent. Time we don’t have.” This dispassion and lack of concern in his voice made tears prick your eyes, he didn't understand. You couldn’t go back to the facility and sit opposite a man that had been endlessly playing with you since you met him.

You hadn't seen William Afton since he cornered you in the interview room, since you used him for pleasure, since you came to, curled up on the floor of your apartment ravaged by tears and the searing guilt of what you had done. How could you continue this case? But how could you not? It's not like you can tell your boss that reason, it’s unbelievable, you yourself could hardly comprehend it. Hell, even if he did believe you, you’d lose your job.

“I’m sorry, y/n. I know it’s taking an emotional toll on you, how couldn’t it? But we need you to continue.” Your tears are obscured by a venomous scowl you have no control of- ‘an emotional toll’, you could laugh at that. He had no idea. You feel watched at all times, vulnerable, and as such have lost sleep because you don’t know when or how he will toy with you next.

“I-”

Again you are cut off by his uncaring and bored tone. “I’m sorry, but if you refuse… your contract will be terminated as per clause... 14a.”

“Yes, sir.” Your voice cracks with the words and you have to take a pause to steady your breath and resign yourself to this fate. The fate of continuing to be this child killer’s play thing. “I understand and I will proceed.” You enunciate each word separately, unable to pretend to be polite.

You can picture the arrogant expression on your superior’s face and it makes your fist clench automatically revealing a row of white knuckles. “Tomorrow, report to me afterwards.” And you agree, through gritted teeth, the now very familiar sensation of dread making itself known.

Tomorrow. You would be there tomorrow, faced with the reality of your ghost.

Afton had a nagging feeling you wouldn’t show, no doubt terrified of the fallout of what you’d let him do to you last time. As much as he’d expected this, that did nothing to ease the boredom of being locked in his cell all day with only planning and thought for stimulation.

He had warned you, told you that you would regret not showing, not playing his game. You’re a fool if you think that abandoning your post would be the end of it. Would it fuck. If anything it just made him want to teach you a lesson about resolve and determination, something you were clearly lacking.

It was his goal to break you down, make you malleable, the perfect toy for him. And clearly it was easier than he’d have thought, you jumped at the chance to use him then crumbled immediately. So he left you alone for a while, let the fear of yourself amplify.

The pacing of his cell ceased for a moment to allow himself a chuckle at how bizarre this was. He was on edge at your absence and felt as though he lacked control. He’d see you soon, tonight perhaps, but how should he proceed? You hated him, it was poisonous around you and dripping with rage, targeted at him but rooted in hate for yourself and your powerlessness. Because you were powerless, even if you ran or hid, you were powerless because deep down you wanted him to find you out.

God, it was evident in your last meeting. You’d resisted, spat on him, your disgust making his cock rock hard. And then you’d lost yourself, faltered so easily. Dragging yourself against him fuelled by burning lust, he could practically see it in your eyes, hunger plain and simple. Just thinking about it made him carnal, he had received nothing from the interaction but the image and it was a fucking sweet one to say the least, he would have acted on the picture right then and now, pulling his shirt up slightly to gain access to his waistband. But he’s quickly interrupted by footsteps down the corridor.

It was two sets of steps, intending to be slow and purposeful but instead reeking of entitlement, it was no doubt his favourite duo of coppers. Dithers and Paulson. He sighed, turning his back to the glass wall, not wanting interaction with PC Douche and PC Can’t-walk-straight-for-Douche’s-hand-up-his-arse.

The steps stop outside his cell, bringing with it a heavy silence. They were waiting for him to turn but he only sniggered, pressing his tongue over his front teeth. His silent refusal caused officer Dithers to glance at the other guard, a mean spirited smirk crossing his face as he walked over to the door, raising his hand to pound the glass. Trying to corral him like a fucking caged animal.

“Come on, knobhead. Got something to say to you.” Dithers called out sing-song style, the other guard laughing in toe.

Afton turns, making a point of sizing the officer up, exhaling loudly through his nose as he approaches the door. Sticking his chin up and letting a smirk slide across his face at the height difference between himself and both these officers. And although Dithers would never admit it, he had to step back to effectively meet his eyeline.

“Morning, kiddie-fiddler.” He says, instantly turning to his mate for validation. The killer sneers, forcing himself to not rise to the words of this shit-stirrer in front of him. To put it lightly, Dithers was lucky for the walls of the cell. “Been busy, huh?” He gestures to how his uniform was disturbed from the activity he was about to indulge in, spurred on by the memory of his last encounter with you. “Suppose you’ve got nowt to do but pull your prick all day.”

The two officers shared a look of amusement that was instantly shattered when Afton grinned, “And… you’re here to watch?” Their machismo makes them stand a little straighter and avert their gaze. Their instant school-yard response of ‘you’d like that, wouldn’t you?’ dead air because yes, he probably would.

Awkwardness remains for a few moments before it's broken by the guard. “Looks like that pretty little agent ain’t coming today.” He gets closer to the glass trying to assert dominance, “She must’ve got bored of talking to nonces.”

Afton looks down his nose, the smirk on his face as aggravating as a slap in the face. “They should put someone else on duty then.” he sniggers.

At that, Dithers slams his hand against the glass and takes out his keys, the aggressive rattling loud in the otherwise silent corridor. Afton just chuckles, clearly he’s struck a nerve if this bastard thinks it’s a good idea to pick a fight with him in this tiny cell. The raised voices of Dithers and his crony catches O’Connor’s attention from his post and he moves quickly down the corridor to see the key raised to the lock and hear the threats of the fuming officer.

He shouts at the soon-to-be altercation, “What the Hell is going on here!?” Forcing his hand between Dithers and the lock, getting cut up by his movement in the process. “Are you fucking stupid?” He hisses in pain, and holds up his hand to show Dithers the blooming blood, causing the aggressor to back off, the ugly expression on his face demonstrating that he knew he’d fucked up big time now.

“Shit.” he mumbles, mouth opening to give excuses.

O’Connor snaps and grabs him by the collar, shaking him before pushing him back, leaving him to stumble. “Just- feck off and get me first aid.” The words are hissed, his tone harder than they’d ever thought possible from someone they’d before considered a soft-arse.

Dithers nods and moves away, the other guard follows suit, both hoping to find the captain before O’Connor could, conveniently forgetting the CCTV is on his side. As they retreat, O’Connor grabs his hand, wincing in pain, he wipes the blood to see the injury underneath. The keys had pieced his palm fairly deep and the blood was pouring. He mumbles the word ‘fuck’ under his breath.

“You alright, big boy?” Afton smirked, but he wasn’t laughing any more though because he recognised that this young lad had probably just gotten him out of a week in seg. for something that wasn’t really his fault.

The officer looks from his injury to the criminal, “What the fuck was that about?”

“You tell me. I were minding my own.”

He scoffs, to be fair that was pretty hard to believe. “Yeah let’s see if that’s what the cameras say.” Afton laughs, moving away from the glass to sit on his bunk. Officer Dithers was a fucking joke, that whole display was pathetic, all the CCTV could tell was he stood their calm as anything whilst the guard tried to prove how big his bollocks were, the runt.

