#i will obtain a collar and get a tag for it that says 'warning: fucking bites'

[lupunsus]

Since dog hybrids are the most common, I thought I'd write about masters who use these companions to their fullest potential

By giving them jobs.

Hybrid au based on the writings made by @cinnamonest

Gn Farm/Hunting Dog Hybrids

Warning: mention of heats/ruts and how you shouldn't fuck your hunting dog hybrid until they trust you. Idk if it counts, but I thought I should still mention it, even if it isn't described in detail.

I can confidently say that a good number of people see hybrids as glorified sex toys because I said so. (And also cinnamonest did too, im pretty sure.)

As mentioned previously, dog hybrids are common, with already domesticated breeds being easier to obtain even if you look like someone with low income and living in their parents' basement. But they can't really stop you if you prove that you will take care of them, and even if you do live in your parent's basement, they'll be lumped into taking care of the hybrid anyway so it should be fine.

However, there are some cases when a specific set of people who normally use dogs for tasks decide on using hybrids. Why? Mainly because of their ability to communicate. While dogs have no problem barking your ear off, hybrids can learn to talk, allowing them to convey issues and warnings, or just be someone to talk to.

These hybrids are mainly breeds that were bred for hunting or to herd farm animals.

At first, the adoption centers had little to no dogs qualified for hunting, nor were they used to farm life, but as time progressed, there became facilities that housed these special breeds. Of course, employees needed to have a good hand and experience with normal dogs, as the hybrid counterparts are more demanding. It works out in the end. The adopter gets a hybrid, and the hybrid receives a good amount of freedom to do whatever, as long as they do their job.

Because of how free and open farms can be, however, while it isn't required for the hybrids to wear clothes, they must have on a collar with a tag at all times. It's rare for a farm dog hybrid to wander too far from the animals it's supposed to look after and protect, though. The rule is more for the hunting dog hybrids. Usually, their collar has some sort of identity tag that lets humans be aware and cautious around it unless they're prepared to lose a finger or five. Seasoned hunters sometimes help the hybrids back to their owners if they appear to be injured or stuck.

As for farming dog hybrids, they're definitely much more friendlier, but they require lots of exercise. So anyone can have them, although it's recommended for those who get out and move a lot. Keeping one cooped up inside for too long can make it feel restless and irritated, and it'll soon start becoming aggressive and trash the place to release the pent-up energy it has. So make sure to give your energetic hybrids lots of outdoor time! Having a backyard they can play in is ideal, but even just bringing it along to run errands will work. Just make sure they're properly trained to behave or have them on a harness, as they can get bursts of energy and run all over the place.

Everyone should be wary of hunting dog hybrids! While tamed, they're still as dangerous as wild hybrids if around anyone that isn't their master and shouldn't be taken in by someone who thinks it'd be cool to have one.

As for hybrids who actually work on a farm, it's basically the same as what normal dogs do. Except it may be difficult to cozy to them in that way unless their heat/rut comes around that time. Farm owners usually let their hybrids take those seasons off for breaks until they feel better. Of course, you could always help them and receive a heartfelt: "Thank you, Master!" along with many other praises they can list under the sun for being with them during such a vulnerable point of time during their life.

For hunting dog hybrids, though, they won't let you help them with their spring seasons unless you earn their trust. But hey, they say that slow and steady wins the race. Plus, you should be more worried about hunting and not fucking your companion.

There's definitely a lot more jobs dog hybrids can have, but I'll save that for another post this time.

#genshin hcs #genshin x reader #genshin au #genshin x gn reader #hybrid au #.lurots #genshin impact x reader #dog hybrid #imagine if dog hybrids got paid but #they aren't citizens so the money goes back to their masters #personally id kms but I bet they have no idea what money is #😭😭

[eatyourchancletas]

SUMMARY |  y/n l/n; the trauma surgeon who was in the wrong place at the wrong time and is taken hostage by the terrifying mafia known as ateez. despite their situations, love arises between the doctor and san; but when an enemy comes in between the group, breaking trust and belief between the members, what will san choose to save; his newfound love or his brothers?

PAIRING | choi san x male reader

INFO/CATEGORY | mafia au, fluff, light angst

WARNINGS | violence, weapon usage/mention, foul language, lower case writing

[chapter index] [playlist] [previous chapter]

AUTHOR’S NOTE | we’re back! sorry for the long break, hopefully we can get into the flow of things! monnie’s already started chapter 5 off amazingly too :p written by both of us this time (mainly edited by monnie)! please leave feedback, like, reblog, whatever you can to let us know whether you enjoyed it or not!  (re-edited because dongwoo and changsik were switched up)

WORD COUNT | 2.4k

TAG LIST :; @jonghoshoe​  if you’d like to be added to the list please say so in our inbox/ask box!

y/n was usually called outstanding, hard-working, smart. but in reality, he was an idiot when he was outside the workforce. 

being a workaholic meant showing your skills, growing them, improving them, and practicing them constantly. sometimes it seemed to be all he knew— it’s what all the people around him saw. 

yet again, outside of it he’s quite a gullible man; which brings him to his current situation… 

“looking for something?” 

he looked away from the bandages he was previously examining to come face to face with a man that looked around his age. “not really, just restocking my clinic. or—trying to find things to restock it with.” the man nods, glancing around suspiciously, although y/n didn’t didn’t seem to take notice of this particular action. 

“this pharmacy is pretty small, but it has lots of good supplies… lots of hidden gems. want me to show you where i get my tools?”

“oh,” y/n blinked in surprise, “you’re in the medical field?”

the man made eye contact with him, managing a convincing smile. “yeah, there’s a clinic down the road from here, about fifteen minutes by foot, this is the nearest pharmacy, so we stock up from here most of the time. i work there as an assistant.”

y/n nodded, amusement sparkling in his eyes. “wow, then please! show me what you suggest.”

at the approval, the man nodded, “name’s changsik, by the way. what do you work as? i’m assuming you’re also in the medical field.”

they walked along the aisle of the cough syrups, ointments, and the few other medicines to turn and make their way to the exit door. y/n furrowed his brows, about to ask why they were exiting until changsik made another turn, walking towards the staff room. 

“your assumption is correct, i’m a surgeon…” he replied belatedly, trailing off as he stepped foot inside the room. his eyes trailed on the shelves full of unopened boxes, more prescription pills, and—bingo! the supplies he’d written down on his list. 

for a split second, the memory of san handing it to him flashes across his mind, blinking it away as he turned to changsik. “wait, how are you able to access this?”

“i’m a regular.” he glanced across at him, looking past the window. “and also the perks of having a pharmaceutical license,” a hefty laugh left his mouth, “took some convincing though.” 

“huh,” y/n squatted down, inspecting a box that was on the floor, “i guess that makes sense.”

“just put what you need in a box and take it out. i’ll just say you’re helping me take it back.” changsik smiled, watching y/n nod and do so.

after a few minutes, y/n finished and announced he was ready to check out. changsik’s eyes met one of the cctv cameras before settling on y/n. 

“alright, let’s go check out.” 

as they walked toward the front, they reached the hallway that led to the exit. just as y/n was going to walk past, toward the checkout counter, a hand forcefully grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him back. he looked behind him, in a startled manner, thinking changsik had just forgotten something. however, a deeper fear struck when changsik’s hand moved to clench at the back of his collar. 

“don’t make a sound.”

the second the cold blade touched the skin of y/n’s neck, the surgeon knew to stay quiet. there was a burning in his throat as he struggled to swallow, scared to trigger any abrupt movement. his frantic mind jumbled about, words of scolding placed toward himself and the situation while trying to get a grip. he thought of using the in-ear to alert jongho, but it would risk exposure of the communication device: in any case… he’d be dead by then.

“what is taking him so long?” jongho grunted, tapping his foot in impatience. it’d already been about 10 minutes since y/n entered the store—it shouldn’t take that long for a surgieron to find equipment that’s of medicinal standard!

tapping his in-ear and calling out the doctor’s name, he got no response. placing his face mask on, he rushed into the store, beckoning the cashier. “have you seen a man, about 6’3” with h/c hair?”

the cashier stared at him with a shocked look, “yes, but he went back toward the restrooms. is he dangerous?”

jongho shook his head before running toward the back of the store. he shoved against the restroom door, shouting out the older’s name as he threw open each stall door. finally admitting the fact that the older had disappeared, he tapped his in-ear once more, calling out for anyone.

“jongho, what’s going on?” hongjoong had intercepted the connection, hearing jongho’s worried voice.

the bodyguard had no time to register the primal fear that would settle itself in his bones once faced with the leader, “it’s y/n, hyung. he ran away.” 

jongho returned to the headquarters after scoping out the area once more and had just entered through the front door when he was met with the sight of the whole group. 

hongjoong was staring at him with his jaw clenched and an almost empty whiskey glass settled in his lax hand. jongho had never seen a look so severe in hongjoong’s eyes—he’d never messed up this bad. and apparently, the leader wasn’t the only one emotionally affected by his mistake, because before hongjoong could even physically express his own anger, san had snatched the glass from his hand and launched it at jongho, missing his head by less than an inch.

everyone was shocked at his silent outburst, san even going as far to ignore the immense pain in his abdomen and on his shoulder, but hongjoong simply sent the younger a look, causing him to cower back in the slightest. jongho, however, was enraged at what had just happened. what gave san, who had no superiority over him, the right to do that?

“what the fuck was that?” he had stormed over to the boy, grabbing his shirt with both fists. san didn’t back down, sticking his jaw out toward the youngest.

“how could you lose y/n?”

“i was told no matter what to avoid cameras, so i stayed outside! i didn’t exactly think the fucker would have the balls to run away!” 

everyone watched the two, eyeing when to step in and pull them apart. but hongjoong let them run their mouths. the longer someone talks, the more something is revealed. what he was looking to be revealed, he didn’t know; but something would come up.

san pushed back against jongho, “y/n hyung wouldn’t run away. he’d never do that!” 

‘oh,’ hongjoong perked in interest.

the younger scoffed, “what makes you so sure?”

san’s next words came as a bit of a shock, leaving the others with silent questions, “he promised he’d come back.”

bingo!

an awkward silence filled the room as they all stared, speechless at how hopelessly fond their brother had become for their hostage. as much as some of them hated to admit it, y/n was only a hostage to them at the end of the day. and for san to fall into a reversal stockholm syndrome of sorts was nothing short of  a disappointment. however, that couldn’t be the main focus, y/n was missing and they didn’t know how strong his resolve would be in the event of torturing.

“run us back on what happened, will you?” hongjoong told jongho, trying to get a clear picture on what went down because the first thing they needed to know was why y/n was taken, much less, who took him. was it by the same person who’d been running their mouths in the streets? 

and right in the middle of his explanation, an alarm went off on yeosang’s phone; it was a message. the others kept talking, figuring yeosang could handle whatever message he’d received. 

it was when he promptly stood up that all attention had been placed on him. 

“it’s him! it’s dongwoo!”

a soft whimper sounded as y/n was thrown to the ground, hands bound and eyes blinded by some piece of cloth.

“boss,” y/n’s kidnapper spoke in a submissive wave, causing y/n to assume the guy had straightened his spine and was saluting him in some way.

a moment later, a gruff voice broke through the eerie silence in the room, “and who is this?” his voice wasn’t angered or bewildered at all, and that’s what scared y/n. he sounded intrigued; like even he wasn’t expecting to be a part of this situation.

“someone with connections to ateez— saw that bodyguard walking around with him.” 

the other man hummed, “the bodyguard didn’t follow you, did he?”

“no, no. i found them by the pharmacy; i know the area pretty well because i do the runs for sowon— i knew the camera blindspots!” his abductor seemed to be a bit on the simpler side when it came to this “boss” of his, y/n concluded. this was a completely different personality than when he was being abducted at the scene…

“good job. and you know what, changsik-ah,” his voice seemed to be getting more intrigued, y/n’s heart beating even faster in response, “since you bought in such a valuable hostage, i’ll let you have the honors of obtaining information from him.”

y/n felt the air beside him shift, changsik bowing a full 90 degrees at his boss’s blessing, “thank you!”

a sickeningly hearty laugh resonated and the creaking of a chair sounded before the boss’s next words seemed to be the final straw for y/n’s pounding heart.

“i want him alive.” 

“he better be alive,” san growled at jongho.

“we might get to him alive if you two would quit bickering. we’re wasting time because of you two, so shut it and sit down!” hongjoong had had enough of the two. he knew it was a sensitive time for san and jongho, different reasons for both, of course, but they would only get nowhere if they weren’t level-headed.

the two boys bowed their heads at their leader, san still sending a side-eyed glare at the younger before sitting down in his chair. 

it’d been two days since y/n was kidnapped and they still hadn’t been able to come up with a plan to get y/n back. 

wooyoung tried to trace where the text message came from within the first minute it was received, but surprise, surprise! it was a burner phone— so back to square one; checking all of the cctv footage in the area and trying to spot a suspect that wasn’t even visible from the first frame. 

the cameras in the pharmacy showed only y/n, the pharmacist, clerk, and four other customers. of those four, only one person never entered through the front door. and within those 48 hours, he’d managed to single out a vehicle that had arrived in the frame of one of the street cams showing the alleyway behind the pharmacy, and left the same way not even 5 minutes later. it was a suspicious vehicle too; white van, no windows in the back, and paper license plates. the paper plates hinted that they were most likely changed recently or are changed frequently.

and so after hours of having to witness his best friend be so uncharacteristically frantic and down, wooyoung, unfortunately, decided to do what he thought was smartest—save y/n himself to make his best friend happy again.

his intentions may have been well, but in stories like these, doesn’t something always go wrong?

