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atyourmerci · 2 months

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♡ Everybody knows I’m a good girl, officer! ♡

♡ ♡

Summary: You are stealing at your local mall when you are caught by cop abby. She brings you to the back rooms where you use your body to get out of jail<333

Warnings: smut, MDNI, slight age gap not mentioned (reader is early 20’s abby is in her 30’s), dom!abby, sub!reader, fem!reader, degradation, ma’am kink, handcuffs, strap (referred to as her cock), spanking

A/N: I know I said this was going to come out later this week but I was sooo into this I couldn’t put it down hehe. I know yall feigning for her so I hope you enjoy, feast! Also not proofread I’ll do that later lmao

♡ ♡

You make your way out of the tall metal windowed doors, in your frilly pink mini skirt that barely covers the tops of your thighs, white crop top with jewels across your bare tits that says “princess” bags full of things that may have accidentally slipped in! And of course a cherry lollipop lazily strung out on your tongue.

Everything was going as planned as you confidently strolled out the mall doors as you always did, until…

“You again!” You hear a pointed voice yell from behind you, you can’t look back and give yourself up so you continue your pace, confidence slightly faltering. “HEY!” The voice only gets louder and closer, but you can’t bear to look.

All of a sudden what you assume to be the angered voice pulls your arm so roughly you stumble back with a wince, dropping your lollipop with a crash. You’re finally able to look at your match, a bruiting blonde as tall and wide as an ox. She looks at you with gritted teeth ready for conviction, all you can stammer out is a pathetic pout.

With furrowed eyebrows she scans your body up and down as if to make sure you were the convict she’d be tracking. Her eyes take a pause at your jewel adorned breasts, she seems to snap out of her gaze, “not this time princess, let’s go.”

She says it as you have a choice, she begins basically dragging you by the heels back into the mall. You think of running, but there’s no use, she’s twice the size of you, she could have picked you up with a finger and thrown you back in.

“Wh- where are we going!” You wiggle under her grip and she drags you, trying to avoid the gaze of innocent onlookers. She ignores you and mumbles something into her walkie, a bunch of codes you don’t understand but added in that she wouldn’t need backup, a sigh of relief floods over you.

“Please, im sorry I promise I’ll take everything back!” You plead as you make it further into the back of the mall. “Shut up brat,” she almost spits back at you, and tightens her grip even further into your fragile skin.

“Ouch! You’re hurting me!” You say in a wine as you reach what looks to be like a back room of the mall, with her grip still on your arm she uses her free hand to fumble at her keys to unlock the unmarked door.

She lets out a breathy giggle at your pouting, still focused on finding the key, “that’s going to be the least of your problems.” You don’t want to know what she means, and you don’t have the courage to ask so you continue wiggle around her grasp like a child while she unlocks the door.

The room is dark with only a small window at the top of the room that you can’t see out of, some boxes and cleaning supplies, a metal table with two chairs and a table lamp. As she walks her broad structure through the threshold she wastes no time to rip you by the arm and practically throw you into the concrete box.

“Sit” she barks and you almost jump into the cold metal chair, you gasp as your lacy clad cunt touches the hard chilly surface. She doesn’t take the same memo and stands before you, arms crossed. You are finally able to get a real look at her, she’s rugged but clean, long blonde that falls behind her, her arms barely fit into her uniform as her biceps protrude around the navy cloth, the veins pulsing throughout her hand.

You don’t mean for it to happen, but your pussy beings pulsing at the sight of her, you grip the cold metal of your chair averting her defining glare. it feels wrong, it is wrong, but it was an accident!

“Aren’t you going to beg for your innocence?” She cuts the silence. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to!” You pout at her with doe eyes. “Lying to me is only going to make it worse sweetheart, try again”

“Okayyyy I’m sorry I’ll take everything back I promise!” You tug out your bottom lip. “Awh heard that one before, try again” she says pacing closer to you so that you have to raise your head to look at her. “It was an accident, I’m a good girl officer, I swear!” You bat your eyes in an effort to pull out a fake tear.

She lets out a giggle at your words, almost appeased with you, “does princess want to go to jail tonight, huh? Is that what you want?” She taunts you. “No please! I’ll do anything please!” You beg, real tears starting to form in your glossy eyes. “Oh is that so…” she pulls her thick hand up to your chin gripping it harshly so your flesh molds into her grasp “anything?”

“Anything, I’ll do anything!” You plead as hot tears run down your face. A devilish smirk adorns her face as if she already had her plan made out, you were fucked. Hook line and sinker fucked.

“Get on your knees,” she demands as she guides you by your jaw, your bare knees hit the cold floor, sure to be bruised. You see the mascara trailing from your eyes down your flushed cheeks.

“Don’t fucking cry you asked for this,” she says gripping your jaw tighter causing your eyes to close tight. “Look at me when I’m speaking to you!” She barks. You hesitantly unclamp the grip on your eyes, watching as she removes her grip at your submission, trailing them to her belt. With your fuzzy eyes you can barely make out a slight bulge in her pants over her mound.

She brings her thick fingers around the leather, releasing its grip. Her eyes never leave yours as she whips the belt out of her slacks and folds it in her hands oh fuck. “Here’s what’s going to happen princess, you are going to suck my fucking cock…” she beings unzipping her slacks to unsheath

a girthy black dildo, thick and long with veins trailing up it “…and if I hear one fucking complaint those pretty little tits are going to be covered in an orange jumpsuit, understood?”

Your mouth gapes at her size, there’s no way you’d be able to take her. She grips your jaw again bringing it so you’re an inch away from her length, “don’t make me fucking repeat myself slut.”

Yes is all you can manage out, emotions swirling in your mind and tummy, scared but yet turned on? You can feel the a line of slick escaping your dripping hole, needy. “Yes what?” She bites, she doesn’t tell you what she wants to hear but you can infer. “Y-yes ma’am,” you pout out, eyes wide and drool watering your mouth in anticipation.

She gives that devious grin, appeased with you, “good girl, now open that slutty little mouth.” You obey, opening your glossy lips in a small hole which she rips open with the girth of her cock, sending you into a choke.

“Yeah choke on it whore, you asked for this,” she beams with a maniacal grin. Tears start pricking at your ducts again as you sloppily take her, barely breathing at the depth she’s at. You try bobbing your head back and forth but she must not be amused with your efforts as she grips your scalp at its roots and bucks her hips to fuck you herself.

Your eyes roll back at the feeling of her pushing even further down into your throat, spit dripping down your chin. “Awh you like that princess? Like when I use that dirty little mouth?” A breathy grunt escapes her puffy lips. There’s no way you can verbally respond so you settle with a pathetic nod as she uses you.

She suddenly rips out of your mouth which sends you choking on all fours in attempt to regain your composure. She gives you a second to regroup, the first sight of mercy she’s let you have.

“Get up,” anddd she’s back. You stumble back to your feet, barely making it upright already fucked out. She takes you by the arms and turns you so they’re behind your back, and guides you to the rusty metal table, pressing you down so that your cheek rests on the cold material and your ass is bent over.

You feel the sopping wet cock nudge against your embarrassingly wet clothed cunt, you can’t help but let out a little whimper that you hear get a rise out of her from a giggle, “so fucking pathetic,” you bite your lip to hold back but it comes out anyways, “mhmmm,” god she’s right you are fucking pathetic.

She doesn’t say a word but you can hear her fumble behind you when you feel another cold metal at your wrist click click, bounding your wrist behind you. “Making sure you don’t try to touch that clit til I say so,” which you respond with an aggravated sigh.

“Is that a fucking complaint I just heard?” She grips you by hair, your face still shoved into the cold metal, but lifted so she glares into your eyes inches away. Now that she’s bent over you her cock presses into your throbbing slit that makes you whimper, “n- no ma’am.”

“That’s what I thought,” she losens her grip on your hair as you feel them run up your shirt and onto your already hard nipples from the cold metal. She pinches both after kneading them roughly in her large hands, “fuckkkk” you mutter out with the sensation of her bulge still rubbing into you.

She begins trailing her hands down your body and lifts up your skirt so that your bare ass is on display for her. “No use wearing this barely covers that little cunt of yours. You just want everyone to see it huh?” She runs her palms over your ass before laying a harsh smack into it, you jolt into the table at the suddenness of it.

She moves her fingers down to your covered slit, rubbing up and down slowly, slick pooling in your panties and down your thighs. “Of course you’re fucking soaked…” she grips down at your covered clit that bucks your hips back into her “…just dying to get used like a toy.”

“Please ma’am, please fuck me, use me please,” you beg pathetically as tears drop onto the rusty metal. She pulls down your lace so that it sits at your ankles. You feel the silicone tip run down your slit collecting all your pent up slick. Without warning she slips right into you, bottoming out immediately, “oh fuck,” you scream out.

She grips her hands at your hips and begins relentlessly driving into you without remorse, the gentle sentiment wouldn’t be in the cards for you. The noises escaping your lips were downright sinful, no one had ever fucked you like this, with such aggression. Even though you looked like a flower you didn’t want to be treated like it, and she knew it.

“Taking that cock so well princess,” she grunts out in a pant, probably the nicest thing she’s said all night. “Tight little hole just for me,” and she takes a harsh open handed blow at your other cheek. “Fuck ma’am please,” you cry out.

She snakes her arm under you down to your stomach, “you feel that? My cock all the way up in your tummy?” Pressing down on your abdomen and you can feel her, she’s so fucking deep your mind starts going numb, “ye-“ the words won’t form.

At your reply she bottoms out inside you, somehow getting even deeper and moves her hand to harshly pink your hard nipple. “Yes ma’am! I’m sorry- please don’t stop!”

“Good girl,” she coos as she pulls out and plunges deep inside of you again, going back to her pace. You can feel yourself nearing your peek, your tummy twists trying to hold it back. “M-ma’am can I cum please,” you beg. “Are you going to cum?” “I’m so close!! Please it hurts,” she leaves you with one last rut and pulls out of you, you being clenching around nothing and moan out at the absence.

You can barely make it out but you watch as she places herself down against the metal chair. She grips your arm and pulls you in, “wrap that filthy hole around my cock,” she spits. You obey, slowly inching yourself down onto her girth, hands still bound at your back gripping into her covered chest. She pulls you back onto her so that your face is nuzzled against the size of hers, blonde strips of hair now dangling messily in front of her face. She takes your feet and wraps them around her calf’s so that you’re wide open for her.

“Cum without asking and I’ll make sure you’re someone’s bitch in prison.” She takes your breast in one hand and the other on your clit, rubbing slow agonizing circles. “So swollen, just dying to cum on my cock huh princess?” She’s breathing straight into your ear, you can hear every little grunt that comes out of her, your body shivers at the new sensation.

“You feel so good ma’am.” You moan out trying to hold back screams from feeling her rough fingers on your sensitive clit. She picks her pace up so that your legs are shaking around her thick thighs. “Fuck fuck fuck,” is all that seems to come out of your throat.

“You wanna cum baby? Beg for it.” You can barely make out a sentence but you can’t wait any longer and she knows it. “P-please ma’am let me cum on your cock, I’ve been s-such a good girl!” She quickens her pace, now bucking her hips aimlessly into your abused hole.

“Whose fucking pussy is this?” She groans with a smirk onto your ear. “Yours! All yours ma’am!” You desperately blurt out, at the tipping point of your peak. “Show me it’s all mine, cum on my cock pretty girl,” if you weren’t already one foot in the grave, those words alone could have sent you six feet under.

Your vision turns white, sobbing out as she ruts her cock deep into your tummy and her fingers circle your swollen clit. You bounce onto you unconsciously, needing more as you ride out your climax. She grunts into your ear at your sweet little sobs while you desperately fuck yourself onto her.

You finally still yourself as you finish off your orgasm, you’re both panting in attempt to regain composure.

“I promise I’m a good girl officer,” You say in a whisper, still unsure if she’d still take you away in her cop car after abusing your body. She giggles at your pathetic attempt to claim innocence.

“I think I’ll keep this pretty pussy to myself for now.”

Taglist: @wishbones999 @bookpagecandlescent @littlegingerperson2 @lanafresitas @lookforthelight1 @fict1onallyobsessed @shewantstoknow

#abby anderson #abby anderson smut #the last of us #abby x fem!reader #abby x reader #abby anderson tlou2 #abby angst #abby the last of us #abby tlou #sub abby

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yandere-daydreams · 3 months

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tw - unhealthy relationships, mentions of gore/human experimentation, forced marriage. written for a very lovely anonymous commissioner.

Recently, all your mornings had started the same way: ten or so feet below the ground, buried under the satin sheets of an otherwise empty bed in a stone chamber decorated with all the love and tenderness of a hospital room, freshly cleaned after the death of its last occupant.

Blearily, you stumbled out of bed, grimacing at the feeling of the cold, rough floor against your bare feet. Temperatures in Snezhnaya rarely rose above freezing, and while your husband didn’t seem to mind the cold, you weren’t so resilient – shrugging on your heaviest robe before so much as opening your eyes. A mug of coffee was clumsily assembled in your minimalistic kitchenette (a feature you insisted on, after being forced to share a communal ice chest with one of his more dissection-focused segments), then a cup of tea; herbal and rich, a blend from Sumeru he had imported every few months. For as many years as you’d been with Zandik, you’d never been able to make sense of what he considered worth his time and what he disregarded as frivolous wastes of effort and mora. You supposed you could only be thankful you fell into the former group, lest your body be the next to adorn his vivisection table.

Once you’d managed to shake the chill and bring yourself to a state of near-consciousness, you stumbled out of your bedroom and into the corridor, ignoring the curious looks of young researchers and patrolling soldiers and shrugging open the steel door at the end of the hall. The smell of rot and preservatives hit you as soon as you stepped into Zandik’s personal laboratory, but your eyes only glazed over the dark puddles splattered across the floor, the amorphous mass covered with a white sheet and laid across a metal table before landing on your husband – slumped over his desk, his face buried in his arms and ink staining his fingertips, his left cheek. With a sigh, you made your way to his side, placing both mugs on the edge of his desk and resting your hands on his shoulders. Letting your eyes fall shut, you lowered yourself to his height, resting your lips against the top of his head and only pulling away when he began to stir.

He'd always been a light sleeper (in comparison to you, at least), and it’d never taken much to rouse him. You straightened your back and as if on cue, he bolted upward, gaze darting to the door, then his operation table, then you – where it would stay. A slight grin pulled at the corner of his lips as he pushed his chair away from his desk and tapped his leg, and without protest, you climbed into his lap; straddling his thighs and burying your face in the crook of his neck. One of his hands found its way to your hip while the other took to rubbing small, slow circles into your back. You waited for him to settle underneath you before breaking the silence. “I want to go home.”

Home, meaning the gothic, looming mansion you usually resided in when he wasn’t working out of one of the Fatui’s countless underground facilities or traveling abroad. It was also dark and drafty and a far cry from your previous home, the home he’d taken you away from the day he married you, but you’d been able to decorate it to your preferences and you didn’t need to go through ten of his soldiers just to step outside. He hummed, the sound passive and dismissive, and you frowned into his shoulder, nudging gently at his chest. “I’m serious, Zandik. Everything smells like blood and you haven’t come to bed in days. Being around all these chemicals is going to be the death of me – that is, if boredom doesn’t do the job first.”

Another hum, this one slightly more thoughtful. “You know I would pluck the stars from the sky for you,” he started, his voice still low and coarse with sleep. “But I am here on the Tsaritsa’s orders. Are you sure you’d have me test the good will of an archon for something so mundane?”

“Yes.” You’d seen him butcher orphans and burn villages to the ground. If he was still in his goddess’ good graces after so many centuries of relentless carnage, you were sure she wouldn’t mind a sudden relocation. “There’s nothing you do here that you couldn’t do in your own laboratory.” You thought for a moment, then added, “Unless you’ve decided that you love your archon more than you love me.”

His smile faltered, something possessive and pointed catching in his eyes. His grip on you tightened, but he recovered quickly, letting out an airy chuckle as he bowed his head and nuzzled mindlessly into the dip of your shoulder. “Two more weeks,” he promised. “Then, I’ll send you home – one way or another.”

“One more week.” You sat up, cupping his face and forcing him to meet your eyes. “Or I start spitting in your tea.”

“One more week if you start spitting in my tea.”

“You’re a vile, repugnant little man.” You leaned forward, kissing his cheek. “Deal.”

You spend the rest of that day lounging across the velvet-cushioned loveseat in the corner of his lab, skimming through your dozenth pulpy romance novel and watching your husband dismember corpses with a vigor you hadn’t seen since the first days of your marriage.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere x you #yandere genshin impact #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin imagines #dottore x reader #yandere dottore #yanderecore #yancore #genshin impact imagines

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 9 months

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Run Away To Me (II)

AU MASTERLIST || PART III

PAIRING: Blacksmith!Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish x F!Runaway Bride!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 4.5k

WARNINGS: Blood, wounds, medieval period-esc standards for women, arranged marriage, toxic family dynamic/relationship, intentional harm (in the recent past), blood, angst, protective Johnny, hurt/comfort, pining, speedy relationship, etc.

A/N: Johnny sweaty and working the forge...that is all.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You groggily awoke to the steady sound of a hammer meeting metal and the scent of eggs. Warm bread makes your mouth water. Eyelids peeling back, your lashes flutter in even intervals as you groan in the back of your throat, content and unbothered in this soft bed of fur and cotton. For a moment you had forgotten everything that had transpired—the run and the rain slamming into your scalp.

Had it all been some dark dream? A trick?

“Ow!” You hiss, hand darting out from the plush covers as a sharp pain darts through it. Your eyes blink on the bloody bandages, white now completely bled through with fresh crimson.

Everything comes rushing back in a lightning-strike moment of realization.

Quickly sitting up, your face moves all over the sun-lit room, rays of light leaking in through the opened shutters; past the glass of the windows, the nearly violent green of the near forest line meets your wide gaze. A small sound exits your throat, fingers sliding through the bear fur that had been once pulled up to your ears as you gather your senses.

Johnny. The blacksmith.

Your eyes lock onto the small table across the room.

As the hammering outside continues to ring in your eardrums, you tilt your head at the items sitting atop—slipping off the bed you go to tidy the fur but pause in your curiosity. A patch of blood from your wound stains the sheets and you slow at the sight, the air leaving your lungs.

“Oh,” you swallow down your slight nervousness, heart jumping for a moment as you bite your lip.

You would have to tell Mr. MacTavsish—your brows furrow.

Not Mr. MacTavish, he asked me to call him Johnny. A strange thing, now that you thought about it as you slowly back away and go to the table, gut rumbling at the sight of fresh eggs on bread. There was also a parcel covered in cloth sitting on the chair.

Carefully tiptoeing, you grab the plate with a delicate hand, picking it up as you lick your lips. Had the man…made you breakfast?

“What reality have I slipped into?” Your lips whisper, Johnny’s clothes hanging off of you heavily. Not only food but milk had been poured into a carved cup as well, and utensils placed on the table with care. Fork and knife on the right, spoon on the left; all forged and tempered.

It was sweet, perhaps. Kind.

You eat standing, bare feet taking you around the homestead as you listen to the blacksmith work outside. Your hands take up carved knick-knacks of animals, twirling them in a hand as you lick your lips before placing them back with all the care of a priceless possession. Chuckling at the poorly wooden face of a deer, you bring the last bits of food to your lips as you pass the window.

Sucking in a swift breath, your body freezes.

Perhaps it was the sudden freedom of your situation or even the want of true, honest, companionship, but you had suddenly never seen someone look as good as kind Johnny MacTavish as he worked his forge.

The earth was still layered in dew and mist, the distance between the main home and the small hut that was holding anvil, tongs, the flame of the furnace itself, and a great number of hammers. One of which was being wielded with firm efficiency by the sweat-stained hands of Johnny—being brought down again and again to the molten form of what would be a fine sword.

Clothed in a rolled-back white tunic, like the one from yesterday, and brown breaches, there was a leather apron tied ‘round his waist cinched tight. Lips parting, you watch with a guilty conscious for the frailness of your resolve; gaping at the sight.

Johnny works like the dead might rise, not faltering or slowing in the abuse of the metal—twisting the rough shape of the blade and flipping it with one hand while the other hammers. How he doesn’t overheat you’d never know; letting out a slow breath as the sweat slips down his strong jaw and drips from his chin, mouth open with a far-off pant of air.

Electricity of the same breed as last night sizzles down your spine like a finger caressing the knobs of bone, hairs standing on end as you quickly clear your throat against the burn of your face. You shift your body away, fearfully aware of the scent of Johnny’s clothes and the very bed you had slept in last night.

“My parents will never allow me back into their home,” you utter, picking at your bandages. “I shall never even be seen in the very air near them.”

But the true question was whether or not that was a good thing. While this freedom of yours was what you wanted, you were a woman of relative standing—having no family, no husband, and no money to your name was not ideal. In fact, it could very well be the death of you.

You stand and lightly lick your fingers of crumbs. “At the very least,” the wood under your feet is warm from an only recently dead hearth, “this Blacksmith is quite good with meals. Such a peculiar man, hm?”

Smiling to yourself, you chuckle and push back the heat in your blood; this odd attraction to a working man. So different from Lord Wilkin.

Not wanting to sink back into that hole quite yet, you remember Johnny’s hands slipping over yours as you take a final glance back out the window before heading back over to the table. Cobalt eyes meet yours in an instant of wide shyness through the glass.

Staring at each other, the Blacksmith's legs shift from where they dig into the packed ground, large biceps tight as they hold the hammer and the dulling metal.

Blinking quickly, you feel your heart skip beats at the soft contact.

Smiling awkwardly, you raise the empty plate in display, chuckling as a wide, pleased, grin builds on Johnny’s face. He mocks a small bow, hammer going across his abdomen as his dirty cheeks peel back at his glee—you see his chest move with a deep laugh. Like the scent of lavender in your nose, you can call the sound of it to your ears as if he was in the house all this time.

Quickly skittering away, you feel giddy, placing down your plate and taking a sip of milk before looking at the parcel. While your mind may be mingling with the blacksmith and the sweat of his body, curiosity was getting to you. And, mayhaps, a shyness at being caught.

It was covered in dark cloth, and when you touch it, the fabric immediately reminds you of a cloak—an expensive and finely spun wool dyed green. Lips parting, your hands pick it up and place it on the table; turning it over as you pull at the twine tie.

Your heart seems to grow like a flower, the pedals opening and the stem becoming strong with a rush of admiration.

“When did you do this, Blacksmith?” Your voice hits off the walls in a breathy gasp as the hammering picks back up outside.

Smiling delicately, you pick up the fine linen of a chemise and the paired kirtle dyed deep blue. It wasn’t the most extravagant thing you’d worn by a long shot but as you step back and size it to your body, you decide that it was the most meaningful.

When had he gotten up to ride into town and buy this for you? How much did it cost?

How could this blacksmith be as chivalrous as a Knight? Not wanting you to be forced to wear his own clothes in a way unflattering to your status even if you didn’t truly care about all of that.

You had no answer, body vibrating with warmth as you slipped out of Johnny’s sleep clothes and slid the gifted items over your skin. They were slightly oversized for ease of the man’s mind, not knowing your measurements. With a small bronze clip, you situate the cloak before the boots at the door add to the already bursting emotions in your veins.

Tears burned the back of your eyes, putting your fingers to your lips to hide the shaky inhale. All of this care after such horror was nearly unthinkable; by a complete stranger no less.

Your own family had never been so generous.

Taking up your now empty cup, you look to the water basin and let your ears twitch to the sound of physical labor; thinking, wanting to give even just a sliver of thanks back for this debt. As you lace your new boots, leather, you keep the memory of his calloused hands in the front of your skull with honied sanctity.

You fill the cup and that’s that.

Cheeks heating, you bring the water with you as you exit the home, breathing down the scent of rain and pulling your cloak tighter to your neck at the slight chill. Closing the door, you make your way to Johnny who continues to work away, now a small distance from the anvil and setting the iron back into the fire to heat.

His large back flexes and rolls with the movement.

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” the cup stays steady in your two hands as you see Johnny’s muscles momentarily tense, blue eyes turning to look over his shoulders. There’s a moment where something swirls in his eyes as he stares down at your new clothes, standing up to his full height quickly. You blink. “...I’m sorry, but besides an offer of fresh water I’m unable to repay you for the gifts.”

“Ah,” Johnny clears his throat, looking back to his forge before turning back to you with a bashful look. “Please, none of that. I needed to go off and grab more grain for my horse, see.” He chuckles. “But I’m glad they fit, Dearie, was a bit worried I’d asked the wrong size.”

“They’re perfect,” you shake your head. “It was…far more than I deserve.”

Brows furrow. For such a presence, he slips the cup out of your hands with more care than your husband-to-be had ever thought to handle you, nodding a deep thank you.

“Now why would you say something like that?” Your head tilts, lips thinning. You suppose it was right to make good on the deal you’d struck last night.

Johnny takes a sip from the cup, waiting for your answer as one hand hangs from the neck of his apron, fast lungs steadily slowing. As you frown and gather your thoughts, you don’t notice his eyes narrowing, concerned.

“Well, anyways,” he clears his throat, itching at his stubble to change the subject as you startle back to reality before you can form a sentence. “I suppose I’d better take a look at that cut of yours, then, eh? Wouldn’t want it to get infected, do we?”

“That’s not…” He has already darted to a small chest in the corner of the open hut, cup placed on the anvil top before he opens the thing with a scratch of rusty hinges. “...necessary.”

The blacksmith laughs, taking out fresh badges.

“I don’t think gettin’ bedridden is in your plans, now is it? C’mon…I’ll be gentle.” Johnny winks with a smirk and your pulse flares; stuttering as he grasps your elbow—leading you out of the forge and to a small break in the trees.

A stump and a dead firepit take form, and you’re plopped down to the wood with a small huff, a stiff look sent to the man who only smiles and raises an eyebrow.

“Is my kindness wearin’ ya down, Little Lady?”

“You’ll make me lose my head and I’ve only known you for, at most,” you emphasize as he kneels down and takes your bloody hand, “half a day.”

“Being generous,” Johnny hums, unwrapping your hand and once again looking you over. Bloody, but still alright. His fingers move to pick up dew from the grass and wipe away some of the crimson pigment as if an artist. “When one goes and nearly makes a man’s house crumble from the force of ‘er fists, it’s only customary for him to respect her.” Blue eyes gaze up to you and twinkle. “I’m just savin’ my own hide.”

“How honorable,” you shake your head and turn to hide the full-face grin, moments later laughs slip your tongue. “They weren’t that loud,” your vise insists, “...were they?”

“Thought the world was ending,” Johnny says it was a fake expression of seriousness, re-wrapping your hand in clean cloth. “Damn near got to my knees and prayed.”

You find great amusement in that, placing a hand over your mouth as your spine shakes with loud laughs. The scene is similar to the one from last night—the blacksmith offering jokes and merriment to get you to laugh. It's as if every time he succeeds he smiles just a smidge wider. Realizing this, you feel your lips twitch and you look away, embarrassed.

“...I promised you answers, did I not?” You decide to ask, deciding that getting this over soon was the best course of action; also the more courteous one. After so much giving, you had to share at least the reason for all of this. “I’m sorry.” Johnny frowns at you, tying another loose knot atop your palm before sitting back on the ground.

On his bent knee, he rests his arm, hanging off loosely, while the other hand rests behind his back as a way to keep him upward. With all of this, with him, you'd entirely forgotten to mention the stained sheets.

“There’s no need to apologize to me, Dearie, I won’t do anythin’. I promised you,” he smiles, “remember?” You blink softly at his strong face, those eyes studying you as your hands rest in your lap; curled over each other.

“There’ll be no harm comin’ to ya as long as you stay under my roof.”

Johnny huffs a chuckle, shaking his head. “Take your time, eh? I won’t be needin’ to travel back into town again until late evening.” Your hands curl slightly tighter, touched.

The blacksmith watches you as you gather your thoughts, your face going stiff and new boots shuffling over the grass. Blue slides to your hand and his lips turn down.

He’d be lying if he didn’t say he’d been up most of the night and working before the sun had risen—mind occupied by the woman that had been in his bed and the little information he had. Obviously, Lord Wilkin was looking for you; adamantly.

Relentlessly.

When he’d been in town there had been guards everywhere, checking every shop and house like beasts of metal and sharp words. You were the Lord’s bride, of course. As the tailor had asked him, a bit dejected, if he’d taken a wife as he’d bought you your chemise and kirtle, the woman had mentioned the wedding.

“Little thing darted off during the Handfasting ceremony, I ‘erd. The Lord had only just put the knife to her palm before she yelled and fled. Oh, ya should have seen it, Mr. MacTavish. Like a bat from Hell, Lord help me. He’ll not stop till he’s found ‘er.”

Johnny’s stomach rolls, abdomen tightening as he shifts to release tension. Along the ground, his hand momentarily clenches. You hum under your breath, whispering out an easy, “Are we sure we should be outside for this?”

The man blinks in confusion.

“Well, would…you prefer being inside?” You look nervous, fingers flinching over themselves and Johnny sits up straighter, letting his large hand carefully grasp your knee. Your innocently wide eyes lock with his own. He offers a comforting look. “It’s no difference to me—you decide. Whichever’s easier, eh?”

“It’s just,” you begin, the skin below your kirtle burning you in the best possible way. What was happening to you? “Well…My family rarely let me out.” Johnny’s body stills to a near stone carving. “Said I was to stay inside. I suppose I’m not overly used to it, you see.”

It’s not impossible to understand the role that was placed on you. Arranged marriage, sold off to be a housewife for a large dowry paid up by the Lord. You’d been brought up to be tossed away at a moment's notice. The blacksmith’s jaw tightens, bone sharp through the flesh.

“...Well,” his voice is a bit ragged—scratchy. You listen with nervousness in your chest, a slow infection of unease. “I’m not your family, am I? It’ll be good to get some sun, I think—let’s stay here for a little longer and then we can go back in when you’re ready. There’s no rush to things.”

Letting you calm down, his thumb rubs a small circle before he pulls it away, perhaps realizing what he was doing before clearing his throat, cheeks alight.

A small breeze pushes through the pines, a wind filled with the scent of fire and earth—dirt and dew. It was peaceful here, among the old spirits and the hidden trails. So different in the light than it was in the pouring rain.

“I imagine you knew about the wedding?” You sigh, staring at your lap. “Lord Wilkin?”

“Aye,” Johnny nods, speaking quietly. He doesn’t want to force you. “I did.”

“I was placed into the marriage two months ago by my parents, an agreement of land and money was traded for my hand.” Watching, the man’s eyes go sad, lids tilting. He stops the grunt in the back of his throat as you continue. “I had resigned myself to it, truly. Being of enough standing all I was needed for was marriage—”

“That’s utter shite.” Johnny growls, angry at the sentence. “They would just toss you away like that? To a bastard ten times your age?”

You stare, brows tight. “I…I’m a daughter, am I not?”

Johnny’s jaw goes slack, eyes sharp with horror as his gaze looks deeply into your vision, biceps tense with cooling sweat and dirt. Such a sight it was, two beings as different as a mountain and a valley; so near but starkly contrasted in the harsh strength of rock and the gentle sway of grassy low-land. Bears and deer, barn swallows that sit on rafters and golden eagles that soar tempests.

The dark-haired man could never imagine raising a girl for nothing else than to be a man’s property—to sell as if a good and nothing more. Johnny turns his head away before he snaps at nothing, a low sound trapped in his chest. You never had a single choice.

Confused by his approach to this, you watch the side of his face as the man’s expression of anger slowly shifts back to a hidden seriousness. Eyes dark and his hand tightened into a fist.

“I’m sorry, Dearie. Didn’t mean to interrupt.” Johnny blinks, shaking his head. “Hope I didn’t scare ya.”

“No,” you motion a hand. “No, not at all.”

“Good.” He sighs, rubbing at the back of his head. “Ah, please, keep going. I’ll be quiet as a mouse, promise.” You smile tinily.

“At the wedding, when it was near the end, they brought out the cloth and the knife for the Handfasting ceremony,” Johnny leans forward, and you look down at him on the ground. He lent a sort of silent vigor, you think to yourself. A comfort. “He dragged it along my skin and then he gripped my hand and forced the base of my palm harder into it.”

Your words get smaller and hushed, flexing your damaged hand. “...I think…that he wanted it to leave a scar. I bolted off before they could tie the cloth.”

Johnny stands and brings you into a hug, a hand coming to the back of your head and pressing your skull gently to his chest.

“Steamin’ bloody Jesus.” He breathes, and you slowly wind your own hands around his waist; melting into him without even knowing it. Johnny’s scent encompasses you like a blanket, and your very bones seem to sprout flowers from the marrow as your eyes get watery, held in such a way that most people only dream about.

When the first silent tears fall he doesn’t make a big deal out of it—only holds you more firm and sighs into your scalp.

“I don’t know what to do,” you whisper, honest and truthful. Could you run? Go to another fiefdom? How far would you even be able to make it? No food, no horse, no supplies.

You’d be found out in no time.

Johnny moves back, tilting his head down to you and grasping your face with a single hand. “We’ll figure it out, Little Lady. By my word, I’ll do what I can to make sure you’ll never go back to that bastard of a Lord again.” A hard thumb pushes back your tears and blue eyes soften on you. “Can you trust me?”

Can and not do.

Even the simple alleviation of pressure from a word makes you care for this man even more than you should. The simmering attraction to not only his appearance but his steadfast heart; indomitable morals.

“You, Johnny?” You sniffle, a grin twitching your lips up as the blacksmith’s face goes hot. “Yes, I can trust you.” Actions enough from last night had proven that.

Johnny huffs and lets the blush on his face spread along his neck, suddenly unable to look you in the eyes for too long before he has to clear his throat and gaze to the side. Not knowing what overtakes you, you lightly press your lips to his cheek—feeling the heat and the slight gasp that escapes his lips.

You giggle as he grunts a thanks, awkwardly shuffling on his feet as you both continue to hold one another. His grip travels down to your back as he raises a brow, trying to push past his beginning stutter as he speaks. “I’d tell ya that if you do that again, I might just have a fainting spell, Miss.”

“A fainting spell,” you tease, “from a kiss, Blacksmith?”

“Aye—especially if it’s from such a Bonnie woman like you, see.” You both laugh, faces burning up, as serious topics and tears fade into the past.