He remained on his bunk, watching the officer try to stem the flow of blood with his fingers. The action irritates him, “You want to get that sorted. Disinfectant. I wouldn’t wait for PC Dipshit.”

O’Connor turned to again face the man inside his cell, his brows furrowed. What was that, advice? How weird, he thought to himself, must be this freak’s way of a thank you.

The next day when you arrived at the facility your heart was in your throat, firmly lodged there making it impossible for you to breathe normally. You’d called early this morning, arranged everything the same as it should have been yesterday, but it did nothing to ease your nerves. You pause outside the doors, taking a moment to reassure yourself, it’s anxiety, nothing new, once you clapped eyes on the bastard it’d subside - at least you hope so. But that didn’t make it any easier to enter the building.

“Hey!” a man’s voice calls out to you, making you turn to the direction of its source. Your kind-of friend, O’Connor, gave you a shy wave, a bundle of bandages wrapped around his palm. And giving him a slight smile you go over, fists clenched tight to stop your hands from trembling, hating how much effort you need to stay remotely professional right now.

“Hi. What happened?” you ask instantly, pointing at the covering on his hand. It was out of curiosity but also your need to keep the conversation away from last week and your absence yesterday.

He looks down to his hand as though he’d forgotten about the injury altogether. “Oh, your man, Afton, had a row with uh Officer Dithers.” He smiles bashfully and some colour appears on his face. “I intervened and-”

“Afton did that?” You cut him off, voice stern due to anxiety and coming off sharper than intended.

The smile falls at your tone, he can tell something is bothering you, though to be fair I didn’t exactly take an emotional genius. “No, no. Dithers did, it was an accident- doesn’t really matter. Are you… okay?”

You pick up that he’s not just asking etiquettely, it's touched with concern. So you double check that the expression on your face isn’t revealing too much, and smile as much as you can. “Yeah, sorry. Just… after last week I’m put off, to say the least.” It’s a reasonable excuse and you’re so glad it came to you as easily as it did.

“Yeah, I get it. But uh if you want, I can get someone to go in there with you, I don’t mind doing it?” The second the idea leaves him he sees your face change, like you breathed out for the first time since you walked in, a bucket of tension off your shoulders.

You blink as relief seeps through your veins, this guy must really like you to offer that. “Is that something that can happen? I mean, that would be great, but who do I ask?”

“I’ll talk to the cap., you can wait here, or…” Or go in alone, you finish the thought for him in your head, weighing it up. Obviously waiting for him is preferable, then you won’t have to face your demon alone, it’ll keep Afton in check too, no sly comments if he’s there. But… you’re on a strict time schedule to make up for yesterday and your boss wants your report in exactly two hours. The anxiety creeps back in when you realise that you’ll have to do the first stretch on your own.

You assure yourself, as much as O'Connor, that you’ll be fine, though it’s a complete lie. He goes straight to the Captain’s office, leaving you to take yourself to what feels like your doom. Maybe it’s better because the silence gives you an opportunity to ground yourself, you’re safe here, you have someone staying at your flat with you, you don’t have to subject yourself to these awful impulses Afton released from you; you just have to conduct your questioning. It helps somewhat, the fear now lessened to a nagging tightness in your shoulders, by the time you stand outside the interview door and exchange a few words with the guard there.

But still you find yourself trembling when he unlocks the door and holds it open for you.

Seeing Afton sitting there waiting for you, makes your whole body go tense. This was ridiculous, you should be here, you shouldn’t have to do this, not after the landslide of emotions you’re still recovering from. How can you be terrified of someone doing something you liked? Maybe you’re not really scared of Afton, maybe you’re scared of what Afton is turning you into. This pathetic, shaky mess isn’t you. And so, with a nod to the guard on the door, he closes it, the small beep indicating the lock becoming active and sealing you in here, with him.

You take a deep breath and force yourself into business mode, slowly walking over and taking a seat, all without actually looking the criminal in the eye, though you feel him staring and analysing your every movement. Once seated you make yourself look at him, though the struggle to do so is evident in the tension of your jaw. He catches the flicker of a wince on your face and smiles broadly.

“Just as I were starting to think you wouldn’t come back. Here you are…” Afton breaks the silence that was just beginning to become too long, he plays with the words, taking his time to speak whilst bringing his hands up to rest under his chin. He takes you in, dressed all modestly today, like you’re trying to compensate for last week, it’s cute. As he moves you notice he’s wearing different cuffs, these ones not a chain between them but a thick solid metal bar. It must be some fallout from the interaction with Officer Dithers, though you can’t see why.

You swallow, internally begging your voice not to crack, “We’re only a day behind schedule. I think you’re being overdramatic, Mr Afton.” The second you get the words out you applaud yourself, grateful that the role of lawyer wasn’t too difficult to slip into, though maybe that was partly due to the impending arrival of O’Connor.

“Overdramatic, huh?” He laughs, “And what would you call your reaction to what happened last time I seen you?” His tone is dripping with accusation, implying you missed yesterday because of it, a sarcastic sharpness layered on the words. It looks like you missing yesterday’s session pissed him off more than reasonably, he probably thought his ‘skills’ weren’t paying off and that you had slipped out of his control.

“You mean that pathetic display of violence on that officer?” The dismissive way you speak annoys him, manifesting in a slight scowl. You must think you’re so clever sitting there, trying to pretend you weren’t on the verge of breaking, he can see it in your eyes, you’re close to being his.

“Why? Did it scare you? You know that that’s not what I’m talking about.” He speaks a little more harshly, the theatrics dropping off by the second. But your words didn’t reflect how you actually felt about that day, when he headbutted that guard, there was no reaction of pain. Not even a flinch. And that was disturbing. Maybe that explains these more secure cuffs.

Sighing, you wave your hand, not wanting this teasing to go on. This needs to be over as fast as possible, for your sanity. “Frankly, Mr Afton, I’m not interested in whatever rapport you think we have. I’m here to work.” You let the natural authority fall from your lips, pointing down to the sheet of questions designed for today’s session. You shove all fearful thoughts from your mind, resigning yourself to calm.

“Oh." He leans back, an expression of faux-offence coating his face. “So, no foreplay today? Fine, sweetheart… I’m happy to give you what you want.” His suggestive tone and eyes scanning your body makes last time flash before your eyes, and it steals your breath.

“I…I want to talk about your family. Research suggests it might play a huge part in your actions...” You trail off at the sound of the keypad outside the door being used, finally O’Connor was here, you can rest a little easier. Looking at Afton, you see his gaze completely locked on the door, brow furrowed. It hits you then that this might not be a good idea, changes like this are notorious for getting a rise out of inmates and that’s the last thing you want from a man who can torture you if the impluse strikes him.

Your friend enters and you turn expecting to see him walking towards you. He doesn’t, instead just gesturing at you to come over a look of pity written on his face. Pushing your chair out you go to him, very aware of Afton’s eyes like daggers on the two of you, his expression serious.