“help me set the table guys,” seonghwa cleared his throat, hand on his hip as he stirred the soup on the stove. the steam from the boiling liquid sent another cloud to his tired face, a sheen of sweat and condensation forming.

“i really don’t understand why we are acting like we have the time to set a table and eat home cooked meals when we don’t!” san exasperated, pacing around the dining room. 

mingi gave a sympathetic smile, patting him on the back before going to help seonghwa. 

while mingi was more on the understanding side of san’s worries, jongho disagreed, “how exactly do you expect us to find him if we don’t take care of ourselves?”

“all i’m saying is food and sleep shouldn’t be this consistently on your minds when we’re all in this situation!”

jongho scoffed, finding the utmost absurdities in san’s words, “why are you acting like he’s so important? he doesn’t know anything about us or our weaknesses— for fuck’s sake, it’s not like we can’t just get another doc—”

a fist had flown toward jongho’s cheek, cutting off his words, before san’s thrashing body was being pulled back by mingi and yeosang.

“go to hell choi jongho!” san screamed, trying to force his way through the barrier the two had made with their bodies. the boy could feel his stitches tearing as he fought, but he didn’t care. jongho had been a bitch since the very first moment y/n was around, and for what reason?

“cut it out, san!” yeosang hollered, voice brute as he pushed against the boy.

“no, let me at him. he wants to keep being a little shit, i’ll show him shitty!”

“stop it! you haven’t even noticed, have you?”

san didn’t stop trying to break the barrier, focusing on getting to jongho and the other’s words, “notice what?”

“wooyoung’s missing,” yeosang began, san whipping his head toward him and trying to disagree, but yeosang was having none of it, “and you haven’t done anything but antagonize everyone here for not doing their jobs at your pace!”

“oh, excuse me for trying to be as quick as possible in finding him!”

“yeah, and who ever said quick was the efficient route to go? we’re dealing with people we know nothing about, but they seem to know a little too much about us, no? so stop getting on everyone’s asses and—”

“shut the hell up! please!” seonghwa had slammed his hands down on the table, screaming at the top of his lungs. every person in the room had immediately gone silent, words left on the tips of their tongues in a desperate attempt to fly about.

“you’re all going to shut it, sit down, and eat this meal like the civilized people we are and come up with a plan to get y/n back as safely as possible,” he gave a quick glare at everyone, blowing a puff of air at the lock of hair that had settled over his eyelids.

“am i clear?”

"yes, sir."

#t.k chapter #tinted kisses #kpop x male reader #x male reader #choi san x male reader #san x male reader #choi san #san ateez #ateez fic #ateez series #series #top male reader #ateez #ateez x male reader #kpop imagines #kpop series #kpop fics #ateez fics

[paper-n-ashes]

The Late Shift - Part 3

Characters: Paul Sevier x Female Reader

Words: 3.9k

Warnings/Tags: Explicit (18+), PRAISE KINK, sex in a public place (voyeurism if you squint?), Oral sex (Female receiving), PIV sex, gratuitous use of the pet name ‘good girl’

Authors Note: Yeah, we sped right on into smut town in this one. This smutty addition should conclude our little story, and now this ADCU character will forever be known to me as Praise Kink Paul.

Part 1 + Part 2

~

It was eerily quiet as you stared at Paul in bewildered shock, not fully knowing if the word he just spoke actually left his mouth. It didn’t seem real. A man you’d met barely hours ago returning for you. Needing you. But what exactly did that mean?

Paul’s expression had kept its hesitation long into the silence, his body unmoving. He had never been so bold before. Making a move like this, so soon after a first meeting, was absolutely unheard of in his past. And yet here he was now, watching over your face, trying to gauge the thoughts hidden behind your eyes. There was an essence of shock clearly shining in your irises, and Paul could only come to the conclusion he’d scared the hell out of you.

“I- I, uh, I’m sorry-”

“What do you mean by that?” you asked suddenly, interrupting his bid at cooling your fear. “What do you mean by… needing me?”

Paul nervously pulled at his blazer collar, realising now how vague and outright creepy the statement must have sounded. Somehow he needed to explain himself without coming off more strange than he already did. “Oh, I just… I wanted to see if you were free for a late dinner. There’s are great dumpling house around the corner and-”

Your lids had narrowed as Paul continued to stumble his way through his words, stopping him again mid-sentence. “You said… you needed me.”

Fuck. He’d definitely freaked you out. He could tell you it was a lie, a colourful way of offering a date, but suddenly the prospect seemed rather difficult. Because in truth, he’d meant exactly what he’d said. He needed you, in a way he hadn’t needed someone for a long time. He needed to know what your lips tasted like, the softness of your skin, the sound of your quickened breaths-

“Ask me again,” you shot out, your demeanour having morphed into one of resolve. Paul could feel his heart rate pick up.

“What?”

“Ask me out. To dinner. Ask me on a date.”

The rhythm of beats turned erratic - a smile already desperate to spread across his face. Maybe he hadn’t completely ruined his chances. With a steadying breath, Paul kept his tone light, hoping to hide the excitement rattling inside his chest. “Would you like to get some dinner with me?”

“No.”

The word pierced the air with such a stinging jolt it made Paul want to recoil. “Uh… oh, but I thought… Isn’t that what you wanted?”

You took a step from around the service counter, a single finger sliding over the cheap marble, keeping your eyes locked with Paul as you moved. The only answer you supplied was a shake of your head, treading closer to the flustered man, his face creased into a positively adorable look of uncertainty.

It was your time to be bold now. You weren’t sure how it happened, when the rush of confidence flashed through your limbs, pushing you into a determination you’d not been allowed to embrace very often. Maybe it was because you’d already endured a horrifying dose of embarrassment today. Maybe it was because you found this stranger so attractive it physically burned your insides. Maybe it was because you had been fantasising about the things he might do to you for the last several hours and your logical brain was currently suffocated by lust. No matter the reason, you treaded towards Paul with a measured composure, until finally you were standing at his front, a thickened air of tension sifting around the two of you, the dimmed lights softly bouncing off the frames of his glasses. You saw him swallow hard, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, evidently nervous at the proximity. But he wasn’t retreating, he wasn’t edging himself away. When his stare flickered down to your lips, pupils swelling at the sight, you knew this was your opening.

“I don’t want a date. I want what I sent in that message,” you breathed. “In fact, I think I need it.”

To your surprise, Paul didn’t waver like you assumed he would. Large palms were quick to scoop under your jaw, pulling you forward into an impassioned kiss. Two sets of lips colliding in a hungered clash, bodies melting into one another, your own hands clutching at the scratchy tweed jacket he wore. The entanglement was frenzied, rough, much more forceful and impatient than either of you would normally act in your separate lives. In these moments those pasts selves seemed like distant memories, both of you shedding the bondage of your doubts in mere seconds, succumbing to the impulses sparked to life by what should have been an inconsequential meeting.

Each kiss never wavered in its intensity, only thriving with heat and fervour, feeling Paul beginning to suck and bite at your lower lip while his hands wandered over your clothes. The irritation that arrived at the barrier between his touch and your flesh was enough to make another decision resolute.

This man was gasoline to your waiting fire, and you wanted him to pour himself all over you, not caring if the world around you burst into flames.

Before you could get the words out, what was going to be an eager plea, he stole them from you.

“M-More?” he gasped, trailing delicate pecks down your neck. “Would… Would you want more?” The question was followed by the slow push of his hips into you, providing another show of evidence that was too persuading to refuse. Into his collar you grabbed two fists of fabric, pulling him backwards with you. He followed your lead gladly, a tangle of legs treading somewhat haphazardly over the shop floor, avoiding the circular displays of dress shirts until your back finally knocked into the dressing room door.

Even if you’d had second thoughts at the risk this was to your job if you were caught ravaging a newly obtained client on the security cameras, they would have been erased at the way Paul clutched at your hips and ushered you inside the small cubicle, refusing to let his mouth stray from yours as a single hand moved to fiddle the lock closed behind him.

The second after it clicked into your confinement, there was a pause, with a rushed whisper into your ear. “I don’t… I don’t usually do this…”

“Me either,” you rasped back, nails clawing into his hair as he set another deepened kiss on you. “This… I’ve never been… so hasty.”

There was a low groan that rumbled from Paul’s throat as you pulled lightly to tilt his head back, skating your lips under his jawline. He took the opportunity of your parted mouths to catch his breath. “Are you sure?” he asked, unable to hide the worry in his voice. “I’m not… rushing you… am I? We can stop… If you want to stop-”

You smile, warmed by his gallantry, before nibbling at the rise of his collarbone. “I want to keep going. Please… Don’t stop.”

“Say that again.”

“What?”

“Say please. Again.”

“Please,” you whined back, delving into a begging tone.

The fingers clutching at your waist tensed at the proclamation, moving down to the curve of your ass as another gradual thrust was pressed into the apex of your thighs.  You could feel it, feel him, the physical indication of just how sincere his desire truly was. It made you ache, made you suddenly feel too empty, too incomplete. Instinct made you about to reach for the buckle of Paul’s belt so you would know the full scale of what would hopefully be yours to take, but he was too quick.

With impressive dexterity, Paul unfastened the button of your slacks, slipping one hand inside while the other became curled around your neck, anchoring you into place. He hesitated at the hem of your cotton panties, his tempered breath warm over your face while your stares held one another’s.

“I want to touch you… Would that be okay?”

You immediately nodded, rolling your hips upward to meet his stilled hand. “Touch me Paul. Please.”

It was a magic word, dashing any of his reservations in an instant. Fingertips swiftly slipped underneath the thin fabric, skimming over the trail of pubic hair that the feel of made Paul’s cock throb even harsher than before. While never explicitly voiced out loud, he loved the natural state of a woman, knowing it set off something primal in him he couldn’t quite explain. The recognition made a hurried groan escape before even dipping into the line of your folds, only for another one to follow at the sensation of slick essence waiting there.

A gasp leapt from your throat, the sound settling into a delighted whimper as Paul explored you, letting two of his fingers trace up and down, teasing the edge of your entrance.

“You’re so wet,” he panted, capturing your lips in another fevered convergence. “Have you… Have you been like this since…?”

“The whole time,” you finished. “Since I first saw you, heard your voice…”

Paul’s subsequent groan echoed in the small space. The people in his life were never this forthcoming with their information, and here you were being so unrestricted and honest. He wanted to reward you for it. His movements shifted to centre on the swollen nub of your clit, placing sweetened kisses just below the lobe of your ear. “Do you want to come?”

You mewled as increasingly more intense pulsations of ecstasy began to billow out from your core. Every motion this man made with his fingers was unlike anything you’d encountered before. There was finesse, an elegance in every subtle action, smooth and severe at the same time. “Oh god, yes. I want to come, I want you to make me come.”

“Will you be a good girl for me?”

The question had arrived without Paul being able to prevent it, and he immediately felt a wash of dread simmer through him. What if you weren’t into that? What if he’d fucked this all up with one slip of the tongue?

He needn’t have worried.

“Do good girls get to come?” you asked, nails clawing into the hair at the nape of Paul’s neck.

He couldn’t have been more relieved, increasing his pace on you, a positively beaming smile being pressed into your throat in between the small licks and open-mouthed kisses he began to coat under your jawline. “They do. And you’ve already been such a good girl. So good for me. So wet… So willing...”

“A-anything for you,” you puffed out, breathless at the rising pleasure Paul was igniting, mind blurred from the combination of his exhale skating over your skin and the expert flourishes he traced over your bundle of nerves. “I’ll be anything. Your good girl, bad girl, anything you want.”

“You’re already everything I want,” Paul cooed. While true he’d only seen glimpses of your full self so far, he was already convinced of the words he’d spoken. It made him feel even more courageous, more ravenous to please you. “And I want to show you how much. Does my good girl trust me?”

A delirious hum filled the air as your agreement. How could you not say yes to such a question? You were already putty in Paul’s hand the moment he’d finally kissed you, and with his hardness pressing against your thigh as a promise of what might be to come, there was no way in hell you would have refused. It wouldn’t have been a lie either. You did trust him. Not that you could explain why right now.

With your consent given, Paul retreated from you, only to snatch at your wrist at the same time he unlocked the changeroom door. You gasped softly as he pulled you out into the now darkened space, thankfully having the shop lights set on a timer to switch off before you were meant to leave. Although, it now appeared your night was long from over.