As you had said, where any other man would have been different, Johnny Mactavish had proven himself to be right and true. Even if you’d been impossibly tired last night, the small sliver of fear had still remained that something might happen to you here; in the presence of one man in the middle of the woods. No such fear remains.

Like a great Lord of old, Johnny had offered sanctuary from a man of cruel and horrible intentions. But perhaps he’d offered far more than that, with how he’s staring at you.

Your laughs steadily die down to a pulsing silence, hands around one another and faces only a few inches away. It’s bizarre how fast this had happened—these feelings brimming in the cup of your heart. A bowl overflowing with care and affection; of something else that cannot be named for fear it’s only a simple infatuation. A twin flame of red-hot fire that could rival Johnny’s forge.

“I…don’t want to overstep,” the man says, and your eyes are drawn to his lips as they move—a small scar you’d yet to notice living on his chin, a stain of lighter flesh. You swallow stiffly and dart your gaze back to his as you feel his heart pounding in his ribcage. It wasn’t a mystery to wonder if your own is doing the same. “Y’should tell me to stop, Dearie.”

“To stop what,” you pull the words from the depths of your throat. “What are you planning on doing, Johnny?” He shivers as you say his name as if put under a spell.

“Are you sure you’re not a witch, now?” You stifle a confused laugh, furrowing your brows with amusement.

“What?”

“One half-day is all it took for you to chain me to your will,” he grasps the bottom of your chin and angles your head up; you go willingly. His eyes search yours for any hesitation or flighty emotions. All he finds is wide awe. “Most would call that witchery, Little Lady.”

“Then it seems your will is easily broken, Blacksmith.”

“Perhaps it is,” Johnny smirks, his breath puffing out along your parted lips. Your body vibrates with anticipation of what was to come, hearing his voice lower to a deep rasp. “Haven’t ya heard…? Blacksmiths have a weakness for runaway brides.”

“Is that so? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“Suppose I’ll just have to show you.” His lips are firm and his body runs hot.

Eyes fluttering shut, you sigh into him as his hands dig into your gifted cloak, meeting him with every pass. Low purrs of satisfaction echo from his chest and make you shiver, nose pressing into his lower cheek. Playfully, his teeth nip at your flesh and you gasp; eyes pulling back to stare half-lidded as blue sparks with mischief.

You should stop this—but you were starved for honest affection. Companionship, even. Johnny by far wasn’t the worst to throw your lott in with and he might just be the best possible to fill that role. Life in this era is fast and harsh; it’s unfair. You had to make quick decisions without thinking of the possible consequences.

So as you blink up at the man who watches you closely, you place your fingers on the side of his face and tilt his lips back to yours with a small smile. His hand at the curve of your spine twitches, sliding along the cloak in minute increments as Johnny’s heart hammers like his tools.

It’s as if the forge was still around the two of you—air hot and the feeling sticking to your skin like a brand of sin and forbidden magnetism. He shouldn’t have kissed you, but the hypnosis of the hammer was in his head; its rhythm and striking slam. You drew him in as the anvil does the iron.

In this moment of contentment, there is a fast sound of something in the air, something that rattles the two of you out of your tender embrace to gaze with contorted faces through the thin line of trees. Panting and open.

Through the foliage back to the homestead is the rapid movement of hooves and the baying of hounds.

It strikes you like a knife, eyelids moving far back as Johnny’s head snaps to the noise with something growing in the back of his expression. Calls; shouts. You know who it is, who’s found you out. You’d never heard it until it was too late.

“Johnny,” your voice says, fearful with wild eyes.

“Stay behind me,” he says, monotone with red lips. Shadows of horses and guards are near the house. You stare up at him in shock. A kiss is pressed to your forehead. “Nothin’ll happen to you.” His eyes dig past layers.

There was no running from this.

“Okay,” you whisper.

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klemen-tine · 3 months

Text

White Whale Part 2

Platonic! Yandere Batfam x Deaf!Male Reader

A continuation of this one.

https://www.tumblr.com/klemen-tine/736839222321922048/white-whale

Thoughts

Sign/Morse Code

Speaking

Trigger Warnings: Disability Discrimination and a mention of suicidal thoughts. Its like on sentence.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Y/N sat near the window, his processors off and a book on his lap. His attention was drawn to the snow falling outside and covering the ground in white, watching Damian walk Titus around the yard to experience the frozen water. Not like the giant dog hasn’t walked in snow before.

He pressed his forehead against the glass, feeling the freezing melted sand press against his skin and without a doubt making it red. His tan was slowly fading, which made him all the more depressed whenever he looked in the mirror, now resulting in him wearing long sleeves in the hopes that he wouldn’t have to see it fade faster. His finger running down the spine of his book over and over again, tracing over the embroidered words and his short fingernail picked at the strings.

Y/N pulled away from the window, before Damian could see him, and he set To Kill a Mockingbird down on the lamp table beside the small nook near the window. It was his secret little stowaway, one Y/N knows that if they wanted to, his family could find it easily. There is nowhere in this manor that is unable to be discovered by them. He thinks Alfred is helping in keeping this spot a secret. Assuring the bat family that Y/N is safe and there is no need to tear apart the library to look for him.

All the windows in the library are sealed besides three, and those have sensors on them. Even if they didn’t, Y/N wasn’t stupid. He knows that those trackers he had dug out from his body are back in him. There is one in his inner thigh, deep enough that if he were to take the same scalpel he used the first time, the chance of nicking his artery was a higher possibility than he felt was worth risking.

Sometimes, when he presses down on the soft skin, he could feel the cold metal sear his muscles and capillaries, reminding him of his captivity without the chains.

Y/N connected his external processors, and winced when the world began to make noise. There was the buzz of some lightbulbs the hummed in the air and the heater was making a thrumming noise. Before his ‘trip’ to the Dominican Republic, Y/N would have thought that this was quiet. He would have believed that this was almost silent and there was little chance of it becoming any more quiet.

Now it was just loud. Obnoxiously so.

Looking out the window once more, Y/N couldn’t help the turn of his eyebrows and the downturn in his lips. Even his safe place felt like a cage.

Walking out of the room, he zigzagged through the bookshelves and into the main room, where the large couches, the fireplace, and coffee table are. The fire was crackling and popping, the bright oranges, reds, and yellows casting a warm glow on the sofas.

“I was wondering when you’d come out.” Y/N didn’t even look at Tim, his gaze still on the flames and the burning embers of the fire. It matched the heat that was beginning to burn in his chest whenever he was around any of them. It’s embarrassing, but it took Y/N a few days to realize what exactly it was he was feeling towards them.

Anger. Y/N was so, undeniably, pissed at all of them. It got to the point that he wouldn’t even eat with them. Alfred, the kind man he is, would bring his meals to his room and Y/N would eat there. Dick once tried to drag Y/N out of his room, but he got a solid kick to his leg and Y/N’s enraged voice screeching at him to get the hell out of his room.

Even Jason was receiving the cold shoulder. When he tried to read to Y/N, taking their usual spot and position, Y/N just scrunched his nose and moved. Ignoring his twin’s call and slamming his door hard and loud enough that it made his processors ring.

Tim sighed, watching his brother stew and brew like a shaken pepsi bottle, ready to erupt with words that will stick to the skin. Y/N didn’t acknowledge him, his jaw clenching and nose scrunching, before he turned away and left the library. Tim stood up and followed him, jamming his foot in between the door and the door frame to stop Y/N from shutting him out.

“Go. Away.” Tim pushed into the door, and even though he and Y/N are about the same size, Tim is Red Robin. A vigilante used to put down villains twice his size and three times his weight. Y/N is just… Y/N. He muscled through, inviting himself within Y/N’s room which he took a scan of.

The window was closed, the bed was made, the desk clean, and the laptop locked. When he had gotten back, his laptop had been installed with monitoring software, allowing everyone access from the Batcomputer to see what Y/N was doing. His phone had been given the same thing, only the child settings were enabled. His bags, duffle, suitcases, backpacks, all of them had been taken and if he ever needed them then he would need to go to Bruce.

If Y/N had anything to say, he didn’t share it. When it was all explained to Y/N, he wasn’t even looking at them, or Bruce, and instead was staring out the window. Damian believed that the other didn't even listen to them, but the lack of questions proved he had heard them.

“We really need to talk, Y/N.”

“No, go away. I don’t want you in my room.” Tim sighed, watching Y/N seethe in front of him. He held firm, “I will leave, once we talk.” Y/N rolled his eyes, “About what? There is nothing to talk about.” Those raging E/C eyes followed Tim’s every move in his space, and if it were any other time, Tim would have been thrilled to have Y/N’s attention on him. Those eyes focused only on him.

Tim sat on the chair in front of Y/N’s desk, ignoring Y/N’s scandalized expression and instead taking in the desk. All of Y/N’s writing tools, journals, pens, and markers have been confiscated. Instead, he only had the iPad to write down his thoughts and notes for when school starts. An iPad that is monitored.

Y/N seemed to accept that Tim would not be leaving, but that didn’t mean he was happy about it. Scrunching his nose, he disconnected the processors, pulled them off of his head, and debated about chucking them at his brother. He tossed them on his bed. He saw Tim deflate from the corner of his vision, and when those E/C eyes filled with irritation and smugness met Tim’s blue eyes, Y/N couldn’t help the vindictive smirk that formed on his face.

‘Bruce wants you to keep those on.’

“What do you want, Tim? If you have nothing good to say then get out, I want to nap.” Tim nodded, adjusting himself so he had space to sign.

‘How long are you going to keep pouting?’ Y/N’s face scrunched and he stared at Tim in disbelief. Not in disbelief that he said that, but disbelief in that that was what he wanted to say at this point in time. He could feel a headache forming and the rage building in his chest to the back of his throat. The words scorching the sensitive skin and making him feel as if he was about to catch fire.

“I tell you to have something ‘good’ to say, and that’s what comes out of your mouth? Get out, Tim.” His brother stayed in the chair, and Y/N marched over and grabbed the collar of Tim’s shirt. Which, if he had a clearer mind, Y/N would have not done that. It only allowed for Tim to grab his wrist and maneuver them so that it was Y/N who was pinned.

Icy blue eyes stared into boiling E/C eyes. Tim sighed, releasing Y/N so he can sign, ‘It is getting out of control, Y/N. I can understand a month, but you are pushing three.’

“You can’t tell me how to feel or how long I can feel it.” Tim looked ready to throttle him, and Y/N hoped that Tim rolled his eyes enough that they got stuck like that.

‘Y/N, just what was so important about that shack that is keeping you acting like this?’ Y/N pushed Tim, startling his younger brother and if he was calmer, Y/N would also be startled. He’s never been a violent person, choosing to look away when things got bloody in a movie or show. However, the spike of rage and aggravation he felt towards Tim and the situation had made his body move before he could really process it.

He glared at Tim with a new rage, and now he had wished he had thrown those external processors as the so-called genius. He balled his fist, “It wasn’t the shack! It wasn’t the ocean, it wasn’t the country, for fucks sake Tim, it wasn’t even then whales!” Y/N reached across his desk and threw a copy of Alice in Wonderland at the other.

He ignored the annoyance when Tim caught it.

“It wasn’t any of that! It was what you all took away! It wasn’t the sun, it wasn’t the outside, it was the ability to make my own decisions!” Tears burned Y/N’s eyes and he wondered just how many nights he spent crying and wishing for a chance to escape.

“Why… why am I the only one who doesn’t have any say in how I want to live me life?” Tim set the book down on Y/N’s bed, and walked closer. Y/N stepped away, “Why am I the one who is held here like some kind of… prisoner when everyone else can go and–and do what they want?”

Tim’s heart broke, ‘No, no Y/N. You’re not a prisoner, we just want you safe and the safest place is here.’ Y/N gave him a look of exhaustion and disappointment, “What else is this then? Where else are people monitored to this extent?” Prison. Hell, Arkham doesn’t even have this level of monitoring and Gotham’ worst and craziest people were there.

Y/N knows that all of this is done out of some sick and twisted form of love, but if this was love then Y/N wanted no part of it.

“Y/N,” Tim winced. He didn’t feel bad about what they have done for Y/N, but he did feel bad that it was somewhat affecting Y/N like this. It wasn’t their intention for Y/N to feel trapped, but Y/N just doesn’t get it. The world is mean, cruel, and horrible to those who don’t fit in. Tim, Jason, Dick, Damian, Bruce, the entire Bat clan knows this because they are the ones out there and witnessing this.

They all know just how awful this world can be, so why would they not want to protect Y/N from it?

“Dinner is ready.” Tim’s attention snapped to the door, where Damian stood. Y/N’s attention also turned to Damian, and the boy softened under Y/N’s hurt gaze.

‘Alfred made your favorite.’ Y/N wanted to bury his head in his hands. He didn’t want to read this conversation anymore. Pursing his lips, Y/N plopped down on the edge of his bed and looked out the barred window.

“You say I am not a prisoner… then am I a pet?” He mumbled, his voice barely above a murmur. Damian moved further in the room, so Y/N can see his hands at least.

‘Of course not. You are our most prized person.’ Damian didn’t see Y/N as a person. It is cruel to admit and he had almost been choked-out by Jason when he said it out loud. Y/N, in Damian’ eyes, was the Wayne’s family most prized possession. Next to the Batcave, the library, the Barmobile, and even Wayne Enterprises, Y/N stood next to and in front of it all. They could not function without him.

Like every prized possession, like diamonds, sapphires, and jades, they wanted to protect him. They gave him the best care they could and the best security. The difference was that jewels don’t have opinions or a desire to roam the earth. Something Y/N did have, and Damian blames the books for that wanderlust. Specifically that Moby Dick book.

When Jason took it from Y/N, Damian had to stop himself from throwing it in the fire. It was a first edition, the cover and binding still the same from when the book was first published, and if he looked closely he could see the faint line where Y/N has traced the spine of the book numerous times. Damian knows there is only one person in this world Y/N hates, which is the Joker, and Damian does not want to be added to the list should anything happen to that book.

Still, it was tempting.

Damian has read the book, and the lesson was as obvious as an East Gothamite amidst the upper echelon of Gotham. Damian knows what Y/N’s ‘white whale’ is, and he can’t help but to wonder why Y/N can’t draw the same conclusions like everyone else did.

Just like the story, Y/N will drive himself crazy trying to obtain something that they will never allow. Diamonds, sapphires, and jades are always protected by glass cases and security systems. That is how Y/N should see this.

‘Your safety is the most important thing.’

“More than my happiness?” Damian and Tim stared at Y/N with the answer clear in their eyes, but Y/N wanted to see them say it. He wanted to see them admit that they did not care for his happiness as long as he was trapped within these thick walls and gilded windows.

‘You were happy before.’ Y/N sighed, “That is because it was an illusion.” E/C eyes, dull and lacking emotion, “Tell me Dami, how can I go back to that illusion when in the morning it is the sun’s reflections off the bars on the windows that wake me up? Or the feeling of those trackers in my body replacing the collar you all want to put around my neck?”

++++

Bruce stared at the photo, taking in the smiles and the way those eyes used to shine. Y/N always had a great smile, full of his emotions and rarely ever fake. His eyes always the most expressive, and it is why Bruce found it easy to see when he was lying.

Granted, in Y/N’s defense, he’s never had a real reason to lie before. He was open with everyone about his thoughts, opinions, and desires. Bruce made it that way. Bruce swaddled him in the comfort that only he and the family could provide in order to make it so Y/N would always rely on them for that. He made it so Y/N would never have to lie, or feel the need too.

Then Y/N just had to get curious. Bruce doesn’t know who is to blame for this sudden defiance in Y/N, but he does put a lot of blame on those ocean documentaries. Even when he was young, Y/N always had a fascination for them. Watching them over and over again, reading the subtitles, memorizing them, so now he can just watch the documentaries while already knowing what is going on.

His attention turned to the photo he had bought from that photographer in the Dominican Republic. Y/N was freediving and looking like he was in his element.

Bruce didn’t feel bad for taking Y/N back, but he did feel bad about cutting a hobby short. There was denying that Y/N was a natural at this sport, and Bruce had always wanted to encourage each of his kids’ interest.

But not this one. Not one that meant Y/N had to live far from them and was dangerous. At least with vigilantism, Batman was there in case anything turned south. There was no one in the water for Y/N in case something happened. Free diving is dangerous, and the ocean is unpredictable. Bruce can’t help Y/N if he goes free diving, especially if he goes alone.

Sighing, Bruce rubbed his forehead and checked the surveillance cameras one more time. Y/N and Dick were in one of the study rooms. From what it looks like, Dick is trying to talk to Y/N who was standing next to the windows, looking away from the other.

Perhaps, it’s about time Bruce steps in. Y/N hasn’t talked to him since the day Bruce grounded him, about two months ago and the other has done a great job in staying out of Bruce’s radar. The only time Bruce has seen Y/N in person is when he goes into Y/N's room at night after patrol to make sure that he is still there. A new fear unlocked that one night, when everyone is out and Alfred is asleep, Y/N will disappear once more.

No one knows how Y/N got out that one night, and no matter how many questions were asked, Y/N never said anything. Damian had tried bargaining with him, telling him that if Y/N told them how he got out then some days of his grounding would be taken off. Y/N huffed, a bitter smile taking over his face.

Bruce rose from his desk, shutting down his computer and leaving his own study. It is about time he and his son have a conversation. One sided or not.

He walked over to the study room that Dick and Y/N were in. Halting before the door and listening to the voices coming from inside.

“Y/N, I am telling you that no one is going to believe you after the stunt you pulled.”

“But you will be with me. Dick, I just want to go to the beach. We did it all the time.”

“Mmm, and look how that ended up.”

“Me being happy for a few months.”

“You’re still on that, Y/N?” Bruce opened the heavy doors, silencing the conversation and causing two sets of eyes to land on him. Dick was leaning against the desk, and Y/N had his back to the window. Both of their faces showed their surprise and confusion, until E/C eyes flickered to the ceiling and the corners of the room where he saw the cameras. Confusion became annoyance, rolling his eyes and turning back towards the window.

Dick and Bruce made eye contact, and when Bruce nodded his head towards the door Dick didn’t fight it. He took the hint and walked out, sparing Y/N and Bruce one last look before shutting the large oak doors.

Y/N refused to look at him. Bruce walked closer, behind the desk and next to Y/N, standing next to the window.

“Y/N.” His son moved to pull out his external processors, but Bruce grabbed his wrists within his large hands, effectively stopping his son. Bruce set his jaw, “None of that, we need to talk.”

“I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Then listen.” Y/N scrunched his nose and furrowed his brows, glaring at Bruce. The older man sighed, but held his grip on those thin wrists, noting that Y/N had stopped tugging his arms and was in fact waiting for Bruce to start talking, “I understand that you are upset, and that you are upset at us for meddling.” Y/N raised an eyebrow, his face slowly smoothening out and his lips no longer in a pout.

Bruce sighed, releasing one of Y/N’s wrists to push aside his bangs. Gently brushing his son’s forehead and pushing the rest of the strand behind his ear, minding the processing unit resting behind Y/N’s ear.

“And I know you’re aware that if you had asked, we would have said no.” Y/N’s lips pouted once more and his eyes became a little downcast. Sadness blanketing over him and Bruce felt a bit bad for revealing that, but Y/N knows it already.

“Y/N, why are you insistent on wanting to be independent? There are millions of people in this world who still wish for their parent’s support, and thousands of people who would give up everything to have a life and opportunities that you have.” Y/N scrunched his nose, feeling guilt curl in his chest.

He knows that he is lucky. Y/N is aware of how fortunate he is to have all that he has and then some. He knows that there are people in this world who would kill to have what he has.

Yet, just like there are millions of people who want what he has, there are also millions of people who strive for their independence against their family. Millions of people who take pleasure in making choices that affect only them. Millions of people who don’t let their disabilities define their life, and learn to accept and live with them.

“I am aware that I am fortunate, that my deafness has only been a part of my life instead of completely defining it,” Y/N acknowledged, turning his attention back to outside where it was beginning to snow. He ignored his reflection, not wanting to look at the weak person in front of him.

“I am grateful for all you have done, along with Alfred and everyone else. No amount of ‘thank you’s’ will ever be enough. But Bruce–” Y/N turned his eyes once more to Bruce, E/C eyes meeting ocean blue, “– No amount of money or gadgets is going to deny the fact that I am deaf.

“I am reliant on you all for a lot of things, and you raised me that way so that I can forever depend on you. Which… I know it wouldn't bother some people but it bothers me.” Y/N’s eyes shined with unshed tears, as if the very thought of having to rely on them was shameful.

“I am not fragile, nor am I glass. I am from East Gotham, just like Jason.” Bruce is aware of that. Like every East Gothamite, the both of them had the stubbornness that made Bruce question if he had a lineage that tied him back to that part of town. Y/N is strong in his own ways, and stubborn in others. Bruce will agree on that. He will agree that Jason and Y/N are more like brothers than those Bruce has seen when blood related.

However, Jason and Y/N are not the same. They were different pieces cut from the same cloth. Jason was shaped and molded to withstand the toughest and dangerous situations, to be durable and take a beating.

Y/N was not molded like that. Y/N was refined and polished to be treated gently and kindly, to only know the kindest hands and gentlest of uses.

“And I know that compared to the rest of you, I am weaker. I… I am not strong like you or Jason, I am not fast like Damian, nor am I as smart as Tim, or charismatic like Dick.” Bruce’s grip tightened on the one wrist he was still holding, wanting to deny everything Y/N had said because he hated hearing Y/N self-deprecating himself like that. Y/N is kinder than any of them, easier to talk to, and has almost the same amount of medical knowledge that Alfred has.

Y/N is the normalcy they all crave for when they come back from a patrol or mission. He reminds them in the gentlest ways that they are human. They are not just vigilantes, not another person hiding behind a cowl, a cape, or a domino mask. He reminds them that they are brothers, friends, allies, a father (in Bruce’s case).

“But just because of that, do you really have to control every part of my life? I wish you had more faith in me to let me go and learn to be strong on my own, just like you do with everyone else.” Y/N stared up at Bruce with a hurt expression, E/C eyes staring into Bruce’s blue eyes through those lashes that normally would be able to grant Y/N anything he wished. A simple bat of those lashes and eyes would have everyone running around trying to do as he wished.

“Y/N–”

“If you can’t trust me, at least trust yourself that you taught me well enough to be by myself.” But the thing is, is that Bruce doesn’t trust himself. He’s failed so many times and he fears that this one failure will be the one that breaks him. It’ll break the boys, the girls, Alfred, him. It’ll break everyone.

Y/N doesn’t realize it, and Bruce wonders if it is because he doesn’t want to get it or he just doesn’t. He wonders if Y/N chooses not to see his importance in this family so the burden doesn’t feel as heavy. If anything should happen to Y/N, Bruce can’t guarantee the safety of Gotham anymore. He couldn’t guarantee the safety of his Robins, past and current. If Bruce couldn’t protect literally the easiest person to protect, then who was he to try and protect a city?

Y/N, sensing Bruce’s hesitation and unease, tried to withdraw his hand from Bruce’s grip and shrug off the hand that was resting on his cheek. His hopes and wants crashing onto the carpeted floor, replacing his chest with anger and disappointment. He's been feeling those two emotions a lot lately. They are carving its way in his chest like it is their new home, and he wonders if it will be. Will he hold onto these feelings for the rest of his life as he stares out these large windows and reminisces what the sun felt like on his skin and the breeze through his hair. Does the biting cold still turn his nose and cheeks red, and does the heat and humid summers still make his freckles pop and skin gleam?

“...Forget it. I… it was stupid to ask that of you.” The raging inferno of anger died, filling his chest with the smoke of its fury and his stomach warm with the dying embers. A new emotion, one he is intimately familiar with, filled him instead. It is one he knows like the back of his hand, an emotion that is more of his identity than his deafness.

Sadness.

It is like a steady stream, filling the smoking cavity in his chest with cold water, putting out the embers and making that smoke turn to steam. Burning his muscles and organs with a painful sting, and filling his person with ice cold water instead of the burning fire. Y/N knows sadness. He knows the emotion well and sometimes it reminds him of a scar. Never truly gone, just sometimes forgotten. It sits at the back of the mind, hiding behind the good times, the happy emotions, until it is accidentally hit and it draws your attention. From there, it is no longer at the back of your mind, but all you can think about.

Sadness, to Y/N, is like a scar that has marred its way across his face. Never forgotten and for the whole world to see, unless makeup and a smile is put on it.

Y/N, in the basicness of emotions, is sad. He is hurt, upset, exhausted, and sad.

“Leave me alone, Bruce.” Bruce’s grip tightened once more, and his jaw clenched. He’s finally got Y/N within his vicinity to talk, like hell he’s letting go. Y/N narrowed his eyes and pulled his arm, “Let go, Bruce.”

He pulled again, “Bruce.” The man’s iron grip never waivered, and Y/N felt the air in his lungs begin to escape quicker than it could fill the organs. He brought his other hand up to try and peel those thick fingers off his wrist, but Bruce grabbed his other hand.

“I still don’t understand why you would want to leave.” Y/N scrunched his nose, “If you can’t understand, even after I spelled it out for you, then maybe you should stop being a detective.” Bruce didn’t feel insulted or slighted at Y/N’s words, chalking it up to Y/N being upset still.

“How can I make you want to stay here?” Y/N sighed, and Bruce could feel that fight leaving his son’s body. The tension in his arms disappeared.

“How can I know that it is here that I am meant to be, when I haven’t been anywhere else?” Bruce opened his mouth, to which Y/N effectively cut him off, “East Gotham doesn’t count, and the Dominican Republic would have counted if you all hadn’t kidnapped me.”

“We didn’t kidnap you.” Y/N gawked at him, and the fight returned, “You did kidnap me! Do you need a dictionary definition of what kidnapping is?! It is the unlawful abduction, aspiration and confinement of a person against their will!”

“You. Live. Here.” Bruce gritted out and Y/N’s jaw clenched, “Well I don’t WANT to be here!” He snarled and tried once more to loosen Bruce’s grip on his wrists.

“What is it with all of you NOT comprehending that?! No matter how you look at it, no matter what angle you try to take this from, Bruce. I am a prisoner within this manor!” Y/N glared at Bruce, “Just what did I do that warranted the surveilance, the trackers, the stupid god for fucking sake imaginary collar you all want me to have on?!”

Bruce growled out, “You left when you are only meant to stay here. It is the consequences of your actions.”

“I am not your property!” Y/N snarled, “ Nor am I a pet that you can keep chained and trapped in the house!” Bruce felt something snap within him and he released Y/N’s wrist and watched the other stumble from the sudden loss of support.

Y/N righted himself, still glaring at the man. Bruce took a deep breath, “Fine.”

“Huh?”

“You want to try your luck out there, then go. I will give you an hour's head start.” Y/N stared at Bruce in suspicion, “What are you getting at?” Bruce made a show of adjusting his watch, “I will give you an hour, only one. If you can outrun us, out maneuver us, or outsmart us until sunrise, you can choose how your future plays out.”

“‘Us?’” Bruce smiled, “All of us.” Y/N wanted to bite out a ‘not fair’ comment, but found a more pressing matter, “What about the trackers?” Bruce fished out his phone, and made a dramatic show of pressing some buttons, he then showed Y/N what appeared to be a small map, like a GPS, on his phone.

“Turned off.” Y/N ignored the feeling of disgust seeing that his location was literally on their phones.

“Start running Y/N, your hour has already started.” Y/N bolted out the study room, not looking back.

Bruce stayed in the room, looking out the window as the sun began to set and the snow turned dark. Light footsteps entered the room, and Bruce could basically hear the eyebrow raise, “Not now Alfred, save it for when Y/N comes back.”

The old butler humphed, “He’s always gotten sick when playing in the snow.” Bruce hummed, “Then I guess we better make this quick.”

“Are you sure an hour was a good idea? He did sneak out of the manor before.” Ocean blue eyes filled with mirth, and he tapped his ears, “If Y/N wants to know what it’s like to be deaf, then he’ll play this game deaf. It’ll teach him how lucky he is to have his hearing.” Alfred’s eyes widened, “They turn off without his knowledge.”

“Once he reaches a certain distance, they do, and he can’t turn them back on. Only I have the power to do that.”

In the hall, suited up and waiting in the shadows, were the rest of this crooked family. Waiting for his orders, “Give him an hour, then find him.”

++++

Y/N knows this is a losing game. He knows that this game is set for his failure, and he knows that once this game is over, he will most likely never be able to set foot outside again. Not without a babysitter.

When he external processors cut out, he knows what angle Bruce is playing out and he knows that his chances of making it to sunrise have become nearly 0%. He may not be as smart as Tim or anyone else in his family, but if you live with geniuses you learn how to read between the lines.

He somehow managed to flag down a taxi before telling them where to go. Not missing the slight judgment cross their face and Y/N wonders if they know he cannot hear them. Y/N wonders if they know he is being chased and he essentially is just digging a bigger and deeper hole for himself. The bars will get thicker and the chain will be heavier, but if that is the outcome of this, then Y/N believes that this will be worth it.

He clutched the bag closer.

When he arrives at the station, he knows his hour is up and he knows that Barbara is watching him through the cameras. She is watching him buy his ticket, and is retelling everything to his siblings. He knows this because in front of him is Nightwing, drawing a crowd and making everyone look around for the villain.

‘Going somewhere?’

‘Only temporarily.’

‘Temporarily is too long Y/N, let's go back home. Alfred has a peach cobbler ready.’ Nightwing held his hand out as if Y/N would actually take it. Which is fine, because Y/N knows through the giant circular mirror hanging from the ceiling, that Spoiler and Red Robin are behind him.

Y/N stared at the hand once more, and he wondered if this is what it feels like to know the path you should take and still choose the other one. Taking a deep breath, Y/N said the one word that would get everyone running. It would have people scrambling and trying to seek cover and get out of a place that made everyone have a close vicinity to each other.

“Joker!” Like someone shouting fire, the world was set into motion and Y/N watched as his view got obstructed by the rush of people. He disappeared within the crowds, dodging idle hands and ducking into the crowd. He may not be able to hear, but he can feel the panic that everyone else was feeling. Y/N saw parents pick their kids up, lovers grabbing each other’s hands, and strangers pushing and shoving other strangers.

He rushed down the escalator, towards the Amtrak that had his destination written all over it. Y/N didn’t have to turn around to know that it was Nightwing right behind him. He can feel the heavy and frantic gaze and if he could hear, without a doubt his name would be filling the air.

His heart picked up at the sight of the doors closing, and through some luck, he squeezed in at the last minute. The metal shutting behind him, and large latex covered hands slammed into the glass. Dick’s frantic face stared at him, and Y/N couldn’t stop the smile from creeping on his face.

How it must feel for the rabbit to slip through the Hunter’s fingers.

When the train began moving, Y/N wiggled his fingers in a mockery of a goodbye. He now sees why Jason loves teasing Dick. Dick’s angry expression really does tickle a sore spot in Y/N. Choosing a spot near the windows, Y/N prepared himself for the 10 hours train ride. The sun will not be rising when he gets there, but he never expected to make it to sunrise. Peering into the duffle bag next to him, Y/N gave a bitter smile and turned his attention back to the passing sight of Gotham city.

In the Batcave, everyone was pacing and figuring out the best way to do this.

“Are you sure that is where he is going?”

“For the last time, I saw his ticket, yes. He is going there!” Jason winced at Barbara’s raised voice and he grit his teeth in irritation. He massaged his temples, “Why North Carolina? What is even there?”

“The beaches.”

“No shit you little spawn, but which one.” Nightwing didn’t bother reproaching his brother, and instead tightened his fist. He was so close to grabbing his brother. So close.

The very knowledge that his little brother had barely escaped him stoked two different emotions in him. Pride in knowing that his brother was fast, fast enough to get away from him, and irritation because he did slip through Nightwing’s fingers. Batman didn’t seem bothered.

In fact he looked awfully relaxed for someone whose son had just hopped on a train to North Carolina. Nightwing glared at him, “You know where he’s going.” Batman shrugged, “An idea.”

“Where?”

“Y/N took his freediving gear, and there’s only one beach in North Carolina that is worth freediving.”

++++

Y/N felt the water encompass him, hugging his limbs and freeing him of gravity. The light attached to his forehead illuminates the sea and sees marine life at night. The train ride had been long and restless, but he did manage to at least sleep for 4 hours, before his nerves woke him up once more.

It was still dark, but at 4 am in the morning, it would be stupid to assume there would be any light. Navigating to the pier at Wrightsville Beach had been difficult, constantly looking over his shoulders to make sure he wasn’t being followed. Then there was the actual jumping off of the pier that if anyone saw would have the cops racing over.

Finally though, he was here. Swimming in the water and just letting himself be. It was a poor replication of freedom, but if this will be all he is allowed he’ll take it. Who knows how long it'll be before he could do something like this. Y/N isn’t stupid. He knows that Bruce knows where he is at.

He knows his siblings are on their way over. Probably letting him get off the Amtrak first before jumping in the Batplane, or maybe even the Batboat. Y/N surfaced, and took a deep breath before diving below the surface once more.

God, this was all a terrible joke but here it was happening. Y/N could have never imagined his family doing this. When he was younger, he chalked up Bruce’s need to constantly check on him as anxiety because it was the first time the man had a completely normal person in the house. Jason had always been touchy, and then Dick came along who would ruffle their hair. Tim would hold his forearm and Damian would follow him where he went.

It wasn’t weird at all. That was Y/N’s normal, until he went to college and started making friends. Friends who were mature enough to see past his lack of hearing and shared their own sibling experiences.

Experiences that didn’t match Y/N’s.

His little trip outside the country only proved it, and Y/N wondered if it was a bad thing he decided to do in person classes instead of online. If he did online, he would live in the fantasy that his family was normal and they loved him as a person. No red flags would be waving because Y/N wouldn’t even know they are flags.

He felt the water around him begin to vibrate and from the way the fish started spazzing out, Y/N knew his time was limited. How funny it would be if he never rose to the surface again.

Sinking a bit further, he looked towards the surface and watched as the water distorted and ripples began to form, each one acting as a timer. Closing his eyes, he held his breath as long as he could, until his lungs began to ache. Lightheadedness caused him to almost inhale water.

Rising to the surface, he could see the ominous black shape and the people looking over the edge. Here he was swimming back to his captors’ arms. Like a mouse headed for the trap. A fish into a net.