The scrutiny is evident in his face as he wondered why the hall that officer was interrupting his session. His time with you. It's rude to say the least, and just as he was starting to like that ginger guard and all.

You keep your voice quiet and out of his earshot, “Well?”

He launches into it immediately, “...I don’t have the right clearance. Cap. said that I can’t go near this. I’m so sorry.” You can tell on his face that he means it, he looks very sorry indeed. “I tried to go after someone higher up, but-”

“No one would do it?” You laugh shortly, what a fucking surprise. No one would sit in for you because you’re a stranger here. A woman no less. An unknown woman who’d slighted one of their colleagues, that must be like a triple crime here.

“I’m sorry, I really am.”

You smile, though it’s strained, and resist the urge to cry that’s now making itself very apparent. “It’s alright, it’s not your fault.” You place your hand on his arm, half out of reassurance that you’re not angry at him, half the need to bring yourself back to reality. You’re going to have to finish this alone, but hey, if you’ve come this far you can handle it. It’s such a nothing action and you hardly register it, O’Connor smiles back, still looking very apologetic. “I need to get back to this.” You make your intention to walk away clear.

He nods, quickly leaving the room. You hear the beep again when you sit down, finally casting your attention back on the murderer in front of you, whose face is set in indignation. Such fiery anger that you blink in shock, unable to understand what had brought him to this.

“What the fuck was that?” The words are knife-like, said through gritted teeth. The human part of you shudders but the business part of you is intrigued as to why he was reacting this way.

You speak cautiously, “I’m sorry, I asked O’Connor to do something for me: it didn’t work out. Anyway, as I was saying-”

He cuts you off, “Are you fucking him?” The words are interrogation and you then notice his hand gripping the desk as he leans forward, his knuckles strained so much a previous gash was bleeding. You remember those hands on you, how easily he held you still, the frightening strength of them. Then he wasn’t even pissed off, what the fuck could he do if he lost control? The thought makes you swallow.

“I- Mr Afton. It doe-”

“It does fucking matter.” He spits, the words pure venom, “Answer the question.” The movement of his head is animalistic as he ducks slightly to catch your eye line better, like how a caged wolf would follow a keeper’s actions, waiting for a mistake, a chance.

You stare at him in disbelief, the ability to speak coherently lost in your terror and fascination. “I-I… no.” you finally manage, shaking your head.

He scoffs then, averting his gaze for a moment before again fixing it on you. His fingers rising from the table like he suddenly remembered himself, then slowly laying flat. “If he lays a finger on you- I’ll fucking kill him. You hear me?” He speaks quietly, demonstrating an insane amount of self-restraint, which didn’t go uncommended.

“Excuse me?” Your brows narrow instinctively as you’re unable to follow his manner of thinking. All this rage over that interaction, it’s crazy.

He laughs, leaning closer to you, “I’ll make it good too. I’ve heard intestines are longer than you think.” Intimidation, it’s just intimidation. You try to soothe yourself, the thought manual to try and lessen the spiral he’d just thrown you into. He just wants to assert dominance, to make you feel weak. But looking at the cruelly grave look on his face, you just know he’s telling the truth.

You try to engage him, eager to understand why he said that, the pen gripped in your hands as you hold yourself back from writing this down. “I- so you would do that. Murder us, what- just because you can?”

Out of the blue, a smirk slowly spreads across his face, “No, no sweetheart. I’ll kill him… Could you live with that? Lover boy’s blood on your hands?” Something thoughtful flickers in his gaze before he continues, “It’s harder than you think.”

“I don’t understand. Why?”

The grin doesn’t budge when he sits back in the chair. “Just because I can.” He puts knowing infliction on the words, mirroring exactly what you’d said moments ago, mocking you. Then he shrugs, “I think we’re done. For now.”

You’re more than taken aback by that, it’s like he’s trying to remove himself from your company, maybe because he’s still pissed off and didn’t want you to see it, and that suggested an element of control you didn’t know he had. And so, putting your notes away you try to think of what you would tell your boss, he’d given you nothing today and no doubt that was going to be your fault. Fuck’s sake.

“Next week then.” You say at the door, as a means of goodbye. It makes the murderer smirk and he shakes his head briefly.

“Sure. See you soon, sweetheart.”

You’re still a little dazed even on the other side of the door, still in shock Afton had just ended the session like that, leaving you hanging in your boss’s mercy. But there’s not really anything you could do. And perhaps, that possessive reaction could be worth reporting, though how you would do that without implicating yourself in something, you don’t know.

“Hey, you didn’t finish early cos of me, right? Again, I’m sorry.” The sweet officer walks beside you, eager to really make sure you’re not angry at him. You probably should be, he’d gotten your hopes up of support, but then again, you managed fine. Plus it’s hard to be upset at someone who’d so far struck you as very genuine.

“Honestly?” You ask, a small smile settling on your face. He nods. “Afton called it off. I don’t think he liked the interruption.”

He chuckles, “Or he didn’t like the idea of you having a life outside that room.”

You look at him then, your brows narrowed in thought. “What do you mean?” You know more than you’re saying, but getting his opinion on your surface level relationship with your charge could be useful.

“Just that… You know what they’re like, don’t see a lass for years and now he has one visiting him every week? He probably thinks you’re a lot closer than you are.” You try not to let your reality manifest in your expression and smile politely. He has no fucking idea how close you are. God, you wish you didn’t.

You’re so comforted by your little do with the officer that it makes the drive home easier, instead of being fearful of what would await you later on you replay the entire conversation, focusing on your side and hoping you didn’t make a melt of yourself. The analysis makes the drive fly by and you’re parking in your building before you know it, messaging your temporary housemate to check that they’re in and physically relaxing with the knowledge that they are. Today couldn’t have gone better really, especially after all the anxiety you had prior to going to work, and now you can forget about it, well, as much as you're able to with Afton’s words still sharp in your mind.

Unlocking your apartment door, you step inside and call out instantly to the person waiting for you. No reply. But the blurred sound of the tv calms your nerves, they probably didn’t hear you over it, nothing more. The flat is still, your kitchen exactly as you’d left it, pots and all, the table messy with a pile of washing on it. Why you’re looking for something wrong is unknown, but an eerie feeling in your gut tells you to be careful, and you know better than to ignore it.

Going through to the living area, you stiffen at the sight of the empty sofa, the telly playing to itself and your houseguest nowhere to be seen. Your intuition was right, something was gravely off and the heavy silence makes you turn to the open door, a tightness spreading across your chest. On a small table near the door there’s a kitchen knife, probably the biggest one in your rack, and it’s just laid there. Although it’s a menacing sight you go over to it and pick up the blade, a soft security in having something to defend yourself with. Maybe you’re overthinking, allowing your fears of further confrontation with Afton to come to fruition, but you can’t physically relax. Your friend could just be in the toilet, or the bedroom, yet something tells you not to call out again.