The subtle glow of the computer screensaver guided Paul to exactly where he’d planned, steering you to the edge of the counter and immediately propping you onto it. You would have squealed in surprise if not for the way he led another assault on your lips, standing between your spread legs, also beginning to tear apart the buttons of your blouse and wrench the covering away. The dull, beige bra you wore underneath was the next item to be taken from your body, Paul having the latch unclasped with a single flick of his fingers. As the straps were dragged down your arms, he moved his mouth downwards to a perked nipple, tongue toying with the bud as you rocked your head back with a decadent sigh.

“So beautiful,” he rumbled against your chest. “Absolutely perfect.”

Your fingers snaked into Paul’s hair again, relishing the praise you’d rarely been afforded as he set himself onto your other breast, darting the tip of tongue around the sensitive centre. You could have let him linger there, but you became acutely aware of the shifted balance of your exposure, your torso bared while Paul’s remained irritatingly layered. That needed to be corrected.

You pulled on the inky strands to force Paul’s head back before starting work moving the jacket from over his shoulders. He allows it to slide off easily, hearing a small thud below as the heavy article fell in a crumpled heap. The sweater was next to be peeled off, finding yourself smirking at how Paul’s glasses became crooked from the woollen material slipping over his face. He caught your amused expression, eyebrows furrowing.

“What?”

“Nothing,” you giggled softly, fixing the frames to properly sit on the bridge of his nose. “You’re just… so cute.”

A gawky smile spread across Paul’s face. He wasn’t sure he’d been called cute before. He liked it more than he would have thought. The warmth it set off in his chest made him capture you in a kiss once more, although this one was significantly less urgent and more… affectionate. Slower, delicate, mouths moving in a hypnotic synchronicity, so much so Paul didn’t notice you’d unlocked the buttons of his shirt until you were pulling the tucked in portion out of his trousers.

As the dreadful, yellowed fabric was finally abandoned to reveal the torso beneath, you heard Paul release a rumble of satisfaction when your hands began to roam over the uncovered skin. You, yourself had to stifle a moan just from the feel of him alone. You’d imagined in your idle daydreaming a toned form hidden underneath those god-awful clothes, but it hadn’t prepared you for this. Every muscle was defined, tightened, firm underneath your touch, his chest so broad even your two splayed out hands didn’t cover the full expanse. You couldn’t stop yourself from withdrawing backwards just to view it with your own eyes, biting hard on your lower lip as you took in the sight.

It made Paul suddenly self-conscious, casting his eyes down. “I don’t- My job keeps me so busy… Getting to the gym is a little hard-”

“What? No!” you stopped him, realising where his train of thought had gone. You tilted his chin upwards to force your stares to meet. “I was actually just thinking how much more I hate that terrible outfit for hiding all of this-” You let your hands skim down his front, leaning in close, “-from me.”

Paul’s lips curved upwards. “You were?”

“I really was.” You set your lips under his jaw, reaching around Paul’s flanks to scratch your nails lightly over the middle of his back. “By far the sexiest customer I’ve ever had walk in here.”

Paul wanted to scoff. Being called sexy was even rarer for him than being called cute. And yet, with the way you pressed your naked breasts against him, clutching him closer to you while your hot breath at his shoulder made his hairs stand up, it was the first time in his life he believed it might be true. So, instead of dismissing the sentiment, he allowed it to take over, embracing the swell of fearlessness it brought.

Suddenly your pants, along with the panties underneath, were being excitedly wrenched down the curve of your ass, Paul having them stripped from your legs within seconds. If anyone walking past peered into the shopfront, they might have seen you draped over the register now completely devoid of clothing. But, you didn’t care. Not when Paul had proceeded to lower himself between your opened thighs, holding them apart with his large hands, his eyes wide and wandering over your cunt.

“Fuck,” he marvelled. With one long stripe, his tongue travelled up the divide, groaning into your centre. “Tastes even better than it looks.”

Leaning on your elbows, you whined as Paul began to gently lap at you, dipping further inside each time, occasionally holding his focus on swirling over your aching clit. It made you whimper and writhe against him, overwhelmed with an incessant need of the release he’d been sparking for what seemed like hours.

“You want to come huh?” Paul spoke out loud. “Grinding your pussy on my face like that?”

“Please! I need it! So, so, badly.”

Ah, that magic word again. “I know,” Paul soothed, having to palm himself over his trousers just to calm some of the impulse to fuck you right then. “You’ve been so good, doing so well. And you’ll get to come real soon. Just promise me one thing okay?”

“Whatever you want,” you heaved, watching while Paul’s fingertips drifted over the slippery flesh, teasing in and out of the folds.

“Be a good girl and ask my permission when you’re about to come. Can you do that?”  

Again, it was only a pitiful moan you could supply as your answer, which this time wasn’t quite enough to satiate the man gliding his touch over you infuriatingly slowly.

“I need to hear you say it. I need you to tell me what you’re going to do.”

Another cry left you as Paul slipped two fingers inside your heat, your mind blurred from the feel of knuckles moving past the edge of your entrance, stretching you open. “Be… Be a good girl… I’ll be your good girl and ask permission.”

Hearing you say the words, Paul was sure he’d never been so hard in his whole existence. It was almost painful, his cock straining against the zipper he was trapped by, but it was a pain he savoured more than ignored. Even if this was as far as he got, if this scene ended with your cum smeared over his lips and nothing more, he would be grateful for the throbbing down below and gladly thank you for it. So, he dove in.

As the duel sensation of Paul’s tongue and fingers rose in their intensity, your back became flush with the marble countertop, only to have it arched as the rippling currents of ecstasy started shooting through your whole body. Muscles twitching, thighs trembling, you were astounded at how proficient he was at drawing your climax to the surface, somehow knowing the motions and spots that brought it ever closer to the point of breaking. Usually, in those uncommon occurrences a man would want to put forth the effort, many minutes would float on while you chased the seemingly unreachable high. Paul needed only a few of them before your breaths turned staggered and toes began to curl, scrambling to find your voice.

“I… I’m… oh god, Paul, you’re going to make me… Please… please let me…”

He didn’t dare to pull away to speak his encouragement out loud, instead silently spurring you along while keeping his pace steady.

Get the words out, you can do it. Just ask the question. I want to see you come. I want to see how pretty you look when you come.

You bolted up, stomach tensing, snatching both sets of fingers into Paul’s hair. With him captured in your stare as more waves of pleasure crested from your core, you turned begging. “Oh please. I’m so… So close… Can I please come? Will you let me come?”

Paul groaned, the vibrations ricocheting outwards, being quick with his reply. “It’s okay, you can come. Come for me baby, come nice and hard for me.”

Back slumping down onto the cold countertop, you did as you were told. Walls clenched around Paul’s fingers in quickened spasms as your coarse sighs filled the balmy atmosphere. He’d never watched something so enthralling, the way your chest rose and fell with sweat clinging to your skin as you rode out the heavenly bliss you’d fallen into. Only when he was positive you’d slipped into the beginning of your afterglow did Paul retreat, resting over your body to place adoring kisses at your forehead and cheek.

“You did so good,” he murmured.

The connection rattled you back into the current reality, moving to rub your palm over his hidden erection. “We’re not done yet.”

“We’re not?”

You were far beyond the point of playing coy. “Can you please fuck me now? I need you to fuck me. Right now.”

Your pleading tone set something alight inside him, dragging you down until your feet made it to the floor and spinning you around in one swift action. Bent at the edge of the desk, a jingle of a belt buckle rung out, finally feeling Paul’s hardness press against your rear. And he felt huge. Thankfully still seeping from your climax, it was with ease he was able to eagerly sink into your waiting cunt, a rousing groan escaping from each of you.

“Oh fuck. You… feel so fucking good.” An arm slinked around your waist to wrench you flush against Paul’s torso, having his panting breath directly in your ear as he continued to drive himself further inside, gradually building his momentum. “Such a tight, wet pussy for me to make mine.”

“It’s yours,” you mewled. “It’s all yours.”

Paul lost his ability to speak, merely producing a growling moan into your neck as the pace and strength of his thrusts amplified, having little restraint left to hold himself back any longer. Repeated lewd, slapping sounds mingled with the coupled moans and whimpers of your collective satisfaction, passion radiating off your bodies in the form of feverish heat. It wasn’t long until you noted the stuttered exhales rushing out of Paul’s chest, a clear sign you didn’t miss.

“Want you to fill me. If… If you want to… You can… Fill me all the way up.”

Sure, it was reckless as all hell, but Paul trusted you like you’d trusted him, and the sound of your begging hit him like a lightning bolt. He lost complete control, plunging harder and faster into you, feeling your ass bounce against him, the pulsing below growing harsher and harsher until finally… release.

His embrace around you was suffocatingly strong as he spilled himself within your walls, sure the grip of his fingers would leave marks to find in the morning. Not that you minded. As the last of his energy dwindled into slackening thrusts, you again felt the dotting of small, sweetened kisses touch your skin, lining the curve of your shoulder.

“You’re amazing,” Paul awed, still tracing his palm over your bare flesh. “That was… amazing.”

About to chuckle at his lack of originality, a worrying thought sparked. “Oh my god!” You spun on your heels to encounter a bewildered expression. “The security cameras! They would have filmed everything! Oh god, I’m so fired.”

To your confusion, Paul had a toothy grin spread across his face. “I’ve got some experience in surveillance. I can handle it.”

“Huh? You do?”

He kissed the wrinkled portion of your brow. “I work for the NSA. And I could have sworn there was some suspicious activity occurring in these premises in the last… 30 minutes or so.”

~

Tagging those who might be interested! Sorry if it’s not your jam

@tlcwrites @roanniom @princessxkenobi @hopeamarsu @fathersonandhouseofgucci @mariesackler @leatherboundriot @foxilayde @modernpaw @cornmousequeen @direnightshade @mylifeisactuallyamess @caillea @jynz-andtonic @paterson-blue @miraclesabound @prismaticpizza @millenialcatlady​

#paul sevier #paul sevier x reader #paul sevier x female reader #midnight special #adcu #adcu fanfiction

[thembohux]

Midday

I’m trying to get rid of my writer’s block and had an idea last night to write This but it ended up way longer than I intended. Also included Hux with glasses and tattoos because I can do as I please (the tattoos are inspired by the art of @jeusus [please let me know if it was over a line to tag you])

Armitage Hux/femme enby OC

18+, minors DNI you know the drill with that

Warnings: PIV sex, degradation kink, fingering, praise kink, unprotected sex, semi-rough sex, Dominant Hux, I think that’s it but let me know if I missed anything ❤️

Armitage was home earlier than expected. Normally he didn’t get off work until four, putting him home at almost five if traffic was good. It was only noon.

Lita was on the sofa in the living room when the front door opened and Hux announced his arrival.

“I’d everything ok? It’s still so early.”

There was a gift box in Hux’s hands, his briefcase slung over his shoulder and glasses precariously balanced on his nose.

“I brought you a gift.”

“What’s the occasion?” Lita asked, tentatively taking the box when it was offered to her.

“I don’t think I need an occasion to spoil my darling wife, do you?” Hux asked, one eyebrow raised.

“I suppose not.” Lita placed the box on the coffee table as Armitage sat beside her.

“Open it, my darling.”

Lita pulled the lid off the box and pushed the tissue paper aside.

“Oh.”

“Do you like it, my love?”

She glanced at Armitage over her shoulder.

“I do but, Armitage, don’t you think it’s too much?”

“Never.”

Lita’s cheeks flushed slightly. She had plenty of beautiful lingerie that both Armitage and Kylo had gifted her over the years but this set was luxurious. They must have worked together to pick it out. Kylo’s job in the fashion industry did give him plenty of perks with obtaining designer items, which he used to absolutely spoil his partners.

“Try it on, I want to see you in it.”

Lita grabbed the box in one hand and Armitage’s hand in the other before heading up to their bedroom.

Hux stood at the edge of the bed, taking off his blazer and rolling up his sleeves, tattoos now on full display. They were simplistic, a few black bands evenly spaced that went from his wrist up his forearm. Lita was in the bathroom, stripping out of her clothes to change into her gift from Armitage.

It was gorgeous, a soft black mesh bralette and panties with little Gs emblazoned on it. Lita had seen the Gucci label on the box and garments. She smoothed everything down, making sure the garments laid nicely before stepping back into the bedroom.

Hux’s eyes lit up at the sight. He had known the set was sheer, but little was left to the imagination when Lita came closer. His hands found her waist immediately, all gentle touches as the cool metal of his wedding band made her skin break out in goosebumps.

He moved quickly, pushing Lita down onto the mattress while still maintaining his firm hold on her. Lita squealed, partially out of shock and excitement, as her back met the mattress, Armitage hovering over her.

One of his hands trailed down between their bodies, making its way between her thighs. He stopped, eyes meeting Lita’s to ask for permission.

“Please.” It was soft but enough for Armitage to continue. He pushed her panties aside, slipping one finger into her pussy and making Lita’s eyes roll back, a soft moan falling from her lips. He thrust his finger inside, curling it forward and stroking that sensitive spot along her front wall before adding another. Lita reached down between them, back arching as Armitage’s thumb brushed her clit, starting to unbuckle his belt to free his already hard cock. It wasn’t too thick, rather average in that respect, but it was long and could hit all the spots that had Lita moaning incoherently for him.