Y/N has never hated himself more then when he took that breath of air and met the sight of cowled Batman, and masked Robin and former Robins.

‘Ready?’

“Even if I wasn’t you’d still take me.”

‘You lost Y/N, get out of the water.’ He accepted the ladder thrown down to him, and as soon as he was within arm distance, Red Hood and Red Robin hoisted him over the edge of the boat and it was Robin handing him a towel. Taking off his snorkel and flippers, Y/N let himself be guided to the inside, where an unmasked Dick sat at one of the tables with two cups of coffee. Red Hood pushed Y/N into the seat, squishing his body against the window as he laid his giant self on him. Sighing in relief and going limp.

Y/N didn’t mind. From his seat, he watched the sunrays begin to slowly peak over the horizon. The warm glow gently illuminating the darkness, the sun not in sight yet but it’s very beginnings making itself known. Y/N wonders if one day, he can fall into the illusion of once more having a choice in his decisions. That there will be multiple paths in front of him instead of just one.

A large hand patted his head, and Y/N felt disgusted that he welcomed it. Back to normalcy. He has to go back to normalcy. If he didn’t, Y/N really does believe he will go crazy. His fate has been chosen from the start, and he knows that there is little chance of changing it. He knows that all of this comes from a sick and twisted form of love, and Y/N wonders if this is the type of love he has always been destined for.

The worst part is if given the choice to start over, Y/N wouldn’t stop himself from meeting Jason. He wouldn’t stop Jason from stealing the Batmobile tires, and he wouldn’t stop Jason from being Robin. He would try and stop Jason from dying, but he wouldn’t stop Tim from being Robin, or anything really. Y/N loves Jason, he loves his family, he loves their flaws and vices, even if it means letting go of somethings. His desire to be on his own was temporary anyways, only a few years and he would come back.

It was never good to have a ‘white whale.’ That is what Moby Dick taught everyone who read it.

If freedom was his white whale, then his family are the whalers. Killing it and completely destroying anything that made him want to chase it.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Honestly.... I'm not to sure about the ending.

882 notes · View notes

justaaveragereader · 7 months

Text

10.01 | Frankensteins Monster

Pairing: Choi Jongho x Reader

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: Monster Fucking, Stomach Bulge, Electrostimulation, Size Difference, Man Handling, Unprotected Sex (Wrap It Up), Nipple Play, Clothes Ripping, Oral (F Receiving), Soft Boy Monster Jongho, Spanking, If I Missed Anything Let Me Know 👀..

Kinktober 2023 Masterlist

NSFW UNDER CUT ~ MDNI🔞!!!

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want too, Jongho.” You whisper out as quietly as possible.

“Yes he does! I need to know if it is properly working. And what better way to find out then you my sweet.” Dr. Frankenstein says through a pout while squishing your cheeks.

You bat his hands away from your face, rubbing Jonghos shoulder, trying to give him as much comfort as possible. It was his first time having sex as well…a monster. Dr. Stein felt it was best to run a test on his own creation to see if it was possible. The test? Seeing if the penis he had attached to Jongho could function normally. Hell, it better had worked well, it’s not like Dr. Stein sent you to a cemetery to dig up endless male bodies to decipher which penis would work best.

Jongho was 7 feet tall, 250 pounds of lean muscle, with the most off white blue skin you had seen. Both eyes were two different shades of brown, border lining black, big metal bolts stuck out each side of his neck, he had stitches covering various parts of his body, as none of those pieces belonged to his original body. Visually a terrifying monster to most people, but to you he was the softest thing that rolled off a metal table. Despite not knowing his own strength you had grown to like Jongho. Wanting his monster to “adapt” to what it’s like to be a real human, he decided why not start with a penis. Why? Dr. Stein didn’t even brief you with an answer on it.

“I just want you to fill out this clipboard when you are finished y/n. Tell me how it goes.” Dr. Stein shoved a clipboard with various pages attached to it, some pages had his own scribbled notes on them.

“Wait! You want us to do it..here?” You whispered loudly to Dr. Stein, while Jongho couldn’t speak, a couple grunts here, a couple grunts there. He wasn’t very verbal. Dr. Stein was still in the process of trying to tweak his vocal chords. While he couldn’t speak he was very smart, whatever he lacked in vocals, he made up for it with knowledge, he was highly intelligent.

“This isn’t romantic sex Y/n. This is for science! I will give you both some privacy.” Dr. Stein wiggled his eyebrows at Jongho giving him a firm grasp on his shoulder. Leaving you down in his work area, with a clipboard in your sweaty palms. Your eyes are shooting everywhere, refusing to look at Jongho.

Letting out a small grunt, your eyes lift over to Jongho. Who is slightly smiling while looking at you, his hands flat against the metal slab, dwarfing the piece of metal. You walk closer to him, your hand gripping the clipboard for dear life. You stand between his giant legs. Fiddling with the pen located at the top of the clipboard. Jongho never intimidated you because while he was a monster, who truly didn’t know his own strength. He was always gentle with you, he made you feel like he couldn’t even harm a fly.

“We really don’t have to do this, Jongho. You get a choice too..” you whisper out quietly. Still avoiding eye contact. He slowly raises his hand, grabbing the clipboard out of your hands. Placing it down next to him. Standing up, his body easily towers over yours. Jongho could make anyone feel small. Letting out a small grunt, he places a cold finger under your chin, tilting your head up so you could look at him. Your body is littered with goosebumps. For a man of few words he definitely knew what he was doing, that part of his brain definitely was intact. Your hands are tight in fists, nerves wracking your whole body. You don’t know if you were excited or full of nervousness. You’d be lying though if you said that the height difference between you both didn’t make your lower stomach tight.

Flashing you his signature gummy smile he grabs one of your hands that is tightly wrapped in a fist, causing your body to immediately relax at his cold touch. He steps closer to you, cocking your head back as far as it could do, the look in his different colored eyes is telling another story. You feel his hard cock crush against your belly. While you dug up the bodies you didn’t help Dr. Stein pick out the body part. Too exhausted from the hard labor you had done but boy oh boy did Dr. Stein pick out a thick one. Why would you expect anything less though? Dr. Stein only strived for the best.

You let out a small gasp at feeling his hardened length against your stomach. His giant hand that dwarfed yours, moves your fist down to his cock, making you feel how hard he actually was. You relaxed your hand, letting your fingers dance along his length, by the first brush of your fingers he jerks his body back slightly. The feeling of your hand on him was enough to make him prematurely cum. Letting out a small breathy grunt, he grabs your hand signaling you to stop touching him. Placing one hand on your waist he turns you around, pushing you down so you’re sitting on the metal slab. Now that you are seated you finally take in the true size difference between the both of you. He was going to break you in half.

You lay back on your arms, parting your legs so Jongho can fit further between them. Taking the invite he stands between your legs, cold fingers running over the swell of your breasts. You shiver slightly at his cold hands. His other hand coming up under your shirt, cold fingertips brushing against your warm skin. Letting out a small groan at the warmth radiating from you. His lips part as his hands travel further and further up your shirt til they meet the bottom of your bra. What he thinks is a small tug on the bra results in him lifting you slightly off the metal slab, your head bumping into his stomach. Huffing and puffing at the contraption that’s holding your chest. Instead of helping him you are too dazed in the way he is manhandling your body.

Like you truly are nothing but a piece of paper to him. Gripping the neck line he rips your shirt right in half, causing you to let out a small chuckle, your hands coming up to run along the chiseled abs underneath his shirt that looks like it’s made out of rags. Your warm hands on his cool skin causes him to buck into you, a loud grunt slipping out his mouth, his hard cock pressed directly into your stomach. Grabbing both sides of your bra he rips it off of your body, your breast falling free. His hand immediately gripping one of your warm breasts causing you to let out a small yelp at the temperature difference. He was addicted to your heat like a moth to a flame.

“Please Jongho…” you whine. Your thighs are trying to rub together but his big body is in the way.

Running his hands through his dark brown locks on his head, his cold hand brushing against the bolt on the side of his neck. Bringing his hand down to brush over your other breast while he still has a grip on the other, his cool hand making your nipple pebble. As his other hand comes down to brush against your other nipple it sends a small shock to your nipple, causing you to let out a loud moan, your bud instantly perking up. Your body jerks slightly against him, making his hard cock dig further into your stomach. You feel it twitch, his cock surely worked.

“Again..” you whimper out pathetically. Jongho was far from dumb, he knew that brushing his hand against his bolt would send a current through him, as he was dead he couldn’t feel it. As to where a warm blooded, pumping heart body would feel the current. Bringing a finger up to his bolted neck he gives it a light tap before pinching your hardened nipple in between his giant fingers, another shock is sent to your nipple causing your back to arch off the cool metal slab once more.

“Jongho!” You yelp out, lifting his other hand off of you he touches the other bolt, bringing it down to your other nipple, sending it a small shock making it pebble up even harder. Your eyes rolling back at the spark. Your hand shoots out to grab his humongous thigh. Nails digging into the material of his pants. Your breathing becomes heavier, eyes growing hooded. With just a couple touches Jongho already has you wrapped around his thick fingers.

Letting out a sound that is very similar to a cocky laugh, he grunts, stepping back so he can pull off the pants you are wearing. You could help him take them off so he doesn’t rip them, but that would take the fun away. Wasting no time he grips the hem of your pants, ripping them clean off your body, his cold hands instantly finding your skin. Running his hands all over your lower body, finding home between the meat of your very warm thighs. Making both of your legs straighten against him, your feet weren’t even close to his head, they landed just under his pecs.

His cold finger runs along your clothed clit, oh he for sure was experienced. That part of his brain was clearly working. His cool finger pushing on the fabric causes it to sandwich between your wet lips, causing you to let out a small whimper. His eyes shooting up at you with the biggest shit eating grin you think you’ve ever seen. His hand brushes against the bolt, bringing his electric charged hand to your cunt. The shock causes your legs to buckle, yet due to his strong grip on your legs, they barely move an inch. Your wet panties cause the shock to be felt all over your wet cunt, the pulsing feeling making your head spin. His thumb brushes his bolt, placing the pad of it directly on your clothes clit, sending the small zap directly to your clit.

Your eyes instantly roll back, your mouth hangs open with no noise coming out. The feeling is unlike anything you’ve ever felt. Your skin is buzzing, your body hairs now standing, while your body is littered with goosebumps. Letting your legs go with his other hand, he slowly places them down so your small legs are hanging on each side of him, opening you up more to him, your body in a full spread eagle position. Gripping the crotch area of your panties he rips them off of your body. The cold air causes your goosebumps to stand even more.

Your wet pussy on full display for him, you looked like you walked off a magazine to him. His brain is short circuiting, you can tell from the sparks that are flying off of the bolts that are pierced on each side of his neck. His cock twitches as the fluorescent lights shine off of your slick that’s covering your cunt. Clearly in a daze, you run your foot under his rag like shirt, the warm sole of your foot on his cold chest, wakens him slightly. Spark from the bolts still flying rapidly but his eyes drift up to your face. A warm smile on your pretty face.

“Hey big boy…are you still with me?” You whisper, a warm smile that warms his cold dead body. Letting out a small grunt, he nods his head. Giant hand gripping his cock to relieve some of the pent up frustration he lets out a deep growl. A noise you’ve never heard him make, it sounds border lining primal. You can clearly see the wet patch from his cock, what exactly liquid that is? You aren’t too sure, yet you don’t seem to care. Licking your lips, you nudge Jongho with your foot.

“Come on Jjong…fuck me please.” You plead to him. The sparks now shoot farther from his body. That nickname always made him feel something. You were working him up on purpose. His hand fully grips the bolt on his neck, sticking out his tongue he touches it, sending an electric charge through it. Confused by his sudden movements, you sit up on your arms, watching him as he falls to his knees. Big shoulders cause your legs to spread even further. What was he..?

“Oh my fucking goddddd!” You instantly moan out, his electric charged tongue was pressed directly against your wet cunt. The shock goes instantly to your clit, but the waves of the current spread out to your whole cunt, making you clench around nothing. Your hands gripping the soft brown locks on his head. Touching his bolt again, he makes direct contact with your clit, the shock sending your head spiraling back, choking out a sob. Tears of pleasure fill your eyes, his other hand grips your breast, pinching your nipple. Between him constantly electric charging his tongue, and him flicking your hardened buds your body is feeling so many sensations at once. His cold tongue on your wet clit, with the shocks of electricity. The mini sparks flying off his neck, that are landing on your thighs.

He’s eating you out like he’s a starved man, he’s on a mission. Flat cold tongue against your warm heat, the temperature difference felt like it was tweaking your nerves. Your legs jerking with each flick of his big tongue, charging his tongue again, he places his whole mouth on your pussy, practically swallowing you whole. Sending a current charge to it all, your body jerking up, legs trying to close yet not being able to, while your toes instantly curl. The shocking feeling instantly sends you into a screaming orgasm. Your hands gripping his hair for dear life while tears pour down your face. Drinking down your essence, he lifts his soaking face off of your red, puffy cunt. Charging his finger one last time, he presses against your clit, giving it once more small shock causing your whole body to spasm, your juices leak out of you once more.

Your chest is heaving up and down, eyes shut tightly, trying to regain all the focus back on your mind. It feels like you are the one now short circuiting. You hear rustling, cracking your eyes open, you see Jongho shimmying out of his pants, trying your best to regain consciousness, you lock eyes with his lower half, wanting to see what is underneath the material of his pants. Just as he gets them low enough a pale blue cock springs out, with stitching similar to his skin running along his lengthened member. His cock, hard as a rock, with various colors on it, dripping a clear fluid? Wanting to make sure it wasn’t embalming fluid you sit up, running your fingers over his member, cock bobbing as you were giving it attention. You rub your thumb over the tip, bringing it up to your nose to smell it. It had no scent…did he fill his balls with water..?

Jongho getting impatient with your light touches trying to figure out what was taking you so long. He moves his hips forward, cock brushing against your bottom lip, licking your bottom lip trying to figure out the clear fluid, smacking your lips to get a taste. Bastard, he did fill Jongho with water. Smoothing your hands over his tight balls, you pump his enormous cock two times, before looking up at Jongho with a small pout on your face.

“Did he fill you with water Jjong? He prepared you just for me.” Jongho throws his head back, letting you pump his hard cock, your small hand not even coming close to fully wrapping around him. Grabbing your hand he pulls you off the metal table, holding you in his arms. He lays down, placing you on top of him. Seating you right below where is cock stands up fully erect, fully ready for attention.

“I’ve never had a cock this big before Jongho..” you whisper out, hands still rubbing alongside of him. A grin takes place once again on his face. Clearly proud that he will be your biggest. Gripping your hand he guides you to get on top, your drooling cunt wavering over his thick cock. Easing the tip into your body, you instantly moan at the pressure of just the tip barely brushing your walls. He’s thick, thick, thick. Your head instantly is thrown back, you ease down on Jongho slowly, thanks to him eating you out earlier it loosened you up perfectly. As your ass comes in contact with his cold legs. He charges his hand, touching the bulge in your lower belly, causing you to let out such a pathetic whimper it makes his cock jump inside you. Your hands tightly gripping his muscular thighs. The ridges from the stitching brushes your wet walls causing you to fall forward, your hands bracing themselves on his muscular chest.

“Oh my fucking god Jongho..” you breathe out. Chest heaving with pleasure, your cunt has his thick cock in a vice grip. His swollen head brushing against your spongy spot with each breath you take. He was wall to wall in your cunt, filling you up deliciously. If you had been looking at him you would’ve been he was holding back all restrain to not bounce you on his cock like you were some sort of fuck toy. He didn’t have hardly any feeling in his body due to no nervous system, but the way his cock could feel all of you was having him walk on a tightrope.

Giving your hips a wiggle, trying to get as comfy as possible you bring your hips up before slowly making your way down. Trying to get a small rhythm going before you lost your mind on his thick cock that was just splitting you open. Mouth hung open with each raise of your hips, throaty moans leave your mouth, your nails raking down Jonghos shirt. Jongho charges one of his hands, bringing it down to rub on your clit, the charge sending you into another dimension. Your body stutters on top of him, falling forward so your chest is against his upper stomach. You could feel the bulge in your stomach, causing you to moan even louder. The spacious area left no sound to the imagination.

“J..Jongho pl-please..” you grunt out with barely any breath. That grin reappearing he places both of his feet on the metal slab, hiking your body up. His hips immediately slamming up into you. Causing your body to jerk like you were a doll. One hand on your hip the other wrapping itself around your throat, keeping your body held up. His thrusts going at an inhumane pace, your eyes instantly fill with tears, your choked out screams are filling the room. Your pussy juices are coating your inner thighs, along with your ass, causing a wet slapping noise to fill the room. Echoing the space, you wouldn’t be shocked if even the outsiders who roam close could hear you. Charging his hand he slaps your ass, your back arching further into the air, the prickly feeling on your skin causes you to grip his wrist that is keeping you upright.

“Fuck..Fuck Jongho.” You stutter out with each slam of his thick cock that’s bullying its way into your warm wet walls, has you losing sanity. Charging his hand again, he slaps your ass once more, causing your body to litter once again with goose bumps, your nails digging into his wrist. Charging that same hand again, he slaps your ass even harder once more, causing a loud crackling noise that’s sparking from his bolts to be heard in the room. The feeling has tears pouring down your face, your body feels like it’s riding cloud nine. He has permanently ruined you for any other man or monster that comes after him. Charging his hand once more, he lets out a loud grunt, his hips hiking you up more, the way he’s bouncing you in the air like you weigh nothing has you practically catching air time. Touching his own cock filling it with electric current when your cunt slams down on him it sends a shock through your whole inner core, up to your brain. Your body instantly gets thrown into an orgasm, your back arching letting out a curdling scream of pleasure.

The electric current flowing from him, with your scream causes the lights to flicker, along with one of them busting, and shattering all over the floor. Jongho is still hammering away into your pulsing cunt, he’s jackhammering you up and down like you are a weightless rag doll that only he can use to get off. His grip on your throat tightens, charging his other hand once more he cups your cunt as he pulls out, shooting his clear cum fluid all over his hand that is cupping your oozing cunt. A loud grunt leaves his throat, causing another light bulb to shatter. The jolts of electricity cause you to succumb to the pleasure, ripping another forceful orgasm. Legs shaking, what’s left of the lights flickering, glass shattering orgasm. Your body instantly falls slack against Jongho, releasing your throat so you flop down on him like a wet doll. The buzzing noise of the currents of electricity in the room are all that’s heard besides your heavy breathing. Jonghos cool, clammy hands come up to cup your face to make sure you are okay.

Giving him a dopey smile, you give his cool lips a quick peck. Before laying your head back down on his chest. His cool fingers run up and down your backside. Eyes starting to get heavy, just as you are about to pass out from exhaustion, you hear a knocking coming from the lair door upstairs.

“The way I heard you screaming, I would say there are no complaints.” Dr. Stein says through a loud chuckle from the other side of the door.

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buckyalpine · 11 months

Text

Destined to be Yours

18+

Bucky x Reader

I’ve had this idea for a while with this concept and I hope it turned out well. This starts off dark with abuse from Hydra and forced breeding but I promise it will be sweet and fluffy afterwards throughout and with a happy ending. Please let me know if you liked this!

Warnings: Angst, abuse from Hydra, forced breeding, pregnancy, so so much fluff, protective adorable Bucky, protective team, soft sweet smut

“Extract what we need” The doctor nodded to the nurse, injecting the asset with another sedative before the nurse laid out the vials, taking what she needed from the soldier as he laid unconscious. She worked quickly before he woke up, storing all the samples in a secure vault, dropping the temperature of the freezer to ensure they’d remain potent. His limp body was dragged off, locking him and chaining him in a cell, timing an hour before they would extract again.

And again.

“Sir, we have collected over 50 samples. 35 trails have been unsuccessful, the serum in the sample is too potent-

“THEN WE HAVE TO KEEP TRYING” The scientist boomed, his eyes wild while the doctor swallowed thickly, not arguing further. “The last of Zola’s serum was used on him. He is the perfect asset. Hundreds of kills. The world didn’t even know if he was real. A ghost. We don’t have another like him, keep extracting until his body can’t produce anymore”

The scientist paced around the room, mind reeling over how long it would take until they were successful. They’d managed to capture the solider once again but it’d only be a matter of time before earths mightiest scum came for him. He shook his head in disgust and fury, glaring at the timer.

“We finally got him back. We can’t loose him again”

“There is a new potential we can use” The head doctors eyes lingered to the cell of their latest captive; hopefully this one would be strong enough to bear the child of the winter soldier.

CELL 00

FEMALE, TRIAL #36

She blinked awake, confused about where she was, shivers running down her spine at the cold air that nipped her skin. She was barely able to focus her vision, left in nothing but her underwear; the last thing she remembered was feeling the jab of a needle to her neck.

Then darkness.

Now she was here.

Locked in a cell.

She went to rub her eyes, shocked to find her wrists bound in heavy shackles. She wanted to scream but sound wouldn’t come out, soundless cries ripping from her chest. The sound of whispers in a foreign language made her retreat to the back of her cell but it was pointless; where would she even go?

“Prepare her for incubation”

“What if it doesn’t work-

“THEN WE TRY AGAIN. Prepare her with the sample. We don’t have much time before they try to take him back”

The door of the cell slammed open; a man in a white lab coat stalking over to her with two nurses in tow. Before she could blink, another needle was plunged into her veins, the world around her going hazy and muffled as the shackles were unlocked. They fell to the ground with a clink as she was carried out, the world fading black again.

****

“Landing in 5, everyone suit up” Tony called out while Steve was already at the edge of the drop, waiting for the jet to open. Everyone joined by his side, jumping out as soon as the doors opened, landing softly on the snow covered roof.

“I’m getting a heat signal from the lower west wing” Sam looked at the feed from Red wing, joining Steve while Tony, Nat and Clint went to clear rest of the Hydra facility.

“Let us know when you have Barnes, explosives set to detonate in 10 minutes” Tony’s voice carried through the coms while Steve and Sam made their way through the maze like halls, each lit with flickering florescent lights. They reached the lab area, pushing through the doors and down to the cyro chambers and cells, to find Bucky lying down on a lab table, chains wrapped around his metal arm to keep him down.

“Bucky, hey pal” Steve shook Bucky awake, breathing a sigh of relief seeing the soldiers eyes flutter open.

“Steve?” Bucky blinked, looking up at his best friend hovering over him while he was still strapped to a table, a mild sedative dripping from an IV in his flesh arm.

“Wakey, wakey cyborg” Sam carefully removed the IV, collecting some to test in the lab for when they got back.

“Gotta say, didn’t expect deja vu like this” Steve cocked an eyebrow, remembering the last time he had found his friend in the exact same position after Hydra had first start to experiment on him.

“Shut up punk” Bucky snorted, groaning as he flexed his limbs before tearing himself away from his chains and following Steve and Sam out of the cell. The three men paused when they realized the cell beside Bucky’s wasn’t empty. You were laying in what appeared to be a flimsy hospital gown, also strapped to your bed with a few more machines attached to you.

“We can’t leave her” Bucky quietly stepped into your cell, his heart breaking over your fragile state. There was no way you had come to Hydra willingly and there was no way he was going to leave anyone behind if he had the chance to set them free.

Steve nodded while Bucky grabbed a blanket to cover you up, carrying you carefully in his arms. You hardly stirred as he carried you out and down the hall, meeting the rest of the team outside beside the jet, quickly getting inside before the base blew up.

“Are they dangerous?” Tony nodded in your direction while Bucky continued to cling onto you, a part of him always protective of anyone that had gone through Hydras torture.

“Don’t know” Bucky murmured, he truthfully had zero recollection of what had happened to him in the past month. He had been under constant sedatives and fed through tubes. Whenever he slipped into consciousness, his body would ache but he would have no idea why. He certainly had no idea who you were or why you had been captured. “Don’t even remember anything much myself”

“Guess we’ll find out” Nat shrugged, giving Bucky another blanket to cover you with when you shivered in his arms. As soon as the jet landed, the medical team was ready to whisk you away though Bucky was reluctant to let you go. He was about to argue when his own body started to give way to exhaustion; Steve and Sam caught him before his knees hit the floor.

“C’mon, we gotta get you looked over” Steve pushed Bucky onto one of the stretchers, letting another team sweep him away to the med bay while Sam took samples of whatever Bucky had pumped with to Tony’s lab.

You blinked in confusion at the new room you were in, the bed you were resting on far more comfortable than what you had been given in your cell. You were too scared to move, hearing the faint sound of beeping from the machines that were attached to you. The beeping grew faster as your heartrate picked up, struggling to calm yourself, fearing you’d be punished for panicking.

“Good morning” A soft voice spoke to you, your eyes hesitantly looking over to the man that entered the room with a warm smile on his face. He jotted some notes down, looking over your file once more. “I’m Dr. Banner, you can call me Bruce. I’m going to ask you a few questions, but don’t worry if you can’t remember right away. Are you able to recall anything from when they captured you?”

You shook your head while Bruce continued to carefully check over you, his touch caring and gentle, unlike what you had been previously subjected to.

“I-I don’t know what happened after they took me” You whispered, desperately wracking your brain, trying to piece together the foggy memories you had. “I’m sorry, I wish I could-

“It’s alright” Bruce pulled you own of the spiral you were about to head down, “Just relax, we’ll work through it. For now, let’s focus on making sure you’re okay. Get some rest and we’ll take this slow”

“I don’t want to over step, I can take care of myself, you don’t have to do all this-”

Bucky’s heart broke from where he stood outside of your room with Steve and Tony, none of them not wanting to overwhelm you with their presence when you’d just woken up. As soon as he was checked over, Bucky was out of his hospital bed and stationed outside your room, fidgeting with his fingers, occasionally peering inside. No one else would understand the fear you’d have like he did. He could barely remember what happened to him, he couldn't imagine the confusion you probably felt.

“I feel fine, I promise-

“You’re more than welcome to stay here until you’re better. You’re not 100% healed yet, its better for you to be here where we would actually be able to take care of you in case something comes up” Bruce insisted, helping you lay back down. You couldn’t get up even if you tried, too exhausted and sore to move, whispering a quiet thank you before quickly falling asleep again.

Bruce quietly added an extra sedative to keep you under, figuring you needed the rest and something to clam your anxiety while they gathered more information over who you were and what you’d been subjected to. He quietly closed the door behind him before making his way over to there the three men were waiting outside of your room.

“She doesn’t remember anything, which is normal, considering they probably kept her under the entire time they had her” Bruce flipped through your file as they made their way to the conference room; Bucky was reluctant to leave you alone again but he knew nothing much would happen while you were still asleep.

“From what we’ve gathered, Tin man over here was pumped up with enough sedatives and tranquillizers you’d usually use on something the size of a horse” Tony pulled up the lab results of Bucky’s blood work which revealed a large concoction of various drugs he’d been injected with. “So far, nothing as life altering as the serum but it looks like they were trying to experiment on him” Steve’s jaw clenched thinking about Bucky being subjected to more torture though Bucky himself was almost unfazed, not remembering much this time round.

“This is Y/n, Y/l/n” Tony pulled up a profile on you from what they had gathered, projecting it on the screen, “They captured her for about two months and she was also most likely under for most of the time. Major portions of their lab were already set to self-destruct so we couldn’t gather much on what they were trying to do. She’s just a civilian; wasn’t given the serum either. There's also no record of family as of now”

“Where do we go from here” Steve spoke up, feeling the tension radiating off his bestfriend who was itching to check up on you, metal fingers whirring. Even if everything seemed okay it never was.

Hydra always had a plan.

Always.

“The best we can do is let her recover here and keep track of her progress. There’s enough room anyway so it shouldn’t be a problem”

After being monitored for a few days, you were given the all clear to be discharged from the medical wing. Tony gave you your own room, granting access to anything in the compound without you asking. Though you were hesitant at first, Bruce encouraged you to treat the space like it was your home, cooking, reading or exercising, doing things that would help jog your memory and get you back into a normal routine. You trained frequently with Steve and Nat, rebuilding the strength you’d lost from spending so much time confined to a bed. Your time in the kitchen was always spent with Sam between endless recipes passed down from his family and new things he’d picked up along the way.

Then there was Bucky.

Bucky was quiet but the most protective of all. He was your safe space, the one person who understood the confusion, the violation, the trauma of what you went through.

He understood waking up in cold sweat, not knowing where you were.

He understood the long hot showers, scrubbing away remnants of their touch.

He understood the gnawing fear that if they got you once, they’d get you again.

It didn’t take long for you to grow closer to everyone. In a short amount of time, you were making significant progress, each person playing a role in nursing you back to health. Your check-ups always came back showing no signs of lasting damage or changes in your body; you were almost completely healed.

Everything was fine until it wasn’t.

You blinked, trying to shake away the spots that started to cloud your vision, figuring the training session was just a little more rigorous than usual but it was a routine you had done many times before without an issue. Steve waited for you to get back into your stance but your knees felt weak, the room suddenly feeling 100 degrees hotter.

“Y/n?”

“You okay?”

“Y/n!”

Steve saw your eyes roll back, darting out and catching you before you hit the floor, immediately sweeping you up and rushing you to the medical wing. Bucky was there in an instant as soon as Steve told him, both of them waiting nearby while you were rushed away to be checked over, still unresponsive. Bucky paced around the hall while you were hooked up to a few machines, samples of your blood drawn.

“What happened” You woke up in a daze, rubbing your eyes to get a better look at where you were as you laid on a hospital bed, still in your sweats. A woman who was scribbling notes off to the side of your bed gave you a soft smile, setting the pad down before speaking to you.

“You were training in the gym with Steve. Do you remember fainting?”

You shook your head, only remembering your workout last but it hadn’t occurred to you that you fainted.

“Is something wrong?” The beeps of your heart monitor started to quicken as your anxiety shot up, wondering if whatever Hydra had done to you was finally taking its full effect -

“Y/n, you’re pregnant” Dr. Cho rested her hand on top of yours, giving you a gentle squeeze seeing your disbelief, your pulse beating even faster.

Pregnant.

No.

“W-what?” You felt numb, you couldn’t remember anything from the time you were captured in hydra. How could you be pregnant, you couldn’t even remember the last time you had been so close to anyone, let alone intimate with them. “I can’t be-” Your voice cracked, biting your lip to keep it from trembling, shaking your head. “N-no”

Pregnant.

No.

As soon as the team heard you were awake, they were by the door waiting to see you. Dr. Cho sat with you to process but it was pointless, the shock wasn’t going anywhere. She nodded to the team as she exited your room, allowing them to see you, letting you make the choice if you wanted to tell them or not. Steve was the first to walk in with Bucky trailing closely behind, everyone else hanging back, not wanting to overwhelm you.

“What’s wrong” Steve whispered, growing more worried when he saw your eyes start to redden, tears welling along your lashes. You wordlessly shook your head, your hands resting on your tummy, unable to get the words out. It took both men a second to piece together what had you so distraught, their mouths growing dry when they saw the image of an ultrasound still up on one of the machines, your hands trembling on top of your lower stomach.

“It’s okay sweetheart” Steve held you while Bucky's heart broke seeing your frame shake while you tried to hold in your sobs, tears streaming down your face, curling into a ball. You wanted to hide away from everyone, feeling sick and violated, having no idea how any of this happened.

“We’re here for you, it’ll be okay” Bucky sat on the other side of the bed, taking your hand in his, rubbing his cool metal fingers over your clenched knuckles. “Whatever you choose, we support you”

“I don’t - ” You choked out; still reeling over the words Dr. Cho had told you, certain abnormalities in the tests showing there wasn’t any other option for you.

You had to have the baby.

“I don’t understand” You whispered, curling into Bucky’s side while Steve left to let everyone else know what was going on. He wrapped his arm around you, holding you close, his thumb gently wiping away the tears that spilled down your cheeks. “How-who-I haven’t even-”

When could this have happened?

Was this why you were taken?

Who was the father?

The last question burned the most, having no idea whose child you were carrying, your heart breaking over your baby never getting certain answers. How would you even answer if they ever asked?

“Shhhh” Bucky held you tighter, rocking you gently while you hid into his chest, wishing you could stay there forever, the one place you felt warm and safe. Tony entered the room a little while later, not bringing up anything directly but still letting you know you had his full support.

“There’s lots of room” Tony gave you a kiss on the top of your head before letting you go back to sleep. Bucky tucked you in before taking a seat in one of the chairs that was nearby, staying by your side that night until you were able to go back to your room again.

It wasn’t easy.

You weren’t sure if this was how normal pregnancies were but you were exhausted. Sick. Weak. The cramps you felt would make you double over in pain and you could hardly hold down a meal without throwing it back up the next hour. Just as before, everyone did their best to try and make everything a little easier but no one compared to Bucky.

Ever since he knew you were pregnant, he was out to do his best to make sure you were well taken care of. He didn’t know much about pregnancies or baby things in this decade but he’d do his research so you wouldn’t have to worry as much. Over the past few weeks, he was always ready with heating pads for cramps after he saw Wanda and Nat get them for you. He gave you some of his Henley’s after you commented over how you loved how soft the material was.

Bucky wasn’t just protective over you because of Hydra anymore. He adored how sweet you were. Your smile made him blush. You had gone through so much but you were always so patient and kind, even when you struggled to recall things or lacked rest from nightmares. You were the type of girl he would have taken dancing back in the day, if you ever gave him a chance.

The type of girl he would have chased after for a second date.

Then a third.

The girl he’d introduce to his ma.

If only things were different.

“How you holding up doll” Bucky came by your room with a cup of warm lemon water, the one thing that seemed to soothe the nausea. the smile on his face dropped when he saw your puffy eyes and teary face, softly sniffling, doing a poor job of hiding the fact that you had just been crying.

“What’s wrong” Bucky whispered, instantly by your side, setting the tea on the side table “Are you okay? Are you in pain doll, I can take you to the med bay-”

“I can’t do this” You whimpered, burying your face in your hands, trying to muffle your cries, “I don’t even know what I’m doing”

Bucky wrapped you up in his arms, rubbing his hand up and down your arms soothingly, “I can’t imagine what it’s like for you doll, do you need any of us to do anything for you? Just say the word, we’re all ready-”

“It’s not that. Everyone is wonderful but-I don’t want to burden them Bucky. It’s so much to deal with, I’m so scared of so many things, its too much” You trembled in his hold, a thousand fears coursing through you all at once.