Whilst you’re looking at the hefty knife in your hand a devastatingly loud scraping sound comes from outside the room. Like some heavy furniture being pulled across the floor without care. You hold the blade to your chest, eyes flicking over everything as you walk back towards the kitchen, a prey mindset coming over you, making you consider your escape options. Not the front door, you locked it, it would take too long, besides surely your pursuer would catch you, unless… you tighten your grip on the knife.

In the kitchen you find the source of noise, one of the chairs strewn across the room and knocked over. You steady yourself as much as possible, mind too pragmatic to let fear overcome you right now and head to the chair, picking it up as quickly and silently as you can. It’s then that that god-awful sensation of eyes makes you tense, and so you turn, knowing before you can see that it's him.

You don’t question how Afton is in your flat, hell, maybe deep down you’d expected it, at least he was in front of you and in your sight, there’s a certain power that comes with that. “What do you want?” You speak gruffly, not allowing any smidge of terror in your voice, you have to stay strong… for all that worked last time. But today is different.

“I thought I’d pay you a visit. It’s a nice place you have here… real private.”

“And this?” You hold the knife forward, the light catching it and making the blade shine, “We’re playing games now?” He laughs at that, leaning his huge frame against the wall of the hallway, letting you see the front door over his shoulder.

“We’ve always been playing games. I felt bad for you, thought I’d give you a chance.” He grins and it’s meaner than usual, so is his tone, this didn’t feel like giving you a chance, more like setting you up for failure so he can see the hope die in your eyes. You can’t help but think this could be punishment.

“If you think I wouldn’t use it- you’re wrong.” You say sternly, putting a lot of effort into keeping your voice solid. He doesn’t look perturbed in the slightest, if anything a tinge of amusement graces his face, that's definitely what scares you the most. He moved then, standing straight and stepping towards you, eyes raking over your form for any sign of weakness. You match his movement by retreating so your back is against the counter, the kitchen table separating you and him, the deja vu from your last encounter gives you hope: this table certainly isn’t fucking bolted down.

Maybe he picked up on your thought process because he suddenly moved quickly, quick enough to startle you but not to ruin your idea. You shove the table hard and it hits the target with a notable thump. You know it’s not going to hurt him, but it gives you the briefest chance to run, so you do. Out the kitchen to your bedroom hallway. You slam the door to keep him inside, wanting all possible indications of his movement when he chases you, then the door to the bathroom, your room and the guestroom, not before sliding inside the latter. In a quick though you push yourself down under the bed, its long covers close to the floor and side table providing you a small corner to curl up in.

It’s the best you can do and it allows you to watch the door and wait for him, the knife still enclosed in your hand. Years of safety training and online courses cross your mind, he’s much bigger than you, you know from experience if he gets the upper hand you’re his to toy with. So you have to strike quick and fast, deadly or at least close to it. The neck would be best.

Your plan begins to work, when you hear the kitchen door open, banging roughly into the wall. He doesn’t care if you hear- he wants you to, wants you to be scared.

“Now who’s playing games?” Your chaser calls out, you’d expected that angerfrom before to return, but instead that torturously mocking tone is back. He’s underestimating you.

He doesn’t disguise his movement, going room to room. Your bathroom, bedroom and then here. You’re so confident in your plan until he opens the door, then child-like terror settles in when you realise how cornered you are. You’ve left yourself no other option than to attack him and if that doesn’t work, you’re fucked.

You don’t need to see his face to know he’s grinning, there’s nowhere else you could be. He walks to the edge of the bed, his feet casting shadow across the floor. Instinctively you pull your feet up to curl up smaller, the sound of your action crystal clear.

“I heard that.” He speaks with a sing-song tone. “Under the bed? Really?” He laughs, but you keep your head on straight. His shadows reveal what he’s doing, crouching down silently to pull you out, so you force yourself to take your chance. You shove yourself from hiding quickly, rolling to your feet and swinging the blade as hard as you can towards his neck. You hit. But not as precisely as you meant to. A slash, not a stab, and although the blood from the wound is a lot, his reaction is proof of failure.

He grunts in pain, catching your arm before you could strike again and slamming your wrist into the corner of the wall, instantly knocking the blade from your grip. It hurts like hell, a sudden electric pain down your entire arm, your fingers tingling. It’s hard to think with the pain but seeing him kick the knife across the floor another idea strikes you. You kick him with force in the balls and this time your assault is successful, as he doubles over with an absolutely wretched sound. He doesn’t let go of your arm though, his grip lethally strong even though you rive against it. You try to think against the amounting futility but the struggling kills your motivation. Regaining himself, he meanly swipes your legs from under you and you go down instantly, hitting your linoleum hard enough for it to show in your expression.

He pins you there on the floor, using his body to completely immobilise you, your hands now captured in his. And just like that your will to fight is hanging on by a thread. What’s the point in thrashing, you can hardly move and the anger in his eyes is a warning.

He just watches you for a moment, still beneath him except for your rapid breathing and that disgusted look on your face, not touching you more than ‘necessary’ because he doesn't want to hurt you too much. And you’re making that very fucking difficult.

“Get off me.” You try, the words coming off your tongue sharply.

“Or what? You’ll fucking stab me again?” Mentioning your attack draws his attention to the pain and the sensation of warm blood on his throat, you had more fight and intelligence than he’d given you credit for. He winces as he touches the wound, the smell of blood instantly hitting you. “You could have killed me.”

“That was the idea, you psychopath.” You eye his red coated fingers with malice, the insult making spit fly from your mouth. He grinned then, the intensity of you right now amusing him. Fuck, he’d done nothing to you,and yet you stabbed him and he wasn’t creating half as much fuss as you.

“Not well executed though, huh? You were close, could’ve done it if you wanted to.” He leans close to you, the darkness in his gaze taking your breath. “But you didn’t want to.”

In spite of fear, a sudden indignation sparks inside you, “You’re not worth it.”

The metallic scent of blood gets stronger when he grabs your jaw, revelling in the fury that rose in your eyes. “Maybe you’re not as clever as I thought. Is it really such a good idea to try and hurt my feelings right now?”

He’s right. Like this he could do anything to you now and you couldn’t defend yourself, quite literally at his mercy, but would you fuck give up the one power you had left. “You don’t scare me.” You say it firm, your poker face strong.

“Bullshit. There’s a difference between not being scared and liking to be scared.” You can practically feel his eyes moving down your body and stopping where it meets his, he’s hard on top of you, and your trembling breath makes him twitch. “I’d bet anything you’re wet for me, sweetheart.”

You scoff, hating that he was right. The heat between your legs was intense, the feeling of his hands on you cross-wiring your brain, you shouldn’t like this. Part of you wants to chalk how aroused you are up to memories of last time, but you know it's more than that and that knowledge is a punch in the gut.

“I wonder if it’s the chase you like more, or the capture?”

“Maybe it’s seeing you bleed.” You counter through your teeth. He shifts his hold then, bringing his blood stained fingers to your lips, wordlessly daring you to prove it. There must be some truth to what you just said because both of you note the involuntary hunger in your gaze.