He withdrew his fingers, sucking them clean and moaning as he did, before lining his cock up with her entrance and sliding inside.

The only sounds in the room were their breathing and the soft moans that cut through the air. Armitage’s fingers nearly bruised Lita’s hips with his harsh grip.

He was always so particular about how he did things in the bedroom, just like every other aspect of his life.

A particularly hard thrust had Lita whining, trying to grab his hands and pull him closer, down onto the bed with her. Armitage didn’t give into Lita’s wishes, staying standing between her thighs while she laid before him on the bed. He loved having her like this, loved the control it gave him. Just how needy she became when Armitage held her down on the mattress, hips snapping against hers. Lita let a moan slip out, lips parted.

“My dumb little slut,” Hux cooed, slipping two fingers between her lips. Lita sucked at them, running her tongue along the pads and undersides of his fingers. She could still taste herself on his skin. “Such a sweet and pretty fucktoy. All for me.” Armitage withdrew his fingers with a wet popping sound, running his hand down Lita’s side, along the curve of her waist before settling at the swell of her hip. “Say it, my love.”

“Armitage.” It was whiny. Soft and breathy, hiding the groan Hux released when he felt her cunt clench around him. He leaned down, propping himself up on his forearms, not letting up on his brutal pace. His breath tickled her neck as Armitage made himself level with Lita’s ear.

“You love this, don’t you, darling?”

“Yes! Yes, Armitage, please!” She knew what he wanted from her. He wanted to hear how much she wanted him. How much she loved when he fucked her until neither of them could form coherent thoughts. Each thrust pushed Lita closer to that threshold, eyes rolling back and barely able to form words.

“Please, what?” The only response he received was a whine and Armitage slowed down, rolling his hips at a leisurely pace, which was met by more whining and hands desperately grabbing at his clothes. “Needy little thing,” he chuckled, punctuating his words with a deep thrust. “Does my pretty girl want more?”

Lita nodded, giving Armitage the best doe eyes she could and pouting up at him.

“You know what to do, then. I won’t give you what you want until you say it.” Nothing. Perhaps she needed her memory refreshed or to be prompted. Armitage would be happy to provide such things. In a little bit.

For now, he’d just tease until Lita gave him what he wanted. He’d give those small, shallow thrusts that made her whine, tears of frustration clinging to her lashes while his thumb just barely brushed against her clit. Perhaps he’d leave her on the very edge of an orgasm, come on her stomach and chest before going back to reading on the sofa while she whined and begged for release.

“Armitage, darling, please! Please— fuck— please let me come. I love— mmm— love your cock! Armie, please!”

Hux pushed himself back up, grabbing Lita’s waist to pull her into a sitting position as she grabbed onto the collar of his shirt. His pace was brutal, drawing loud moans from her lips that mingled with his own. Armitage leaned down, kissing and biting at any parts of Lita’s neck he could reach, fingers rubbing tight circles around her clit as her eyes rolled back.

“Come for me, love. Be a good girl, my darling.”

Lita let out a broken moan, cunt clenching around him and vision going white as she came. Armitage wasn’t close behind, giving a few final thrusts before spilling himself inside her, moaning against Lita’s neck. They both practically collapsed onto the bed, trying to even out their breathing and recover.

“Did I hurt you?”

“No.” Lita pressed a kiss to Hux’s cheek before turning his head slightly to reach his lips. “You did an amazing job. Thank you, darling.”

He pulled out, rolling onto his back while Lita rested her head on his chest. Perhaps he’d have to leave work early more often.

Tagging @cleversturmhond @starlightsearches @ratboyfanclub but no pressure of course ❤️

#lita talks #my writing #ok2rblg #minors dni #Armitage Hux/OC #Armitage Hux oneshot #Armitage Hux smut #general hux smut #star wars

[mushroom-cartel--writing]

begrudging (love-)blindness

Summary: You are, to him, unquestionably, terrifyingly lovely.

Relationship(s): Gojo Satoru & Reader, Gojo Satoru/Reader

Note(s):

Here’s the link to read this on AO3! (You know the drill, extra tags, different notes, the format I intended, etc.)

Personally, I think this is hot garbage in terms of structure and pacing (it’s loosely all strung together is what I’m saying, but I just needed to get it off my chest before I wrote anything else. Yet... I guess I had fun? Yeah. I did!

There's spoilers from the manga mixed with headcanon.

I still hate spacing and formatting on Tumblr, it sucks. Please, please, please, this is for your own good, click the AO3 link, this fic is such an eyesore on this platform.

|||

There’s a tug at your chest, sending you hurtling backwards and into something hard. A wall. Tiles. Smooth.

The heavens and the earth view one another through a layer of haze of light at night.

There are thousands of people gathering, their footsteps thundering echoes in your ears. Their chatter is a constant hum in the air. It stinks of sweat.

(“The train will be arriving soon. Please stand behind the yellow line—”)

You sigh.

“Dammit, Satoru! A little warning would be nice,” you hiss to the man. You hear him whisper something back but his voice is swallowed up by the crowds and then he, too, is consumed.

You feel him wander farther away from you; not left with much choice, you follow him. And down, down, down you go.

You pause when there’s an invisible wall blocking your path of his own making. “Hey!!” you shout, starting to scream expletives at him from the top of his lungs and he doesn’t look back.

A few seconds pass. The people, these poor, clueless civilians who just want to go home for the night are like sardines in a can, their bodies pushing and shoving. For space. For air. Requiring neither, you phase through the wall and the remaining levels to catch up to him, the thoughts going through your head solely focused on figuring out why he has let you out. He wouldn’t do something like this without warning you beforehand.

Why now? What now?

You pull out from the shadowed cracks of the feeble curtain set up along the fifth floor underground, suddenly feeling a heaviness you hardly ever experience. You run a cursory swipe over his teeth; the blood in the air is fresh, there are more civilians down here than up above, more sardine-ing (their presence is fading away, the above platforms’ panicked din becomes extinguished, it’s ghastly quiet, a moment frozen in time), but no Satoru. Not physically.

He loves you, you know. (You don’t understand though… Why?)

It’s a burden, draining you of what vigour is left in your soul, barely just clinging on to this plane itself.

His love is a curse in itself, really.

"I don't want you to see me hurt," he had said often, back when you were children, oblivious to the power of those words until you got older.

What they meant.

What they did—to him and you.

Still as the wind, you stand together, hands brushing up against each other's, your fingers infected with poison where his is not; the calloused skin and scars shared between you weaving a tale for the ages that will never be told.

You’re both nineteen at heart but certainly not in spirit.

You lean against him, completely unseen, waiting for him to flick his finger back.

Waiting for him to obliterate the first person he thought he could trust outside.

He doesn’t. You disappear for another time, expectant.

His love is a burden and you're not sure where you would be without it.

If he hadn't looked your way, would you be the same person you are today?

It's frightening, these thoughts of yours, but he usually chases them off when he senses them bubbling to the surface. (You want him to be annoyed.) A casual grin and stance, a flick of his wrist, a rush of wind by your side, then the phantom pressure is gone, yes, gone, however—it's never banished completely. It never can be.

You don't remember the colour of his eyes but there's a memory of you claiming they looked like marbles, buried somewhere (somehow), in the back of your mind. Like the marbles you'd smash glass bottles to obtain, their fizzy contents only drained seconds beforehand; stubby, sticky, small fingers sorting through the shards, squashing ants in the process.

Those very same fingers, now, haven't changed a bit, save for the chipped nails and whatnot duress they’ve sustained throughout his life.

You use them to push the blindfold up to his forehead, taking in the surrounding sights.

Why now? The fact that you can feel them, his fingers and everything else—that’s a bad sign. A very bad sign.

You breathe, inflating the faux lungs.

Finally, you see it. The reason why you’re walking and talking and fully corporeal.

You gulp at the living corpse, its stitches wonky and fresh. Cerebrospinal fluid spills from its face in fat droplets and lands upon the clothes of a dead man. Disgusting.

“So I was right in the end,” you say, more for yourself than anyone else. “You’re not Suguru.”

(Satoru owes you a thousand yen. You told him to burn the body immediately. Or, you know, the usual. But what’d he do instead? He went and passed it off to a third party! Man, why’d that old hag have to kick the bucket so soon… If she was still around she’d probably kick Satoru’s dumb ass for trying to be decent.)

“How are you free?” Not-Suguru asks.

The real Suguru wouldn’t ask about your appearance. He would make a comment about how the temperature has dropped and burrow into his collar. He wouldn’t question things.

The real Suguru never acknowledged you, but he knew there was something in the corner of his eye that took the image of his friend and laughed alongside them when they pulled their antics during missions.

The real Suguru is gone.

Who the hell knows where Shouko is.

Yeah. A little warning would have been nice. Real fucking nice.

There’s a cube with a dozen eyes between the two of you, the crater on the ground betrays its unassuming weight. Satoru’s muted presence, a shrunken pearl of light, emanates from the cube.

Not-Suguru follows your line of sight to it.

Giving him an answer would be a waste of your time.

You can’t, they say.

Young master, please, don’t go there, implores the servants and guards.

The elders, his grandmother especially, tell him not to enter the storehouse tucked away in the garden behind an avenue of camellia trees because that’s something they’ll discuss when he’s older.

He doesn’t listen to them, the curiosity of a three-year-old child cannot be satisfied by mere words. (“Let this be known,” the gardener says in his defense, one cold summer’s day. It is raining outside. His grandmother shoots the only person in the compound that doesn’t treat him like a blind fool with a withering glare. He does not see them again until—)

What’s in the storehouse?

A library of cursed objects? Spiritual remnants, artefacts, texts, poisons, weapons?

Maybe the mummified corpse of an ancestor whom they keep around to ward off evil?

Perhaps a curse, frozen in time forevermore?

Maybe it’s nothing and the adults are all in on some kind of elaborate hoax, he figures. Mm, yeah. Sounds about right. No one else knows about the storehouse.

It’s old and earthen. Wild plants curl the walls to one side and splotches of moss grow on the tiled roof. Where the sun hits least is pristine. Clean. He wonders if that’s where the wards are placed, out of sight, out of mind.

Oh.

Standing in the entrance of the open door with bare feet, at the threshold of the aged structure, fulfilling his desire, he learns why they wanted him to remain ignorant.

It’s a child. (A human…? This whole situation is off.) A kid his age. He can’t tell whether or not they’re older or younger. They might be a bit taller, though.

No, he wants to shout, this can’t be it! He stomps his foot. That’s cliché! Boring, boring, boring! Again, he strikes the ground. Ugh, whatever—

A sigh escapes the emaciated figure sitting in the darkness, hunched over themself against the wall of the bare storehouse.

“Ah, my f̶̥̍r̵̝͐̏i̷̳end,” they start, softly. “M̶̹̦͒y̸͍̮̋̚ f̸͉̓̋r̴͇̦̕ǐ̴̦͇e̵̫͠n̷̢͉̅̓ḍ̸̅, my very dear, old friend. You have returned.

“My e̷̳̭̿y̶͈͂e̷͔̭̎͘s̴̭̄̊, have you come to give them back? Ask for several others?

“I have waited for you, as promised. Come. Closer. Please. I do not know how long has passed since I last gazed upon your visage. Do not be afraid.

“I no longer lust for flesh as fervently as before, I will not ask of y̸͖͔̒o̵̳̍u̵͍̘̓ ą̴͕̈́n̵̫̓d̸̛̳͛ y̵̻͑̎o̵̖̥͒͌ų̴͋̐r̵̦̩̓s a sacrifice to please me.”

Their voice is garbled, the resemblance to a broken radio off-pitch jarring his reaction time, a music box opened underwater gurgling, ghosts beat to the rhythm of the blood in his ears and titter buried mysteries.

In the corner of his eyes distant stars burn, galaxies explode to life and die repeatedly, the vast cosmos is shredded apart. Universes are swallowed whole. The plane he stands upon bends to the will of the one whose gifts he uses carelessly to play the role of a deity and dictate the balance of the world.

People have said [they] reflect the very heavens.

His faith wanes.

.

a trio of ragtag orphans,

escapees, survivors and starved,

on the verge of being

no better than beasts,

happen upon a traveller taking respite from the winding roads.

a foreigner no doubt

they guess from the strange hued garb;

rest, everyone around these parts,

they know comes not

easy to scum, scoundrels, sinners and

deceivers alike.

.

.

.

mad ones, rushing to death

—without protection i must add—

oh my darling children, you are!

consume my flesh,

defend those unseeing,

purge the blight

and you shall witness

my return before long, indeed?!

.

They do not move and neither does he.

What he assumes to be their head tilts ever so to the side, gauging him, this fool of a boy trespassing on their domain. This part of the garden, the little boy realises too late, is theirs.

This, the storehouse and now him.

(—the gardener finds him sprawled out on his back come dusk. They help him to his feet and dust him off, the sparkle in his eyes an unusual occurrence; they ask their precious young master what happened and he points them in the direction of the doors sealed shut.

“I took a peek inside,” he lies. Children are supposed to do that, right?

“And what did you find?”

“Nothing.” The gardener knows he’s a bad liar.