“What scares you the most, doll” He whispered, holding you a little tighter to ground you, hoping he’d have the solution to at least one of your fears, if not all.

“I-I can’t do this alone” You broke down, terrified over the thought of going through the pregnancy by yourself. Yes you had the team by your side but not having a partner made your heart hurt. This wasn’t how you imagined having your first child. Having no idea who the father was or how any of this happened. Your body always felt like it was on the brink of collapsing and you felt awful that others had to dote on you even if they were more than happy to do so.

“You don’t have to do this alone” Bucky cupped your cheek to meet his eyes, not letting you look away when you tried to shake your head.

“James-” You were about to protest, but Bucky wasn’t going to let you doubt his words for a second, his arms pulling you into his lap and holding you securely.

“M’here” He stated softly but firmly, his hand still stroking your face, gently against your cheek.

“But-it’s too much, you don’t have to Bucky, I-”

“I’m here” His hand came down to your growing belly, soothing the flutters that pushed against your skin. “For as long as you need me to be, okay? You’re not alone. I got you” He pressed a firm reassuring kiss to your forehead while you melted into him, craving to be held and comforted, the scent of him soothing all your fears away for a little while.

Bucky saw sides of your pregnancy others never would. He held you during the nights where you couldn’t sleep. He rubbed soothing circles on your back when you felt sick, always getting you a fresh set of clothes afterwards. He cradled your belly when the baby kicked and moved around, his warm and cold hands soothing your aching muscles.

He was even there during intimate moments, where no words were spoken but he knew what you needed. He’d slip your bathrobe off half way to help rub lotion onto your back which was hard for you to reach, the bigger your tummy grew. You weren’t the most steady on your feet, so you’d keep his henley on when he stepped into the shower to help wash your hair and lather your thighs, never taking advantage of you or touching you inappropriately. He never made you feel self-conscious, even when bloated and huge, stretch marks decorating your skin, breasts growing heavier.

As you approached your due date, you found yourself changing bras and tshirts more frequently from how much you were leaking; your body already producing more milk than necessary. Bucky was there for you even then, never letting you feel embarrassed about the changes you body was going through.

Like that morning. You waddled to the kitchen to get some breakfast, too tried to change from the pj’s you had worn, rubbing sleep from your eyes as you searched for a mug.

“You alright sweets? Can I make you something” You didn’t even realize Bucky was already in the kitchen, instantly by your side, his eyes landing on your shirt first. “I’ll make you some tea and then we can get you changed” Your mind was still hazy, confused over why you had to change until-

“Oh my god” You wrapped your arm around your chest, your face feeling hot, wondering how you didn’t realize there were two very prominent dark patches on your shirt, hormones kicking into full gear, your eyes already watering.

“It’s okay, it’s normal, c’mon lets get you changed” Bucky kissed your forehead, slipping off his own shirt and pulling it over your arms before resting his hand at the small of your back to support you and take you to your room. He helped you change out of the dampened tshirt and into something thicker, grabbing some nursing pads to slip into your bra while you sat on the bed. He stayed outside of the room while you got changed and took you back down to make sure you were well fed.

You tried to remind yourself he was there to help you get through the next few weeks, nothing more, but each day, you fell more and more in love with him, your heart fluttering and breaking at the same time.

He was there for you because you needed someone.

Not because he wanted you or to be stuck with a baby that had nothing to do with him.

Bucky was struggling more than you, wishing he could tell you he wanted to be there for you even after the baby was born. He wanted to hold you through the night just to snuggle up with you, watch movies till the sun came up, dance with you in the kitchen, have his own little family he always dreamed of. It didn’t matter that the baby wasn’t his, he adored you and he was ready to love the baby you were bringing into the world-

But that wasn’t what you wanted from him.

You were going through something he couldn't even being to comprehend. He had to support you through this like he promised.

Even if he loved you more than you knew.

It had already been 2 hours. You couldn’t go back to sleep. You hissed, feeling another wave of pain pass through your body, each one worse than the last. You’d managed to not make a sound until the latest one made you whimper, tears starting to stream down your face. You sniffled, feeling Bucky's metal arm wrap around your belly, rubbing your baby bump up and down while holding you close to him.

“Shhh, I got you” Bucky’s voice was still deep with sleep, his brows furrowing when your body tensed, gripping at his hand when another contraction started. He held you until it passed before sitting up and moving to the side of the bed, kneeling so he was at eye level. “Sweets, I think we should head down to the medbay, I’m just going to get your bag, okay?”

He kissed your forehead, running to the closet to grab the duffle he packed, slinging it over his shoulder before helping you to your feet. He was not about to let you walk, carefully carrying you in his arms all the way down to Dr. Cho’s wing, making sure you were regulating your breathing as he walked over.

Once you were all settled in, the team made it down to the waiting area where Bucky was already anxiously waiting in your room by your side, carefully watching over your sleeping form, drowsy from medication you had been given. There was still a bit of time left before you had to push but he wasn’t going anywhere; he sat up when you stirred, placing his hand on top of yours.

“Hey doll” Bucky smiled softly as your eyes fluttered open, meeting his blue ones. “How you feeling” You could still feel a dull ache throbbing through your whole body, struggling to breath through the pain while a nurse checked on your blood pressure which was lower than normal.

“Not scared when you’re with me” You tried to sound brave, your voice coming out a whimper as another contraction radiated through you, unable to stop the pained cries.

“I’m here” Bucky reassured you, kissing the back of your hand while you squeezing, tears already streaming down your face. Dr. Cho checked on you once more while the beeping of your heart rate increased, fire like pain starting to consume you.

“She’s ready, going to start pushing soon, alright?” Everyone around you moved rapidly but it was all a dull buzz as you drowned in pain, struggling to focus.

“I can’t do it” You cried, feeling too tired, too weak, sweat covering your body.

“Hey, look at me, focus on me alright?” Bucky held your hand tighter, his metal one coming to rest on your forehead to cool you down. “Breathe doll, baby’s almost here, you’re doing so good mama, breathe with me” You tried to copy his breathing while the nurse signaled that it was time, the pain getting worse.

“You’re going to start pushing now, okay? You can do it” His voice grounding, not an inkling of fear showing through, keeping your eyes locked with his. You screamed in pain, using all your energy to push, only to feel resistance as if your body was giving up.

“Bucky I can’t-”

“C’mon babydoll, push, almost there, m’right here with you”

You cried out in pain again, squeezing his hand while he continued to hold you as best as he could, reassuring you and kissing your damp forehead.

“JAMES!” Your pained screams had the others worried; Steve paced up and down the hall while Tony stood outside the door. The only solace they had was that you were already in the best hands and Bucky was by your side.

“One more, look at me, just one more mama” Bucky’s voice cut through your muddled conscious, taking a deep breath before pushing again.

“Doing good y/n, one big push, that’s the head” Dr. Cho encouraged while you screamed out, mustering all of your strength to push, a piercing cry filling the room moments later.

“You did it sweetheart” Bucky let his metal hand come down to your beating heart as you slumped back down, panting while the baby was quickly whisked away to be checked on. He sat on the bed, kissing the top of your head, smiling when you refused to let go of his hand, his arm wrapping around your exhausted form.

“You did so good, so so good doll, so proud of you mama” He whispered, continuing to hold at kiss you while you tried to ground yourself again. You sat up as the doctor walked in, relieved there was nothing you had to worry about as she brought the little one over to you.

“That’s your baby” She smiled, carefully placing the tiny swaddled bundle in your arms, a perfect baby boy resting in your arms. “All 10 fingers, all 10 toes, healthy as ever”

You kissed his chubby face, cooing as he stirred, his tiny hand wrapping around your finger. Bucky petted your hair while you snuggled with the baby, his heart yearning to tell you how he felt. You rested against his side, both quietly admiring the little one that had now fallen asleep on your chest. There wasn’t a single dry eye in the room when everyone came to visit, everyone cooing and holding the baby, teasing about being God parents before leaving and letting you rest.

Bucky tucked you under the sheets when you yawned, insisting you sleep for a bit after the baby was put in the basinet beside you bed. He didn’t move from you side, his eyes often flicking up to the heart monitor that was attached to you, a few other machines attached to the little one just as a safety precaution to make sure everything was normal.

You stirred awake to the feeling of cool metal gently stroking your face, blinking up at protective Bucky, his eyes sullen from a lack of sleep, smiling down at you like you’d hung the moon and stars.

“Hey sweet girl”

“Hey” You leaned into his touch, softly kissing his palm while he cupped your face, brushing away a stray tear that slipped down your cheek. “Th-thank you” You whispered, swallowing the lump that tightened your throat, blinking away more tears when the baby stirred with a soft cry. You reached over and rocked him gently, looking over the delicate slope of his little nose and tiny pouty lips, your healthy baby in your arms because of him. “I couldn't have done all this without you. You were with me through everything” By my side through it all. I don’t want you to go.

Bucky swallowed thickly, his heart beating faster, he didn’t want to stop being there for you. He adored you with his whole heart, his breath hitching in his throat before speaking.

“Just so you know doll, I-I always wanna be here for you. For both of you” Bucky whispered, his eyes welling with tears at the little bundle cradled in your arms. He didn’t know the first thing about being a dad but he’d do his damn best to help you raise your son.

“Bucky?” Your eyes were wide, tears now freely flowing down your face, curling yourself up closer to him, wondering if you understood correctly. “Bucky, I don’t even know who the father is-”

“M’not worried about that. I care about you. I love you. If you let me” He cupped your cheek, brushing your face with his thumb, “I promise I’ll take care of you both. I’ll-I’ll do my best, I promise I’ll try, I’ll protect you-”

You cut him off, bringing him down for a sweet kiss, pressing your lips to his, your fingers toying with the soft short curls at the nape of his neck. Bucky smiled against your lips, letting his tongue lace with yours only for a moment, not wanting to tire you, pulling away when you started to pant.

“I love you” You were breathless, the beeping of your heart monitor nearly alerting the nurses, “I love you so much”

“I love you, sweetheart” Bucky stated sincerely, knowing you’d found your way to his heart a long time ago.

“Kiss me again” You tugged at his dog tags while he let out a soft chuckle, peppering your face with kisses before claiming your lips again.

“Get some rest mama” He carefully took the baby from you, settling him in the crook of his arm, while you closed your eyes knowing your little one was in the safest place he could possibly be. Your baby responded to Bucky’s voice the same way he did when he was in your belly, cooing and yawning, drifting off to a peaceful sleep, nuzzling into his chest.

“I’ll be there for you” Bucky whispered to the sweet bundle, softly rocking him so he wouldn’t stir. “Won’t ever leave you or your mama”

Tony gave you a new floor for yourself along with a mass of baby presents, everyone sharing quite smiles and glances when they helped Bucky move his things to the floor as well.

They’d all seen it coming.

You huffed at the full fridge, having no more room left to pump milk, your body producing bottles and bottles, your hungry baby drinking each one nearly every hour. You couldn’t understand how something so small could eat so much but he’d happily nurse and drink as much as you gave him. He was only 2 months old but already starting to babble and trying to crawl. You remembered the shocked faces of the nurses when they found your son rolling around in his bassinet, holding his head up without a struggle, eyes wide open. Steve was surprised when he had to use a bit of force to pull his finger away from his tiny grip. His features had also changed slightly; the light hair darkened into a chocolate brunettes. His initial darker brownish-grey eyes were now blue.

“I might be over thinking it but-he’s so strong” You chewed your lip, cradling your son while he nursed from you, his chubby thighs squirming while he gripped your breast, suckling. You were seated in Bucky’s lap with your back resting against his chest, his head on your shoulder, arms supporting yours “What if- there’s something making him develop so fast-

You couldn’t pinpoint exactly what scared you the most but you didn’t need to say more. Bucky understood the anxieties you felt, the fears that came from being taken by Hydra and used as a puppet.

Hydra was capable of anything.

“Whatever it is, it’ll be okay, m’here alright?” He held you protectively, putting the little one to sleep after burping him and pulling you into his arms, “We’ll go to the lab in the morning, it’s gonna be okay”

Tony reassured you whatever they did wouldn’t hurt your little one. You were both given a mild sedative while Bruce took blood and DNA samples, running it through the systems while Bucky waited patiently though Sam and Steve could see he was nervous on the inside, constantly glancing over to you and peering over the baby bassinet. Two hours later, Bruce and Tony walked back in, glancing over at each other while Bucky shot out of his seat, nearly losing his balance if it wasn’t for Steve who was by his side to steady him.

“Is she okay? The baby?” His eyes were pleading with them, unable to read their expressions, something was off.

“We ran some tests” Bruce started off slowly, looking down at the file, “The baby is enhanced”

“What does that mean” Bucky’s heart started to race while Tony continued.

“Well...that could mean hydra experimented on her” but...”

“But?”

“But nothing came up for her. No experiments. It’s definitely her baby, Hydra didn’t implant someone elses embryo in her. So if the baby is enhanced, its from the father...he’s enhanced with the super soldier serum”

“I was the only super solider on that base” Bucky whispered, his eyes growing wide, looking at your sleeping form.

“Does that mean...?” Steve’s eyes were wide, looking between the baby and Bucky, smiling at the similarities that made sense now, your son, a spitting image of his father.

“The baby...the baby’s mine” Bucky was nearly breathless while Sam grasped his shoulder, helping to ground him.

“How do you know for sure”

“They only had one vial of the serum they used on me years ago. Never replicated it...that’s-that’s why they took me again”

“Blood test confirms it. It’s the same serum. DNA matched with what we have on file for Barnes.” Banner nodded, scrolling through the test results, “That’s Bucky’s baby”

Bucky felt 1000 emotions all at once, but nothing was stronger than the pure love he felt in that moment. He already loved your baby like his own but there was something comforting in knowing his son was safe, that there wouldn’t be any unexplained secrets he wouldn’t know the answer to. He cradled his son to his chest, kissing every inch of his face, while sitting by your bed, while you started to wake up.

“Doll?” He whispered, brushing your hair out of your face, his heart beating anxiously in his chest again, both excited and nervous to tell you. Of course you loved him but what if you didn’t like it, what if you were disappointed, what if

“What is it” You sat up, noting his worried face while Bucky glanced down at his son sleeping in his arms, sucking in a breath before speaking.

“M’the father” His voice was barely a whisper, tears streaming down his cheeks as soon as the words left his mouth. He was the father. That was his baby.

“What?”

“He’s mine” Bucky sniffled, giving you a sad broken smile, “M’sorry baby, they used you because of me-

“You’re sure?” You didn’t let him finish, only hearing the words he’s mine, repeat over and over again, not a single other thing mattered to you. “Please Bucky, this is our baby? He’s yours?”

“This is our baby” He nodded, his forehead pressed with yours before kissing you over and over again, cuddling his son closer to his chest.

“Our baby” You cried with him, reaching for the now missing box of tissues, looking up to see Sam hiding it behind his back while Steve quietly passed a tissue to Tony.

“Congratulations, babydaddy” Tony snorted into a tissue before leaving the lab with the rest of the group to give you some privacy. Bucky took his daddy duties very seriously, his heart always bursting when he held his chubby baby. It didn’t take long for the little one to turn into a tiny menace between his uncles, jumping and running before the age of one with custom high tech toys all around.

Bucky loved you even more with his entire being, watching you become the sweetest mama, nearly crying each time he saw you both cuddled up asleep or reading together in bed. He took care of you in every way possible, just as before, loving and worshipping every inch of you.

The only thing that had changed between you and Bucky was the growing need to be closer than ever. In the one way you hadn’t yet. Bucky didn’t pressure you once, waiting till you were ready for intimacy. He nursed your body back to health after you gave birth and continued to dote on you long after, with plenty of cuddles and kisses in between.

It didn’t stop him from letting his imagination run wild.

He wanted to touch you, take you apart and put you back together.

Make you feel good, moan for you, let you touch him in places only you could.

See you pregnant again-

Fuck.

He had no idea your imagination was 100 times wilder.

Dreaming of having his little babies.

How his naked body would feel.

How perfect he’d fit inside you.

Giving him all the kids he wanted.

“Did you ever think about having kids” You asked him curiously, slinking into his lap after a shower and curling up against his chest, toying with his dog tags.

“I have” He smiled, setting down the book he was reading, wrapping his arms around you instead “a lot actually”

“Did you think of having more than one?” You whispered, trying to press yourself impossibly closer to him, your cheeks growing warmer with what you were hinting at. “Maybe two?”

Bucky licked his lips at your words, letting his hand slip up your sheep shirt to brush over your tummy, humming when he felt your bare body underneath.

“You want another baby, doll?” He purred while you buried your face into his chest, nodding. Bucky pulled away just enough to slip off your shirt, moving you to lay down, quickly discarding his own clothes immediately after.

“Wanna do it the right way” He pressed gentle kisses down your neck to your shoulder, “Make love to you when we make our baby”

“Bucky, please” You pleaded with him, feeling empty, needing him so much closer. You didn’t care about foreplay or a slow build, you just wanted him inside, claiming you. “Wan’ another baby with you”

“M’gonna give you a baby sweetheart, don’t worry” He cooed, rubbing his cock through your soaked folds, before pressing it against your entrance. “Let’s make a baby, angel”

His thrusts were soft, slow and gentle, taking his time to savor the feeling of your under him, his lips trailing from your jaw to your neck, down to your swollen nipples. He sealed his lips around your peaked bud, sucking and toying with how sensitive they were.

“M’so lucky baby” He whispered before kissing your nipples again, “You feed our son so well, you’re such a good mama, y’know that?” You whimpered underneath him, your legs moving to wrap around his waist, tears prickling your eyes. “Best and prettiest mama to our baby boy” He kissed the tears that streamed down your cheeks, washing away any inklings of doubt that occasionally tried to rear its ugly head.

“You think I’m a good mom?”

“The best babygirl, wouldn’t have it any other way. Can’t believe I missed out on this once before, you feel so good” He tucked his face against your neck as he started to speed up, letting his body weight fall on you.

“Fuck-fuck Bucky!” You clawed at his back as he started roll his hips, kissing your cervix with his swollen tip, leaking and dripping in your needy cunt. “I-I love y-you”

“Shhhh, I know” He panted, groaning at the feeling of your pussy pulsing around his cock, your body clinging to him. “I love you, I love our little baby boy, m’gonna love the little one we’re making right now”

“Give it to me Jamie” You clenched around him making him whimper, fucking you harder, the base of his cock bouncing off your clit each time he thrusted in you. “I’m-gonna-gonna cum Bucky!, gimmie a baby”

“T-together doll, gonna cum with you, fuck, -oh fuck- Take it mama” Bucky moaned as he stilled, warm spurts of cum bursting from his cock, moaning louder when he felt you throb and milk his cock dry, your own orgasm crashing over you at the same time.

“M’in love with you sweets” Bucky stayed inside you, whispering sweet nothings while you stayed snuggled against his chest, loving the feeling of being full of him. “You gave me the best thing without knowing it”

“You’re the best thing that happened to me” You smiled, closing your eyes, quickly falling asleep in his arms, his lips pressed against your hairline. He didn’t move an inch, cradling you close; you’d given him everything he’d always dreamed of.

A family

Love.

Affection.

Even through the mess of Hydra, you brought light into his life.

You were destined to be his.

I may add a drabble about the second baby, lets see! Lmk what you think!

Tags: @glxwingrxse @hungryyeyess @sebsgirl71479 @beabutterfly987 @teambarnes72 @witchywhore @jamesbuckybarneswify @slutforsexyseabass @chrisdrysdale @littlemarvelmenfan @buggy14 @whimsyplaty92 @sergntbarnes @inkedaztec @pono-pura-vida @moonlightreader649 @brooklynscherry-z @elle14-blog1 @justsebstan @littlelightnings @happyt0exist @emmabarnes @bethyruth @matchat3a @cjand10 @getwellsoontana @cherryschaos @lokisasgardianvampirequeen @ashenc-blog @buckybarnessimpp @potatothots @goldylions @high-functioning-lokipath @morganemorganite-blog @kingfleury @peaches1958 @spiderman-stilinski @peaceinourtime82 @gublur @wintersmelodie @geeky-politics-46 @lolawassad @almosttoopizza @a-poor-gryffindork @alternativeprincess @buckycallsmeaslut @kamaria-sweet-writes @charmedbysarge @xnorthstar3x @kryoee7 @alina02 @gh0stgurl @polishprincess999 @jessybarnes @alltheficsiwant @chemtrails-club @eralen @perdidosbucky-yyo @clqrosmgc @buckybarnessweetheart @pandaxnienke @manyfandomsfanvergent @midnightramyeoncravings

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sweet-as-an-angel · 1 year

Text

Yandere Simon "Ghost" Riley Headcanons

Summary: You were just a civilian caught in the crossfire, kidnapped by a cartel and held prisoner. And now, after being rescued by Ghost, you may wonder if you are any safer with him than you were out there.

Warnings: Kidnapping, mentions of physical abuse, memory loss/amnesia, loss of ability to walk (temporary), yandere behaviour, toxic behaviour, possessive behaviour, kind of slow burn, romantic tension, Ghost gets jealous, somewhat angsty in some parts, very fluffy in others (a good balance), mentions of interrogation, Reader showcases anxiety, no use of pronouns for Reader except ‘you’, mentions of games,

Wordcount: 7,581 words

You were a tourist who was in the wrong place at the wrong time - seen things you weren’t meant to see.

And that’s how you ended up here, chained up in a warehouse for what you could only have guessed to have been a couple of months.

You were barely kept alive by restricted rations of food and water the cartel members gave you, needing you alive but just weak enough to not be able to fight back.

They kept you around for their own amusement, hitting you, beating you, humiliating you.

You missed your family, your friends, your old life. You truly believed, with a heavy heart, that you’d die here without ever getting the chance to see them again.

Until…

It had all happened so fast that you couldn’t keep up with it all.

One minute there was a group of men playing poker at a table nearby, the next they’d all been blown away by some nigh-silent, unseen force.

As soon as it had began, it was all over, though gunfire resonated from deeper within the warehouse.

Your heart thudded, your mind hazy and heavy yet just about conscious enough to acknowledge a set of heavy, booted footsteps nearing you.

A walkie-talkie crackled, followed by a deep, gravelly voice.

“One potential hostage found. Commencing collection now.”

The chains keeping you tethered to the metal post were cut and your hands fell.

You barely had the strength to lift them, nevermind your head, which lolled forward, gaze fixed in your lap.

The person who you presumed to have released you knelt down before you. A gloved hand pushed against your forehead, forcing you to look at them.

He was ghastly.

His flesh face was covered by a second, the insignia of his endoskeleton splayed across a dark mask. His eyes were dark and seemed to swallow all light that tried to glimmer within them.

“Can you talk?” he said. His voice was calm yet lacked patience, as if he knew time was short.

You could barely move, barely think.

You said nothing.

The man took your non-answer and moved to lift you, keeping an arm under yours and the other firmly holding his gun.

Now, stood at full height, walking on legs you hadn’t used in months, your body couldn’t handle it.

Your blood pressure dropped and so did you.

The man grunted as your weight collapsed into him, almost taking him with you.

You fell unconscious, and the man rearranged you, slinging his gun over his shoulder and carrying you in his arms.

The next time you awoke, the setting was drastically different.

The dust-filled, sweltering warehouse you had grown accustomed to had given was to a blindingly white facility, the scent of streilisers and medicine filling your nostrils.

You couldn’t move much, body heavy yet soul willing, and your eyes shifted beneath hooded lids.

A machine beeped closeby, one you recognised to be mimicking your heartbeat. The rest of the room was quiet, save for the turning of paper somewhere.

The surface beneath you was plush, encompassing you, unlike the warehouse floor.

Putting the pieces together, your heart began to pound. The heart monitor copied.

A nearby nurse rushed to your side, turning your head this way and that and shining a light in your eyes, talking at you rather than to you.

The rest became a blur.

Doctors visited, recorded your condition. You didn’t know where you were but you knew you were safe. For now, at least.

Some officers came and tried speaking to you, only to find you unable (or unwilling) to talk.

This came as a discovery to you, too.

Soon after waking up, you found that your mind, your memories, were blank. Nothing of your prior self remained save for an overview of your torturous time in captivity, and…

That mask.

The man who’d saved you.

You found it hard to speak, not having done so properly in months save for begging for your life and crying whenever you were alone.

When one of the officers asked you if there was anything you needed, your body acted on instinct, by reflex, and came out with only one word.

“Skull.”

Ghost was stationed by you shortly after that, having been known to be the one who brought you back to Base and the only one to resemble the ‘skull’ you’d spoken of.

The task was…mind numbing, to say the least.

After your singular request for the man who saved you, you went silent again.

No words, no noises, just you sat in the hospital bed, dead to the world.

Nobody could coax a word from you, not even Ghost, as you heard him introduce himself.

The events of the last couple months had forced you into a state of “Dissociative amnesia,” as the doctor had put it. “Rare, but real.”

The doctor said it could take a while for you to regain your memories, and until then, you would have to be kept under supervision.

No permanent thoughts crossed your mind during your period of blankness. They flitted in and out of your consciousness as a phantom would.

Ghost had only tried interacting with you two or three times, the first being his introduction, the others being an attempt at getting any sort of response from you.

Nothing worked, and you were both resigned to sitting in silence with one another.

Days passed, you weren’t sure how many.

Ghost was getting impatient.

He knew you could be a key witness to the cartel’s deeper activities, but he knew he couldn’t force your cooperation. Not while you were practically vegetative, at least.

Ghost sat on a chair by your bedside, all but resembling a mannequin.

He stared into the distance.

“Oh,” came your small, croaking voice. “It’s you.”

Ghost almost didn’t turn to look at you, believing the voice to be a hallucination.

He hazarded a glance and almost considered jumping.

You looked at him, dead into his eyes, conscious, talking.

Another blur of activity surrounded you immediately after, Ghost alerting the doctors to you becoming vocal again and leaving them to do their job not long after.

Tests were run, your memory was tested (of which there was still little), and the better part of a day was spent observing you, trying to determine whether you were ready for interrogation or not.

Luckily, the higher-ups seemed to feel lenient, giving you longer to recover until you were expected to produce answers to their copious questions.

In the meantime, Ghost was assigned to you day and night, both as your protector and observer.

He was…quiet, to say the least.

Rarely spoke unless spoken to, meaning he was of little entertainment to you in your bed-bound state.

This led to you trying to make small talk, regardless of whether Ghost would respond or not.

Little did you know that, despite his lack of participation, Ghost was listening to every single word you said.

During a one-sided conversation, you mentioned colouring, an activity you liked when you were younger.

“Yeah!” you said, face lighting up as you slowly recalled a memory of your younger self, colouring book in tow. “I remember that my grandma had this old, really old colouring book that she gave me. It was vintage, smelled like antique book pages, sweet,”

Ghost watched you, listened. He saw your face light up. You looked at him, eyes smiling.

“It was nearly as old as her when she gave it to me; I was terrified of ruining it so I never coloured in it. Just kept it safely on my bookshelf, looked at the pictures before bed…”

The day after, Ghost came to you with a colouring book and a box of pencils.

“Not exactly vintage, but it’ll do,” he said, laying the book and the utensils on your bedside.

You smiled up at him as he settled into his seat.

“Thank you, Ghost,” you said, smiling. “I mean it.”

Ghost offered minimal input whenever you spoke to him, which you still did while you coloured the pictures.

It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

After that, over the course of a week, more memories came back to you.

They were small, inconsequential at best, but they were evidence that you were making a fast recovery.

And Ghost was there to hear every single one of them.

Whenever you came out with something new, he’d write it down in a Base-issued notebook, telling you to slow down whenever words failed you, your mind wrapped up in splinters of who you were - who you are.

And you would glance at his notes every now and then.

“Wow,” you said, suppressing a smile. “Your handwriting’s worse than mine.”

“I’d like to see you do better,” Ghost replied, barely casting you a glance.

You reached for the pen, which Ghost withheld from you until he realised what you were trying to do.

Now, equipped, you turned to a new page in the notebook and tried writing something.

It came out like a doctor’s signature, merely cursive scribbles that meant nothing to the untrained eye.

Ghost eyed your work.

“What you tryna write?” he said, accent rough.

You bit your lip, trying to focus all your efforts on making what was in your head come out onto the paper.

“My name,” you said.

Ghost seemed to straighten up at that.

The memory was weak, a fawn stumbling on its wiry legs, trying to find purchase.

But it was there, behind frosted glass. You could vaguely make out the letters which would be the key to your existence.

You kept scrawling, muscle memory having weakened significantly, until you hit upon a familiar pattern.

The ‘letters’ were indecipherable, even to yourself. The memory of your name began to fade, and, though you grasped at it, you were left with nothing as it was consumed by darkness.

You stopped writing, defeat overtaking you.

“Why’d you stop?” Ghost asked, looking up from the notebook to you.

You felt tears fill your eyes, tried to keep them in.

“I forgot again,” you said, voice cracking.

The pen lay limp in your hand, and Ghost removed it, putting it down.

The fabric of his glove against your skin sent a jolt through you, unexpected but strangely comforting.

“Well,” Ghost said, a temporary solution coming to him. “How ‘bout we give you a new name, just ‘til you find your real one.”

You sniffed, tried smiling at the gesture, and nodded.

You went back and forth for a while, trying to think of a name that would suit you based on the limited information you had about yourself so far.

“It needs to be nice,” you said. Ghost gave a slight inclination of a nod. You kept thinking.

“Fawn,” Ghost said.

His eyes bore into you, though you suspected that was just his disposition rather than him intentionally trying to spook you.

“How’s that sound?”

You tried the name on your tongue, then, you beamed.

“I like it,” you said, giving Ghost a grateful smile.

From that day on, Ghost referred to you as Fawn, a name that the rest of the Base staff called you, too, having nothing else to call you.

Ghost never told you why he picked that name. Perhaps he saw something in you that resembled your namesake. Your newborn optimism, perhaps.

At your bedside night and day, Ghost became the first and only witness of your memories as they slowly revealed themselves to you.

Some were light-hearted, some were filled with the natural sorrow found in human life, and some were downright embarrassing; all of which gave Ghost gradual insights into who you are.

He eventually seemed comfortable enough to make fun of your more embarrassing ones, such as the time you went to a store your crush worked at, only to find that you had toilet paper stuck to the heel of your shoe the entire time.

This became somewhat of a joke between you and Ghost. One that the staff seemed to find confusing.

Whenever staff escorted you to and from the bathroom, Ghost would look down at your feet.

“No toilet paper to worry about this time,” he’d say.

Your face would burn at the memory, but you’d laugh regardless.

You also forced him to listen to music that came to you as visions from another time, tunes which you’d hum to Ghost, who recorded them, took them to whoever, and would come back with the song it originated from.

Soon, you had three or four CDs which contained music you’d enjoyed before your amnesia.

They all felt and sounded familiar. Comforting.

You’d implore (guilt trip) Ghost to listen to them, too.

His face - his eyes, really, the rest of it was covered - were blank as you passed him the headphones, preparing himself to listen to whatever you’d found that day.

He gave no indication of whether he enjoyed it or not.

“I can see why you like it,” is all he would say, passing the headphones back to you.

“Oh?” you said once, laying the headphones on the bed. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

Ghost leaned forward onto his knees, elbows propped upon them.

“It means,” he began, “that I’m not surprised this is the type of music you listen to.”

You feigned hurt, having slowly regained your ability to utilise humour after your diagnosis, the days getting easier.

“Well, I bet I can guess what type of music you like to listen to.” You held a smile on your face, just bordering on smug.

Ghost gave you a look. “Oh yeah?” he said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. “Go on, then.”

You pretended to think for a moment, already having thought this question through many times before. Ghost was elusive, that much was plain to see, yet you imagined him in ways that made him familiar - human - to you.

“I bet you like metal,” you said. “Heavy.”

Ghost gave a sound that may have been a laugh.

“Am I that easy to read?” he said, a smirk vague in his tone.

“No,” you replied, innocently. “I’m just not surprised that’s the type of music you listen to.”

Ghost gave a slow, sarcastic, demeaning clap, muffled by his gloves.

“All right, well done,” he said, the smirk in his voice growing.

The two of you played board games together, too.

Initially, he let you win, claiming that life in the military had left him “No time for leisure.”

Translation: “I haven’t played board games in an age.”

You picked up early on he was letting you win and insisted on having him play fairly.

There was something deeply enigmatic about watching a trained soldier try and mask his frustration when he lands on Mayfair for the third time in Monopoly.

Whenever you’d lose you’d challenge him to another game, thus continuing the cycle of celebration and condemnation, with you claiming he was “cheating” when he won.

“You told me to play fair,” Ghost would say, a smugness in his voice.

Not all times with Ghost were light-hearted, however.

Even if his presence reassured you, there was the overwhelming feeling that you were missing out on something.

You knew you had family, if they were still alive, but you didn’t know them.

Friends, too. You wondered how many you had.

If you had a crush, that meant you interacted with people on some scale, right?

And it was in times like these, times when you just wanted to go home, wherever that was, that Ghost was there for you.

More often than not you’d end up in tears, trying to stifle them.

Ghost said nothing as you wept, chiming in only when he deemed the onslaught over.

“Why don’t blind guys skydive?” he said once.

You sniffed, wiping your nose, and looked at him.

“What?” you said.

“I said, why don’t blind guys skydive?”

You looked down, as if the answer lay in your hands. You shrugged.

“Scares the shit outta their dogs.”

Silence for a second. And then, a laugh.

You gave a laugh, airy at first but firmer the longer it went on.

You put a hand over your mouth, as if to hide your growing smile from Ghost.

Wiping the streaks of tears from your cheeks, you looked at him.

“Thank you,” you said. “I feel a little better.”

“S’what I’m here for.”

About two weeks into your rescue, your physical training began.

Having fully recovered from malnutrition, Base wanted you to start learning how to walk again, both for your convenience and theirs.

Ghost attended each meeting you had to go to, watching from the sidelines as a nurse guided you between two wooden poles.

The sessions were tough. Very tough.

You felt useless, responsible for your own suffering.

“If I’d done more, if I’d fought harder-”

“Then you’d be dead,” Ghost would insist whenever you questioned your choices.

“Types like the ones who kidnapped you don’t enjoy people who can easily fight them off. Trust me, you did the right thing.”

After sessions, you were usually tired, opting to try and push for an extra hour or so to get back your ability to walk quicker.

The nurse would insist you rest immediately afterwards.

One evening, you wanted to push yourself.