You can’t describe what you’re feeling right now, all your senses are overwhelmed, you want to brush up against him and relieve some of that tension in your core, you want him to touch you, your tits, your pussy, anything. Your lip twitches in a snarl when he smears his blood on your lips, before you part them and taste him. Rolling your tongue on his fingers and trying not to think of how wrong this is, how wrong you are. The iron taste is dirty and your back arches slightly against him.

“That’s fucked up.” He smirks, near-mesmerised by the movement of your tongue on his fingers, how you suck on them so prettily, the look in your eyes something he recognised. You know it is, but you can’t find it in yourself to care, you silently try to free your arms, you need something more, need to pull him down to you and taste more of him. His lips, his throat, the apparent hardness resting on your midsection. All of it.

He obliges your silent request, not really caring if you try to hurt him again, you can if you want to, especially if you look this good whilst doing it. With your hand free you hook them around the back of his neck, unknowingly digging into his cut in the most deliciously agonising way. He grimaces against your lips when you try to kiss him but doesn’t stop your grip, the dulling agony making pre leak from his tip. He wasn’t planning to fuck you, but fuck, you deserve it.

He moves on top of you, your hand instantly following his torso down to his now exposed waistband, you need to feel him, you want to be fucking consumed. It’s the only thought in your mind. Your eyebrows raise as you explore him, grabbing his cock through the fabric of his trousers. He’s bigger than anything you’ve had before, so big it's almost frightening. So lost in your realisation you don’t notice his pulling at your shirt until he yanks the fabric, making the buttons pop off onto the floor and cool air hit your chest. Your bra quickly follows as he easily lifts your body from the ground to unhook it and pry it from your skin, he’s rough, letting you drop back down heavily, and immediately biting a kiss into your breast. It hurts in a blaze before dying down as he sucks your flesh, no doubt leaving marks.

He runs his tongue over your nipple and you shiver, your pussy clenching around nothing. You want to stroke his cock, feel him properly but you can’t reach, making you moan pathetically. It sounds nothing like you but you’re so desperate for him that your skin is burning, you need more or nothing, this middle ground driving you insane.

He looks up at you then, dazed like a starved man. You suppose he is. It’s then you see how his blood has smeared across your chest, catching the light in the most filthy fucking way, you maon again, instinctively spreading your legs for him and he needs no further invitation. His fingers scratch your skin in their rush to get to the zip on your trousers, undoing it and pulling them off quickly, he wants you completely exposed for him, to see every inch of you broken for him.

Sitting up, you again grab at his manhood, desperate to feel him inside you. Your touch makes him groan and he rips your hands from him, the movement violent. “You want me to fucking split you in half? Fucking wait.” You flinch at the words, the tone so commanding you obey without question. Realising what he means when he pulls your panties down and slides his fingers between your folds, your slick making a mess of him instantly. He wants to stretch you open, make you cum so you’re ready for him, it's an ill-fitting kindness you never would have expected.

He shoves two of his digits inside your heat, instantly making you aware of that god-awful coil in your core, it’s insane how close you are to exploding, from nothing but a vague touch. Fucking his fingers in and out of you, he touches himself, unable to help it with how tight you are on just his fingers, you’re going to fucking strangle his cock. That thought makes his pace mean, fingers curling inside you to angle against that spot that makes tears spring in your eyes. You’re so close, you’re grabbing his wrist begging him to keep going, you need it so bad, you need to come undone. A scream burns in your throat when he rubs your clit, you cum on the instant, writhing like an animal as the almost agonising pleasure floods your senses. You can’t fucking feel anything except your climax, not the ground beneath you or the fury of your grip on his arm. It’s so crazy that your entire body trembles as you start to come down, your walls intermediately squeezing him.

You look so fucking gone, almost absent from your body that he watches you near awe, groaning at the sight of those pretty tears rolling down your face. He grabs your ankle and pulls you towards him, this time letting you take hold of him and free him from his trousers, you hardly realise you are doing it, it comes so instinctually. It’s only the sudden grip on your throat when you begin stroking him that brings you to reality.

Your back arches into it, trying to relieve some of the pressure of his hold, pleasure again sparking in your core. You look at him like you hate him, your eyes brimming with venom, “Fuck me.” You manage despite his grip and he grunts some noise of agreement, not hesitating to line himself up at your entrance, his head just pressing there, finding your wet heat almost hypnotic.

He just knew you’d be fucking delicious, is the thought that strikes him when he shoves himself inside you, the stretch enough to make you cry out. It sends ripples of ache through your lower body, your legs shaking before he gets to the hilt. He doesn’t hesitate to let you adjust, he probably couldn’t even if he wanted to, the need to feel you flutter around him fucking carnal. He keeps his hold on your neck, his other hand using your hip to force you to take all of him, making a stream of profanity flee your lips at how deep he feels. The pace he sets is selfish, using your hole for his pleasure and just the idea of making him cum has you shivering. You want it, want all of it, no, you fucking need it.

He pulls out of you to press your body down to the floor, hooking under your legs and pulling them up, folding you in half before slamming back in. The angle is brutal, his cock hitting further inside you than you’d ever thought possible, forcing incoherent babbling noises from you each time he fully sheathed himself in your tight cunt. He’s chasing his end, the eagerness of your walls swallowing him, telling him you’re going to cum again and he’s going to fucking fill you, make you his. You clearly want it. You gasp as he throws you into another orgasm, overstimulation making you go limp in his grip. All you can do it take the increasingly rough and sloppy thrusts as he fucks you through it, hand on your throat tightening considerably when your greedy walls push him over his edge. He cums inside you, each thrust shoving it deep, the warmth delirium of it beyond words. He doesn’t realise how tight his grip is until whiteness tints the edges of your vision, your pussy clamping down on him, reminding him to let go, god, he could’ve fucking-

He pulls out of your cunt to see you flushed, his cum dripping out your tightness. Still reeling your hand goes to your throat, knowing already how bruised you were going to be, such an unambiguous injury that couldn’t be explained away.

“You fucking bastard.” You manage, your voice hoarse. You hate how he just laughs at you, careless even though he could have made you pass out, or worse. But you can’t deny the electric feeling of adrenaline in your veins, it was beautiful, an otherworldly feeling, and already you want it again.

Maybe that makes you just as fucked up as him.

#fnaf #william afton #william afton x reader #william afton smut #fnaf william afton #william afton x you #fnaf smut #serial killer william #read warnings

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lucid-loves · 10 months ago

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Taste Like Venom ~ Simon "Ghost" Riley Part 9

Pairing: Ghost x assassin!reader (fem!reader, callsign “Hex”)

Word Count: 4.7k

CW: angst, violence, blood, strong language, scars, enemies to lovers trope, slow burn, fluff, clear attraction and sexual tension, smut later on, reader POV and ghost POV, minors dni, Soap lives in this AU

Let me know if I missed any CWs.

Story Synopsis: After Makarov gets away once again, Laswell decides to force a favor from you, the world’s greatest assassin and best-kept secret. You are now expected to help the 141 with taking down Makarov in addition to playing nice with them. It’s hard to play nice when you have always worked alone. It doesn’t help that one of the team members, Ghost, gets curious about you in each interaction.