“Good. Now come.” They lead him away from the path of the camellias. “Lady Mitsue has been beside herself over you, mister.”

His grandmother hasn’t. She probably knows what he has done and will instruct him to feed the council what they want to hear. My son was too soft, she asserts before and after every meeting with those windbags.

You have to do better.

And his father is dead, so only time will tell who’s right.)

He starts having weird dreams (memories?) several days later.

Trying to ignore them doesn’t work.

Every waking moment is subject to gore.

He has to resist the urge to scratch his own eyes out while he trains.

In the world beneath his eyelids, there are shadowy figures claiming it best he is blinded and locked away and fed what no other soul could hope to consume without issue. And just as they force open his jaw—every night, every time—he wakes up.

Satoru doesn’t know what to make of it. Doesn’t know what to make of you.

One day, he dreams of years of living without sunlight causing you to screw your not-eyes shut and look away upon the opening of a door into your domain. When you recover, you turn to the door, the emotion of curiosity tugging for your attention out of the myriad of beings you’ve eaten.

Standing at the threshold, ethereal, desperate and short of breath, is a young man. In his arms is a woman, his wife, you presume. They’re stark shades of white, binary stars of a celestial system long dead.

You smile, recognising them in an instant. “Ah, my old friends, children of my children’s children a dozen times over, tell me, what is it you wish for?”

“My wife and our child,” says the man, “please, I beg of you, save them!”

Oh? A healing? It’s been quite some time since that was last requested of you.

You skitter to the pair’s side and shut the door gently behind them, ushering them further in.

You click your not-tongue at the woman’s state, wondering why no one thought to come to you earlier. If they did, the price they’d have to pay would be much less than what you’re about to tell the man. Humans are such prideful creatures, Satoru knows this, but he can’t help but feel tense as you instruct the man to lay the woman down and state your cost.

First, he opens his mouth. Then it shuts. Opens. Shuts. The man regards his dear wife with something Satoru has never seen before in the eyes of those around him.

His reply?

“I accept—”

A harsh smack to the head disrupts the memory; he looks up, unsurprised to meet his grandmother’s gaze, wrinkled eyes so very much like his own piercing his soul.

“Being distracted in the middle of a fight is unbecoming of you, boy,” she says. “What seems to be the matter?”

He can’t tell her.

He stays silent.

“Satoru.” She raises her hand, fingers crossed, indicating the void’s opening. “We Gojou pride ourselves on our ability to adapt. That is why, in fact, I say my son was too soft. He could not accept that he would lose my daughter-in-law and the child she carried in her womb to common illness. He could not accept that it was impossible to cheat death. He could not accept the position he was placed in. And for that, he died and of the aforementioned two, only you lived. Do you understand?”

No. He doesn’t want to understand.

What is adaptation if they’ve yet to rid themselves of and bow down to your constant presence? Is that not their most fatal flaw?

You eat them.

One life in exchange for another; you told his father it was the only way.

You were given the corpse of his mother a hundred days after his birth by the elders.

Every Gojou after death, you grind their bones between your teeth and their flesh rots at the bottom of your belly. Their soulful essence fights for dominance against the forces of the innumerable curses the clans feeds you—the hate, the sentiment, the sheer bursts of techniques and mighty powers clashing, click, click, click—you embody and absorb the aftermath of each childish scuffle, playing the bored jailer adjudicator. Corpses, tools, objects, energy and flesh. It’s how you’ve lived for so long without light or human thought to taint you: the jujutsu world’s dirty little secret, waste disposal.

You are, to him, unquestionably, terrifyingly lovely.

He loves you for that one reason.

A means to an end, forever.

(The boy, a few days shy of his fourth birthday and inauguration, does not know what love is. He thinks he does, having read the definition in a dictionary in order to familiarise you with modern speech, but love is not a word to be thrown around lightly the way he does.)

“I do,” he lies again, this time, to himself. “I understand everything.”

His sight is black.

He pushes back against the current, against instinct telling him to relinquish control and reaches forward for the dream that he was ripped from.

Your true form towers over his mother’s prone form, dripping ichor and the fluid of loose entrails all over. His father stays seated even when you lift an arm to draw blood, the man facing you without a trace of fear.

“I accept—but on the condition that my child receives your protection.”

“My p̶̹̽r̴̽ͅo̵̠͐ť̷̬e̶̺̊c̶̻̒t̷̙͑i̵̮̓o̶̱n̷̖͂?” Do they not teach the younger generations what that entails?

“Yes. My ancestors wrote that you were a benevolent being in a past life. That you were a kind-hearted human who accidentally drank poison before being found and buried alive, condemned and reviled, forcing you to become what you are now. Does that still not hold true?” His father’s face is hopeful.

It doesn’t. But who are you to tell him that? That ‘benevolent being’ never existed in the first place. You’ve always been this.

The vivisepulture part was true, but the beginning? Debatable. Your memories of ‘being human’ are foggy; you’re not sure if they’re real or someone else’s. Satoru’s is the clearest thus far because you abide within him. And he’s young, there’s little to garner.

What other nonsense has been made truth in the time you have withdrawn from the world?

He wants to go down that rabbit hole.

You grab the cube and run, warping reality in your wake.

You are many things.

Alive, you are first; secondly a parent, a teacher and a friend; cursed thrice times over; quarter something-something or rather by this point; and last, your hollowness complements the damned hallowed.

You are Gojou Satoru but not.

His skin peels off in delicate scales from the speed you’re going.

The first and last time you puppeteer his body, Satoru invokes his father’s contract with you for the second time in his life.

Like the first occurrence, it happens by accident.

(The first occurrence is a stain on your memory.

Mitsue looked her grandson in the eye and tasked him with a futile quest, one that would decide the future headship of their clan. You personally thought such practices outdated but you held his tongue and grit his teeth, faking laughter for the audience they had.

She reminded you too much of your youngest, both in the way she cobbled herself together and how she suspended time long enough to catch a glimpse of you hunched beside him, flickering in and out of her void domain with the ease of a toddler climbing free of their crib.

Beautiful and deadly.

He nearly died.)

He is unaware of the finer details, but where his consciousness ends at getting a scalpel to head, it rouses again with him standing before the man who has the blood of Satoru’s friends on his hands and left him to bleed out undecapitated.

On a high from escaping Izanami’s clutches, he sprouts math and whatever nonsense off the top of his head and ragdolls up, down, across and through the air.

He feels like a being higher than the gods. Doesn’t mean he is, though.

He’s barely in control.

Violent swashes of red and blue fill the sky. He sees beyond his opponent rising from the earth the heavens condemning his breaching unto their space.

“Hey, stranger, did you know purple was her favourite colour?”

“Whose?”

|

“Satoru.”

“Hm?”

“You are Satoru, right?”

“Yessssss?”

“You… you’ve got a bit of…” Suguru gestures vaguely around the lower half of his face.

“Oh.” You rub the corner of his mouth with the pad of his thumb and see it come back tinged pink. The drying drool on his sleeves is used to rub the rest of the blood away. “Thanks.”

“Have you found her?”

“Amanai? Her body?” Suguru flinches. Your gaze is drawn to the cultists clapping. “Yeah, I did. Sorry.”

“What are you apologising for?”

“I don’t know,” Satoru says. “I feel like killing these people. Should we?”

“Why?”

“I’m still h̸͓̟͐u̴̦͗n̴͇͈̅͛g̵͔̒̕ŗ̴͕͂͘y̸͚͍͘͘.” Two wasn’t even a snack.

“I’m angry that we failed too. But we can’t do anything now, it’s out of our hands.”

|

Several days later finds him back at the entrance of the storehouse, none the worse for wear.

In the shadow of the building grows a lone weed.

“It’s changed.”

“Of course it has.”

“Will I end up like them?”

“Yes.”

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gn!reader #gender-neutral reader #gojo satoru x reader #reader insert #one-shot #originally posted on ao3 #jujutsu kaisen #this is a dumpster fire

[deans-mind-palace]

Suspirium (Pt.2)

Pairing: Prof!Sam x Reader

Summary: You’re in your last year of your Classics and Mordern Languages studies and you're majoring in Latin and English. Then you get assigned to a different Latin teacher. And damn, he loves his subject. Too bad that he’s also hot. What is just a childish crush soon develops into something way more complicated.

Word Count: 1,500

Warnings: None, yet.

Author’s Note: Second chap, guys. And our first meeting with Sam. ;) Enjoy and show it some love.

Suspirium - Masterlist

Your alarm clock rang exactly at 8.30 the next morning and you still had time to get ready for your 10 o'clock lecture with Professor Winchester and get a coffee at the little café around the corner of your flat. You had escaped from the dormitory since the third semester and now lived in your own four walls. You earned your living by waiting tables at a well-known restaurant in town.

You locked the door behind you and leaned against it for a moment while breathing in the fresh morning air. The dew of autumn was still on the green meadows and it was pleasantly warm. Birds were chirping and the sun was shining its golden glow on the slowly colouring leaves. A smile crept up your lips. It was the perfect second day of your senior year at college. And you wanted to enjoy it. This was going to be your year.

"Carpe diem. Seize the day." you mumbled with a smile before you shouldered your bag and walked off. Your flat was a little further away from college and you were finally going to get your coffee. A few minutes later, you entered your favorite café and inhaled the smell of freshly brewed coffee and cookies. There wasn't much going on, because it was more of an insider tip. Most students got their coffee at Starbucks in the city or directly in the cafeteria. You joined the queue. Then your cell phone started ringing. Surprised, you rummaged through your bag but couldn't find it and instead your notebook fell out. Quickly you bent down to pick it up when it already happened. A man ran into you and poured his hot coffee over you.

You swore unpleasantly when the coffee ruined your white top. The hot coffee ran down your hands and dripped to the floor. You gasped indignantly for breath. "Damn it!" you cursed and reached for a napkin to wipe your hands. "Oh, my God. I'm so sorry! I-I didn't see you, and..." you heard a deep voice stammer nervously. You sighed in annoyance. "It's all right." You muttered, but when you looked up, you paused in amazement. Your gaze caught in the most beautiful hazel eyes you had ever seen. He was in his early thirties, wearing a light-grey knitted sweater and underneath it the collar of a white shirt was sticking out. Long brown hair framed his striking face and you saw the worry in his eyes. "I -" He fell silent and bent down to pick up your notebook and wiped it on his trousers. "Here." He handed it to you and looked at you with an embarrassed look. "Thank you." "I'm really so sorry. I'll pay for the damages. I'm, uh... I'm Sam." He offered you his hand, which you took in a trance. "Hi. I'm Y/N," you said, forcing you to smile. He returned it a little shyly, and you melted away. "Nice to meet you, Y/N. I - uh. I should really get going. I'd love to buy you a cup of coffee. As an apology. O-or a tea. Or whatever you like." You wiped the smirk off your face because of his clumsiness. He was really embarrassed.

He took one glance at his watch and cursed. "I really have to go now. The offer for the coffee stands, Y/N. I'll see you then." he said goodbye in a hurry and ran off. As quickly as he came, he was gone. You watched him hurry down the street while his brown hair flew in the wind until he turned the corner and you lost sight of him. Only then did you realize that you didn't know how to find him again.  He hadn't given you his number or anything.

With a sigh you took a look at the mess on your shirt. Your lecture would begin in a few minutes. But you had to change urgently, because you couldn't show up in class like that. The new professor would throw you out on your ass if you appeared like this in his lecture! The day could only get better from now on.

You arrived at the lecture almost twenty minutes late. Quietly you looked for a place further in the back and began to take your things out of your bag and put them on the table. You listened to the lecture with half an ear only.

"We will devote this year mainly to epics. Aeneas, Odysseus and Iliad. We will also take a closer look at Latin poetry. Please obtain the following books on Catullus and Ovid. I can recommend Latin for the Illiterati edition 2. As a dictionary I ask you to use this one." You had eagerly taken notes and now for the first time raised your eyes to see which book the professor meant. You almost choked when you saw the man in the front of the lecture hall. Your breath stopped. There was Sam! The Sam who had just spilled coffee on you. His gaze wandered over the students, and when he got stuck on you, the book almost fell out of his hand. He just caught it again and cleared his throat embarrassed.

"Do you have any more questions about the topics we're going to study?" he asked around and you noticed the pink blush on his cheeks. He avoided looking in your direction for the rest of the lecture. Embarrassment and shame circulated in your body and you concentrated on making a proper transcript so as not to have to look up again. Awkward. Your professor had just spilled coffee over you and finally invited you in for coffee! The worst thing was that you found him really cute. You would like to say that this feeling had died, but unfortunately he was still pretty hot.

Your professor's coughing tore you from your confused thoughts. "I'm glad you all could come in such large numbers today. The lesson today served as an introduction. Please purchase the requested materials with which we will work until the next lecture. Then we will begin with Catullus. I look forward to the year with you. That's it for today." he concluded today's lecture. Immediately your fellow students began to pack up, but you stayed and watched as Professor Winchester brushed the brown strands of hair from his face and collected his personal belongings.