“I need to do this,” you told Ghost, pulling your legs over the side of the bed. He stood by your bedside, waiting to catch you if you fell.

“I need to-” you slid off the bed, lost your balance, and fell into Ghost’s arms.

His chest was rock solid, and he held you by your arms, close to him, helping you back up.

“You need to rest,” he said, trying to guide you back to bed.

“No!” You yelled, immediately regretting it.

Still in Ghost’s arms, you looked away, shame overtaking you.

“I’m sorry, Ghost, but I- I really, really need to…”

You didn’t finish your sentence. Ghost remained silent for a minute, then nodded.

“Alright,” he said, pulling you away from the bed.

“I’ll help you.”

In your room, Ghost walked a few laps with you, his hold emigrating from your underarms to your elbows, and then to your hands.

You took uneven, shaking steps, but they were steps in the right direction.

You smiled back at Ghost as he stood behind you, helping you.

Another couple of weeks passed. Ghost would give you secret after-session sessions, helping you walk wherever you pleased (within the confines of the room).

You were still shaky, very weak in certain areas, but you were getting stronger, more reliable.

You got to know Ghost more whenever you were resting in your room.

“My favourite colour,” you began one day, “is…[f/c].”

Ghost gave a brief noise of acknowledgement.

“What’s yours?” you asked, continuing to colour.

Ghost spoke plainly. “A secret,” he said.

You blinked, wondering if you’d misheard him.

“Huh?” you said, looking up at him.

There was no humour in his eyes. He was dead serious.

“Aww, come on!” you said, oddly hurt by his lack of willing. “You don’t trust me?”

Ghost’s eyes said everything and nothing at the same time.

“Depends,” he said, diplomatically. “D’you trust me?”

“Yes,” you said, without hesitation and with all the certainty of someone who felt nothing but trust and blind faith.

Ghost’s eyes widened for a second, as if he wasn’t expecting your answer, or maybe the light was playing tricks with your eyes.

Sensing he wasn’t going to say anything, you tried to cover for his absence.

“I mean, it’d be hard not to.” You looked down at your colouring book. You became warm, as if confessing something personal.

“You saved my life, you protect me, you’re always there when I need you,”

“Because it’s my job.” Ghost’s declaration came out as if it were an attack, a deterrent for you to not pursue this line of thinking any further.

You swallowed and continued on.

“Yeah, you could say that,” you said. “But you took this job.”

“I was assigned-”

“No, no, not this one,” you said gesturing to the room, looking squarely at him. “I mean as a soldier.”

Ghost said nothing, only watching you.

“Why would you take a job protecting people if you didn’t see yourself as trustworthy enough for them to rely on you?”

Your question was simple yet revealed a lot. Too much for Ghost’s liking.

Ghost gave no response, his gaze travelling elsewhere.

You dropped the conversation.

The room returned to silence.

“Green.” Ghost’s voice came out of nowhere, low, making you jump.

You looked at him. He said nothing else.

You swallowed, looked down at your box of pencils, and withdrew a green pencil. You passed it to Ghost, who took it reluctantly, and turned the colouring book so he could reach it.

You coloured the rest of the page together.

Then, the interrogations began.

What memories and names Base didn’t gather from your notes, they tried extracting from you in ‘interviews’.

They were simple enough at first: what did you see during your time with the cartel; what were the names of the people you encountered (ones which you hadn’t already alerted them to); how long were you in the cartel’s captivity, etc.

The interviewers were firm yet didn’t push too hard in areas which were still hazy to you.

You gave every detail you could remember and passed on every memory, no matter how small, about your time in captivity.

It brought back unwelcome feelings, the fear, the hunger, the shame…

You were offered psychological aid, which you found to be of some help, though there was an itch the psychiatrist couldn’t quite scratch.

One that you spoke to Ghost about.

“It’s like…it’s like they’re going by a script,” you said, walking with Ghost around your room, leaning against him as you navigated the circuit.

“Like they’re trying to help, they want to help, but…”

“But?” Ghost’s voice was heavy behind you, like a wall. You stopped shambling and Ghost came to a stand-still behind you.

“But…they don’t know how. They don’t know how to help me because they’ve never-”

“Been in your situation.” Ghost finished your sentence.

You turned to look at him, mouth agape as you heaved laboured breaths, your exercise having taken it out of you.

You felt a shiver crawl up your spine. Recognition.

“Yeah,” you said, exasperated. Finally, someone understood!

Ghost nodded. “I know how it feels.”

You both sat down, you on the bed and Ghost in his seat. You shifted, watching him. He searched for something to say.

“I know how your situation’s affected you,” he said. His gaze flitted from your eyes to anywhere else. “And I wish I could say it gets better. But…”

His eyes looked hard, dark. His gaze finally settled on you, penetrating your soul.

“Look, the only way you can start to rebuild your life is to talk to someone.”

“You mean…” You dared not let your gaze slip.

Ghost gave a fractional nod.

“I know these shrinks ain’t much good when it comes to our kind of trauma, but talkin’ to someone who’s been through what you have might make you feel like you’ve not lost the plot.”

You felt like a breakthrough had been made. Something, maybe excitement, crawled up your throat.

“Our?” you said, quiet, as if sharing a secret. A small smile tweaked at the corners of your lips.

Ghost gave no confirmation. But the silence was enough.

Over the course of the next couple of weeks, alongside recovering more menial memories of your past, the interrogations became harsher.

You told and retold the interrogators everything you knew, any new developments which had occurred to you, forced to relive everything which had reduced you to your current condition.

But they weren’t satisfied.

They thought you had something to hide. That you were covering for the cartel by withholding names and knowledge.

The second you were back in your room, you broke down.

You ranted and raved to Ghost, who listened intently, his attention solely on you.

In one hand you squeezed your fist, looking for your stress ball; the one that, ironically, was given to you by the same people who had caused you to need it now.

You couldn’t find it. You turned to Ghost.

Hyperventilating, in your panicked, angered state, you reached out to him.

“Can I squeeze your hand?” you said, words spewing out faster than you could think about them.

Ghost seemed rigid.

You swallowed thickly.

“Please.”

Ghost took a step towards you and, slowly, he raised his hand to you.

You took it, squeezing it, trying to stamp out the anxiety pulsing through you.

With your eyes closed and breathing evening out, you held Ghost’s hand close to you, your grip lessening with every minute that passed.

After your attack, as you got ready for bed, outside of your field of vision, standing just outside your room, you didn’t see Ghost.

Didn’t see him look down at the hand you’d so intimately held, squeezed, close to your chest.

He could feel your remnant, phantom warmth encompassing it.

He clenched his fist, as if trying to hold your hand, the memory of it which swam around his like fish in a pond.

A couple days later, you were set for another interrogation.

While you were holed up in that room, Ghost remained in yours.

He searched for your stress ball, the image of your tear-stained face in the forefront of his mind.

Somewhere within his psyche, as he scoured the space for that little yellow sphere of temporary distraction, your voice echoed.

It thanked him for finding it, held him in its grip, drove him.

The warm gratitude you’d express plagued him, encompassing him in a similar, diluted warmth he’d felt when you held his hand.

He glanced under your bed. And there it was.

He plucked it and turned it over in his hand.

The gratification of seeing your face light up when he presented it to you fizzed in his mind.

And then another, heavier thought crossed his mind.

The feeling of you close to him, holding, gripping him in your time of need…did something to him.

He’d be the last to admit that he hadn’t felt warmth like that in a long time. And to forfeit it just for a moment’s gratification seemed a waste.

Ghost glanced at the ball. He deposited it deep into his pocket.

He told himself he’d return it to you later.

Later. Later.

Later came as you hobbled down the corridor with the help of a frame.

You seemed stressed. In need of release.

Ghost slid his hand into his pocket. Squeezed the ball.

“Did you find it?” you asked, hopeful. Your optimism was difficult to ignore.

Ghost shook his head. “Negative,” he said, a habit he’d picked up. Slow and intentional. He knew what he was doing. “But I’m here if you need me.”

And need him, you did.

You ended up confiding in him how the interrogation went, how the interviewers had made you feel like you had something to hide.

All the while, you clutched Ghost’s hand.

No amount of pressure you could muster could possibly hurt him, yet Ghost could tell you were holding back what little strength you had - both physical and mental.

“Don’t be shy,” Ghost said, voice cutting through your anxious ramblings. He looked down at your conjoined hands. “Squeeze harder.”

Something in the way you looked at him, with a look that said ‘I don’t want to hurt you’, crossed your eyes.

A look Ghost had nearly forgotten in his line of work.

You eventually fell into a comfortable rhythm wherein you would squeeze Ghost as hard as you could, leading to him faking injury at one point.

You chided him, you both laughed (or, Ghost nearly laughed), and you rested against your pillow.

“You know,” you said, turning to Ghost, “one day, I hope we won’t need a military.”

You were exhausted. Ghost could tell. He humoured your sleep-deprived ramblings regardless.

“So that people like you don’t have to fight for us.”

“Oh?” Ghost said. He’d be lying if he said his curiosity wasn’t piqued.

You nodded, movements growing sluggish, lethargic.

Your hand still held Ghost’s, resting it upon your stomach.

“You’re people, just like us.” You said, yawning. “I don’t want you getting hurt.”

Ghost felt an unfamiliar warmth spark in his chest. He ignored it.

“Not gonna happen, I can assure you that.”

“Which part?” you asked, eyes shutting.

Ghost leaned to mutter in your ear: “I’ll always be here to protect you.”

He didn’t know if you’d heard him.

When he withdrew, you were asleep. Still holding him.

He pulled his seat closer to your bedside, unable to bring himself to dislodge his hand from yours.

And that’s how he found you the morning after, awaking from his rigid sleep, still conjoined.

And thus, a habit was born.

After each interrogation, or psychiatrist visit or physical rehabilitation session, you would return to your room with Ghost and squeeze his hand until your anxiety dissipated.

All the while, your memories had begun returning at a quickened pace.

Ghost was learning more about you day by day.

Your favourite food, your home country, the names of your family members.

Your real name.

When he’d heard you say it for the first time, he swore the room got brighter.

It was beautiful and personal in ways that ‘Fawn’ could not compare.

It gave him a place to start searching for traces of you elsewhere.

Social media accounts, certificates, places of work and education - he knew he could find it all.

To make sure you were better off at home than you were at the Base is how he’d justified this interest to himself.

He still called you Fawn when you were alone, the name an inside joke between the two of you.

Speaking of, Ghost exchanged many jokes with you.

Regardless of how illogical or downright plain they were, you laughed each time.

Genuinely laughed.

Ghost wondered if you’d have reacted the same had you not been in the situation you were in right now; practically tethered to him and needing him for everything.

Well, almost everything.

After a few months of physical rehabilitation, you could just about walk again.

Your balance was a little off and you still needed the frame, but it was a start!

Ghost was there with you to celebrate, which, despite their best efforts to make you feel like a caged bird, the Base celebrated, too.

You’d been incredibly useful to them, having turned up many new leads for them to investigate.

As a reward, Base let you do something which caused Ghost to wonder if this was really the best decision.

They let you go to a bar with the boys.

To clarify, they said you could leave your room, the news of which travelled around the Base until it reached the ears of Ghost’s team.

“When were you gonna tell us?” Soap said, Alejandro nearby.

Ghost’s face was blank.

“Didn’t deem it necessary,” he said. And left it at that.

Naturally, Ghost’s team came to visit you and asked if you wanted to go to a bar with them.

“All that alcohol might help you remember something,” said Gaz, looking between you and Ghost.

You looked to Ghost, who, under the silent scrutiny of the other Force members, knew he couldn’t deny you of this freedom.

“Sure,” he said on your behalf. His eyes found yours and, while yours were filled with hope, Ghost’s seemed to exhibit a darkness never before seen by you.

You squeezed his hand that night you were set to leave.

“What if they don’t like me?” you said. “What if I was a terrible person and I remember all the bad things I’ve don-”

“Doesn’t matter.” Ghost’s voice came as a welcome distraction. You looked at him, swallowing your nerves.

“So what if they don’t like you? S’not like you’ll ever see them again.”

Ghost realised what he’d said wasn’t what you wanted to hear when your eyes widened, at which point he cleared his throat and tried again.

“What I mean is that they’ll like you regardless. Hell, they’re excited to just meet you after you’ve been holed up in confinement for the last few months.”

“You think so?” you said. Ghost nodded. And squeezed your hand back.

“I promise.”

The bar was nothing spectacular, being dimly lit and made solely out of wood, it seemed. But it was a change.

Creaking into the room, Alejandro spotted you first, throwing a cheer your way, followed by the rest of the Task Force, turning to face you.

Ghost was your shadow, large and wall-like behind you.

You held onto his wrist, daring not to let go, your other hand on the frame.

“Welcome, (Y/N),” said Gaz, lifting his drink in your general direction before taking a swig.

You gave him a slight wave, a shy smile crossing your features.

“Come, take a seat with us!” Alejandro hollered, waving you over.

You cast Ghost a glance over your shoulder. He nodded stiffly and you made your way to the group.

Ghost came to your side, with you gripping onto his arm.

His hulking mass beside you relieved you somewhat.

And, though he wouldn’t admit it, having you cling to him brought back the same feeling he experienced whenever you squeezed his hand.

Was this perhaps…liking?

The cheers of the team cut his thoughts short.

He knew you’d be safe with his team if he just left. And, with your warmth radiating through him, he felt that he needed to take a step outside to rid himself of this growing affliction.

He made a move to detach himself from you, and, quick as lightning, your hand was atop his.

“Don’t leave,” you whispered to him, eyes pleading as you snapped to look at him.

His heart jumped. Something in him stirred.

“Alright,” he said. “I won’t.”

“Hey,” came Alejandro’s jovial tone. “I can see why Ghost’s been hiding you away and keeping you to himself all this time.”

You felt your face heat up at the implication, then feigned oblivion. Just in case you were misreading the situation.

“Oh?” you said, tone inquisitive.

Alejandro nodded. “You’re very attractive.” He gave you an eye smile.

Your face felt as if it were on fire.

“Ah, look what you’ve done,” came Soap, emerging from the group. “You’ve gone and embarrassed (Y/N)!”

All the while, Ghost was beside you.

He seemed…rigid.

“That’ll do.” Ghost’s stern voice came, cutting through the chatter of the bar.

You nuzzled further into his side, as if trying to cover yourself.

You and Ghost settled into a quiet section of the bar after that, Soap, Alejandro and Gaz coming to pay you a visit whenever they brought you a drink, chatting for a minute or two before feeling ghost’s icy stare on their backs.

That night, laying in bed, you cast Ghost a tired smile.

“M’sorry I’ve been so clingy recently,” you said, Ghost tucking you in beneath the covers.

“Don’t be stupid,” he said, trying not to make eye contact with you.

Leaning back into your pillows, you reached for Ghost.

“Nervous?” he said, placing his gloved hand in yours.

“No,” you said. “Just want you nearby.”

Ghost’s heart spiked. He ignored it.

You fell asleep with his hand on your chest, hands holding his.

Ghost couldn’t bring himself to fall asleep without taking you in.

Even in the darkness, your features struck him as ethereal, your temperament and trust enrapturing him in ways he’d never been before.

He sat beside you, your loyal guard, watching over you through the night.

At some point, perhaps lulled to sleep by your rhythmic breathing, he joined you in a world far from this one, in a house you’d never seen before yet had lived in for years. You were happy, with Ghost behind you, unmasked, holding you.

Whether you shared this dream or not was irrelevant to Ghost. The only thing that mattered was that this, for now, felt real.

And yet, dreams can only satisfy the human lust for that which they do not have for so long.

The next day, more confident in your physical ability, you asked Ghost something which held an implication you weren’t yet aware of.

“Play Twister with me,” you said. You had a small smile on your face, one which Ghost was finding more and more difficult to deny.

After much pleading and begging, he eventually relented, more fond of the idea than he’d let on.

However, there was a stoic hesitance about him.

“I might hurt you.” His voice was sincere, yet his tone felt blank, as if he were protecting himself from the thought of injuring you.

You just smiled. “Never,” you said. “I trust you.”

Ghost scarcely contained the warmth seeping through his chest, threatening to make him smile.

He suppressed it.

“Fine,” he said.

Half an hour later, you were tangled together, neither relenting as your competitive nature got the better of you.

You span the dial, then called to Ghost: “Right foot, yellow!”

You tried. You really, really tried. But being pinned under the weight of a 6’2 ½ man and only just getting your strength back didn’t exactly give you an advantage. And stretching yourself too far, spreading your strength too thin, caused you to crumble.

You yelped, falling onto your front, winding yourself.

Ghost remained stationery on top of you.

You turned over onto your back and looked up at him, laughing.

“You can let go now,” you said. “You’ve won.”

“I know,” he said. “I just wanted to make sure you knew that.”

You gave a breathless laugh, hands either side of your head.

Ghost lowered himself onto his knees, your legs caged between them.

He didn’t notice until he felt your thighs touch the inside of his legs, at which point he became aware of the position you were in.

His hands were on either side of your shoulders, trapping you beneath him.

You went quiet, the only noise being your laboured breathing as you regained your breath.

You were so close, you noticed, able to see Ghost’s dark eyes searching yours.

Neither of you spoke.

Slowly, cautiously, Ghost leaned down, drawing closer to your face.

You watched, frozen by your own indecision.

Sure, you liked Ghost, but did you like like him?

Your body decided the latter as you tried to meet him in the middle. Instinctual.

The material of his mask just grazed the tip of your nose when a hurried knock came at your door.

Your heart jumped and you gasped, both you and Ghost turning to look at the door.

You regained your breath, chest heaving. “We should…um…” you struggled to find the words to say, sliding out from beneath Ghost.

“Yeah,” he said, getting up. He offered a hand to you, which you took, and hoisted you up.

You landed on his chest, his hand still gripping yours.

You couldn’t bring yourself to let go, and neither could Ghost, by the looks of things.

But alas, the doctor was persistent, calling your name through the door.

You parted without another word, leaning onto your nearby frame. Ghost assumed his usual tall posture, shaking the situation off his shoulders as if it were snow.

A couple weeks later, the foundations upon which you and Ghost had built your friendship came tumbling down.

Base had announced that they were sending you home, having gotten in contact with your family.

More of your memory had resurfaced, as had your strength; enough to reduce the risk of you getting injured somehow during transit.

Upon hearing this, you and Ghost had very different reactions.

Your heart swelled and you cheered, the thought of reuniting with your family again making your body light up.

Ghost remained quiet, no different from usual. But something about his quietude felt…off.

Cold.

Base would discharge you within the next day or so.

You related your plans of what you would do when you returned home.

“I’m going to go to the beach, I’m gonna read more, I-”

Ghost tuned you out, watching you with a vacant stare.

He knew he should have respected that you were bound to leave eventually, as all good things do. But…something about you made this separation more difficult than it needed to be.

Perhaps it was his ego, so inflated with your reliance on him that he could scarcely see himself having any value outside of it.

That was his first and final line of defence against what the real issue was.

As he watched you get excitable to get away from here, from him (he told himself), his resolve began to crack.

It had been chipped and scathed by other occurrences, sure. But this pressure, this final obstacle, threatened to destroy it entirely.

“What do you think, Ghost?” your voice tuned in as if it were re-emerging from water.

“About what?” he said. He saw little purpose in feigning interest now.

“About me being able to go home.” You wore a smile, a genuine smile. Ghost had seen enough to be able to identify it.

“Good,” he said. “Finally be out of my hair.” There was a venom in his tone that made you double-take.

You tried to ignore it, tried to focus on what the future held for you, but something in Ghost’s demeanour had changed. You sighed, dropped your previous train of thought.

“Ghost…” you said as you slid off the edge of your bed. Your balance had improved, making the trip to Ghost easier than it used to be. He reached out to grab you on instinct.

Standing before him now, you gazed into his eyes, trying to find the root of the issue.

“I wish we got more time together. Under different circumstances, of course.”

Of course, Ghost wanted to say, but he remained mute.

You placed gentle, cautious hands upon his chest, smoothing them over the fabric.

“You’ve been so good to me, and I’ll never be able to thank you enough for that.”

Your hands inched their way up to hold the sides of his mask. He made no move to remove you. His eyes bore into yours, soft in a way you’d never seen them before.

He placed his hands upon your waist, pulling you closer to him, slowly, methodically.

Your mind flashed back to your game of Twister. How close you’d been then and how close you were now.

Without thinking, urged by some sorrowful desire, you pulled Ghost into a tight hug, burying your face into his shoulder.

You sniffed, feeling tears sting your eyes and throat.

Ghost’s arms gingerly encompassed your frame, sliding around your waist, securing you.

The aversion he had to physical touch seemed to dissipate from him as you felt his weight pile on top of you, no longer holding back.

Neither of you spoke.

In your mind flashed a future without Ghost, a very real possibility. In Ghost’s, a future of only you and him. A silent promise he made to the both of you.

It took some time but the two of you eventually separated, with you wiping your nose on your sleeve.

Ghost watched you, hesitant to leave. Hesitant for you to leave.

You went to sleep that night as you never had before; Ghost laying in bed beneath you as you rested on his chest.

In his pocket, Ghost squeezed the stress ball, having found more use for it than you had.

In his haze, overwhelmed by the scent and presence of you, came an idea.

Later that morning, as you prepared to leave the Base, Ghost returned your stress ball to you.

“You found it!” you exclaimed, taking the ball and holding it close to your chest. You beamed up at Ghost, though there was an evident sorrow within you. “Thank you.”

Ghost offered his hand to you as he had many times before. And, for what you believed to be the final time, you took it, squeezing it.

You didn’t want to let go.

And neither did Ghost.

You were escorted onto the aircraft, Base fearing that you may be a target for any remaining cartel members while in the country, thus issuing you with a more discreet method of air travel home; a small helicopter.

You watched as Ghost grew further and further away, waving to you as you did to him, until he was gone.

In your hand you clutched your stress ball. Looking down at it, you turned it over in your hand.

There was something on it.

Looking closely, you saw the unmistakable outline of a phone number written in black ink, along with the word ‘Ghost’ below it.

You smiled, the crushing dejection you’d experienced for many hours before evaporating, replaced with a feeling you had grown all too familiar with.

Hope.

Meanwhile, Ghost got straight to work on tracking your location.

He wanted to know where that aircraft was going, when it would land, and approximately how long it would take for you to get home (and call him).

You may not have been able to see him anymore, but Ghost was watching over you.

This would be far from the last time you’d see him, he’d make absolutely sure of that.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

AO3 Wattpad

A/N: Due to tumblr's 4,096 character limit per text box (paragraph), I've had to separate the whole post out like this to be able topost it. I've tried putting the breaks where there would be a time skip so that reader immersion doesn't suffer too much.

Thank you for your patience :-)

Taglist: @yagipeach @deddoea @ghostsbrooklnbabe

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Text

Accidental Kidnapping [Reverse Trope AU]

FEATURING : CANDID MALE (OC) x male reader

How often does one check their car boot? No statistics for that but the same goes for our dearest (m/n) and maybe he should've opened it before driving home, unintentionally bringing an unwilling high-rank mafioso who thought the end of his life was in the trunk of your car.

reverse trope list (at the bottom), dubcon (on ocs end), con at the end, face riding, shitty inaccurate mafia depiction (i tried) profile

Find out more under the cut!

"Damn it! These guys aren't letting up-"

A bullet shot through the wooden pillar, effectively penetrating the man's head hiding behind it. Shouts and yelling of commands could barely be heard above the rain of gunfire at the entrance of the building.

Unfazed by the death of his associate, an individual crouched beside the waist-level brick wall. Strands of red hair that were loose from his hair bun tickled the nape of his neck, his sharp hazel eyes flickered before throwing a tantō behind him, killing a figure who tried to sneak up on him.

Half of his attire, premium Dolce suit, was drenched in blood, most of it didn't belong to him. His right heavily scarred hand gripping his sword's scabbath, his most famed weapon of choice.

Aito Sousuke.

Capo and a close associate to the underboss of a reknowned criminal organization. His dearest uncle, the caporegime, ordered him to settle a dispute and investigate a scheme their rival gang had carried out on the borders of their territory.

As soon as they had arrived to the building, a shootout occurred. And Sousuke's members retaliated with their own militia. Ultimately, they overpowered the mutts that creeped in on their area.

The redhead stepped over the pile of bodies, the building had an underground lab, his hand brushing over the white packets of powders on the metal table. Drug trafficking? That wasn't new to Sousuke. Did they lack clients in their own protectorate?

As his minions was sweeping out the rooms, one of them yelled in alarm, alerting Sousuke.

"Suicide bomber!"

Flashes of white struck his eyes as Sousuke was propelled to the floor by the explosions around the lab. It was an attempt to cover their tracks, getting rid of evidence in case of a blowout.

"Motherfuckers..."

Sousuke cussed, seeing his body was layered with the white powder that had torn and splattered all over him. Immediately, he threw his jacket off and abandoned the lab, the drugs effects were unknown so he didn't know how much of a danger he was in. He grabbed a piece of document his eyes laid on before abandoning the lab and his screaming minions.

Passing through the alleys, he attempted to make his way back to a safe place, their commute was jacked with bullet holes and Sousuke could feel his body slowly shaking and his legs becoming more heavy.

Reaching the end of the alley, he yelped when he tripped on the curb, his body now suddenly weak as he fell into a carboot that had been conveniently opened and it was closed shut.

"WHAT THE FUCK!"

Sousuke yelled out, banging on the cover of the hood, his surroundings now cramped with metal tools, making him panic even more with his arms suddenly growing limp.

"FUCKING LET ME OUT BEFORE I BLAST YOUR FACE OFF-"

A certain (h/c) hummed to the song he was listening on his headphones, the music blasting shielding your hearing senses, rendering himself unaware of the mafioso he had accidentally locked in the trunk of his car.

(m/n) (l/n) had just finished doing his shopping in a hardware store, buying screws, hammers, etc. to finish his mini renovation of his house. He lived in the suburbs so he had to travel quite far to reach the store. Blissful ignorance had coated him as he hopped inside his car and drove, unknown of the scared redhead in his carboot.

"Shit shit shit-" Sousuke cussed, trying to reach for his phone, he screamed in frustration having losing it in the shootout moments before. Backup is probably focusing on the target building and no one knows where he is currently. How the hell did this fucker got me?

Sousuke thought this guy was ballsy for targeting him, the culprit had to have planned this meticulously if they had managed to kidnap him out of all people.

"What should I have for dinner..." (m/n) hummed, blasting his radio as he turned his corners recklessly. The redhead shouted, his scabbard digging into his side, the side effects of the unknown drug was getting to him. His face getting hot and his body pulsing.

Finally arriving to his house, Sousuke thought it was a second location for torturing-, (m/n) exited his car, slamming his door as he took out a bag of groceries he had purchased as well. He entered his house, almost forgetting his items in the trunk as he left the door open and skipping to back to his car.

"I think tempura with udon should do nicely- WHO THE HELL ARE YOU??!!"

(m/n) screamed, stepping back seeing a redhead inside of his carboot. "HUH?? I SHOULD BE ASKING YOU THAT- WHO DO YOU WORK FOR AND WHAT DO YOU WANT WITH ME?!" The redhead screamed back at him, disorderedly searching for something inside of his drenched vest.

Is that blood- (m/n) panicked and reached for his phone to call the cops but the click of a gun stopped his movements as the bloodied stranger aimed the muzzle at him. "No cops." He hissed out, clenching his side.

The (h/c) stared at the muzzle, raising his hands. "...No cops." He repeated after the redhead. "Who are you?" "I-I'm nobody! Literally I have no idea who you are!" "You kidnapped me." Hazel eyes glared hard at him, his messy red hair now loose from his bun and his figure sitting up in the carboot.

"I didn't kidnap you?? YOU SNEAKED INTO MY TRUNK!" The average person would never have the balls to scream at a gun-holding bloodied person but (m/n) was flustered at the accusation of being a kidnapper albeit him only doing his errands.

Sousuke scanned the area, his breath heaving deeper and it was obvious he was far from his gang's territory. Either he was in the rival's or a civvie. He studied the (h/c), who was only wearing some long-sleeved shirt and slacks. This guy really tried to pretend he was normal-

"Fuckk-" He moaned in pain, the throbbing in his side worsening and the burn in his head increasing. Sousuke looked to the side and saw the open door of the suburban building. "That's your hideout?"

"Hideout-? YOU MEAN MY FUCKING HOUSE??" "Shut up. I need it. Help me inside." "And why would I do that?!" (m/n) yelled exasperated, his arms tired for holding it up for so long. Sousuke frowned. "You're willing to let your captive die? And here's this."

The redhead waved the gun in his hand, his finger resting on the trigger. (m/n) contemplated his choices, staring at the glock and the scabbard he just noticed underneath his hand.

Unwillingly, the (h/c) helped the redhead, supporting him as they walked inside his house while he loudly complained about Sousuke staining his shirt with blood and that he wasn't a kidnapper. The redhead was annoyed and was dumbfounded on how someone was casually cursing and yelling at him.

As they stepped in and Sousuke forcefully closing the door shut, he groaned, the weight of the drug crashing down on him as he knocked over a lamp and stumbling in the living room. "That's brand new..." He heard (m/n) whining about his broken lamp.

"I...I need first aid. Now." His head was hot and he feel like he could die at any time, his heart beating irregularly and his legs spasming. "Don't you need a hospital instead-" (m/n) immediately swooped in, holding Sousuke's body up when he suddenly went limp, he just noticed his scorching temperature and his shivering body. "Woah, did you get poisoned or something?"

Hazel met (e/c) as Sousuke weakly gazed at (m/n), his bottom lip quivering, his eyes dazed and his face red. "Poison...?" He suddenly remembered the document he had snatched before escaping the building. "The drugs-" "DRUGS-?!" The redhead numbed out the rest of (m/n)'s words as he hurriedly searched for the paper, crumpled near his scabbard as his blurry eyes tried to scan the words on it.

"Shit shit- hey don't fucking die here!" Sousuke went limp in (m/n)'s hold, the (h/c) unable to hold up his dead weight, laid him on the sofa, Sousuke barely conscious as he was draped out on the furniture.

(m/n) noticed the paper and grabbed it, reading its contents out loud. "-new batch, target audience in the upper-tiered , target victims for sex trafficking??" The (h/c) glanced at the redhead, disgusted. "It's not me, you fucking idiot-" Sousuke coughed as he wiped his face, blood dripping from his nose. (m/n) fastened his reading, seeing the red liquid.

"-registering a small dose can be considered lethal, effects include muscle spasms, heightened senses, drowsiness, nausea, increased libido?? If not treated, symptoms will lead to a HEART ATTACK??!"

The (h/c) clenched the paper in his hands, the stranger had almost half of the effects already. "Are you in the fucking mafia or something-" He paused, remembering the sword and the gun the redhead held which was now on the floor. There's no way.... No way that a mafia member was now in his house, dying on his couch.

Sousuke let out unintelligible noises, something of a groan with saliva mixed as he laid on his side, his face flushed. (m/n) was now desperate to cure him or something, he didn't want to face the consequences of a gang chasing after him thinking he killed their member.

"-no treatment has been developed-" FUCK. "-as the victim must ejaculate to rid of the effects in his bodily system-" HUH? (m/n) reached the end of the paper, crumbling it in frustration, his eyes wide, contemplating whether should he just let the stranger die here in his living room.

Sousuke was convinced he was going to die here. His vision was wet and blurry, tears slipping out and his face was burning so much he felt he was going to melt at any second. He doesn't have any regrets he could come up with at the moment. Only the thought of his father laid in his mind along with his uncle.

Feeling his shirt shifting, he moaned when his pants were pulled down as he struggled to focus his eyesight. "Wuh-?" "Wake up. I'm gonna help you so don't kill me after this." The supposed kidnapper was snapping his fingers in his face, catching his focus. Why does he look embarrassed?

"The drug you took- roofied? I don't know but it's gonna kill you if you let it sit any longer in your system. You have to flush it out before you have a heart attack." "...So do I have to piss it out or what?" Sousuke felt drowsy while giving out half-assed answers. The (h/c) looked exasperated.

"Y-You have to...cum it out?"

Sousuke felt his breath stopped as he squinted his eyes at the (h/c) who looks flustered and waving the document trying to explain himself. "Is this your attempt at molesting me?" "FUCK NO!"

A gasp escaped Sousuke as his bloody nose dripped even more, he coughed out while his chest was heaving. "D- Just do whatever-" He groaned as he clutched his head in pain. "You better not kill me for this." His kidnapper grumbled while shuffling down Sousuke's wide pants, looking away as he tugged his briefs down.

"A-aanh mmff!"

The redhead covered his mouth, surprised at the sudden pleasure when a hand tugged his erect penis and began stroking it with a fast pace. "That fucking hurts-!"

"Just go through with it!" (m/n) yelled, mumbling an apology as he jacked off the redhead slower, he couldn't believe he's touching someone's bare dick, much less a mafia dude, to save his life out of all situations.

If the redhead died here, the police would've questioned how the hell did he end up in his house in the first place along with the drug in his system and a crime organization would've been after him the second that news spilled and who knows who they're in kahoots with.

Hence, why (m/n) decided to assist this stranger danger in masturbating so he could kick him out the second his life isn't threatened by some weird sex drug.

"You're enjoying this a bit too much..." (m/n) mumbled, now gazing at the redhead who was crying and moaning while bucking his hips up every time the (h/c)'s hand squeezed his base, precum dripping down his cock.

The redhead's head was fuzzy, the rush of pleasure coursing through his veins and he tried to keep his moans muffled. Tears slipping out of his eyes even more at the sensual gratification as his 'kidnapper' jacked him off. He felt his body was so sensitive, his thighs trembling and his body twitching.

(m/n) was frowning, sitting on the edge of the couch, trying his best to distract himself as he pumped the- , he just noticed how big it is, -cock in his hand. The moaning redhead on his couch wasn't helping either as he felt arousal strike his pants. His cheeks were hot, the mafioso's expression was a sight to see, his tanned skin red and wet from tears and sweat. Fuck was he always this handsome?

"S-Shit- mmngg ahh!"

He didn't realise how close he was to the redhead until the redhead came, semen spurting from his cock and few bits landed on his face. (m/n) stroked him for a while longer, letting him ride out his orgasm as he wiped his face clean.