Chapter Synopsis: After playing Makarov’s game, you finally have a chance to finish him once and for all. However, in doing so, you end up losing more than you expected.

Part 1 ~ Part 2 ~ Part 3 ~ Part 4 ~ Part 5 ~ Part 6 ~ Part 7 ~ Part 8 ~ Part 9 ~ Part 10

Makarov waited patiently as you mentally prepared for your onslaught of lies and half-truths. Blending the two was easier to get away with the lies from a body language standpoint. Makarov was a sharp man. You had to be careful not to give anything away. No avoiding eye contact, no touching hair, nothing that can be a sign of deception. “I want to join your efforts as an assassin. My skill sets are advanced compared to many that you probably already know about. What makes me stand out is that you don’t know me.”

He quirked a brow at your confidence before waving his hand to call over the one he put in charge of his catacombs operation. Apparently, he wanted to test this. “Hand me her file.”

“We have no file to give. She isn’t found in any system. Not the US, not Europe, not anywhere.” The man confessed, feeling anxious over the possibility that this would be seen as incompetence. Luckily, Makarov believed him.

“That is impressive. An assassin that really knows how to keep a secret. Not many people know how to keep a secret nowadays. You seem to be good at keeping them and discovering them. Tell me, how did you discover this one?” He played along, his tone light as if this was all just a game to him.

It made your skin crawl, looking at such wasted potential. Such insanity. An intelligent man tainted by arrogance. His genius had turned into madness, and it unsettled you. You had to fight through your urge to end his life immediately. “I grew interested based on what I saw from the news. I decided that my best chance of getting an interview was by going through the back door instead of the front. Your men in Italy handling your weapons shipment led me right here. Patience and planning.”

“How did you know that you could tail them starting in Italy?” He inquired curiously, eager to learn where the breach in security was so he could fix it.

You shrugged, a shutter running through you that you disguised as nonchalance. “The U.S. government’s hold on classified information is difficult at best, but not impossible. I pulled a lot of information thanks to their incompetence. Fools shouldn’t be in charge of nations.”

“That I can agree with.” Makarov nodded with a sinister smile.

Before he continued, he called over one of his men again to fetch something to eat. “You haven’t given her food or water yet, have you? Right now, this is our guest. Not our prisoner. For now.”

The man nodded and swiftly went away like a servant serving a king. Afterwards, Makarov resumed. “You dislike the U.S. government?”

This was an easy one to get away with since it was actually the truth. You weren’t afraid to hold back on your opinion about this either. “I hate most governments. They always claim to be for the people and provide democracy, but the truth is, they have no idea what they are doing. They have no idea what the people want. Efforts to ‘keep peace’ are no more than just pissing contests for power. Someone more realistic needs to be in charge. Someone willing to make things happen despite the red tape.”

“You believe in direct action?”

“I believe in true progress, regardless of what some people may want.” You corrected, knowing how to twist your words into something Makarov would want to hear and trust.

Through your bobby pin, the 141 was hearing all of this go down. It took every ounce of their effort to not swoop in and get you out of there. They too could sense the madness oozing from Makarov with every word. How he questioned you, trying to figure you out. It was only your expert navigation through conversation that they were able to remain patient.

It didn’t take long for a sandwich to be placed on the table in front of you along with a bottle of water. You eyed the sandwich, stomach rumbling for food after skipping breakfast. However, you knew better than to just eat without caution. You picked apart your sandwich, observing each ingredient carefully with the low light of the lantern. Makarov chuckled. “Paranoid that I would poison you?”

“Only idiots take what’s in front of them without thought. It’s always worth the extra time to be cautious.” You truthfully explained as you sniffed the bread. Finally, you reassembled the meal and pushed it away, refusing to eat.

Half-hearted praise escaped your lips. “Clever trick hiding the poison in the bread. The almond smell blends in nicely with the rest of the nutty notes of the grains on the bread.”

Makarov grinned as you played his game quite well. His praise to you was genuine in contrast to yours. “Clever trick to use your nose too instead of just the eyes. You are the type to use all of your senses. A sign of a truly great assassin.”

The sandwich was whisked away, leaving you only with an unopened bottle of water. However, you opted to not take part in that either. Instead, you carried on with trying to impress one of the most dangerous men in the world. “You have assassins after you, Makarov. Though, they are pretty loud and proud about it. The 141.”

The 141 tensed up as you began to talk about them. This was one of the parts that they were dreading the most. Makarov already knew quite a bit of information about them including names and dates. However, it was your false insight that made them clench their fists. “Simon Riley, John Price, John MacTavish, Kyle Garrick, and Kate Laswell have been hunting you down, but their efforts have failed each time.”

Makarov seemed impressed by your knowledge, choosing to encourage you to speak even more. “It has been amusing and annoying to have them come after me. You sound like you have a solution to this. Is this the part where you offer your services?”

You nodded confidently, finally feeling that you were getting somewhere with the man. “Exactly. I kill off the 141 for you and I get what I want out of it.”

“What is it that you want exactly?”

“I want you to pin the 141 assassination on Urizikstan. At the same time, I want you to kill Farah Karim, but the blame will be on the United States. Have the two countries point fingers at each other.” You elaborated your false story like a spider weaving their web.

Makarov laughed, not expecting such a proposal from you. He found the plan incredibly entertaining and beneficial to him. You fascinated him. “You want war?”

“Nothing resets a country’s priorities like a war. Nothing lets a country’s guard down for attack from other places too. The world needs a reset, starting with one of the biggest global superpowers. When that happens, more suitable leaders will step up.” You explained further, each word coming out of your mouth more exciting than the last to him.

He pictured the United States crumbling to dust from their own undoing. He wanted the 141 to choke on that dust. It seemed that you were one of the most capable people to make this happen. However, he was also cautious about taking things in front of him. First, he needed proof of your suggested loyalty to him.

He gave a bloodcurdling laugh, pulling a knife from his pocket to set on the table. It was brand new, clean. You made no attempt to reach for it, but you did look at its potential. It could be the knife you would stab him with when the time is right. Your fingers almost twitched with how much you wanted to plunge it into his neck. Instead, you left a compliment. “Beautiful knife.”

“A gift if you give me one in return.” Makarov offered, your blood running cold as your mind raced. What was this man thinking? This wasn’t a question exclusive to you either. The men you have come to know over the past few weeks were also racking their brains with what Makarov could mean.

Simon himself was about to go on a rampage. He knew that Makarov would want you. It took Kyle’s hand on his shoulder to hold him back.

Your stomach dropped as you looked at the knife. “House rules. Choose your gift.”

“Truly, a clever girl. You know how to play the game. My gift will be your right eye. Break in that new knife of yours.” Makarov demanded with ease, his men behind him raising their guns in case anything went wrong.

From your pin, you could hear Price shout. “Hex! Abort mission! Don’t you dare give him what he wants!”

“You don’t have to do this, Hex!” Soap yelled at the same time. Everyone was beginning to become loud and unsettled, the energy almost breaking yours.