The lecture hall emptied slowly and then Professor Winchester looked up. You summoned up all your courage and walked over to him. Hurriedly he took the sheet of paper with the names and looked for your first name to find out your full name. "Ms L/N. How can I help you?" he asked a little louder as the last student left the hall. "It's about the coffee, Sa- Professor Winchester." He nodded and smiled at you politely, albeit restrained. "Of course. What is it?" he asked while turning off the beamer and stowing the remote control. "I wasn't sure if you were still- I mean, if this is somehow weird for you, then-" You fell silent nervously, searching for the right words. "Don't worry, Ms. L/N. Professors and students are allowed to have coffee together. I promised to return the favor, and I keep my promises. So the offer still stands. If that's not a problem for you?" He questioned. You nodded and thought for a moment. It certainly couldn't hurt to get to know your professor a little better, after all you had to get along with him all year round. It certainly wouldn't be conducive to have such an embarrassing event standing between the two of you.

"Um, well - yes, of course. When would it be best for you?" you asked and gave him a smile, which he returned immediately. He pulled his mobile out of his pocket and went through his schedule. "I have my first lecture tomorrow around 8.30am," he said. "How about 10:00 at Old Queen's?" You shook your head regretfully. "My classes start at 9:45. So maybe 2:00 then?" This time it was up to him to shake his head. "Ah, I'm afraid I can't do that. How about 4:00?" You nodded slowly. "Yes, I can do that." He smiled at you again and put his phone away.

"Well, I'm looking forward to it,  Y/N - uh, Ms L/N." He looked away embarrassed and cleared his throat. Your name sounded special when he pronounced it with his deep voice, but you ignored the warm feeling in your stomach. "Me too. I'll see you there?" "Yeah, sure. " For a moment there was an awkward silence between you, where neither of you knew what to say, then you started talking at the same time. "Cool." "So then-" You broke it off laughing. "You first," he said laughing. You noticed how his beautiful eyes crinkled at the corners and that his nose turned slightly up, when he laughed. "See you, then. Have a nice day, Professor." "Thank you, Ms. L/N. I'll see you tomorrow."

Your thoughts rushed through your mind as you left the lecture hall in a hurry, leaving Sam Winchester behind.

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[basically-neil-josten]

New Beginnings PT. 1

So! This is a new story I’m gonna write, I don’t know how many chapters/parts there will be but I think at least 10?

I hope y’all like it!

- Warnings: Semi-graphic depiction of a car crash Edited: yes Wordcount: 1,408 words -

There would never be a sweeter taste than victory. Neil loved it, he loved the feeling of every victory, every win on the court. The way that suddenly everything would erupt. Neil could hear Dan’s cheerful screams from the opposite side the court, she’d run over to Matt and pull him into a tight hug. Nicky would pump his free fist in the air, while tightly holding onto his Exy racket with the other. Andrew would look bored and tired, but after a while, Neil began to realize that there was a faint look behind his eyes. Something resembling joy would glint in them for mere seconds. Allison and Renee were attracted to each other like magnets. They’d walk up to Dan with arms around each other. Kevin would try to keep his neutral judging look on, but sometimes he couldn’t help it. Sometimes he’d smile. Sometimes Kevin would give into the win, and celebrate. Aaron would instantly look over to Katelyn, smiling proudly at her through the plexiglass walls. Neil would observe all of this, for about half a minute, before joining the others in celebration. His chest would swell with joy and pride. Dan would wrap a tight arm around his shoulders and pull Neil into a hug. She’d always whisper, “I’m proud of you,” to him.

Neil never had anyone say ‘I’m proud of you’ to him before he met the Foxes. Before he joined their team, or rather, their family. Now he heard at least once a week. And not just from Dan, it was also from Wymack, Matt, Nicky, Allison, and Renee. The others never quite said it, though they showed it in other ways. Aaron would clap a hand on his shoulder briefly after a particularly good game. The angry look in Kevin’s eyes would dissolve momentarily, and something else would replace it, pride perhaps. Andrew would nod ever so slightly at him, a small smile daring to pull at his lips.

Neil loved winning almost more than he loved Exy. But the feeling of victory could never surpass the feeling of unity. The Foxes were like clockwork on the court. It had taken them a while to get there, but each movement flowed so smoothly into the next now. It’s like they had all adopted a sixth sense, the whole team knew what was going to happen next before anyone else. They were practically unstoppable. Some nights, Neil would return to the dorm exhausted, drained, sore, bruised, almost physically broken. Those nights, he’d lie in his bed, staring up for hours, an idiotic grin on his face as he replayed the game over and over again in his mind. He’d review the moves and plays he made, how the other team reacted, how his own team reacted. Thinking of every possible way he could improve. Those nights were his favorite. Neil was constantly evolving, trying to change. Trying to be better. He wanted nothing more in his life than to be better, to make most of the life he had been so lucky to re-obtain. 

Neil never knew that he’d live past the age of 20, and now he was given so much more time. He wanted to spend as much of it as he could, making a legacy, proving a point. Proving that he was more than just the Moriyama’s ‘property’, proving that he could do more than anyone ever thought he could. He wanted to prove that Neil Josten was a living horror story. Neil wanted to show them all that he survived. He survived. He didn’t care what life threw at him anymore, he could take it, he could survive it.

The Foxes had just won a game against USC. It was brutal, but one of the most pacifistic games they’d ever played. It was always like that with the Trojans, they put up a strong fight, and the Foxes always gave it their all. No matter what the outcome, they’d be happy either way. Both teams decided beforehand that they would meet up for dinner afterward. It was a home game, so the Foxes were in no rush to get back to Fox Tower, and the Trojans were always up for a good celebration. After their brief celebration on the court, they shared a genuine handshake with the Trojans, then trudged off to the locker rooms to freshen up.

Neil usually liked to get in and out of the locker room as fast as he could, even though by now he was comfortable with the guys and trusted them, he still didn’t want to keep everyone waiting. But today was an exception to that, today Neil stood under the warm water stream for 20 minutes, letting his muscles relax as he let his thoughts take him where they needed to go. Neil wondered what it’d be like to win a game once he got to Court. He wondered how much adrenaline would pump through his veins as the final buzzer went off. How he’d take his helmet off with numb, shaky fingers. Wipe the sweat from his eyes as he stared at the scoreboard in disbelief. The cheer of the crowd would be deafening. He would feel the stadium shaking. He’d be breathless, sweaty, and gross. Neil already knew that that feeling would be addictive, he knew that he’d be hooked the second he felt it. And Neil couldn’t wait for that. 

   Neil was startled out of his daydream by the stall door being banged. Andrew’s voice echoed through the room as he said, “Hurry the fuck up, we don’t have all night,”. Neil laughed to himself at that. He was in too much of a good mood to let anything get to him.

   He quickly got ready after that, half-assedly drying his hair with a towel. Knowing that it’d air dry by the time the dinner started. Neil barely got two steps out of the locker room before Nicky showed up and started to adjust the button up he was wearing.

   “How the hell is your collar so crooked?” Nicky muttered, his tongue poking out of his mouth ever so slightly as he adjusted it. Neil was used to this by now, Nicky did it every time they went out to Columbia. He just stood still and let Nicky do his thing, fixing his collar, pushing back his hair, making Neil look ‘socially presentable’. After all, everyone was so sure that he’d end up in Court one day, Neil needed to not only be likable but also look it.

   They all filed out of the stadium and into their respective cars. Ever since things started getting more serious between Andrew and Neil, he was promoted to sitting in the front seat. Kevin protested at first, but then stopped and let it go. Which was probably best, seeing as Neil could sense that Andrew was on the verge of punching him. Neil carefully got into the car and buckled his seatbelt. Even though it seemed a bit unnecessary since they were only minutes away from the restaurant. He gazed out the window as Andrew pulled away. Watching as the stadium got smaller in the side mirror until it was out of his sight. Nicky chatted mindlessly about something that had caught his interest earlier. Kevin and Andrew chimed into the conversation when it was necessary, but Nicky was the main reason the conversation stayed alive. Nicky didn’t like it when there was too much silence, even if it was comfortable silence. He couldn’t allow that.

   The usual calm noise of Nicky’s talking was interrupted by a frightening, “Holy shit!” Neil had only mere moments to asses and react, looking into the rearview mirror to see Nicky’s eyes wide with fear. Neil’s eyes flicked down to the windshield and time seemed to slow down for a second. The car in front of them had just been t-boned at the intersection, and Andrew was moving way too fast to be able to slow the car down in time to save them. Neil felt Andrew start to swerve the car out of the way, but he was too late to react. Neil felt Andrew’s arm press against his chest to keep him from flying forward as they collided with the car. Andrew had no idea if that would help in the slightest, but in that one moment, Andrew was afraid. Afraid he’d lose Neil, so easily, just like that. Gone.

-

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[laketaj24]

Gladiator IV

A/N: It’s back! I hope you enjoy the update! Taglist open and please let me know what you think! 

Gladiator I, Gladiator II, Gladiator III Vikings MASTERLIST

Warnings: SMUT, SLAVERY. 

Ubbe wades through the water in the barracks alone, a privilege given only to the Champion of the Ludus. Ubbe sits upon the steps washing his body with sponge and then dipping it back into the water. There was little peace to be obtained in the days of late. He’d won over ten victories in the past three months, rising Dominus Aurav to fame and hearing his name chanted even in his sleep.

“Gladiator Ubbe.” Aurav enters the bathing chambers with his guardsmen not too far behind. “You fought well last week.” He smiles. “And now you are needed in a different form tomorrow. The Senator’s daughter has taken interest in you, beyond the arena. And it is to my understanding that my sister Y/N and you have been spending time together. Nothing will ever come of it. She cannot marry property.”

His words sting Ubbe’s ego for a moment, but it was not something foreign to him, he knew the law just as well if not better than Dominus Aurav. “Dominus.” He pauses sitting back in the water. “I am here to serve.”

“Precisely, clean yourself and become well rested. I order you to not mount my sister until after you have bedded this senator’s daughter for my sister fucks you for free and she has offered 100 denarii. Is this understood?”

“Yes.”

“Nice speaking with you, granted you had little to say. The guardsmen will have their eye on you two, as they do always, do not defy my orders and I might let her watch.” Aurav waves over to one of the younger gladiators. “You will do for tonight. Guards.” He leaves the barracks bathing pool just a quietly as he arrived taking a gladiator with him.

 ***

“Are they all topless?” Hvitserk grinned biting into the pomegranate. He nudges Bjorn taring down at the women. “I could get used to this.”

“I am sure it appeases you Hvitserk, it is likely the only way that you can see them.” Ivar eyes watch the marketplace for her figure. He had seen her a day before tagging along the works of a slender gentleman and now today she walked through the place unaccompanied. “I will take my leave.” Ivar smiles fixing his royal blue tunic.

“We are to meet here at high noon Ivar.” Bjorn wipes his face. “We are not here for leisure, and bare in mind this is the same place you referred to as the scourge of the earth.”

“I have yet to take back my statement, brother.” Ivar hops onto the steps. “But why not bask in the place of filth while we are required to be here.” And with that he takes his leave merging into the flow of traffic far beyond the eyes reach of his two older brothers.

Hvitserk’s hair drapes among his shoulders. “His name has only been stated in among the peasants, brother.” He spits the seeds to the ground tearing off another piece of the pomegranate. “For all we know they murmur the name of a legend.”

“The Ludus is ten miles south of the city, but half a day’s journey. You will present yourself to the Lanista and declare your desire to become a gladiator.” Bjorn perches against the wall rolling his eyes at his younger brother who chides the women below. “Hvitserk the Younger, will you listen. This gladiator task is endearing, but we must have eyes on him before we proceed to call upon father.”

“I hear you Bjorn. I unlike Ivar do not have the attention span of a child. I fully understand my role within this plan of yours.”

“Perfect, then I shall spare myself the wasted breath to explain it to you once more. When Ivar returns we will send you on your way and we shall see you at the games within a fortnight if you progress as you say you will.”

“I have slaughtered hundreds of men in battle, you doubt me Bjorn?”

“I doubt all of you.” He says sucking through his teeth, “Find Ivar, he’s had enough time.”

Atria was rarely allowed into the city without supervision but having been the slave of the house for so long Aurav nor yourself did not think ill of her intentions. She paced through the city collecting everything on the list. There were to be guest tonight and the Domina had plans to make sure they were well fed and fucked to insure patronage to the house.

The hot sun beamed upon her exposed shoulders, the nearly sheer dress done nothing to protect her tawny skin from the searing rays of the sun. She takes to the merchants beneath the awnings picking her needed things from the list. “Four pomegranate and ten plums.” She smiles at the merchant and watches him bag the items for her.

“You are the first beauty I have laid eyes upon in this dreadful place.” He leans against the table in front of her. His veined arms are revealed beneath the white toga. He bit into the plum wiping the excess juice from his face. “And I have traveled far and wide across this wasteland called Rome.” He grins, and she pays him no mind moving to the merchant with busy eyes. He growls in frustration sifting through the traffic of people. Rudely he shoves and moves ahead until he is by her. “What is your name?”

“Five pears please.” Atria says ignoring him.