Sousuke's body trembled, better than earlier when he was shaking almost like convulsing, his mind blank as he felt his legs slack. A blanket draped over his bottom half as the 'kidnapper' walked over to him, crouching near his face.

"Your temperature seems better. Guess it really did work." Wiping the redhead's face with a wet rag, picking off the blood near his nose as he pressed another cloth on his neck, cooling it down manually. (m/n) flinched when the redhead leaned into his touch who was enjoying the cool, he shyed away as he continued to wipe down the stranger.

Is this considered aftercare?

He wondered as he took the first aid kit and placed it on the coffee table in front of the redhead. "Take this and get out of here."

Sousuke only blinked up at him, now drowsy as he closed his eyes shut, forgetting all the dangers of sleeping in his 'kidnapper's' home as he fell into a slumber. His body was now relaxed, only a few bruises from the gunfight and his scabbard jammed into his side earlier.

"Remember- I HELPED YOU!" (m/n) screamed into the sleeping man's ear as he went to wash his hands in his sink, scrubbing it ferverently. He did his chores, closing his carboot which was left open the entire time, and tried to scrub out blood on his rug and furniture the redhead had left behind.

He might need to get a whole new sofa, the previously pristine furniture now stained with red and possibly baby batter.

(m/n) tried to put trust that the stranger would leave as soon as he woke up, believing at the fact that there was a misunderstanding where he thought the (h/c) tried to kidnap him so it makes sense that he would want to leave right? After he had oh so graciously saved his life?

His words were true when a couple of hours later, he heard his front door open and closed while he had barricaded himself in his bedroom with a baseball bat while reading through a novel, waiting for the stranger to leave.

Images of the redhead moaning and crying still lingered in his mind as it fueled his shameful arousal, (m/n) cussing on why someone who was possibly dangerous had to be so handsome.

"How are you, my nephew?"

A tall man, with short slicked back red hair clasped the shoulder of his supposed nephew who bore a similar colour in their tresses only Sousuke's were longer and was left to drape on his clothed back.

"I feel better now, sir. I thank you for your concern." Sousuke had been recovering at his uncle's estate, who was his caporegime, aka his boss, who was worried hearing his own flesh and blood had gone off the radar for a whole day and finding him injured and flustered at the borders of their territory.

"My assistant found the man you were looking into. Although it's a wonder why you're suddenly interested in him." He gestured to the file on the table besides them. Sousuke picking it up and flipping through the contents. "You did a good job at busting out the rats' lab, albeit our boys received a number on their amount."

Their organization had strict rules in their territory, which was how they maintained their influence over their city. So when rumours flew that drugs that were not in their regulations were being passed out in their district, they suspected it was sabotage. And it was, a new sex drug that was tested on their turf, to be used for malicious deeds. And Sousuke so happened to experienced it face to face.

"Do we have any dirt on him?" Sousuke questioned, skimming through the texts.

"No." The old man puffed a smoke, his expensive suit hugging his body while Sousuke was donning a loose haori. He was the only one who would wear traditional Japanese outfits despite being in a foreign country. It was a tribute to his mother who contributed to his half-Japanese genetics.

"Looks like a civvie. Recently moved to the out of city suburbs after graduating. Parents are clean. Never contacted any of our boys too."

Sousuke glared at the picture, the small photo of a man smiling. His eyes read the name. (m/n) (l/n). So he wasn't really a kidnapper... The redhead ordered for a background check of the (h/c), thinking he was still someone out to kidnap him but let him go for who knows why. Although his footman was confused when he described him in odd details, mentioning a nice body, pretty (e/c) eyes, etc..

It caught the attention of his uncle, so he did it for him.

"Has he done anything to you?"

The old man would kill anyone who would touch a single strand of his boy, his nephew, although they lived dangerous lives and Sousuke had proven himself to become a caporegime, he still looks out for his flesh and blood.

"...No, sir."

The hesitation was clear in Sousuke's voice. So it was a misunderstanding? A coincidence that he had landed in the car trunk and driven off to a secondar location which was (m/n)'s home?

Sousuke couldn't forget his touch. His fingers stroking and jacking off his cock, squeezing his base. He wasn't one to divulge in sexual desires, he was raised that lust was a weakness so for someone like him to experience that, it was a change for him.

(m/n) definitely felt like he was stalked.

A week had passed since that...incident. And he was relieved to find that the mysterious suit-wearing redhead didn't appear in his surroundings, giving him a sense of peace that he lucked out and the mafia was not after his ass.

Until he started noticing a minor detail.

A car was parked two blocks down from his house. He thought it belonged to the neighbours, but he had just noticed it would disappear every time he returned from his errands and would linger whenever he was home. He suspected it was the redhead.

Is he here for revenge? After I jacked him off?

(m/n) groaned into his palm, seeing that the car was still there as he walked up to his porch, carrying a few grocery bags.

Those bags fell to his floor when he caught sight of a man sitting on his furniture, his posture relaxed like he had been waiting for him. "YOU AGAIN?!" He screamed at the redhead.

Said stranger only frowned, crossing his arms, no guns or swords in sight. "If you keep hiding your key under your welcome rug, even a toddler can sneak into your house." (m/n) flinched at his words, as he walked straight past the man to set his bags on the kitchen island, ignoring how he followed him behind.

"You bought a new couch?" The redhead asked, tilting his head. (m/n) noted that he seemed to be a lot less of a screamer when he was sober. "Couldn't get the bloodstains out." He huffed. Or the cum spots as well.

That took a pretty penny out of his pocket. "...I could've paid for it." The (h/c) glanced at him weirdly as he closed his refrigerator door. "No need. I don't want to be associated with you." "You saved my life." "No need to remind me." "It was brave of you to-"

He slapped his hand over the redhead's mouth, his palm brushing against his lips. "I said no need for reminders. Hell, I don't even know your name and what you did. Why did you come here?" The redhead was silent, before gently pushing (m/n)'s hand away.

"The name's Sousuke."

The warm kitchen light complimented him well, (m/n) noticing his heavily scarred hands and his upper lip was nicked. His long red hair, resting on his back, he was wearing a black button up, a grey vest and matching pants.

"I'm here to settle my score."

(m/n) furrowed his eyebrows. "What score?" "My score with you." "I don't want a reward or anything like that. Just leave me alone." Sousuke's grip on his hand tightened. "I assumed the worst from you and was convinced you tried to harm me but instead you saved my life. I am indebted."

"You did fell into my trunk and I didn't notice so I think it's fair." Sousuke frowned at that. It was normal for people like him to repay their debts and he was confused why (m/n) was rejecting him. "Do you know how I work?" "I can guess but like I said, I don't want to be associated."

Sousuke fell silent before he turned around and walked away. "My men will provide protection for you. At least until my debt is repaid." "I don't need it!" "You do. You look weak." "FUCK YOU??"

(m/n) was about to throw a vase at the redhead before said redhead had exited his house, closing his door. He hurriedly went to lock it and screamed in annoyance. Am I going to have more scary people following me now or what?

That's close to what happened. (m/n) noticed that scary men would follow close to him and it would be different people on a different day and they followed him almost everywhere. He caught them blending in the crowd, sipping drinks when he was relaxing at a cafe of pretending to go through the cereal section when he was shopping for the week's restock.

He had enough of it.

"Tell your fucking boss that I don't want his stupid protection!" He confronted one of the man when he slipped into an alleyway to corner him, said man only stayed silent and nodded before (m/n) left him.

The next day, he received a gift. An expensive table lamp that didn't suit the rest of his aesthetic but he remembered that Sousuke did broke one of his lamps. He used it in his bedroom's bedside table instead.

"Can you at least tell me when you're going to sneak into my house?" He scowled, seeing the redhead at his kitchen island, casually flipping through a comic book he owned as he sipped a cup of coffee.

"I see you carry your keys now." "Yeah. So how the hell did you get in?" "Spare." "MOTHERFUCKER-"

A few weeks passed by and this had become his new norm. Sousuke would drop in his house, every few nights or so, claiming that he needed somewhere to stay low even though all he did was lounge in the living room flipping through tv channels.

(m/n) at first was irked by this, threatening to kick him out or call the cops but he got used to it and sometimes would even make extra dinner so the redhead wouldn't finish his.

Sometimes, Sousuke would come in bloodied and that scared (m/n), him remembering who he was dealing with but the demeanour he carried was so different than the man he was supposed to be.

His words were straightforward and tone bland, he only seemed mad when he thought (m/n) was trying to kidnap him and now he was gentle? No, it was more like he was relaxed around the (h/c).

"Do you have a hairtie? I lost mine."

And somehow, (m/n) felt like he has a roommate now, buying stuffs that he thought Sousuke would need them such as more bandages or hairties or claw clips for his long hair. Slowly, he felt like he could call themselves friends with how often the redhead was around him.

Sousuke never brought the whole drug thing after that, not even mentioning it in the slightest and (m/n) was confused. Shouldn't he be mad that someone helped him masturbate when he was drugged? Was this normal for him??

And sometimes in the late nights, (m/n) would think about his twitching hips, his wet crying face and his guttural desperate moans and his large cock- He would get hard at times. Looking away whenever Sousuke gazed at him a bit too long, moving to a different room when he felt that the redhead touched him too casually.

He caught his face flushed a couple times and he didn't know what to make of it, only shoving it deep in the back of his mind. Into the vault it goes.

It was one of those nights, where Sousuke would randomly appear in his house and they would eat dinner together, with civil oddly enough.

"I'm trying to get the heater for my shower working again but I might need to contact my realtor for that since it happened way before I moved here." (m/n) rambled, slurping the noodles he had made as Sousuke wiped the edge of his mouth with his hands.

"Mhm. So what are you going to do next?" He would listen to the (h/c) long conversations, only chipping in an answer or two since he couldn't exactly contribute much to the talk as his life was far from a civvie's. His uncle was beginning to question why the hell did he spent so many time out of their domain.

Sousuke kept telling himself that he wanted to repay his debt, watching over him until he saved the (h/c)'s life in a similar manner to how (m/n) did but truthfully, he wanted to stick around. The peace he had around (m/n) was bliss compared to the havoc he had been born and raised in his crime-filled life.

And he couldn't help but think he was starting to fall for the (h/c), their petty arguments, their meals together was healing his soul. He couldn't help but think to that incident, the sinful pleasure (m/n) had brought him, his hand wrapped around his cock, he tried to recreate it by himself but it could never suffice.

There is the fact that the drug did amped the libido effects but he didn't want anything nor anyone else to do it, except for (m/n). But he didn't know if the (h/c) even desired for him. With his ugly scarred body.

Now here they were, sitting next together on the couches as a movie played in front of them, (m/n) focusing on the screen while Sousuke paid no mind and opted to subtly stare at the (h/c) instead, his eyes lingering on his lips and darting away when he caught sight of his (s/c) skin from the collar line of his shirt.

"F-Fuck, you're so good to me!"

(m/n) quickly grabbed the remote, speeding the movie up when a sex scene appeared. Anything sexual related was heavily avoided by the (h/c) whenever he was around Sousuke.

"Do you...abhor these things?" (m/n) raised an eyebrow at Sousuke's sudden question. "What?" The redhead pointed at the tv. "Action movies?" "Sex." He choked on his saliva, patting his chest as he calmed himself down. "I don't think much of it. Why the hell are you asking me that?"

Sousuke was silent, his hazel eyes not meeting (m/n)'s as he stared at the tv. "I don't...divulge in it. Not as much as the average person do." But every mafia movies always had girls around them. (m/n) wondered, cupping his chin.

"It was my first that I was touched. In this room." (e/c) eyes widened as he turned to the redhead. "That was your first time??" When (m/n) had stroked his dick...that was his first time ever doing so?

"I was taught lust is for the weak." Sousuke turned to (m/n), his face holding a monotone expression although something dark was in his eyes. "...Yet my strength wavers around you."

Heat crawled up his neck as (m/n) covered his mouth with his hand. Is this- a confession?! When he turned around, Sousuke's face was close. So close that their breaths mingled and his red hair was brushing against his face. The redhead's ears were bright red, complimenting his tanned skin.

"I want more." He whispered, his eyes dazed with desire.

(m/n) was stunned, his lips slowly moved to speak. "Are you drunk?" "I'm sober." Sousuke's hand moved to grip his thigh. "And I want you. Please." He spoke in such a low manner as he delved his face into the (m/n)'s shoulders, his breathing hot and heavy.

The (h/c) felt his arousal rise, his face flushed and biting his lower lip. Sousuke's body was heavy on his and he could feel all the muscle lying underneath. "J-Just this once, okay?"

Sousuke slowly pulled back as he gazed into (e/c), his face completely red as he gently pressed his lips onto (m/n)'s.

"Like this?"

A slurping noise struck and (m/n)'s moans followed. "Y-Yeah you can take it in deeper- mmff!" His pants were gone, his bottom bare and Sousuke was taking his cock in his mouth, the latter saying he wanted to try everything out and the second on his list was a blowjob.

Sousuke moved his throat further in, taking more of (m/n)'s dick as he calmly breathed in through his nose. His tongue swiping at the base of the penis, pressing and feeling its veins with his wet muscle, unintentionally applying light pressure which further pleasured the (h/c).

They were on the couch, a hilarious parallel as (m/n) laid on the other end with Sousuke pulling his hips up, pushing his face deep in between his thighs. His mouth sucked (m/n)'s cock, alternating between being gentle and full-on milking his precum, the (h/c) screaming having being so stimulated.

"Aanghh ah ah s-stop! You're so rough- mmff!"

Sousuke pulled himself off with a pop, gazing down at the sweaty (h/c) whose shirt was pushed down, revealing his (s/c) torso. The redhead's nose brushed (m/n)'s thigh and he bit into it, sucking and licking the mark making the (h/c) cry out.

"You good?" (m/n) nodded, taking in deep breaths. "Y-Yeah. Haa haa..." "I want to do one of those numbers." "Numbers?" He hummed. "Was it 127? Or 68?" "You mean a 69?" "Whatever it was I want to try it." The (h/c) readied himself. If this proclaimed virgin really tired him out at his first blowjob, he couldn't imagine him eating his ass out.

"Okay- ah!"

(m/n) was crying, his legs shaking as he tried his best to lick the dick in his face, only able to give the tip a messy kiss before crumbling on Sousuke's torso.

The redhead was having the time of his life, spitting, fingering, thrusting his tongue in (m/n)'s asshole, playing with his puckered hole until the (h/c) began to cry on his cock, choking and gagging saliva all over his penis as he numbly thrusted into (m/n)'s mouth.

"T-Too much mmngghh urgh angh mmn!" He sobbed out, feeling one of Sousuke's knuckles rubbing his rim while the tip of his fingers were pressing against his sensitive walls, trying to find his prostate.

Easily pulling him up, Sousuke pushed (m/n), letting him grip onto his arms for balance as he forced the (h/c) to sit on his face. His nose brushing his ass crack and his tongue massaging his balls. (m/n) tried to raise himself only for his thighs to be pulled back down and gripped tightly as Sousuke ate his ass out.

His butt was dripping with saliva and precum by the time Sousuke released him, he heaved and whimpered while the redhead held him close, wrapping his arms around him and shoving his tongue down his throat, drawing more of those cries that he realised he loves so much.

The (h/c) refused to believe that Sousuke was a virgin. Not with how he pushed his legs up to his chest, his knees touching his shoulders while sloppily fucking him up, pressing his full weight on the (h/c).

Sousuke wanted to see his face while they commit this sin, his face hot as he licked (m/n)'s salty tears, kissing his eyes and nose and he bit his earlobe too.

"S-So good! You're fucking me so good, Sousuke- aanggh!" He cried out, digging his nails in the redhead's clothed shoulder whose hair was now free and framing his face, intensifying the look of pleasure on the redhead.

"I'm glad- aanhh mmng! You're so hot, (m/n). So fucking handsome- hngg ahh!" He praised the (h/c), tears slipping out of his hazel eyes while moaning ardently into the (h/c)'s ear. His hips met (m/n)'s ass at a fast pace, wet squelches filled the living room as the sofa was slowly stained again with disgusting baby batter.

(e/c) eyes rolled to the back of his head as he clenched himself around Sousuke, feeling his orgasm pull through as his cum stained his own stomach and Sousuke's shirt. The redhead came as well, seeing (m/n)'s expression as he defiled the (h/c)'s ass for the third time that night.

Cum dripped out of the rim of his ass, Sousuke pulled out to see the naked (h/c) trembling under him, his cheeks wet with tears, his chin coated with drool and his skin littered with hickies and bitemarks in contrast with himself, Sousuke was still fully clothed except for his exposed crotch as he felt his knees almost buckling from the intense sex they had.

"Y-You're a liar. You're definitely not a dumb v-virgin." (m/n) pointed to Sousuke, his finger shaking while the redhead only hoisted the (h/c) onto his back, intending to carry him upstairs into bed. "I'm not lying." He almost stumbled down the staircase, quickly holding onto the wooden rail as he pulled himself and (m/n) up and recklessly staggered into the master bedroom, crashing onto the lush bed.

His legs were shaking lightly, this was truly his first and overboard was a statement of his performance. Sousuke laid like a starfish on a bed, pulling (m/n) under his armpit while grabbing a duvet and covering them both.

"We'll clean up in the morning. Now sleep." He shushed the (h/c) who was about to retort, immediately succumbing to slumber, not even giving a second to stay awake any longer as the post-sex was as tiring as it is.

(m/n) frowned, adjusting himself under Sousuke's hold, letting himself drift to sleep as well. This might not be the last time he lets Sousuke fuck his body. Who knows, maybe getting involved with a mafioso isn't all that bad.

[END SCENE]

[unedited]

Afterthoughts:

Sousuke a munch frfr

I'm aware of the similarities in Daisuke's and Sousuke's names- ITS RELEVANT TO FUTURE PLOT OK

I'm a PARENT atp for feeding you guys for the past two weeks since i made this acc😭

If i have to write a part 2, i would either write about how m/n got upset and ran away to sulk and smutty sex scene next or just them messing around w the sex drug (some bdsm???) HOHO comment for more ya sluts.

Oh and follow my tag pretty please

#oukabarsburg #aito sousuke #bottom male reader #sub male reader #x bottom male reader #x male reader #male reader #male reader smut #reader smut #oc x male reader #oc x reader #oc x male reader smut #oc x reader smut #male oc #oc smut

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coentinim · 17 days

Text

Crime scene

ADULT + DARK CONTENT - MDNI !

JPM is beautiful in the act of killing, how can his wife not appreciate that?

Contains: descriptions of murder (not of reader), gore, blood, sexual content (at a fresh crime scene), you are (almost) as deranged as him, you are married to him, dead dove - please feast <3

I am not responsible for what you see on the internet!

Edit: forgot to tag people T_T

@fear-is-truth @taintandviolent @feefymo @slutforgarlogan @silverzoomies @yandereunsolved @maeriavizsendingjpmdose @evanpetersbf @carniv0reev

You heard it again. Those screams, those ear piercing, mind shattering screams of some poor soul being gutted alive. Supposedly, the walls were soundproof, but you could hear well and clear the wails of another one of James' victims in the next room. Perhaps the wall connecting your rooms was the only one he didn't line with asbestos... and on purpose for sure. He wants you to hear.

A young woman - no older than 25, judging by the noise - was currently being sliced open slowly and deliberately by your husband's hand. After only being married to him for a few weeks, you could already tell apart the screams of terror before a quick death and pained, tortured wails of a slow one. And during this time, you've grown accustomed to this peculiar hobby of his, even fond of it at times. His bloodlust and cruelty were undeniably fascinating, and having the honour of being the only person he never wished to harm was something to cherish. His debauchery was just contagious, really!

Curiosity had overcome you, and you decided to check what exactly was your beloved doing as he worked. And oh, were you amazed at the sight when you entered his room.

The screaming was so much louder and clearer here, begs for mercy - even for a quicker, painless death - made for a terrifying noise, but you paid them no mind. Oh no, you focus was on your husband only. He was a true artist, the way he worked the woman's body like it was an instrument, a work of art for art's sake, a horrible perversion of what a piece should look like. A bloody image it was - James was cutting all over her skin, ignoring the wails, and carving flesh with quick, steady strokes of the knife. You couldn't help but come closer, almost beside him, and you made your presence known by walking into his line of sight. He raised his eyes from the half-dead girl to you and you noticed his expression. He did not look human, not even one bit. His eyes were widened, pupils engorged and cheeks flushed bright red. He wore the mask, the strange mask you didn't know the purpose of that made him look like a horrible monster mothers warn their children about. He did not wear the apron he usually did, though. His white shirt (one of the informal, "not as good ones", you recalled) was half unbuttoned and stained crimson with the explosions of the woman's blood. In the act, he looked like a beast. He was panting when he stopped skinning the woman to gaze at you.

"My darling, I didn't- hah, disturb you, did I?"

His voice from behind the metal and leather sounded different, too. Savage. Inhuman.

"No, Jimmy, I was just curious..."

You gazed at the wailing woman on the table. Dear god, she was a mess... her arms and thighs were a mosaic of cuts, some more refined and artistic, some deep and rough, careless. She was almost bare, her under dress riding up enough to only cover her breasts, and only a small pair of knickers on her bottom. You hummed in approval; James listened to your rules against seeing his victims naked unless necessary. But you quickly turned your attention to her stomach, because that was certainly a sight to behold! Around the navel, there were a few deep lacerations, one of them definitely deep enough to penetrate muscle and cut into the intestine. The blood flowing out in rhythm with the erratic pulses of her heart covered her pristine underwear, making her look downright pornographic. It wasn't hard to understand his savage interests in such moments - the bloody, shining gash on her stomach was a curious sight, to say the least. It truly looked nasty; that must be why she was writhing in pain so much. She seemed to beg for your help, but it was unintelligible - besides, there was no saving her now, she had lost too much blood. Not that you would have saved her otherwise - she would just run to the nearest police officer and get you and your husband arrested. Accepting James might be hard at times, but seeing him executed while people leered at his undeniably painful demise would have been much harder. He was hard to love, and hard to let go of.

You trailed your hand over her split stomach, ignoring the thrashing and protests.

"May I?", you asked.

James' eyes lightened up even more, humanity mixing with the animal in him.

"Would I ever deny my darling wife to share my pleasures?", he replied in his syrupy voice distorted by the metal mask, the terrifying sound making your head spin. He was the only one who could scare you yet make you feel so safe.

You kept looking him in the eyes, barely visible under the eye protection, while slowly putting two fingers into the woman's wound. You were terrified, but you just wanted to tease your James just a bit, just a tad... It was wonderful. The quiet, pained screech, the blood exploding under your fingertips and the pulse of her insides. It felt like touching something slimy, is that what James felt upon fingering your cunt? He absolutely adores doing it, and now you see why; the texture is nothing short of divine. Your ministrations had a great effect on your husband, as he started panting and gripped the edge of the table the woman was sprawled on. Oh, he was hungry like a wolf at that moment. You let go of the victim's body after just two seconds, slightly disgusted with yourself, observing your bloodied hand and James' face. It was hard to see anything but his nose and eyebrows through the mask, but you knew he was more aroused than ever. In fact, you feared him. He was terrifying in his murderous attire, even more so now that his body language radiated pure hunger. You held his killer gaze for a few long seconds until something made him glance away. Right. The woman.

To your surprise, she was still making noises despite the blood loss. James walked right past you, close to her face, and held her cheek almost tenderly. Her gaze was unfocused, but she tried to squirm away from his touches. In response he just gripped her chin tight and tutted at her hazy thrashes. He raised his blade and sliced her neck open, so deep the blood exploded in his face. She went quiet rather quickly after that.

You saw him kill a dozen times, yet it always stunned you just how predatory it looked. His muscles taut, the vulgar display of vitality, as if he absorbed the life force of his newest victim.

Slowly, James turned to face you. He was dead silent, and at that angle you couldn't see his eyes. Your instinct told you to back away, so, naturally, you stepped forward, your thighs slick with arousal from the fear and guilt.

The growl that came from his throat was definitely unexpected. But more surprising was his direct action - he gripped your shoulders tightly and led you into the chaise-lounge next to the table. He pushed you hard onto it, making you gasp, and he pressed your shoulders to the soft pillows as if you were to be another victim. That particular thought went straight to your pussy.

"James... maybe after you clean up after yourself?", you suggested in the most sultry voice you could. Ah, did you have to tease him so much? He was impatient, after all! The tension from the kill had to be resolved somehow.

"Nonsense, dove-" he was already pulling up your gown, "I need to take my fellow murderess... now "

You bit your lip, nervous. Were you really a murderess?... that girl was already half dead when you touched her wound! You were merely an accomplice, and...

Oh, you forgot you didn't wear any panties until you felt the cold air hit your pussy. He gripped your thighs and left blood handprints all over, making you forget your guilt. Your dress was all red now, too, as he used it as some sort of napkin to clean himself after his meal. He was savage today, but even now he remembered to at least taste you before taking you. He attempted to take off his mask and you whined.

"James... no, keep it"

He chuckled darkly. Then, he spoke with his metallic, leathery voice:

"Oh? If that is to your tastes, dearest wife..."

He wasted no more time after that. He almost ripped the silky dress off in his hurry, and slipped out of his pants with an impatient growl. Oh, you looked like a prey ready to be ravaged. He groped you all over before sinking his painfully hard cock inside you, leaving bloody handprints on your waist and breasts and neck. You looked like a masterpiece of pain. You whined, the stretch was pretty painful despite your wetness. He looked like a feral beast above you; his terrifying mask making him look like a strange monster taking you all for himself. The thought felt so erotic you could barely stand it, and you whined. Oh, his girth felt so invigorating...

He fucked the same way he killed. Impatiently, roughly, and yet meticulously, both in control and completely out of it. His moans were distorted by the mask, and it felt as if he was all around you, he was in your brain as much as in your cunt. It felt divine, to be violated by that beastly killer, by your beloved husband. Sweet, honeymoon lovemaking with him was terrific, but the desecrating pace he treated you with right now was a feeling no other man could recreate. You gripped his shoulders, staining the back of his shirt with your bloodied fingers, bringing his body closer. Each thrust was punctuated by your obscene moans; he slid himself in at a slightly upward angle, hitting your sweet spot hard each time.

You whined and whined, and he slid his bloody fingers past your parted lips, making you taste his victim’s blood. Your guilt was all-encompassing, yet it felt so good to give in, even just once. Morality was for the stupid, uneducated folk, James used to say. Regulations, rules, faith; all of it is supposed to limit freedom of thought and action. You believed every word of his, no matter how ridiculous it all sounded in the context of his serial murders.

He always knew when you were close, always knew just how and when to toy with your pussy with his red hands and when to edge himself so you two finish at the same time. He had a thing for it, it felt like unity, like your bodies were truly one.

You thought he would never kill you, but he did it quite frequently. You died a little death many times with him, unravelling beautifully under his strong body, core exploding with spasms and locking his seed deep in you. You two came as one, him filling you up, making your mixed releases drip down and combine with all the blood. In this moment, you were his victim and he was your killer, taking you from life and lifting your soul up, or maybe dragging it down to hell, for a few seconds of blissful pleasure.

You always envied his victims. Oh to see his face as the last thing before you fade away, oh to feel him inside you as you pass! The blood all over your body, his mask and the body nearby made you feel such eroticism and guilt...

He pulled out with a whine and tucked himself into his pants, pulling your dress over your dirty body soon after. The casual nature of the situation made your head spin in confusion. That was it?... he can just get up like that, like nothing happened? You were panting, staring at his body, beautiful and shiny with sweat. He took his mask off, revealing a devilish grin.

“Miss Evers! Bring me fresh linens and draw a bath for my wife, would you?”

#james patrick march #ahs #american horror story #ahs hotel #james march #james march x reader #jpm #jpm x reader #evan peters #kai anderson #kit walker #ahs fanfiction #ahs x reader

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hiskillingjar · 10 months

Text

'You're his pet now.'

Relationship: Ren Hana/Reader, Fox/Reader Rating: Explicit Contains: Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Injury Recovery, Power Imbalance, Coercion Length: Multi-chaptered, 2600+ words

Summary: After surviving hell, how do you navigate your relationship with the Devil?

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48528574

“Ngh…ah.”

You were supposed to be dead. That much you knew.

The second you woke up, the only thing that you could initially register was just how much your body hurt. It felt like you had been hit by a truck or trampled by a crowd or a pack of animals.

The next thing you registered, when you lurched forward and let out a long, pained groan, almost doubling up on yourself as your bandaged abdomen started to ache and twist, was that you were leaning up on a bed.

You weren’t on a thin mattress on the ground, nor were you in your cell or the dreaded 'filming room’.

You were on a normal bed, in a normal room.

Well, maybe not normal.

It looked a little like a hospital room, albeit a fancy one, when you blinked your heavy eye(s), peering around. A private suite with beige walls and tasteful decorations adorning them, pine furniture, a bedside table for get-well-soon cards and flowers. Your sheets were white and crisp and clean, and when you moved your arm, you could see a needle was pressed and taped inside, providing you with a drip feed. You could also feel a tube in your nose when you reached up to touch your face.

When you moved your other arm, though, you found it bound down to the side of the hospital bed. But the bindings were loose and made of expensive leather and fur that felt soft and soothing against your skin that had been rubbed raw by chains and metal.

Emphasising that they were there to restrain you, but not to hurt you.

When you gave the cuffs another tug, a thick chain rattled against the metal and an intense pain shot across your left shoulder, making you take in a reflexive hiss and squeeze your eye(s) shut.

The marred socket was still irritating and itchy, despite how well (you guessed) it was healing from the thick wadding that now covered it, covering half your face.

“You’re awake.”

You flinched at the sudden and familiar sound of...Fox, sitting on the other side of the room next to the closest window. He balanced an espresso cup on his knee and his legs crossed tight, sparing barely a glance at you as he looked out at the view outside.

It was nighttime. How long has he been waiting for you to wake up?

"Hope you've been enjoying your little nap." He continued, his tone dry but lighthearted like he was talking to a neighbour or a colleague, as he took a quick sip from his cup, keeping his eyes on the night skyline outside. A city. "I can see the nurses have taken good care of you."

"Fox?" You mumbled warily as you sat up a little more on your best, pressing your free hand to your abdomen, trying to soothe the pain as the cuffs were pulled taught and tight against your other wrist. "Where...where am I?"

"Now that's a good question," He said with a thoughtful hum, finally looking over at you with more interest, one of his thick brows raising and wrinkling his forehead in a subtle way (a handsome way).

He looked good, all things considered. He looked normal.

He was dressed nicely, in a high-neck sweater and a well-pressed grey suit, his hair combed back and his ears standing high to attention. He looked like a man who had just walked straight out of a business meeting, handsome, in control, and a little intimidating to those that opposed him.

You had to wonder how many other businessmen made their livings in snuff porn, though.

Probably a few.

"How about you tell me how much you remember?" He then asked around the rim of the espresso cup as he took another sip, his tail swishing to and fro behind him.

Your brow furrowed pensively as you tried to remember...well, anything.

You remembered the auction, the haze of colours, the bickering voices debating your worth, the burning stamp of red and blue (the occasional flicker of green) inside your lids. You remembered the announcer, his cheerful voice, and you remembered begging him to take you instead, to spare you from whatever these...people had planned for you.

You remembered the cameras and the screens, the haze of white imprinted that had still soaked into your vision. You remembered the heckling from an unseen audience that cheered and begged for your blood, your suffering.

You remembered the twisting ache of chains and bondage. You remembered your eye (or lack thereof), you remembered the demeaning costumes, you remembered the pain. You remembered the cell you were kept in and you remembered being so drugged up on painkillers most of the time, you could barely remember your name.

But you didn't remember why your abdomen was throbbing with agony or why every inch of your body was aching, and you didn't remember how you got here, or why you were still even alive.

Fox looked at your face, a light smile growing across his own (dimpling his deep smile lines and the markings on his cheeks) at the sight of your confusion and uncertainty.

"Do you remember anything?" He asked with a light chuckle after a few long moments, his ears flattening just a little on top of his head as he tilted his head. "Or is it all a blur?" He tutted softly with a shake of his head as his ears pointed again. “Poor dear. What’s gotten you so… lost?”

His voice turned a touch condescending and mocking as he spoke those last few words, a subtle tone of amusement and pleasure behind them which made your aching stomach twist.

"Why am I still alive?" You said softly as you leaned up more, sitting up against the recline of the bed. "Why are we in a normal hospital? Why am I not in my cell?"

He was quiet for a moment, taking another drink from his cup, savouring the taste with an indulgent roll of his shoulders as he ran his tongue over his fangs in a slow and considered way. He then lowered the cup back down to his knee, with a light clatter of porcelain.

"You really don't remember, hm?" He said dryly, glancing at you from the corner of his eye, his gaze golden and glittering with cruel amusement . You shook your head. "Well, what do you remember last? The auction, perhaps?"

"Uh…yeah, yeah, I remember that just fine." You said, a frown tightening the lines of your face (you wouldn't be surprised if you had more, you felt like you had aged decades). "I remember asking...begging, really, for you to take me instead of selling me to the others." You grimaced as you felt a sudden flare of pain in your shoulder, reaching up to idly knead at it and finding a thick swath of bandages stuck to your skin which spanned across your shoulder and down your bank. "It was...kind of a dumb choice, in hindsight."

"Well, that's one way of describing it." He continued, breathing out a short (practised) chuckle through his nose as a sharp smirk spread across his features, his fangs hooking over his lips the more he spoke. "But, and maybe I’m biased…I'd say it was probably the right choice." He then said, standing to his feet and pacing to the side of your bed, one hand in his pocket, his clawed thumb hooked around the fabric. "Wouldn't you agree?"

You weren’t too sure if you should agree or not, but he’d gotten you to a hospital and made sure you weren’t dead. What was the point in getting on his nerves now?

"I guess," You said with a shrug (despite your throbbing shoulder), letting your unrestrained arm drop back down to your side. The needle was starting to throb too, like you needed any more pain. "I'm alive, that's true...though I still don't really know why." You leaned back further against the hospital bed (the best you could), letting your head loll back on the cushions and considering him as he stepped closer. "You were going to kill me. I was sure of it."

"And yet, here you are!" He stood at the side of your bed, a wide and playful grin on my face as he set his coffee cup on the bedside table. “You’re alive, you’re healing, you're even relatively healthy, if your nurses are to be trusted. How lucky are you!”

Well, he was certainly right about that. Regardless of how much pain you were in, regardless of how much your body was throbbing and struggling just to keep you upright, you were healing.