Kyle couldn’t hold Ghost back anymore, his strength from anger and anxiety too much to contain. All Gaz could do was give a warning. “Captain, Ghost and I are on the move! Hex, you need to get the hell out of there!”

You stared at Makarov, trying to read any sign of a bluff. When you saw none, you sighed in disappointed acceptance. “It’s a good thing I have two of them. Do you have a mirror?”

“Y/n! Don’t you fucking dare!” Ghost threatened, using the name that he just discovered. Oh, how you wished you could hear it from his lips in a better circumstance.

Makarov accepted your request for a mirror, ordering one of his men to fetch anything that could allow you to see your final reflection. After a few minutes, a dull mirror was placed in front of you. Damn, you looked exhausted. However, no fear. If this was the price for saving the world from a madman, for a life outside the cabin, then it was a small price to pay.

Slowly, you picked up the knife, feeling the heavy weight in your hand. Makarov watched you carefully examine it, determining what would be the best angle to get the eye out without damaging it too much. Once you made that determination, you took a deep breath and rushed the blade towards your face.

Your hand stopped at the last second, the tip of the blade dangerously close to your iris. Makarov’s hand stopped yours, seeming to freeze time itself. He clicked his tongue in approval, now looking at you almost adoringly like an obedient pet. “What would an assassin be without both of her eyes? I approve of the dedication. You have earned yourself a job.”

Price and Soap nearly fucking collapsed in relief, their breaths labored from how long they help them. Ghost and Gaz felt the same, their warpath slowing as Makarov allowed you to keep your eye.

Finally, Makarov let go of your hand to allow you to put the blade down. Your heart hammered in your chest from the close call, your throat closing to prevent yourself from throwing up from the sick feeling. You passed the knife back to him. “You may have your gift back then. A gift exchange isn’t fair if only one is receiving.”

With pride, Makarov took it from your hand. “A fair play. What shall I call my new assassin?”

“Hex, we are in close position. Just say the word.” Gaz notified as he peaked around the corner, counting heads. For a massive weapons operation, there didn’t seem like many people here. Then again, the catacombs were huge and dark, no doubt hiding more that were lying in the shadows.

You waited a beat before getting up, walking around the table, and stretching out your hand for a business-like handshake. “Hex.”

“A curse.” He took your hand, his grip so firm that it almost hurt your fingers.

“Precisely. It will be a pleasure doing business with you.” You politely nodded and shook on it.

Finally, you had him in your grasp to execute. With a harsh snap and a pull, Makarov’s wrist broke with ease. You twisted him to face forward, his back pressed against your front which stopped the men from taking fire. They could never possibly hurt their king. You felt the knife you gave back to Makarov go into your side, just narrowly missing vital organs. Or so you believed. There was too much adrenaline running through you to feel the pain.

“Now!” You called out, signaling for Ghost and Gaz to rain bullets. Gunfire echoed down the corridors, the men closest to the chaos grunting before death. The men in front of you and Makarov struggled to figure out if they should wait for the perfect shot on you or trust that their king could overpower you. You didn’t give them anymore time to decide as you removed the knife plunged into you and threw it, killing one of the men on impact.

The remaining guard, now alone as his comrades fought and one fallen dead, had no choice but to remain frozen to wait for a good shot. Makarov just chuckled, a wince coming across his face as his broken wrist surged pain up his arm. “You are indeed quite the formidable opponent, Hex. But you have trapped yourself. How long can you hold me here until you bleed to death? Not long enough.”

“Please, I have plenty of time.” You smirked diabolically, kicking the table behind you. The mirror and lantern crashed to the floor, glass shattering and light flickering out. Nothing but darkness in the makeshift room.

Makarov felt you let go of him, a move that surprised him completely. For the first time in his life, he was taken aback. Almost scared. All because you have proven to him that you were just as smart as he was and could play his games.

In the pitch black, you dropped to the floor, picking up the broken piece of mirror. With a shard, you cut into Makarov’s Achilles tendons, causing him to howl in agony as he fell to the floor. While he was down, the same shard entered his neck, the warm blood already flowing out to coat everything in sight. The guard, in a panic, fired his gun. You felt one of the bullets graze your shoulder, but you couldn’t stop now. Rushing forward, you swiped the blade from the body of the guard you killed and ran it up into the remaining one. Slowly, his body became limp before falling to the ground.

Your skin was warm with the coating of fresh blood. The metallic smell filled your senses, a scent that you, unfortunately, missed. Perhaps early retirement wasn’t in the cards for you yet after all.

The sound of gurgling and gunfire seemed amplified within the dark, Makarov’s pathetic attempts to recover proving to be for naught. Once your eyes adjusted to the dark, you managed to see his outline on the ground. It was a fitting picture, seeing the man that killed thousands lying in a pool of his own blood, surrounded by skeletons residing in the hell under Paris. You came up to him, the knife still in your hand, blood flowing from your side. “On second thought, I think I’m gonna keep this gift.”

With those final words, you slashed his throat, more blood dripping to add to his puddle. Even in the dark, you could see the light drain from his eyes. Gurgles and bubbles fought for final breaths until it was too late. Always one to confirm your kills, you felt for a pulse. When there was none for a few minutes, you knew that the job was done.

“Makarov is KIA confirmed. If the reinforcement is ready for a sweep, send them down.” You announced, taking the bobby pin out of your hair and holding it as close as you could to your ear.

“Reinforcements going down now. Defend yourselves until the end. Good work out there, Hex.” Price confirmed, so proud of the fact that Makarov was finally dead that he could cry. The amount of turmoil he has caused made everyone want to celebrate immediately. However, the job wasn’t over yet. The rest of Makarov’s men had to be dealt their own justice.

Gaz and Ghost head the confirmation on their end, pride swelling in their hearts and giving them a whole new energy to fight with. As Gaz unleashed hell with his rifle, Ghost gave his own update. “Making our way through the operation at a good pace. We believe that some of the men are fleeing now.”

As you walked towards your exit, you suddenly became lightheaded. The sound of gunfire seemed slightly muffled and your body ran colder than before. On your next step, you collapsed to the floor. With just feeling alone, your hand swept against your side, feeling just how much blood you had lost when Makarov stabbed you. You gave a painful chuckle. “Good job, team. This was a good last job.”

“Last job?” Soap repeated, confusion in his voice clear.

“Hex, You need medical attention! We need to get her to a medic!” Ghost picked up the cryptic language quickly, a new fear taking over his body. Without thinking, we began running through the catacombs to try to find you. Gaz called for him to wait so he could provide cover fire, but there was no getting through to him now. Simon couldn’t hear anyone giving him orders through his earpiece. The only thing he could hear was the sound of his own terrified heartbeat.

You knew he was coming to get you, though. The voices through your communication device relayed this to you. You had barely registered it, but you heard enough to know that Simon didn’t plan on letting you bleed out if he could help it. The only problem was that perhaps he couldn’t.

“Hex! Y/n!? Stay with me! I’m coming to find you!” He tried to keep you awake, intuition telling him that you were slowly slipping away. Price hopped on his monitor on his end again, trying to aid Ghost in getting to you. As soon as he figured out where your positions were, he began to provide directions.