He groans in frustration stopping in front of her. He accesses her from head to toe. The curly head woman before him was like unlike any other woman he had seen before. Her hair rung in tight coils that draped to her shoulders, with lips pink like a rose. Her beautiful sun brazened skin nearly glowed against the sage colored dress and then her eyes twinkled like starlight. He was not going to have her ignore him. “I would have your name.”

He steps in front of her halting her stride and smiling at her with wide blue eyes and a smile. “Have I been rude or disrespectful to you?” He asks.

“No sir you haven’t. I am simply buying food under the order of Dominus Aurav.”

“Dominus Aurav is not my concern.” He pauses. “I am Ivar.” Ivar announces himself with a mischievous grin and wide eyes. “Why are you barred?” He touches the metal brace around her slender neck and steps back. “Are you enslaved?”

“I am, Ivar. And being such, if Dominus Aurav is none of your concern than neither am I, May the Gods bless you and may you stay out of my way. Ivar.” She feels the heat radiate her face as the crimson color flushes her body. Never had she taken the eye of a man so handsome.

“Why the aloofness? I simply wish to make my time here in Rome better.”

“What brings you here?”

“That is a private matter.” He reaches into her bag and grabs one of her pears tossing it above his head and then back into the bag. “You shop for your master, yet you get nothing that will sustain or nourish the body, only entertain. Fruits, nuts and wines. Do Romans not eat meat?”

“I cannot and will not cart goat up to the villa, there are men there for that purpose. You ask many questions and you have not yet stated from where you come? Why should I bestow answers about my master to you, a stranger of Rome?”

“But not a stranger to beauty and the finer things of life. Everything is crueler here in Rome. The arena, the sports,” He pauses giving her a devious eye. “The women.” Ivar walks beside her. “How long will it take for your master to search for you while you are absent from him?”

“My absence?”

“Yes,” He removes the hair from her shoulder and his finger traces along her collar bone. Ivar wets his lips and shakes his head. “You are going to be busy for a few.” He takes her hand leading her from the busy streets of the city and to the catacombs of the city. He looks up at the busy movements of the people smiling. “I think you deserve a moment away from it all,” He whispers leaning in closer to her. “Just to breathe.”

Atria shifts her weight swaying listening to the people pass above her and Ivar’s deep breaths. He steps closer to her and she swallows hard. “I have to leave now, Ivar.”

“Ivar, son of King Ragnar, Prince of Athens.” He smiles. “I fair that this is not the last time that we shall see one another, no?”

“If the gods will us seeing one another again, Prince Ivar… then it will be.”

“The gods tend to shine their favor upon me. I am confident I will see you again.”

***

The Recruits line the center of the small arena, it was nothing new to you watching them get whipped into shape. They were feeble compared to the men your Ludus had produced, all but one. He stood at the end with his crooked smile jarring at the experienced gladiator in front of him. You watch intrigued, wondering what Ubbe would do if he had a chance at the exuberant character in the rink. You fan yourself reaching for a glass of water from a quiet Atria.

“How was the marketplace?”

“Pleasant Domina.” She said with a subtle smile.

You pay her no mind. There were other matters of pressing concern. The senators daughter, Aurelia a close friend of your brother had purchased a session with Ubbe. This was customary. Women far and wide would travel to the villa just to be bed by them, but this was treachery, for Aurav knew the closeness of Ubbe to you. You hadn’t spoke to him really but in passing, thinking of ways to strip power from him seemed pointless except but by marriage, and you would rather be chained to your brother than remain miserable in the rest of your days.

The quick recruit springs out jabbing his wooden sword knocking the trained gladiator down before him and giggling as he won. The others watched intrigued, it was told he volunteered, it didn’t surprise you. This one looked accustomed to the madness. “Atria, where are they preparing Ubbe?” You whisper pulling her near you.

“Aurelia and Aurav are approaching Domina, I dare say you are too late.” She takes the goblet of water from you and nod over to your brother and the young blond. She approaches you smiling. “Speak Domina.”

“Aurelia, a site for sore eyes.” You grin kissing each of her cheeks before taking her hand from Aurav. You walk to the edge of the balcony. “See our fine recruits today.” You nearly sit staring over. “The youngest one at the end is quite a site.” And he was, the long hair clearly showing he was not from your barracks and his grin. He had a maniacal grin. His eyes stare up at the balcony and Aurelia turns to you. “Ubbe awaits you.”

“Is he as energized as he?”

“I do not know, I do not mingle with slaves.” You smile. “That one is not a slave, but a free man. He came here willingly.”

Aurav cut his eye over to you nodding his head indiscreetly. “Ubbe awaits you.”

“I want him.” She smiles. “He is a savage, and I personally am ready to be ravaged I will wait in the chambers Aurav. Do not keep me waiting. You know how I am about waiting.” She kisses your hand parting from you with her servant.

Aurav seethes beside you. “He has not been washed like Ubbe. I had plans.”

“Aurav, remember who put you in charge of this villa, whose money you sit on. Whose house you dwell in,” You pull him buy his shirt. “No one will fuck him but me. Is this understood? I would hate for you come up missing and I have to find another Dominus.”

“Keep your fucking filthy slave, sister.” He whispers. “One day soon he will be a distant and faint memory as the prior gladiators in his status, the new recruit already looks promising.”

“Good clean him, I hear he is already swelling your pockets.” Once he leaves you turn to Atria with a wide grin. “Fetch me a cloak and see that Ubbe is sent to the chambers upstairs please?”

***

Aurav had Ubbe sent back to the Barracks which meant you had to cloak yourselves. You await him at the bottom of the steps away from all the gladiators in their quarters patiently. And finally, he appears around the corner with a furrowed brow and yet a smile. “Domina.” He smirks. “What are you doing here at such hour? You will surely be seen.” He whispers peaking through the flow of linens hanging from the wash area.

“I nearly lost myself today. The thought of you with another woman,” You pause trying not to tell all of your faults to him. “You look well cleaned. How many servants did Aurav send to clean you?”

“Jealous, are we?” Ubbe peers up the stairwell. “We have but a moment, I am expected back a training. I must prepare the new recruits for the test.” Ubbe backs you into the corner lifting your dress. “Won’t it be brave of you to return to your friends freshly fucked by the man she desired? Smiling at them while picturing me between your legs.” He whispers as he places you on the stone counter. You remove his subligaria (roman underwear) without hesitation. “You mustn’t make sound, I could end up with lashes on my back.” He says lifting your legs to pull you closer to him. “Can you handle that?”  

You whimpered biting your tongue as his calloused fingertips kneaded your thigh. Of course not. He made you lose control of yourself but that wasn’t important now. Ubbe shakes his head already predicting the outcome. He enters you sharply, pressing his cock deep in you and muffling your cries into his chest. Every thrust is intentionally meant to rile you there quickly. He slams his hips against yours and then winds it giving friction to your clit only to slam back into you over and over. Your legs wrap around his waist pulling him deeper and a moan escapes. He covers your mouth pumping into you faster and faster then snaking his hand between the two of you to rub circles on your clit. “Cum for me. I can hear them approaching.” He warns. He circles faster and faster combined with the thrusts of his hips and you come shaking into him allowing him to finish himself.

He was right down the steps marched the recruit and the guardsmen throwing him into the common room. You pull Ubbe closer to you and he peppers kisses down your neck listening for the guards to leave and stands. “Good woman you, you can be quiet.” He kisses you once more. “Take your leave. The senator’s daughter will be in search of you.”

“Have you seen the recruit, he is fearless. More so than you I fear.”

“I fear nothing, not even death Domina.” He assists you to the floor and fixes your dress for you. “Sleep well, and may your dreams be of me.” Ubbe watches you up the steps and turns back to the barracks fixing his subligaria.

“We come to save you, and here you are fucking your owner.” Hvitserk smiles with wide eyes at his brother.

“Hvitserk the Younger.” He beams. “What are you doing here? Where are the others?”

“Come, I have plenty to tell you brother. But first,” He pauses. “Are all their women here as unexpectedly wild in bed as Aurelias? I might have to stay here a while.”

@ivarsshieldmadien@equalstrashflavoredtrash@whenimaunicorn@akamaiden@siren-queen03 @titty-teetee@sparklemichele@greennightspider@tomarisela@scumyeol@raindrop-dewdrop@naaladareia@vikingsmania@readsalot73@oddsnendsfanfics@amour-quinn@wheredidallthedreamersgo@unsure-but-trying@leaderradiante@microsmacrosandneedles@valynsia@captstefanbrandt  @therealcalicali @lol-haha-joke @b-j-d @cinnabearice@cris101071 @ivarswickedqueen @cheychey10142@ilvebeenabad @starrmoondaisy @kissedbydragonfire@ceridwenofwales @imgoldielikehawn  @ilooklikeididyesterday@grungyblonde @tephi101 @leaderradiante @selenedarkbloom@bang-kim-bap @rekdreams247

#vikings #ubbe #hvitserk #ivar the boneless #bjorn #viking au #gladiator au #vikings fanfic #vikings fandom #laketa j writes #woc fanfic #ubbe x reader #ivar x oc #tw: slavery

[cassiopeiassky]

When Everything’s Made to be Broken (I Just Want You to Know Who I Am) Part 35

Hi everyone!  You know how I’ve had the warning of getting pretty dark?  We’re here, folks.  

Plot:  When you inadvertently become a witness to a murder and are suddenly a target for death, it takes a specially skilled soldier and his team to keep you and your family safe.

This will eventually be a is a reader x Bucky fic. The reader, by the way, is a civilian. No super powers, no fighting skills, and by no means perfect.  

Word count: 3792

Warnings:

For the entire work:  Language (I have a potty mouth), violence, and angst.  This will probably get pretty dark later on, and there will be smut.  If that’s not your thing, you may want to avoid this story.

Additional warnings specific to this part: Mention of dogs/mauling, implied threats of assault/rape, brief mention of suicide, mentions of anxiety/panic attacks, mentions of parent/child separation    If I need to add anything else, PLEASE LET ME KNOW.  If you don’t want me to publish the ask, I won’t, or you can feel free to do it as a Nonnie.  I will not take offense to any trigger warning requests.   Your well-being is important to me and I do NOT want to trigger anyone.

***I do not own any of the lyrics/music in this story, so please don’t sue me for using them***

Tags moved to the end.

WEMtbB Masterlist

Previously on WEMtbB:

Mikhail stands as you walk past, striding toward the dresser so you can put your necklace on; it makes you feel like Bucky’s somehow with you.  “Please, lisich… um… miss… Mr. Krakken would like for you to eat and drink.”

“Why?”  You don’t bother hiding the resentment leaking from your voice.  What’s the point?

“It’s been days!  You’ve been supplemented by IV, but you need to eat.  Please!”  He almost sounds panicked.

You’re almost afraid to ask, but you have to know.  “What’s the date?”

“It is the third of January.”

Oh God.  You’ve been gone for a full week.

You take a deep breath to quell your panic at the loss of days, but you can’t help the way your eyes dart around the room, looking for something, anything, to make you feel sane and safe.  It’s only then that you notice the dull glint of another black metal choker; it’s mostly hidden behind the collar of his button-down shirt, but from what you can see, it’s identical to the one around your neck.  “Mikhail…” you murmur as you gesture to your throat, all hostility now gone from your voice, “you’re not here by choice either, are you?”

He looks down for a long moment before meeting your eyes.  “No.  My father is a Bratva Pakhan, and made some unwise business decisions that negatively impacted Mr. Krakken.  As recompense, Mr. Krakken told my father that either his life was forfeit, or that of one of his sons.  My father decided that I would be the sacrificial lamb, as it were.”

Mikhail’s confession takes you by surprise.

“I thought I was going to die; I really was not expecting that this would be the outcome.  I suppose it turned out this way because Mr. Krakken realized that my father wouldn’t be all that upset over my death; he would actually be much more distressed about the thought of one of his sons working for Mr. Krakken.  So here I am.”  He pauses for a moment before fixing his eyes on something behind you.  “It is my greatest privilege and pleasure to serve the Krakken brothers.”  There’s nothing at all convincing about his declaration.  There’s no inflection in his voice at all – in fact, it sounds rehearsed.  Did he just say that for the benefit of those watching through the camera?

“I’m so sorry,” you murmur after a long moment.

He lifts his shoulders in a halfhearted shrug.  “It is not so bad.”

You feel an unexpected surge of compassion for Mikhail.  How could it be ‘not so bad?’  What has he been through that makes it seem like this is okay?

“Please,” he gestures again to the food and effectively changes the subject, “eat.”

You plop down on the chair with a heavy sigh.  “You’ll be hurt if I don’t, won’t you.”  You don’t bother framing it as a question; it doesn’t take much imagination to know it’s possible with these men.

He avoids your eyes as he almost imperceptibly nods.  “I, uh, I have been assigned as your personal attendant.  It is my responsibility to make sure you are well.”

“Okay.  I’ll eat,” you softly concede.  Despite how long it’s been, you have no appetite but there’s no need for anyone to be hurt on your behalf, especially if it’s something you can control.  Lifting the lids, you find thin oatmeal and buttered toast.  There are small containers of peanut butter, jelly, milk, raisins, and brown sugar as well.