He was making sure you were healing.

You swallowed hard, wondering why he was so determined for you to heal.

"I'm not going to.” He then said with a considered sigh. “Kill you, that is." You could see a little twinkle of mirth in his golden eyes as his head tilted again, his tail swishing behind him as he looked down on you. "What do you think that means, then? What does that mean to you?" He then asked, his voice playful and almost teasing, like he was telling you a good joke.

"I don't really know," You said, giving your cuff a little tug as you looked up at him with your good eye. “I…really don’t.”

"Well, since you’re so lost,” He grinned, his smile sharp and threatening (though you’re not sure he intended it that way). “Let me enlighten you." He perched himself on the side of your bed, resting a hand on your knee (underneath your blankets), the wide grin not leaving his face as he looked at you intently, his eyes bright and hungry . "It means… I like you too much to kill you. "

You took in a sharp gasp, your eye(s) widening in shock once he assured you of the thing you were so scared of, so unsure of, (so secretly wanting of).

"Is that a good enough reason for you?" He then said softly.

You could feel his warm breath across the side of your neck as he leaned a little closer to you, looking at you intently, his voice dripping, oozing with playful teasing. The touch on your knee tightened just a little.

"You...you like me?" You murmured quietly, so quiet that you were sure that only the two of you could hear it.

"Oh, darling ," He crooned softly as his grin eased just a touch into a smirk, his other hand reaching up to your chin to gently direct your gaze to his own, his eyes softening with fondness and...indisputable lust. "I adore you."

You swallowed a little tightly as he got closer to you, so close you could see the dimples of his smile lines, the creases around and under his eyes, and the freckles that dotted his cheeks.

You weren’t especially surprised by his admission.

It did make sense, in hindsight, in some twisted kind of way.

He had been quite sweet to you during the streams despite everything, taking the time to praise you when you behaved, to tend to your wounds, to assure you of his intentions and to make sure you were okay after all was said and done.

Maybe he did like you.

That didn't stop you from feeling nervous, though.

"And more than that..." He continued, his tail swaying just a little more (maybe it was even wagging…did foxes wag their tails?) “I want to keep playing with you , I want to make you beg for more, I want to own you." He leaned in a little bit closer, whispering in your ear softly, your faces inches apart as his soft, unruly hairs wisped against your cheek "I want to make you mine...and I always get what I want."

You were sure of that.

There were a few moments of heavy quiet, his breathing slow as he pulled away from you just a touch, enough that you could see his face, the soft flush to his cheeks, the mischievous, almost boy-ish twinkle in his eyes.

"So, what would your response be to that, then?" He whispered softly, his breath warm against your neck. "Do you want to be mine?"

"I mean…do I have much of a choice?" You asked quietly, though the warmth of his voice against your skin was…kind of nice and enough to make you shiver with a subdued rendition of pleasure.

"Not really, no," He said with a chuckle and a shake of his head, his expression fond and patient, almost like he had expected you to ask a question like that. "Either you become mine, or..."

Or.

You swallowed again.

He took another quiet moment to consider your expression, your stiff posture, the nervousness in your eyes, as if he was waiting for an answer, before he let out another little chuckle, shrugging his shoulders as he let go of your chin and gave you two light taps on the cheek.

You flinched, your face absolutely burning at the condescending little gesture. “Think about it!” He said easily, casually, like he was negotiating a business deal and not coercing you into a never-ending dynamic of ownership and servitude. He smiled and stood to his feet, letting go of your knee and giving his blazer a little tug to fix it into place. “You have plenty of time to, after all. And who knows?” He held his arms out in a wide gesture of casual friendliness. “You might come to like the idea!”

You didn’t say anything. Your cheeks were still blazing from the light taps.

“Well, get some rest, sweetie,” He then said, letting his arms drop to his sides with a quirked grin, showing you his fangs (again, you weren't sure if the threatening gesture was entirely on purpose). “I want you strong and healthy, after all! I’ll see you later.”

“Wait!” You said quickly, sitting forward and forcing the cuff on your wrist to pull tightly, almost digging into your skin as your arm was jerked back painfully. “Y-You’re going to leave me here? All on my own?”

“Mmhmm,” He nodded, putting his hands in his pockets and raising his brows at the quickness of your question, as if he was surprised that this was what you were concerned about. “There’s work to be done, after all. But I’ll visit you again soon, and your nurses will take great care of you.”

You sat back against the bed with a soft sound of defeat, looking down at your lap.

“Right, okay…” You murmured, fiddling with your fingers (the best you could with the cuff so tight). “...How soon?”

You flinched again when Fox let out a string of barking laughs, real and loud and authentic , his shoulders shaking with amusement and his tail wagging as he did his best to cover his amusement with his hands.

“Oh! Oh my, oh darling,” He said through his giggles, leaning towards you again, his hands on the bed and his smiling face near yours. “That is absolutely precious, it really is! You’re so needy already,” He grinned then and pressed his nose into your hair, like a quick affectionate nuzzle. It’s almost a kiss and it almost makes your heart race. “And oh-so-sweet. We’re going to have such a good time together, I can already tell.”

You didn’t say anything, but your flushing face said more than enough for him.

“Rest up. And try not to miss me too much, okay?~ ❤”

#the price of flesh #fox tpof #ren hana #ren hana x reader #ren x mc #fox x reader #fox x mc #ray's fics #i'm insaneeeeeee mental asylummmmmm #i wanna go full rebecca the yellow wallpaper with fox i'm sorryyyyyy

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od4saku · 2 months

Text

Gojo Satoru wakes with a start.

His skin is hot with emotion but the air in the bedroom is cold. Wind whistles high and sharp outside the window: a song of storm. It's wintertime in Tokyo. He thinks it may snow soon.

He's sitting up in bed, at some odd hour of the morning. And it's not unusual for him to be unable to sleep, or even to be plagued by nightmares like the one that'd just awoken him, not in the slightest— but it's different kind of restlessness that plagues him tonight. A kind that he fears not even your company can cure.

You lay so peacefully in bed, occupying the space beside him. One hand is slid beneath your pillow, and the other is reached out. Like you're trying to touch him. Hold him. His heaving chest and harsh, hollow breathing have not roused you. The blanket is not over you, rather it rests at your hips; Satoru wonders if you are cold. With gentle, quiet hands, he slides it up from your waist to cover more of you.

Satoru has mastered the art of silence. It's something that comes hand in hand with solitude, and he is all-too-familiar with solitude. Raised to be his own god, he has never not been alone. A shrine is a lonely place at night. He sits for a moment. Stares. Your chest rises and falls like ripples on a lake. The clock on the bedside table next to you reads 2:23 AM; he will not be sleeping again tonight, Satoru decides. He's quiet as he stands, shifting to the door of the bedroom— he's about to open the door when your voice cuts through the cool stillness of the air.

"S'toru?" A yawn. "Why are you up?"

He freezes. He's usually more careful. You usually don't wake up.

He has a quiet tendency of sorts, to pull away into himself. To hold it all back. There are people who love him; there are people he loves. But on nights, these lonesome nights, it all fades into the back recesses of his mind. This same tendency tells him to ignore you, or dismiss you back to your own dreaming. He wants to push you away. He wants to tell you to go back to sleep. His eyes squeeze shut, and his fingertips ghost the cold metal of the doorknob. His nightmare comes back to him in pieces. A faceless girl; the bullet that pierces her skull. Her white headband turning red. His best friend— the hole where his heart used to be. Your body gutted, like a dead animal on the side of the road, and the powerless man who'd done it coming for him next. This dream isn't so much fictive as it is macabre pieces of his past, stuck together like tracks burned into a CD that plays on loop in his mind whenever he shuts his eyes.

It's a subtle ache. It's an emptiness that lingers, persists. It's one he knows. Satoru is familiar with his own pain. He's never been able to shake it. It's a piece of him, the other half of his heart. He is stained blue. If he turns around to face you, he will not be able to leave. He will not be able to spare you of his own pain. He'll burden you with all that he feels, all that he is, more than he already has. If he walks out the bedroom door now, he knows he'll be okay— he always is. That's what he's always done. He's always walked out. He's always faced it all alone.

"Satoru?" You call for him again, voice raspy with sleep, and his resolve crumbles.

He's always faced it alone— but he doesn't have to. He believes it when he looks at you, head propped up with a hand, sleepy gaze fixed on him. Your eyes widen when you catch the look in his eyes. He's sure they betray how he feels. He always had a hard time lying to you.

You've known Satoru since high school. Everything he's been through, you've been through with him. You'd nearly died by his side, at Toji's hands, all those years ago. You'd stood by him when Suguru left. You'd given him space when he needed it, and gifted him with your company when he'd wanted it again. His love for you is something soft like fresh snow. Renewing, beautiful, and chilling, right down to the bone. He knows you love him, too. He sees it in you constantly. He recalls a memory from only a few months back; you'd gone out on a 'girl's night' with your friends and returned wasted, hardly able to stand, heels in Shoko's hands as she dropped you off to his apartment with an amused smile.

"Where are we, Ieiri? T's not my apartment," he had heard you slur as he opened the door. It was late. He'd predicted this outcome, and he smiled when he saw you clinging to Shoko's arm. Your nails were sure to leave indents.

"You need your babysitter tonight," she replied, gesturing to where Satoru stood in the doorframe. With a slight delay, your eyes widened when you saw him and you let go of Shoko, surging forward into your boyfriend's arms.

"'Toru! I didn't know you'd be here!" You were hardly intelligible, as you began to press scores of kisses to his face. They were open-mouthed and heavy, leaving lipstick stains on his cheek, jaw, chin, nose. Every time he would try to get a word in, you'd plant a clumsy kiss to his lips, silencing him and sending him into bouts of laughter. Shoko waved him off, and he'd helped you inside, where you promptly passed out in your dress. But not before telling him about how much you'd missed him. He'd slipped your dress off with gentle hands and helped you into warmer, more comfortable clothes, and carried you to bed.

That blatant show of affection, the way your love spilt through the cracks of your porcelain mask— he knows you care for him, too. He thinks about that night now and feels it again. The ghost of your lips and hands and warm, soft kisses. The bubbling laughter that escapes your throat, the slew of “I love you’s” that you don’t even try to contain. He believes in your love for him. He believes in it more than anything. So when you tilt your head with worry and ask him, "is everything okay?" Satoru lets himself shatter, then fall apart in front of you without thinking twice. He's always faced his pain alone— he doesn't have to. You love him. You are willing to hold it all for him.

He chokes in a harsh, strangled breath, and you’re up on your feet before he can inhale again.

“Hey,” you whisper as you place a hand on his shoulder, and your voice is so soft, so sweet, so real, he can’t help how he slumps into your body. You welcome the added weight, rearranging your hands so that one falls to his neck and hair and the other is draped around his waist. “It’s okay. What’s wrong? It’s okay. I’m here.”

He can’t speak. Doesn’t trust himself to. Satoru settles for letting breathing into the crook of your neck as you rub his shoulders comfortingly, whispering sweet words he can’t quite understand into his scalp. He feels the ache dripping off his bones with every circle your fingers trace across the small of his back. He feels the rot dissolve. He tightens his hold on you. He loves you. He will let you hold him.

A sudden fear grips him. The insecurities of his dream come rushing back at full tilt. His hands squeeze the skin you’ve offered, so tight that it might bruise, and he looks into your eyes. They shine with something unsaid. He refuses to listen his grip, to let you go— if he does he fears that you won’t come back.

It’s a common theme in his life, for those he loves to banish, just like that. The minute he allows himself to care, they’re gone. And what of this love, like no other he’s felt? If he releases you, if he leaves, you’ll be gone, too. He can’t have that. Can’t handle it. The thought of your absence is more than he can bare, so he lets his head fall to your shoulder again, maximizing the contact between you and him. If you feel him on you, if you feel his touch, his love, you can’t leave. You won’t. He won’t let you.

Satoru’s truth is that he is selfish, disgustingly so. His hands hold and don’t let go— they grip, grasping onto whatever they can— loose fabric, fingers, trailing up to the nail, roots of hair, a forearm— he can’t let go. He won’t. Like a little boy holding onto a toy, tightly, so tight. White-knuckles and glossy eyes, he holds on. Oh, he’s selfish. He’s selfish with the way he clings to a memory long past, meant to be forgotten. But Satoru holds all the same, like a lifeline, like a priest holds a bible. A religious devotion, a saint’s zeal.

He holds onto you for what feels like ages but must only have been the better half of an hour before you ease him back onto the bed, so he’s lying curled into your lap. He won’t let you move, let you stop touching him. He fears you might disappear. But you don’t move, either.

You remain still beneath him, present with your touch. You’re still murmuring things too quiet for him to hear over the sound of his heartbeat in his throat, but your tone is soft and soothing. Like cool water being poured over a hot open wound. Like a salve. You don’t leave, not when his heavy breathing turns to shallow gasps, not when his shallow gasps turn to the quiet sounds of sleep. When he wakes, Satoru will find you asleep in the safe position he’d remembered you in when he’d drifted off.

His love is selfish. His mind is a mess, mayhem. He is greedy and cruel and tortured, and you will stay through it all, he realizes that morning, as he watches your chest rise and fall from your lap. For all of Satoru’s burdens, and all his doubts, for all the pain that weighs him down and sinks him like an anchor to the bottom of his own brain, you will stay. You will stay, you will stay, you have stayed. The familiarity of you is chilling in the most comforting way. It’s nostalgia. The emptiness still lingers, but it lessens. The dull ache still makes its home in his chest, but there’s something new, now. Something he thinks may have always been there, but he’s been too blinded to realize it until now. There’s you, too.

(Outside the window, snow falls silently. Satoru will have no bad dreams when night falls.)

“There were all my secrets, spread out on the table. Like someone had taken my insides and scooped them out for everyone to see. Look, here are her stupid hopes! Look, here’s her dumb soft heart!”

Carol Rifka Brunt / Tell the Wolves I’m Home

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #jjk x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x reader #jjk #reader insert

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saturnville · 2 months

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on the frontline, major john egan

pairing: major john "bucky" egan x black fem oc (major lanessa "nessa" dixon) content: in an unlikely event, john meets another major during the war, but she isn't what he expects. warnings: medical inaccuracies. an: Nessa is inspired by major della raney jackson, first black major of the army nurse corps. tag list: @neeville @turn-thy-paige @ihe4rtisa @ineedafictionalman @lovebyceleste

The mess hall bustled with deep voices and the screeching of rubber soles against the dirty floor. The sun shone through the dusty windows and onto the leather-covered backs of the soldiers. An aroma of breakfast filled the atmosphere and wrapped its arms around them like a warm hug. The chefs made a large meal before missions. It was the last meal some men had to cherish.

At a long table sat 13 men; two majors, two captains, a lieutenant, and eight sergeants. The conversations were minimal, until a sergeant spoke, “Have you met the new nurse?” He whistled he guzzled down a hefty bowl of oatmeal. He grunted after swallowing the hot oats and slurped down the black coffee beside his arm. “She’s a beauty!”

There was a discourse among the men who tried to figure out when they’d see the newly hired nurses. The wages of war came at a high price. Death and injury seemed to be a suitable payment to the creditor. To combat that, the service brought on extra hands to give medical assistance to the troops, especially with more men being enlisted to serve. Hundreds of thousands of men prepared to put their lives on the line; the least they could have was efficient medical care.

“They all are,” another commented. “50 more nurses and half of ‘em are Black. Came in with them Tuskegee Airmen. Never seen anything like it.”

As the pilots bantered about the new nurses, Major John Egan kept his gaze fixed on his coffee, his mind elsewhere. The arrival of more nurses was a reminder of the harsh realities of war, the constant influx of fresh faces tasked with patching up the broken bodies that returned from the front lines. Dread settled deep in his stomach at the thought of encountering them under such circumstances. With a curt nod, he urged his comrades to focus on the day ahead. Meanwhile, the chatter of the mess hall continued, blending with the clinking of utensils and the low hum of conversations.

“Haven’t seen them,” he spoke from behind the rim of his coffee. “Hoping I never have to. Let’s get going, boys.” “Yes, sir.”

“Major Egan’s hit!” For a moment, there was silence. Then, it wound up again when the wounded leader crossed the threshold into the infirmary.

The infirmary was chaotic. Loud cries and deep groans filled the air. Trays and metal utensils kissed one another as they were tossed on carts filled with supplies. White coats here and there sifted throughout the room as green bodies wheeled more patients into the large room.

His breathing was ragged and heavy. With blurred vision caused by tears surfacing in the ducts on his eyes, it was difficult to navigate the infirmary without bumping into objects and solid bodies. His feet were heavy as he stumbled further into the infirmary.

"I got you, Bucky," Gale's voice was frantic as he hoisted the pilot on his body. "You're gonna be alright, y'hear me?" If he had the strength, he would have replied. His heartbeat was in his ears and his stomach was in his throat. He'd never been shot before. Would this be the end of his career as a pilot? He groaned in agony.

"I need a nurse!" Gale hollered, his husk voice reverberating off the walls. "He's been shot. Bullet is still in his shoulder."

In front of him appeared a nurse. A highly ranked nurse, at that. She was dressed differently than the others. There was no matching white skirt set with a pretty hat, no, she was dressed just like him. Dark leather jacket, heavy pants, and dark boots. On her chest was a multitude of badges and pins, including one that was similar to the one on Gale's chest. Major. Well, he'd be damned.

She didn't stay in his sight long, as she began giving orders to two other nurses, who were preparing a bed. She ushered her patient to another nurse and wrapped her black stethoscope around her neck. Around her wrist was a small hair-tie which she used to pull her curls into a makeshift bun. With a thunderous voice, she ordered, “Bessie, get him on a stretcher and bring him to me.”

A fellow nurse, Bessie assisted Gale in getting John on a stretcher. Gale stood behind the ladies, the tip of his thumb against his teeth. As the stretcher was rolled toward her station, she made a quick work of the gloves and ordered him to stay calm. “I’m gonna cut your shirt, okay? I need you to remove your hand so I can take a look. Take deep breaths for me.”

Beads of sweat trailed down John's forehead as he gritted his teeth. His nostrils flared and his jaw shook as he tried to keep his sounds to a minimum. The nurse above him chuckled, which caught his attention. "What's funny?" He managed to ask.

She pushed his stubborn hand to the side and used her scissors to split his shirt in half. She was unfazed as blood trickled out of the open wound. It was ugly, but she knew how to make ugly beautiful. The wound was a wicked one, but it was a clean shot that managed to miss the muscle. It would be an easy retrieval.

"No reason to play big man and conceal your pain here, Major. You got shot. The shit hurts. You can let it hurt here." She pressed her stethoscope against his chest. Heartbeat still strong, she noted. Wavering just slightly, but strong. She called for extra hands. "Administer the shot into the upper right shoulder."

John's eyes were on her as she worked. Her brown eyes were gentle and they remained on him as she poked, but her tone was stern as she said, "Major Cleven, if you'd like to stay, you must stay behind that line. Major Egan, you just received a numbing agent to reduce the sensation. The bullet is retrievable. If you feel anything unbearable, you let me know. I'll stitch you up good as new afterword, am I clear?"

John’s stomach twisted at her authority. His tongue scraped across the roof of his mouth as he nodded, "Yes ma'am."

"Wonderful. Scalpel, please."

"How is he?" Gale's voice was unclear. He felt groggy. His head was a boulder on his shoulders and he felt confined to the small, yet comfortable bed he laid in.

"He'll be just fine, Major. He took it like a champ. He'll be out of commission for six to twelve weeks and will be ordered to physical therapy upon return to base. Don't give me that look, now; he is not fit for battle right now, but he will be okay, I can reassure you that. My nurses and I will take good care of him just like we will everyone else."

John heard Gale's sigh of worry. "Okay, you're right. Thank you, Major..."

She chuckled lightly. "Nessa Dixon."

"Major Dixon. Thank you for all you've done."

"No problem at all. You come to me tomorrow if that wrist is still giving you problems and I’ll wrap it again for you, okay? Get some rest, you'll need it." They exchanged goodbyes and the sound of Gale's footsteps retreating became clear. Finally, John's heavy eyelids peeled open.

"Nice to see you again," she spoke after some time. She was leaning against the wall, hands stuffed into her pockets. and her stethoscope dangling from her neck. "How are you feeling?" She made her way toward him, sitting on the stool she set at the bedside.

John groaned as he tried to readjust. His shoulder was wrapped tightly. He couldn't move even if he tried. Amelia jumped up and propped a pillow up. "Easy now..."

"Thank you," he replied gruffly. "I'm sore. Tired. And I need a damn drink."

His response pulled a laugh from her. Not the small chuckle she'd release here and there, no, a hearty laugh. It made him smile. "You and me both. Let's get you up and moving first. Your procedure went well. You are to stay out of combat for--"

"Six to twelve weeks with physical therapy upon return to base," he repeated her words, clearly unamused. Nessa smiled, clearly amused.

"Good to know you listen," she replied.

John hummed. "I do, Major. Didn't know that was a thing for nurses." He hated to seem painfully ignorant, but it’s what he was at that moment. Nurses in his unit rarely received titles, unless they’d done something extraordinary or had been in service for an extended period. But she, she looked young. Like she couldn’t be much older than he was.

Nessa nodded. She was one of the first Black nurses accepted into the Army Nurse Corps after they began accepting Black women. She worked her way up the chain, she explained, earning the same prestigious he carried. On the same level as a white man whose life was in her hands. Who would've guessed?

"Nessa is just fine right now," she suggested. "I should let you rest. I'll do one more check before I head out. Major Cleven will be here in the morning, I'm sure. Do you need anything, Major?"

"John," he said gently, tired blue eyes gazing into hers. "And I'm okay. Thank you for everything."

She gave one nod before leaving him alone and releasing the breath she wasn't aware she held.

“Nessa.” The woman sighed heavily and dropped her clipboard against the makeshift desk. Silence wasn’t a thing during war. Constant movement, moaning and groaning, the calling of her name. All she wanted was a moment of silence. It was nonexistent.

“Yes?” She didn’t turn around. But, she recognized the voice. Deep. Full of rasp. The way he said her name. It was familiar. Her eyes dropped to her clipboard, scattered with notes and reports that needed to be sent to the leader physicians.

“Why are you awake? I thought you were leaving.”

Her eyes dropped to the watch on her wrist. 1:43am. She’d been up for almost 24 hours. She shrugged and picked up her pen to scribble on the paper more. “I can ask you the same thing, Major. You’re supposed to be sleeping. Why aren’t you sleeping?”

Finally, Nessa turned around. She regretted it. John Egan was a handsome man. She knew that, but she was too focused on ensuring he didn’t lose his arm to focus on his features. But in this moment, in the dimly lit infirmary with no one else present, she had every opportunity to do so. And, she regretted it.

He was tall. Much taller than she was. She assumed her head would be at his shoulder, still leaving inches of distance between them. Though his face was littered with scrapes and healing scars, it seemed to illuminate his beauty. His eyes were blue, a strong contrast against his dark, curly hair. A strong nose and straight lips that she was sure felt amazing. His upper lip was cut in the corner and dried blood remained. He must’ve begun anxiously picking at it.

He managed to change his clothes. Major Cleven must have had something to do with that. He was dressed in dark sweatpants and a sweatshirt. She was curious as to how he got his arm through the sleeve, but she’d heckle him about it later in the day. His curls were damp and tousled messily. God, he was beautiful. Bruised and all.

He chuckled and slowly sat in the chair opposite of her. He groaned softly and readjusted himself to come into a comfortable position. “I can ask you the same question.”

She shrugged, “I’ve got paperwork to do. Go to bed, John. You can’t heal if you don’t rest.”

“You gonna tuck me in?” John’s tone was teasing. Nessa’s eyebrows raised and the pilot threw his head back as he laughed heartily. It was the first time he laughed with passion in a while, and she couldn’t help but crack a smile as well.

“You’re in a good mood. Let’s go. You’re going to bed and I’m going to sleep in the infirmary just in case..” She pushed up from her chair and tucked her documents into a folder. She nodded toward the door and the pilot followed suit.

They walked side by side in silence back to the infirmary, which was near the resting area for the injured who didn’t make it back to their chambers. Luckily, everyone had. Nessa’s eyebrows raised as John lay on the same bed he was on earlier. “What’re you doing?”

“I’m your just in case,” he said simply. He laid his head against the pillow and watched as she stood still. Nessa swallowed thickly. It took her brain extra effort to tell her feet to move. She sat on the edge of the bed to pull her heavy boots off her feet. She sighed in relief.

Nessa swung her feet on the bed and allowed her body to mold into the comfortable mattress. Her eyelids felt heavy, but still, she found his gaze. “Goodnight, John.”

“Goodnight, Nessa.”

Though they did not say anything to one another after that, she found comfort in the silence. They found solace in the quiet of the infirmary that kept them through the rest of the night. Together.

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smuttysabina · 6 months

Text

Incandescent

(Rose x Male Reader, 3k Words) Tags: Femdom, oodles of fluff, some fun sex, some trauma is involved, kinda artsy, some physical as well as mental abuse

A/N This is a quick little story I spun up after I imagined Rose ranting while dominating you, enjoy!

Darkness cocoons you as tightly as any restraint, filling your senses, drowning your eyes in an endless nothingness that devours your sanity. The strongest prisons are the ones we make for ourselves, and the dark provides all the material you would ever need. Which is not to say that your fetters did not also exist in the mundane realm of existence outside of your thoughts, softly clinking metal binds your wrists and ankles to the stolid slab that supports you. The sound of the metal whispering against itself was the only indication of the passing of time; the pounding of your heartbeat in your ears already ignored as your brain probes for threats in the ceaseless night. You shiver in numbing terror as your mind concocts all manner of horrors for your stress-addled body to react to; anything was preferable to unending nothingness of unthoughts. Mankind had always feared the abyss of twilight, not from the dangers it might hold, but from what it awakened within; the agony of introspection. Little wonder then that we have always cleaved towards the light for comfort, not realizing that the greatest threat is often the one we can see the clearest. The door scrapes open behind you, casting dazzling shadows upon the walls that your eyes eagerly devour even as they bring tears of overstimulation. A voice as soft and sweet as honey drips into your ears,

"Now what do we have here?"

Your skin nearly tears itself from your bones in surprise, as a velvety hand gently caresses your bare shoulder, its owner's footsteps so quiet you had not heard their approach. Or perhaps, the pounding of blood in your ears had covered her movements; perhaps she wasn't even real... Murmured curses sound as the new arrival scrabbles around on the wall, her nails a cacophony to your sound-starved ears. The faint click of plastic soon follows, and your senses explode with pain as light sears into your brain, causing you to scream in astonished pain. You blink rapidly, squinting against the glare, the pale shape floating in front of you gradually shifting into a sleek white evening dress, adorning a radiant goddess. The beguiling beauty idly slurps on her drink as she waits for your cognition to return, her blonde hair tied back in a business-like manner. The light haloing her is intense, pouring down in a cone in front of you; the harsh buzz of it grating on your hearing. She gives a quaint smile when she notices sanity returning to your gaze, sloshing her drink around in studied amusement as you come to truly realize your predicament. Rose leans against the table and sighs, motioning towards the ceiling,

"Do you know how many times I've asked them to change out these lights? You would think with all the millions we've made for them, the least those imbeciles could do is at least replace this garbage with something nicer. Oh well, I imagine you didn't come here to listen to me rant about company politics; actually, why are you here at all? Don't answer, it was a rhetorical question. You got caught wandering where you shouldn't, so who do you belong to, hm? Not Jennie, that's for certain, you still seem reasonably sane and entirely undrained of all vitality. Perhaps you're one of Lisa's little toys, was she being too demanding of you as usual? Or are you Jisoo's... that must be it, she probably let you stumble around while she was busy elsewhere; typical. Ah well, now you are mine to play with, punishing you should prove to be an enjoyable way to destress..."

Horror dawns upon you as the idol distractedly rambles on, her fierce gaze boring into you as she talks. You stutter out a question through parched lips, your voice rasping from disuse. Rose pauses, and with another distracted sigh, pokes the straw of her drink into your mouth, allowing you to gulp down the refreshingly sweet liquid. She yanks the drink away from you after several seconds, but after examining the depleted state of her beverage she gracefully allows you to finish it off. A raised eyebrow prompts you to repeat your question, "Why?"

"Why what? Why do this? Because I can, because I enjoy breaking people until they worship me, because it's fun," a sleazy smile briefly appears, "And to be completely honest, because it arouses me immensely. Yes, it's very depraved I know, truly I am the weird one because I enjoy a little sadism with my sex. Any more burning questions? We have a little time until I finish my- oh right; well it's going to be rather gratifying sticking this straw in places it doesn't belong. Hm, what made me so angry? Oh my poor little dear, I'm not angry, just extremely irritated; I suppose if your interested I could torture you with mind-numbingly boring tales of lawyering... Oh you are cute, you think you're playing for time do you?" Rose traces her hand down your chest, making you shiver at her gentle touch, "You see, I find that the most agonizing thing for those I dominate is the waiting. You just keep hoping that the moment will never come, always worried that the next minute will be the one when I truly dig in. So I think a little..." she leans forward to breath into your ear, "Anticipation will make this more fun, yes?"

You let out a low moan as Rose's hand ends its journey and firmly grasps your genitals, giving them a squeeze in promise of the torments to come before withdrawing. Rose suddenly whirls, stalking back to her perch on the table; her hand automatically reaching for her drink before remembering once more that it is empty. She languidly waves at you, indicating that it is your turn to entertain, or simply suffer in silence. Rose pointedly settles a finger on the light switch, she knows. Terrified by the thought of being alone in the dark, completely at Rose's mercy, you rack your brain for anything forestall the darkness. "Why are you feeling so irritated?"

Rose grimaces, slowly returning to stand in front of you, placing her foot on the slab she lets out a slow breath; before promptly slapping you twice, "Now that, was a poor question, dear pet, now I am inclined to simply skip straight to the more intimate methods of teaching submission. Perhaps next time you'll learn to be more of an adroit conversationalist... Hm, why am I hurting you? I thought we established that already, now be silent or I'll fetch the ball gag- Oh, you meant why am I a sadist?" Rose pinches your chin, tapping on your face as she ponders whether she should answer the query. It is to your great relief that she appears willing to do so, forestalling your inevitable punishment, "That, is a long story, and would require a great deal of backstory, but I am a product of my vocation. Idol training requires some... demeaning concessions, so perhaps I am simply taking out my frustrations on all of you."

"That's the easy answer," your mouth foolishly spouts before you silence it.

Rose seems pleased by your boldness however, playfully squishing your lips together, "Is it though? Perhaps, the simpler answer is the best one; but still, such courage does require a reward..." Rose seductively hooks a finger over the top of her dress, before slowly pulling it down, revealing her breasts, pale skin glistening in the light. Your body automatically responds to such stimulation, your manhood hardening, your breath quickening as it pumps oxygen into your muscles in anticipation of sex. You manage to hold on to your sanity however, your mind still too riven with paranoia, to give fully into your primal urge to breed. Rose cocks her head at your reaction, "You know, most people would be humping the air right now; the girls too, not just the boys. I've seen more bitches than you've ever met sobbing as they beg me to impregnate them; it's sickening really. It's no wonder I have to discipline such degenerates, right? And the worst part of it," Rose pauses, considering whether she should continue before shrugging to herself, "The worst part is how much they adore me for it. They love me even before I break them; even my supposed "haters" are slobbering over themselves with devotion after only a few minutes in my presence. None of them hate me for it, none of them despise me for forcing them to demean themselves in the most perverse ways possible," Rose slips her hand down your neck, nails digging slightly into your chest, drawing white lines across your skin, "Will you hate me then, before the end? Your fear is palpable, but will you look up at me with loathing when I finally break you?"

To say that you are greatly concerned at the mental state of the idol sharing the room with you would be an understatement. You shudder at the thought of what horrors she would inflict upon you; evidently Rose is well versed in the art of pain. More horrifying yet, your body seems strangely aroused by that, depravedly hungering for its own destruction if it meant a chance to impregnate the sexual goddess. Her eyes bore intensely into your own, and you feel her claws starting to hook into you; something was needed to distract her... You gulp, "I'll try, but um, how do the other girls deal with it?"

Rose snorts in amused contempt, "You sure know how to inspire confidence in a woman, pet. But I'll indulge you, we don't. All of us idols are fucked up," Rose counts them off on her fingers, "Twice is a freaking breeding cult, Itzy are simply insane, IVE are spoiled rotten, Loona are is cracked as their fans, Red Velvet are literal whores, Aespa enjoy getting passed around like baubles, and don't even get me started about the boy groups... Oh and Blackpink, I would say we're the worst of the whole bunch," Rose distractedly sits on the slab as she rants, occasionally slapping your thighs for emphasis, "Do you know what Lisa did today? Of course you don't, you've been locked down here, alone in the dark. We were in a meeting with the idiots who run this place, and they were begging on their knees for us not to leave the company. Now they looked like they hated us for forcing them to demean themselves like that; well most of them did, some were enjoying it. But then Lisa, that crazy bitch, you know what she does?"

You cough, "She uh, fucked them?"

Rose blinks at your interruption, before snorting, "Good guess, but no, not yet at least; I imagine it will come to that eventually. No, Lisa just looked at these pitiful business men pawing at our feet, and then she pissed on them. Oh I am completely serious, she just pissed on them and giggled. I don't think I've ever seen Jisoo laugh that hard, and Jennie nearly choked on her coffee! To be honest, I also joined in, but at that point it was more about sending a message than anything else. So you see, all of us are bent in one way or another; especially us. Lisa is literally a nymphomaniac, she has a full-scale mental breakdown after a single day without sex. Jennie's sex drive is so monstrous she can fuck for weeks without stopping; you think I'm joking but I'm not. And dear Jisoo... she just loves showering her pets with so much love they drown in it; she's probably the least crazy of all of us. Hm, and me? Oh come now, no doubt you can already tell the direction my vices run..." Rose flicks a switch, causing the slab to tilt horizontal. She grabs your neck and leans in for a savage kiss, "So tell me pet, do I seem even remotely sane?"

"Um, yes?"