A few minutes later, Ghost was picking you up in his arms. Your body felt cool to the touch and wet with blood. However, he didn’t mind it one bit. He just held you close and spoke to you to try to keep you awake. It didn’t take long for Gaz to catch up in order to guard the both of you all the way back to the surface. “If you got her, let’s go!”

You slipped in and out of consciousness, losing more blood by the second. The adrenaline that was preventing you from feeling the pain was slowly fading. Now that you could feel your body again, you could tell that Makarov got you pretty good when he stabbed you. Damn, it really fucking hurt. At least it was better than losing a whole eye.

“Stay with me. We’re almost there.” Simon softly reassured you, praying to the universe that you will make it out alive. He couldn’t lose you. Not like this.

When the bright sun flashed on your faces as soon as you emerged from underground, it hurt. A medical team was waiting right there, rushing over as soon as they saw just how coated in blood you were. There was no telling which blood was yours and which one was Makarov’s. They were going to provide you with the best help they could.

Simon almost didn’t want to let you out of his hold. He held onto you tightly until Gaz coaxed him into handing you over to the medical team. As he watched them lift you onto a gurney and into the ambulance, he noticed you looking at him. You looked at him like it was the last time you would ever see him again. It damn near completely broke his heart.

When the ambulance began to pull away, siren pressuring cars to get the hell out of the way, Simon became determined. He spoke to Price through his radio. “Captain, permission to go to the hospital and wait for Hex.”

“Permission granted. The medical staff are probably going to be confused about her identity. Probably have a lot of questions.” He granted, understanding that this wasn’t coming from a place of professionalism. This was a personal request, one that Ghost never made in all the time Price has known him. Besides, you deserve to have someone by your side when you wake up in the hospital.

You woke up feeling groggy as hell, your vision blurry and aching from the bright fluorescent lights above you. Your mouth tastes like salt, a sign that an IV was working its way through you. The right side of you dully ached, no doubt painkillers making the stitches more tolerable. A headache began to set in as you tried to sit up, a groan escaping your dry throat.

“Kitten.” Ghost called out to you, noticing that you were finally awake. He wanted to reach out to you, but you stopped him for a few instructions first. You couldn’t handle a bear hug right now.

“Dim the lights and get me some water first. Call the doctor too.” You spoke, voice strained as you went through your mental checklist of things you needed. Simon had no issues following your orders, figuring that you deserved to be spoiled, especially after what you went through for them.

Once the lights were dimmed down, your headache began to ease up. Simon opened up a water bottle for you and helped you drink. Hopefully you’ll get a meal soon too. Pretty soon after that, Simon brought back a doctor who beamed at you, her teeth matching the fluorescent lights that were on moments ago. She spoke English, but her French accent came through. “Hello! We didn’t expect you to wake up for much longer. How are you feeling?”

“Like shit.” You truthfully answered, earning a little giggle from the doctor.

“Normal then. That’s good. Do you remember what happened?”

Your brain strained to remember how you ended up in the hospital, your memories showing you nothing but darkness. Seeing the strain on your face, Simon took your hand and held it. Suddenly, the memories began to flow back. “We were on a mission that led us to the catacombs. I assassinated Makarov. He got me with a knife before then. A bullet grazed me too. I lost a lot of blood. Right?”

She gave a gentle smile and jotted down a few notes on a clipboard. Simon looked at you, proud that you could remember. It seemed like you were still sharp as a tack even after everything went down. “Perfect. You were brought to the hospital for medical attention. We managed to find out your blood type for a blood transfusion. Examined your organs and stitched you back up. You are a very lucky lady.”

“Thanks. When can I leave?” You inquired, already itching to get out of the uncomfortable hospital bed. Simon glared at you as you expressed your eagerness to leave. You needed to rest, damn it!

“We want to keep you for another night just to make sure you’re okay. But, if you really are in a rush to leave, we can settle for a few hours. Your body has proven to be pretty resilient. Though, we recommend having someone help you out at home for a little while. You would still need to take it easy.” The doctor recommended honestly.

That was something you could work with. Accepting the compromise, you nodded your head and sighed, hardly believing that you could even sigh in this life still. Everything was beginning to feel more surreal. It felt like you were really close to death this time. Maybe if Ghost hadn’t found you as quick as he did, you would be dead.

The doctor put the notes on her clipboard and left to gather the things you need in order to go home early. Simon scowled at you under his mask, hardly believing how you could still be so frustrating after almost dying. “You better not be thinking about doing shit once you get out.”

You rolled your eyes at him, not missing the lectures that you thought were over with. “Relax, Simon. I just don’t like hospitals, alright? I would rather be in a comfortable bed with access to a full bathroom. Is that so much to ask?”

He huffed at you before grumbling under his breath. “No. It’s not. Sorry. I just. . . thought I lost you for a moment.”

Your gaze softened, guilt invading your heart. You shouldn’t be picking fights like this again. Not this soon at least. Hell, you should be showing him gratitude for getting you to medics in time. He risked his life to save you. “I’m sorry, Simon. Thanks for waiting for me. I would like to be able to recover back at the hotel for a while before getting back on my feet again. I would feel more comfortable there.”

At that, he gave an understanding nod and brushed your hair out of your face. You missed his touch. “You got it, kitten. We’ll make it happen.”

Kate flew all the way to Paris to help you navigate the intense questions on your identity when it was time to be discharged. You couldn’t remember the last time you saw her in person, but seeing her again made you realize just how much you actually missed her. She missed you too from the way she hugged you tightly, careful not to cause pain. She owed you big time for this. Helping you avoid questioning was only the beginning of her efforts to pay you back.

When you and Simon arrived back at the hotel, Soap, Gaz, and Price were waiting to see you again. They had bought plenty of food and drinks along with cake to celebrate your quick return and finally putting an end to Makarov. While you were still a bit closed off from them, you did begin to reveal more tidbits of information about you. Some of your other assassin stories, a little bit about your interests, and cracking jokes here and there. It was most likely the painkillers that were helping you feel a little more loose than usual.

At the end of the day, the men went back to their rooms, the men being granted permission to have a little vacation for a while for the good work they’ve done. Simon, however, stayed with you in your room. He showed no signs of leaving either. “What do you think you’re doing? Shouldn’t you be going to bed?”

“I am going to go to bed. We’re sharing the bed.” He answered like you just asked the stupidest question he’s ever heard.

When you opened your mouth to protest, he cut you off. “Doctor’s orders. You need someone to help you around at all times. Someone to make sure that you take it easy. I’m that someone. Don’t even try to argue.”

You bit your cheek, holding back your stubborn protests that were threatening to spill out. With a deep breath, you tried to accept the fact that Ghost wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. “How long do you plan on sticking around for?”

“Two weeks. Doctor’s orders.” Simon revealed, a smirk playing on his lips that was revealed once he took his mask off for the night. His handsome face almost had you fall over. You didn’t think you would get to see that face again.

You didn’t think you will be able to handle being pampered by him for the next two weeks as well.

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