Rose laughs so hard she staggers, holding on to the slab for support as she howls. It takes some time to compose herself, but when she does it is to your relief that her dark mood looks to have dissipated. She gives you something approaching a fond smile and gives you the courage to push your luck, "See? Maybe you just needed some wholesome venting and not torture-sex after all!" Rose's smile grows more genuine, and she reaches behind her back, toying with something. With a suddenness that surprises you, Rose's dress cascades to the ground, leaving her entirely naked. Your eyes balloon as you drink in the awesome sight of an idol's body, her tender breasts, her taut stomach, and most importantly, the pair of lips gleaming mere inches away from your face. You feel something trickle down your shaft, as you gawp at the beautiful girl standing ever so close to you. Rose glances at your crotch with studied humor, she gives your meat a flick as she climbs up onto the slab, straddling your face.

"While the venting was nice, I still do desire some sex; so for your sake you had best pleasure me enough to keep me wholesome. Or don't, we're going to reach the point where I need to start getting truly inventive to keep you up eventually, so why not start early?" Rose promptly plants her pussy on your mouth, "So let's see if that tongue of yours is as skilled at pleasing as it is at talking. Be sure to give it your all, pet, I don't intend for you to be conscious by the time this is over, so spare nothing." After that she relaxes on your face for a while, glancing down at you on occasion as she idly gropes herself. For your part you spend the time drowning in her juices, frantically licking and sucking at the delicious flesh in your mouth. Eventually however, she orders you to stop, "Wow... you are fucking terrible at this, its so bad its honestly impressive. Are you a virgin? Though that's really not much of an excuse. Hm, that's the first of your chances to satisfy me gone, let's hope the next one goes better," Rose scoots backwards, dragging her pussy lips across your chest until they slide over your erect cock, "I was pleasantly surprised to see you hadn't cum when I stripped for you, perhaps that indicates you have more stamina than usual..." With a complete lack of fanfare, Rose sits on your cock in a single smooth motion, devouring every inch of you with ease. Your balls pulse in response, and she lets out a disappointed sigh, "Well I guess not, oh well."

Rose starts to ride you, uncaring of how sensitive you were following an orgasm; making a mess on your crotch as your seed leaks out of her. After several minutes of such excessive pleasure, you climax once more; Rose doesn't even bother slowing down. Only when you start to flag does she even start to pay attention to anything other than her own enjoyment, "You know, as much as you amuse me with all of your philosophizing, and even after all that wonderfully justifying on my part; at the end of the day I'm really just a cruel bitch, aren't I?" With a devilish smirk, Rose leans over, and flicks of the light. The abyss embraces you once more, but this time, you know there is something sharing it with you. You cringe, paranoid of all the horrors Rose will inflict upon you in darkness. She giggles, "Oh you are simply adorable dear pet, I should do this sort of thing more often, sensory deprivation truly brings out the animal in us..." Her hand is suddenly clamped around your neck, pinching off the blood flow to your brain, "So get it up again, or don't, I like it when you resist," A rain of stinging slaps and pinches descends upon, her abuse landing seemingly at random; often she pauses in her efforts until you are shivering with anticipation. Most terrifying of all, was how hard it made you, your cock becoming erect with fear. Rose laughs with delight as you climax once more, "God you are such a fucking quick-shot, you're lucky to have a girl like me to tolerate your pathetic cock. Do try to not black out too early, I might just keep fucking you anyways."

Ensconced in the endless gloom, you are completely vulnerable to Rose's attentions. She pinches and slaps, kneads and squeezes, licks and gnaws, sucking on your flesh until it bruises. You are lost in a world of unexpected pain and sensation, the only constant in your universe is the warm wetness around your cock. The heat surrounding your manhood seems to devour your misery, your suffering fueling a burning lust that somehow manages to keep you erect even after several orgasms. The heat of Rose's body imprints itself into your mind; no longer were you alone, now she was there as well. The ceaseless slap of flesh reaches a crescendo, Rose's sudden gasp painfully loud, as a fresh source of warmth spreads from your crotch. Her heaving breaths grow closer until they caress your face, and she murmurs, "Do you hate me now, pet?" Your body is a pattern of bruises and aches, your skin sensitive to the merest touch, your manhood a beacon of pleasurable agony; so you answer honestly,

"No."

Rose whistles softly, "Well I suppose I will just have to try harder then. Scream as much as you'd like, there's only the two of us in here"

You merely smile as a fresh round of abuse begins; how could you hate such a goddess? How could you hate Rose after she filled the empty void with such exquisite stimulation, banishing the horrors of nothingness. No longer would you fear the twilight of your mind, because Rose would always be there with you, dispelling the shadows, incandescent in the dark.

#smut #blackpink smut #rose smut #kpop smut

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essentiallyleaf · 7 months

Text

day 13. blindfold kink. with. irene.

446 words.

tags.

kinktober ‘23, idol x male reader, blindfold kink(/fetish/is this even a thing?), sex toys(?), ass play (reader receiving), you are basically just the guy from the peek-a-boo mv, but in a fantasy setting, horror undertones, happy (or, spoopy?) friday the 13th, tags are hard.

notes.

just winging it at this point. improvisedly, leaf.

The last thing you see, before she positions herself behind the wooden chair you’re sitting on and tied to and removes her red top to knot it around your head as a blindfold, are Irene’s swamp green witch eyes. Green like the rage she has stored up for the people who banished her, or maybe green like the hope that tonight will be the start of a new life for her, and only because of you.

“There is one last ingredient that I need to gather from you, boy, and then my brew will be complete.” Not many ingredients she would need to strip you naked to get, you figure. “But where’s the fun in that?”

You shiver as you feel a razor’s blade slide down your cheekbone to your jaw, then as her sharp canines repeatedly bite around the side of your waist, and again as her warm, grease-covered digits wrap around your already erect length, all the sensations accentuated by your lack of vision.

“Not so fast, boy. We’ll need the purest specimen of your seed. And to get that,” you hear sounds of metallic objects dropping onto the thick walnut table, “we’ll follow a special procedure”

The witch opens your legs wider and drags your butt closer to the edge of the chair, then you feel a cold, wet sphere press against your puckered hole. You groan in pain, but no sound leaves your throat.

“Sorry, boy, I’d love to hear everything you want to say later, but right now, I just need my sample. So be nice and quick, and give me what I ask for”

You can only try your best to endure the pain in silence, as the orb is forced (your vision is impaired, so it doesn’t require a lot of focus for you to visualize it) deeper and deeper in your hole, seemingly not needing to be pushed by her fingers. When it reaches your prostate, you feel a surge of electricity propagate through your body. As the sphere starts massaging all around your sensitive spot, Irene’s hand envelops your erection once again, and with a couple swipes of her long, soft, oily digits along your shaft, you give her what she’s looking for. Buckets on buckets of white nectar are squeezed out of you only to be collected in a long, thin glass jar as you scream in silence from the still ongoing stimulation on your p-spot.

“Perfect, boy, now bear with me as I make the brew complete and initiate the ritual. You don’t mind attending to it from there, right? Worry not, for I’ll be back soon; so many more nights of ceremonies are awaiting us”

footnotes.

i might be going insane. slowly, leaf.

#kinktober #kinktober 2023 #kpop fanfic #kpop smut #girl group smut #idol smut #female idol smut #idol x reader #idol x male reader #red velvet #irene #bae joohyun #red velvet smut #irene smut #bae joohyun smut #red velvet irene smut #red velvet bae joohyun smut

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boxofbonesfic · 2 months

Text

Title: Return to Sender [5 of 7]

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Dark! Andy Barber x Reader, Ari Levinson x Reader

Summary: Andy Barber promised he would never let you go, and come hell or high water, he's going to keep that promise.

Warnings: Dubcon/Noncon, Kidnapping, Minor Violence, Gaslighting, Basement Wife Trope, Manipulation, Stalking, Obsessive behavior, Possessive behavior, Smut, MORE TAGS TO BE ADDED

A/N: 👀 is… is anyone still there? i promised i’d update this this weekend, and i delivered. an hour before midnight, but i delivered. 😅 i know it’s been a while for this fic, but it hasn’t been forgotten about. i really hope you all enjoy this latest installment, and please don’t hesitate to let me know what you think! as always, comments are great, reblogs are golden. thank you for reading, and mind the warnings. ❤️ divider by @firefly-graphics

Where am I?

You stare blearily at the distant ceiling, dull and rusting metal beams criss-crossing over exposed brick. You reach out for Dove, and when your fingers meet empty air, your throat tightens as you remember.

Pronge walking away with your baby, and Ari—

You sit up, your fingers knotted in the thin blanket. The repurposed garage office is still and silent, the springs creaking quietly underneath you. The air smells like old motor oil, singed rubber and citrus-scented antiseptic, and it burns your nostrils. You’re almost afraid to shatter the fragile silence with the sound of your movement, but it can’t be helped as you shove your feet back into your sneakers. The office is long abandoned, the desks all pushed up against the sides of the room to make space for the bed.

The hallway is slightly better, boxes of papers and car parts lining both sides, lit by old yellow florescent bulbs that give off less light than they should. There’s a dusty, unlit neon sign that reads Gary’s Auto-body, leaning against the wall. Down the hall, you can see that the light is on in the garage proper, this one bright and brilliant white. You squint as you pass through the doorway, spots dancing in front of your eyes as they slowly adjust to the light.

In its previous life, this place had been a car mechanic’s garage, but now it serves as something like a speak-easy operating room. The car lifts have been mostly dismantled, and sitting on the concrete in the rusted outline of where they used to be are two operating tables. Ari is on one of them, speaking quietly to the man winding a length of beige bandaging around his right shoulder.

Zemo. Ari called him Zemo.

“Mouse, you’re up.” You cover your mouth with both hands to stop the surprised squeak from reaching him. Guiltily, you peer around the door frame, waiting for a reprimand that doesn’t come. The “doctor” regards you with cold, calculating eyes.

“So this is the young woman Mr. Barber is tearing the city apart to find,” he says. “How nice to finally meet you.” Andy’s name sends a cold shiver down your spine, and you clutch yourself. Zemo’s welcome feels less like kindness and more like tolerance. It makes you wonder how long you’ll be staying here.

“You know Andy?” You ask, careful to keep your face as neutral as you can manage.

Zemo scowls. “Well enough to know we do not get along.” He shakes his head, before regarding you with a cold smile. “Your husband has just as many enemies as he does friends.” Beside him, Ari sits up on the table with a pained grunt, swinging his legs over the side.

“We can trust him, Mouse.” Ari offers you a watery smile. Nervously, you step closer, skirting around the now defunct counter as you attempt to give Zemo as wide a berth as you can manage. He either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care, cleaning his tools with a cloth before dropping them with a loud, metallic pap into the metal tray next to the table.

“Are you okay?” You ask him in a quiet voice as you approach, fingers dancing nervously around the gauze. You shake your head, closing your eyes as you blow out an exasperated breath. “I mean, I know you’re not okay, but—” Ari places a warm hand over your own, a quiet laugh rumbling in his chest.

“I’m okay.”

“Lucky for you Pronge is a terrible shot.” Zemo quips. “He missed bone.”

“See?” Ari says, squeezing your hand tight before letting go. “I’m just fine.”

“You’re not fine. You have a six millimeter hole in you.”

“Semantics.”

“Keep activity to a minimum. I shouldn’t have to tell you this,” Zemo replies dryly. “And keep it clean, I’m not going to do it for you. This isn’t a hospital.” You watch him pack up his tools, ferrying them over to the deep sink on the other side of the room. Ari slides off of the table with a grunt, and you watch him press his lips together as he stands upright, gritting his teeth against the pain.

“Yeah, yeah, I got it.” Ari mutters, cutting his eyes at Zemo over his shoulder. “Six millimeters.” The doctor tosses him a worn looking cloth sling. Ari tries to fit it over his shoulder, and you rush to help him. “Thanks, Mouse.” Your cheeks warm with an uncomfortable heat. “I could have done it myself.”

“This is all my fault,” you mumble angrily, shaking your head. “I have to do something.” You step back from him, tucking your chin. He rests a warm, comforting hand on your shoulder.

“No it’s not.”

“If I—If I hadn’t—” Guilt is an achingly heavy cowl about your sagging shoulders.

“Mouse, what good is this going to do you?” The gentleness in his touch makes you flinch.

“As much as I am enjoying this conversation,” Zemo clears his throat. “I have my own wife and son to be getting back to.” You watch as he places his cleaned tools back into his bag. “Do remember what I said about your… hole.” He gestures to Ari’s injured arm with a grimace. “I’m rather keen on not amputating.”

“You and me both.” Ari says. The two of you watch as he makes his way over to the front of the shop, pulling the metal garage door up enough to slip underneath it. “What time tomorrow?”

“Noon.”

The garage door slams down hard onto the concrete, and then there is silence. You stand there awkwardly, twisting your t-shirt in your restless hands. They’re so used to holding the baby, without her sure weight in them they feel… useless.

You feel useless. Adrift.

And it isn’t just Dove—it’s everything. Despite what Ari says, you know this is your fault. He’d never have been hurt if you hadn’t been so fucking helpless. And it’s your own fault, you’d let your guard down, let Andy back inside, let him make a home inside your head, and it was your fault.

“What are you thinkin’ there, Mouse?” Ari’s voice interrupts the self-depreciating internal monologue running rampant in your head. “I hope it’s about getting some sleep, you need it.” Again, his earnestness puts you on edge. You don’t know what to do with it—it feels alien to you now, almost like you’d prefer Andy’s smug cruelty—at least then you know what to expect.

You don’t want to admit that you’re blaming yourself, thinking about all the ways you could have prevented this exact course of events just by being better.

“Yeah,” you lie. “I’m exhausted.” If anything, you’re too awake, recalling last night’s events with perfect clarity. You can’t even look at Ari as the two of you silently make your way back to the repurposed offices, shuffling along beside him as your insides squirm. You feel too much to go to sleep, so many warring desires it feels like you’re being torn apart from the inside out.

You suppose that’s one thing you sort of miss about Andy—you didn’t have to think, didn’t have to feel. He did it all for you. You arrive back at your “room”, fidgeting nervously before you cross the threshold. You don’t think you can sleep in here now, now that the adrenaline has worn off. Now that the terror has been waylaid by your other earthly concerns.

Ari notes your hesitation.

“I can stay with you util you fall asleep, if you don’t think you can.”

You duck your head, shaking it emphatically. “I should be looking after you,” you reply, shooting him a look over your shoulder. “You should, um, rest.” Ari looks around, raising an eyebrow. Oh. There’s only one other bed—and it’s current occupant is currently snoring so loud you can hear it in here.

“You sleep here, and I’ll—” You look around. “I’ll sleep in one of the rolly-chairs or something.” He laughs softly at your sudden determination.

“You know I’m not letting you sleep on chairs, Mouse.” Ari rests a hand on your shoulder. “You take the bed.”

“You got shot, Ari!” You hiss. “I-I-I can’t—”

He holds up his hands placatingly, like he can see you working yourself up. Hell, he probably can.

“Okay.” He threads the fingers of his good hand through his blond hair. “I’ll sleep on one side, you on the other. Fair?”

“Y-yes. Fair.” Your words shock the both of you, and you feel your face heat as he regards you with a look of pleasant surprise before you look down at your feet.

“You don’t have to agree if you aren’t comfortable, Mouse. You know that. I wouldn’t—”

“I know.” You grip your own forearms tightly as you speak, like you’re afraid saying the words out loud will make them untrue—like speaking the name of your demon will bring him down upon you. “You’re not Andy.”

Ari takes the left side of the bed, and the springs creak under his weight. You crawl in beside him, holding yourself as stiff as you possibly can to avoid even brushing him by accident. The truth is, you are scared—but not of Ari.

And that frightens you, too.

He’s a man, a stranger, wearing a face too similar to the one you’re running from. Now, though, when you’re brave enough to peek at him, you see Ari—not Andy. And the longer you’re here, the clearer you see him.

You lie there in the dark, your arms held painfully stiff over your chest as you search the dark with wide, glassy eyes. The ceiling is far enough above you that your brain begins to construct patterns and shapes on it’s popcorn-textured surface. Grinning faces, tall, shadowy figures—

“Mouse, are you sleeping?”

You hesitate. “…No.”

“Go to sleep.” You swallow against the thick lump in your throat, blinking back hot tears.

“It’s… It’s hard without Dove.” It’s so silent without the baby, the darkness uncomfortably quiet without the sound of her sleepy burble. She’s probably awake right now, wailing for you. You press the heels of your palms against your eyes like you’re trying to hold the tears in.

“I know.” The mattress creaks, and you feel Ari’s weight shift. The weight of your loss settles in on you, then, the crushing vacuum of your daughter’s absence sucking the air out of your lungs as you gasp for it. You can’t keep quiet anymore, your hiccoughing breaths rising in pitch until you’re sobbing, hot tears streaming down your cheeks to soak your hair and the thin pillow beneath.

“Hey, hey, come here.” Ari’s touch is hesitant. He lets his fingers linger on your shoulders before he hugs you, like he’s waiting for you to rebuke him. You don’t. Instead, you curl into his chest, your wails muffled by his body as you tangle your fingers in his over-shirt. You cry so hard it hurts, your throat raw and aching.

Ari’s hands don’t stray. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t murmur false platitudes or make promises he knows he won’t be able to keep. He just…holds you, his breath steady and heartbeat slow and even under your ear.

And then, finally, you fall asleep.

—

In the light of day, Irene looks terrible. Her left eye is swollen black and purple, a patchwork of burst blood-vessels and yellow bruises spread out over cheek. The other side of her face is not much better, the other eye open but blood red, and her nose swollen. It’s obvious she took a beating, a bad one. Still, she seems to be in higher spirits than last night as she shovels the last of her cereal into her mouth. You’re doing the same thing, hungrily crunching down the contents of your own bowl.

“We need to talk about next steps.” Irene draws the back of her hand across her mouth, her one good eye focused on you. “We need to move.”

“I’m not going anywhere without Dove.”

“That isn’t an option anymore.”

You clench your hands into fists on the table. “I’m. Not. Leaving.”

“We will figure out a way to get her back, but right now? You cannot go back to Boston, he is never going to let you go, do you understand that?” It’s like you’re speaking two different languages, talking around one another in dizzying circles. You shove yourself away from the foldout table, knocking over your plastic chair.

“I’m not fucking leaving without my daughter!” You haven’t felt like this in months, and something about it feels freeing as the hot rage pools in your chest. No, it isn’t that you haven’t felt it, you haven’t let yourself feel it. Anger was hopeless with Andy, firm and stone faced in the hurricane of your rage until you exhausted yourself, your freedom, your life still frustratingly far out of your reach.

You storm away from the table, kicking aside one of Zemo’s silver trays, and his tools skitter across the concrete. Behind you is the sound of Ari’s voice.

“I’ll talk to her.”

You don’t know where you’re going, but you know you need to be away from them. Alone. The bathroom is on the far side of the garage bay, and you slam the door behind you, your chest heaving. You can’t leave without Dove, you won’t.

You won’t abandon her.

You grip the porcelain edges of the sink hard as you blink back fresh tears. You turn on the water with a fierce jerk of the knob, and begin to rinse last night’s tears from your face. This is the cleanest room in the building, fresh towels stacked on on the shelves, and medical supplies arranged neatly in the glass cases across from the standing shower.

It’s probably the only room Zemo actually uses.

As you’re drying your face, a knock sounds at the door, and you glare at it as you huff.

“What?”

“It’s me. Can I come in?” You chew your lip.

“Fine.”

You unlatch the lock, and fold your arms across your chest as it opens. Ari peers around the door.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” You repeat, and he chuckles, stepping fully inside as the door swings shut behind him. “I’m not leaving without Dove.” You say it firmly, watching his shoulders sag with his deep sigh. “It’s not happening.”

“Mouse. Look at me.” Reluctantly, you drag your gaze from the air over his shoulder. “Your husband—”

“We’re not married.” You spit, and Ari rolls his eyes at the technicality.

“He’s dangerous, Mouse. You know that.” Ari places gentle hands on your shoulders. “You know that as soon as you step foot back in that house that he will never, ever let you go again.” Your stomach twists at his words.

“I can get out again.”

“Will you want to?” His bluntness feels like a slap across the face, and though Ari hadn’t struck you—would never—your cheeks smart anyway. You know what he’s implying—Andy scrambled your head all up inside, and half the time now you don’t know up from fucking down.

But it still hurts to know he knows. Knows how changed you are, even though he never got to see the before, just the after.

“Fuck you!” You snarl. “I am not leaving her! And if you won’t help me get her back, then I’ll—I’ll go back my fucking self!” For the first time since you’d met him, Ari actually looks angry at this, his eyes darkening beneath his furrowed brows. “If you don’t care about her—”

“I let Leah go back.” It takes you a moment to realize who he’s talking about, what he means. “I let Leah go back, and then I had to bury them both.” Ari’s hand is a pale, trembling fist on the bathroom sink. His next words are hoarse. “I didn’t know they made coffins so small.”

“Ari…”

“I care about Dove.” The words are heavy, and you hate that you know he means them. “We are going to get her back.” His eyes are shiny, but he doesn’t cry. “I fucking swear we will get her back, but you are not going to do that. Okay? You’re not.”

“You promise?” Your mouth trembles.

“I promise.” Ari wraps his pinky around yours, holding your entwined fingers up at eye level. “And you aren’t going back.”

“I-I won’t.”

“Promise.” His dark eyes burn so fiercely you want to look away. “Promise.” He repeats it firmly.

“I promise.”

And then he’s kissing you, cupping your chin with his good hand as he presses his lips desperately against your own. Your heart pounds in your ears as you go stiff in his arms. Ari breaks away, releasing you with a soft curse.

“Fuck. I’m sorry, Mouse, I—I didn’t mean to do that, I just—” For once, he’s flustered, his cheeks ruddy beneath the shadow of his beard. Ari cards his fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry.”

The moment hangs between you in the air, held like a breath.

Your body stays tensed, like you’re ready to fight, or run, like it remembers Andy’s strict instructions. Except… Andy isn’t here to deliver them himself.

“It’s…” You don’t know what to say, hell, you don’t even know what you’re feeling. Everything is all mixed up, the emotions all biting the tails of the ones they’re chasing—you’re terrified, you’re exhilarated, you’re nauseous and scared and happy and—

“I’ll go. I should go.” Ari mutters the words more to himself than to you. You’re moving before you really mean to, leaning up on the tips of your toes to press a clumsy kiss on the corner of his mouth.

“I—I don’t want you to go.” With a sigh, Ari melts against you, resting his forehead against yours. You know you have done this before—many times, even just with Andy—but somehow there is a marked uncertainty as you lift your own hand to Ari’s face, stroking your thumb along his stubbled jawline. He hums, turning his face into your palm, and you feel the press of his lips.

Ari wraps his good arm around your waist, his fingers pressing into the meat of your hip through your pajama pants. His right arm flexes, his fist clenching and unclenches in the sling like he wants to move it, but he knows better. Instead, he buries his nose in your hair, the tips of his fingers creeping up beneath your t-shirt to stroke at your belly. You tense at his touch and then relax again, shivering.

“You tell me to go, I go.” Ari repeats softly, nosing down the side of your jaw. “I won’t be angry.” You look for the pool of cold dread that usually sits in your belly whenever Andy touches you, the reluctant fear that you stamp down to please him but find it entirely absent.

“You don’t have to make me happy, you don’t have to do what I want because I want it.” You have to stand on the tips of your toes to wrap your arms around Ari’s broad shoulders. There is undeniable excitement uncurling in your belly, warmth skipping under your skin at his touch. You want Ari to touch you.

“What if… it would make me happy?”

Ari huffs out a breathy laugh, his lips curving against your own. “That’s all I seem to want to do.” He takes your mouth again with a fervor that leaves you pleasantly breathless. Ari tangles his fingers in the curls at the nape of your neck, holding you still. His teeth tug at the weight of your lower lip and you gasp, opening for him. Ari tastes faintly of cinnamon sugar and something distinctly him that makes you shiver.

“Been wanting to do that for a goddamn week.” He sighs the words against your mouth. He smooths his hand down the back of your neck, tracing a gentle finger along the length of your spine. You don’t know you’re holding your breath until you release is as his palm skirts over the curve of your ass. He chuckles. “Is this okay?”

“Y-yes.” Ari palms your ass in response and you gasp, tangling your fingers in his over-shirt. It feels strange to be asked what you want, to even consider your own feelings as worth listening to. Andy tells you what to want, what to think, how to feel—Ari simply…allows you to be. Just as you are.

“I wanna touch you, Mouse,” he breathes. The admission sends a sharp bolt of electricity straight down your spine. “Can I?” You can’t avoid his eyes anymore, reluctantly meeting his gaze with your own. The words stick in your throat.

“You have to tell me, Mouse.” He strokes your trembling chin with the pad of his thumb. “I’m not him.”Andy always played at giving you choice, but you know Ari isn’t. That if you tell him to, he’ll walk away, and he won’t punish you for it.

You close your eyes hard, pressing the lids shut till they hurt. You don’t want to think about Andy right now, don’t want to think about Dove without you—you just want this. It feels like you have to reach down your own throat to find it, pulling your own voice up and out through your mouth with force.

“Please?”

Ari groans, plunging his hand into your loose sleep-pants to wrap around your thighs. He’s strong enough to lift you one-armed as you adjust. You wrap your legs around his waist as a reflex and he hums approvingly, his fingers sinking into the meat of your hips.

The hard planes of his body press against yours, and your face heats as you think of the new weight that has settled around your hips and belly, but Ari does not seem to notice its presence, his fingers skimming appreciatively along your skin. You can feel the bulge of his cock pressing against your core, and the breathy, surprised noise you make in the back of your throat at the feel of it prompts a chuckle.

Ari grips your hip hard as he takes a few long strides backwards until you feel cool tile beneath your back. He holds you there, pinned comfortably between his body and the wall as he grinds into you. He ruts against you with a groan. The thin, stretchy fabric between you offers little protection, considering, you can practically feel him throbbing through his zipper.

“See, Mouse?” He says lowly. “All for you.” Ari releases you, and your feet have barely touched down on the tile before he’s pulling at the hem of your t-shirt.

“Let’s take this off.” You nod, tugging it up over your head breathlessly, unaware of where it lands after Ari tugs it from your fingers. He drops to his knees, hooking a finger under the elastic band holding up your pajamas. You tense, remembering the last person who had been between your legs, but Ari grounds you, his lips brushing over the curve of your hip.

“Don’t.” His mouth moves softly against your skin. “Stay here. With me, right now. Don’t go anywhere else.” Ari peels the layers of clothing back from your skin, his hands roaming hungrily over each newly revealed inch. You step out of them and then quickly scoot off your socks. Ari looks up at you from between your thighs, making hard, heavy eye contact as he places a hand beneath your knee.

“Can I do this for you, Sweetheart? Can I make you feel good?” God, you want to let him. Everything’s out of you control—Andy, Dove, your whole life, but this? This is yours. This, you get to choose.

“Yes.” Even the act of consent feels unfamiliar. “I—I want to.” You don’t know how to describe the way you see the relief leave his body, his broad shoulders relaxing as he widens your stance, pushing your thighs apart till he can kneel between them properly. He squeezes the back of your thigh reassuringly before slowly lifting it to rest on his good shoulder. Ari holds your gaze as he leans forward to place a kiss on the chubby curve of your vulva through your cotton panties.

His mouth is warm and soft—reverent as he mouths at your swelling lips through the fabric. Ari strokes your hip as he catches the fabric with his teeth, before pulling it aside to marvel at your bare pussy. You want to look away but you don’t, your mouth dropping open as he delivers a sloppy kiss against your slick folds.

“O-oh,” the sound falls from your lips unbidden, and you feel his mouth curve against you. He pauses briefly to shrug out of his flannel, and dimly you are aware of the sound of his zipper before he’s back, his face thrust hard into the soaking place between your thighs. You mumble his name.

“Ari, Ari, Ari—”

He rolls the pearl of your clit against the roof of his mouth, circling your entrance with one finger. You press your head back against the tile, staring unseeingly at the ceiling. You do not remember threading your fingers through his hair, but as you tighten them, tugging, he moans, throaty and low. When you chance a look down, Ari is staring at you with lidded eyes. He flicks your clit sharply with the tip of his tongue, humming appreciatively as you jackknife.

“Go ahead and cum, Mouse,” he murmurs the words against your slick, twitching skin. “It’s okay, Sweetheart, I know you need it.” One hand remains buried in Ari’s hair, tugging on it helplessly as the other scrabbles for purchase against the tile, looking for something—anything—to hold onto. You push against the hot water knob, and the pipes rattle as water rockets through them. You are tangentially aware of the spray of warm water from the shower head—but only barely. You whine helplessly, hips rolling against Ari’s face as you cum.

He presses the tip of his finger into your cunt, groaning at the feel of you, wet and swollen and sucking at him. He gently lowers your leg, and your trembling knees nearly buckle. You watch as Ari wraps his fist around his cock, pumping it slowly as he stares at the sticky, messy spot at the apex of your thighs. It’s thick, veiny like his forearms. He sweeps his thumb across the tip, spreading the dewy drop of precum gathered there.

Ari stands, fishing his wallet out of his back pocket. From inside, he produces a wrinkled—but sealed—condom. He tears into the packet with his teeth before discarding it. He fumbles with one hand, nearly dropping it, but you help, gingerly pulling the condom from his fingers. Ari stands stock still as you roll it slowly down to the base before he grasps your chin, his mouth crashing against yours. You can taste yourself on his tongue.

This time when he lifts you, he uses the wall to leverage your weight, sinking you down slow as you lock your ankles behind his waist. Ari’s head lolls, his lips parting in a silent “o” as he draws his hips back, and then fully sheathes himself inside. The air in your lungs escapes in a sharp, needy whine.

“F-full.” You don’t even realize you’ve said it until Ari hums in agreement.

“Feels good, doesn’t it Mouse?” He breathes. “Shit, you’re squeezing me so nice,” he breathes, drawing back until your cunt is sicking at the tip of him before driving all the way back inside. You manage a nod, your hips rolling greedily into his.

“I-I—fuck—again—” The words don’t want to leave your tongue in any sort of sensible manner, but Ari understands them, grinning hungrily as he picks up the pace. He skims your clit with his thumb, and you can feel the sparks skittering up your spine and you gasp as he does it again and again—

“Come on, Sweetheart, you’ve got one more in there for me, don’t you?” He mutters, angling his hips up into yours as you writhe against him. “Wanna feel it on my cock—mmm, fuck—” You do, leaning forward to bury your face against his chest as you wail, your cunt clamping down around him like a fist. Ari curls his massive body over yours as he empties into you, his hips pressing softly against yours. He holds you there, his cock jerking and throbbing inside of you as he mumbles soft ‘mm’’s and ‘yeah, fuck yeah’’s into your hair until he’s done.

You stay like that, your body buzzing as the warm water streaming down over you. Eventually, when you can no longer feel the hammer of his heart against your cheek, he pulls out, and you press your lips together in embarrassed amusement at the crinkle of latex. He knots it off before tossing it into the trash bin. Your cheeks burn as Ari cleans between your legs, cupping your swollen cunt with an appreciative hum. He slides his fingers through the folds of your sticky sex, and your breath hitches.

“I’m just cleaning you up, Mouse, I promise.” He’s true to his word, there’s hungry, lustful intensity in his touches, only care. You str heady yourself against his shoulder, and your heart drops at the sight of his bandages. The center is tinged with a pink circle, and as you stare at it, it darkens a little.

“You’re bleeding.” Ari looks down at his shoulder and grimaces.

“Occupational hazard, Mouse. I’ll be fine.” He attempts to reassure you with a smile, but it doesn’t completely do away with the cold feeling in your belly.

“We’re going to need to change these, at least,” you say, fingering the edge of his wet bandage. “I think Zemo will be mad if we don’t.”

“He’s always mad.” Ari replies, and you laugh. “But yes. We’ll change them”

It somehow feels more intimate to stand there in the shower with Ari, slowly washing off the events of the last day and a half. He shampoos your hair, rubbing it in gently at the roots with the tips of his fingers. When you’re finally done, he helps you towel off, before producing a generic grey sweatshirt and pants from one of the cupboards after a bit of rummaging.

When the two of you return to the garage, dewy cheeked and differently clothed, Irene snorts.

“Had a good time, did you?”

—

Dove won’t stop crying.

Andy isn’t a bad father, he knows he’s not, but for some reason, he can’t get her calmed down. Her little fists are clenched tight, beating the air above her head with a frustration Andy as her father, cannot seem to quell. He bounces his daughter tiredly as he paces around the nursery, mumbling soothing baby speak as he rubs circles on her back.

She’s been wailing practically nonstop since Pronge had delivered her, his expression grim as he’d handed her over.

I couldn’t get your wife.

Andy had wanted to rage, then, and he almost had, itching to slam the whiskey glass in his hand into Robert’s face for the trouble—but Dove’s fussing had provided a sufficient reminder that it might not be appropriate to do so. She cries herself to sleep, hiccoughing in his arms until her breathing evens. Andy carefully lays her down in the crib, stroking his hand over the curve of her cheek. He closes the door to the nursery, and to his disgust, Robert Pronge stands in the hallway, the decanter of whiskey from his office held in his hand. He takes a swig from it.

“Who else was with her?”

Pronge grimaces. “Irene. And her new assistant. Fucker’s as big as a goddamn house. Name’s Ari Levinson, he owns some shithole bar.” Andy’s eyes narrow.

“Get out.” He shoulders past the killer in his hallway, not bothering to take back the bottle.

“And do what, exactly?” He sneers.

“Finish your goddamn job, and find my wife.” Andy waits to hear the sound of the front door before returning to his office. He’d had you—and you’d slipped right through his fingers again. You wouldn’t want to be apart from Dove, at least, that much he could be sure of. You’re a good mother, regardless of the doubts he knows he’ll have to plant in your beautiful head to get you to stay.

Ari Levinson.

The name is unfamiliar, and a search through both Massachusetts and New York state databases return no results. He does, however, get pings on basic search engines.

Ari Levinson. Dishonorable discharge, tried for murder, dismissed as self defense.

Now that is interesting.

It’s after midnight when he finally decides to turn in for the night, and as he closes his office door, he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket. He reaches for it, frowning at the unfamiliar number—but then his eyes widen at the caller I.D.

Albany.

“Hello?” At first, there’s only grainy silence on the other end, until finally, you speak.

“I’m ready to talk, Andy.”

He smiles. “Oh, Honey. I knew you would be.”

to be continued…

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