“I know it does not seem like much, but it has been a while since you last ate, so you should start slowly.”

With another sigh, you begin mixing the peanut butter and brown sugar into the oatmeal.  

“So, um, how would you like to be addressed?” he asks softly, almost as if he’s afraid to disturb you.  It’s right then that you make the decision to treat him with as much kindness as you can muster; based on his extremely submissive behavior, it’s quite clear to you that he hasn’t been treated well.  At all. Besides, he’s just as much a prisoner as you are, and absolutely none of this is his fault.  

“Why can’t you just call me by my name?” you gently ask in return.

Mikhail swallows hard before answering, “Mr. Krakken wishes for you to be reminded that you are his pet, and that who you were before no longer matters.”

“So the purpose is to dehumanize me.”  Anatoliy wasn’t bluffing in the car – he’d meant every word of what he said.  Un. Fucking. Believable.

“More or less, yes, I am sorry,” he whispers as he looks down at his shoes.

“What an ass.”  God, you’re just pissed.  Who does this??

“SHHHHH!!!  Please, do not say such things!  They can hear you!!” He’s thoroughly panicked, but the only think you can think of is Nicolai telling Anatoliy that he wasn’t allowed to hurt you.  Well okay then, let’s see how far that goes.

You look directly into the camera.  “What. An. Ass.”  You speak deliberately and clearly.

Mikhail’s eyes grow wide with disbelief.

You lift one shoulder in a shrug and begin to slowly eat your oatmeal.  Apparently the cure took care of Metzger’s infection but didn’t touch the case of the fuck-its you’d developed on the way here.

“Address me however you’d like, I guess.  Just don’t call me whatever it is that they call me.”

You pensively stare out the window as you slowly eat.  Anatoliy had mentioned that it’s cold in Siberia, so you assume that you’re in Siberia now.  It’s…surprisingly pretty.  It looks like Krakken’s estate is in the middle of nowhere because all you can see are trees and maybe some mountains in the distance – it’s hard to tell for sure with the hazy clouds – but you’re also well aware that looks can be deceiving. For all you know, there’s a road less than fifty yards away – not that it would do you any good.  This goddamn collar will keep you right here.  

The next spoonful of oatmeal goes down hard due to the surge of hopelessness that hits you.  Even if – no, when – even when Bucky comes for you, because he will, what is he going to do about the collar?  You can only assume that it will detonate if tampered with, and if they can blow you up at the press of a button it isn’t as if Bucky can just whisk you away.

Tony.  Tony can figure something out, right?  But how?  He’s good, but he probably needs to know what he’s dealing with before he can create a fix. So how the hell is that going to happen? Is he going to sneak in to inspect it and then hide in your closet while he builds a miracle?  Fuck, you don’t even have a closet, just a few dressers and an armoire…

Your mind keeps finding all the impossibilities in your situation and it’s making it difficult to breathe.

Mikhail suddenly breaks into your brooding.  “How about solnishko?  It is what I used to call my sister.”  He smiles sadly.  You don’t have the heart to smile back.

               |Solnishko – little sun

***

The rest of the day slowly passes, as do the next three.  Anxiety has become your constant companion, and you’ve had more panic attacks than you can count; Mikhail does his best to help you, but it really does no good.  

You need Bucky.

You stiffen every time you hear someone in the hallway, but no one enters your room except for Mikhail, who tends to come and go throughout the day.  He brings your meals, makes sure you’re comfortable, and closely monitors your recovery.  He even brings you some books and puzzles, but they don’t capture your attention. How could they?  You’re a prisoner for fuck’s sake.  This isn’t a goddamn vacation.

The days are awful, of course, but the nights?  The nights are absolute hell.

If you really think about it, you can probably estimate the total amount of sleep you've gotten since you woke up after the treatment at roughly six hours, and most of this is obtained during the day in the form of naps when Mikhail is in the room. You can't sleep at night – you’re terrified that someone will come in while you’re unaware. Not that they can't do that during the day, but at least then the room will be brightly lit by the natural light streaming in through the windows; at least then you’d see them coming.

And then, of course, there’s the fact that not thinking about Artie and Jimmy is almost impossible as you lie alone in the dark.  There’s nothing else to take your mind off them, especially when Mikhail retires to his own room for the night, but you do your best not to cry.  Crying almost always leads to migraines, and you’re fairly certain that Nicolai and Company don’t give a shit, so you try to focus on happy memories instead of the ache of separation.

Plus, you yearn for Bucky – desperately.  Without his warmth or the weight of his arm draped over your body, sleep just won't come. You miss him every minute of every day, but it it's sharper at night.

Nicolai is doing this on purpose.  You know he’s doing this on purpose – making you wait in this creepy room for something to happen.  Making you wait while you miss your kids, imagine worst case scenarios, wonder what he’s got planned for you, wonder why the hell he cares if you’re eating or clean (seriously, what’s up with the department store selection of beauty products?)  Making you wait so you have nothing to do but think of Bucky while you fear the worst. It’s a power play – you know this – and you hate the fact that it’s working.  You grow more restless and anxious with every passing second, and your only comforts are your necklace and the hoodie that is slowly losing Bucky’s scent.

It’s late afternoon and you are ready to combust when Mikhail enters your room again, looking thoroughly stressed and carrying several large bags.

“I am so sorry solnishko, but you need to begin to get ready.  We do not have much time.”  He heaves the bags down onto the bed and starts rummaging through them.

“Ready for what?” Sitting around some more?

“Dinner with Mr. Krakken, Kapitan...Anatoliy,” he clarifies at your look of confusion, “and Dr. Metzger.”

Your eyebrows shoot up to your hairline.  “Dinner? With those fucks?  You’re kidding, right?”

Mikhail regards you sadly for a long moment.  “I wish I were,” he murmurs quietly.  He removes a plastic covering from one of the bundles and reveals a small collection of emerald green cocktail dresses, then turns to hang them in the armoire.

The look of confusion on your face must be clear, because he goes on to explain, “Mr. Krakken insists on formality for dinner, and he wants to present you to the rest of the household. I have been instructed to make sure you look your absolute best.”

Present you to…What. The.  Fuck.

“We should start with your hair; it would be best if we straightened it.”

You want to scream with frustration – what the fuck is going on??  Why do they want to present you to anyone and what’s with the dresses?  And you have to do your fucking hair?!  Why?  What is the fucking point??  You’re a goddamn hostage, what does it matter what you look like?

He motions for you to come over to the seated vanity; you shake your head in disbelief but comply with his request.  He turns the chair at the last moment, making you walk around both him and it before you can take a seat.  He removes your ponytail elastic, and runs his fingers through your hair.  “Good, still damp from your shower this morning,” he mutters.

Did you fall down the fucking rabbit hole?  You give up on trying to make anything make sense.  

He retrieves a blow dryer from the bathroom; he looks…nervous?  He plugs it in and takes his position behind you as he begins the process of blow drying your hair.  Good luck, Buddy, we’re gonna be here for a while.  Your hair does NOT dry quickly.

“Solnishko, can you hear me?”  He’s barely audible over the sound of the small appliance in his hand.  Not entirely sure if you really heard him speak or if you were just imagining it, you just nod your head slightly. “Good.  If we keep quiet, they shouldn’t be able to hear us speaking; the white noise should drown out our words.”

It’s just now that you realize he’s positioned you both so that your backs are to the camera.

“I…overheard some things today.  You are to be presented because Mr. Krakken and Kapitan want their men to get a good look at you – they say they want to show off their new pet but really it is to frighten you and to let you know that your fate rests with those men should things go wrong.  Please watch what you say; they are very unpredictable.”  He speaks in a hushed tone, and if you weren’t intently focusing on his words you wouldn’t be able to make them out.  “I…I do not know what this means, exactly, but they say they are going to activate the Soldier.  Do you know what this means?”

Damn right you do, but you’re not about to admit it.  Besides, Bucky told you that the triggers had been removed, but these men do not need to know that, so you’re better off playing dumb.

He continues when you shake your head slightly; you don’t feel bad about the lie.  “Well, they are going to activate him, whatever that means, and as long as he does as they say, you should be safe.  I think.  But the Doctor said something about the triggers eventually wearing off, and that is when you will need to worry, solnishko, because if he begins to resist, they will use you to ensure his compliance.”

“How?”  You don’t really want to know, but you’ll probably be better off if you know what to expect.

“Mr. Krakken will release his Hounds on you.”  The horror in Mikhail’s voice is palpable.  The Krakkens are going to sic their dogs on you?

“What?”  You hope to God that you misheard him.

“The Hounds.  Mr. Krakken and Kapitan like to call their men their Hounds; it amuses them.  It is also why they call you ‘lisichka.’  It means little fox.”

Oh God.

You’d prefer to be mauled by dogs.

“If the Soldier resists orders, they will make him watch what the Hounds do to you.  There will be nothing he can do for you with that collar around your neck.”

“Oh, God…” If you’d had any doubt you were being held by sadists, it would be long gone.  

Your heart is pounding in your ears as your mind begins to race.  This can’t happen…this can’t happen to Bucky.  He’ll never forgive himself; not for whatever happens to you, even though it’s not his fault, and not for whatever atrocities they make him do to keep you away from harm. But what can you do?  If you remove yourself from the equation by killing yourself, then they will go after your kids – and you know that there’s no way you’ll be able to convince Bucky to refuse their orders.

How are you going to get out of this shit show?!?

Mikail begins softly speaking once more.  “Your friends want proof that you are alive; he will use you to control them, as well. They are also planning another video conference with the Avengers, which will happen tonight.  Mr. Krakken and his men will be watching you closely for any reaction – anything you give them will be used against you.”

Your heart starts beating violently at the thought of seeing Bucky, even if it’s just by video chat; you miss him so, so much.  You’re going to need to be extremely careful.  

“Why are you telling me all of this?”  Does he have some sort of motive?  Is Mikhail playing mind games with you?  He’d seemed so kind to you over the past few days, but collar or no, you don’t trust him. You don’t trust anyone here.

You aren’t sure if he hears you because it takes a while for him to answer.

“What they do is not right. It is not right that they play with human lives as if they are nothing but inconsequential pawns in their game of power.  It is not right that they enjoy watching others suffer the consequences of their actions.  It is not right that they enjoy what they do.  I cannot do anything for myself, but if I can prepare you by telling you what to expect, then perhaps you can avoid unnecessary pain.  Solnishko, please, please do not underestimate the Krakken brothers’ penchant for cruelty.  They will hurt you just because they can; do not give them any additional incentive.”

Despite the hot air of the dryer blowing on your hair, his comments freeze you from the inside out.

Mikhail abruptly turns off the hair dryer and turns your chair to face the mirror.  “I think we will need to put some of your hair up; it will not dry fast enough.”

Apparently the informational segment of your little conversation is over.

He deftly begins twisting small sections of your hair up into a partial updo; it seems like he knows what he’s doing.  Catching your questioning expression in the mirror, he begins to explain, “My sister used to run a beauty salon of sorts; I worked for her.  We were very close.”  Again, the sad smile.  “Even from a young age I did not like the violence of the Bratva, so I went into what we used to call the ‘other’ family business.  It is likely why my father chose to forfeit my life over those of my brothers.”

It is completely unfathomable to you, as a parent, to not automatically choose to give your own life for that of your child…and your heart breaks for him.  It seems like he was close to his sister, so you try to steer the conversation to something that might be a little less painful for Mikhail. “You must miss her terribly.  Do they ever let you visit her?”  You’re sure the answer is no, but for Mikhail’s sake you hope they surprise you.

He shakes his head sadly, and speaks quietly.  “No, she is not there to visit.  Kapitan used her and then executed her for my father’s crimes after he collared me.”

You meet his eyes in the mirror.  Fuck.  “I’m so sorry, Mikhail.”

He nods in acknowledgement and turns his focus to your hair.  Several long minutes go by before he speaks again.  “I know you have lost a lot, solnishko, and I know that you may feel like you have nothing left to lose since you will never see your children again or be with the one you love, but you do.  You do.  You need to show them the respect they demand.  Do not allow your grief and anxiety make you even more reckless with your words than you already have been.  They can and will take things from you that you never considered. Your dignity, your humanity, your virtue, your spirit; if you defy them, they will take it as a challenge and you will become something to conquer, and they will cheerfully do so with any means necessary until you are nothing but a broken and empty shell.”

You swallow hard and bite your lip; you know with an incapacitating surety that he’s not wrong. You also know why he feels free to speak openly about this – both Krakkens would be more than happy to know that Mikhail is doing his best to ensure your compliance.

“Please do not test them, solnishko.  It will not end well for you.”  He briefly leaves to retrieve the makeup products that are still sitting in the bathroom, unopened.

Fear clenches once again around your heart, and you have to close your eyes and take a deep breath to fight off the panic now fighting its way up your throat.

Mikhail places the makeup on the vanity in front of you, and you stare it as he begins using a flatiron on the loose portion of your hair.

“I don’t want to do this, Mikhail.”  Trying to hide the terror in your voice is pointless, but you attempt it anyway.

You also fail.

“I am so sorry, but you do not have a choice in the matter.  These are direct orders from Mr. Krakken.  You can resist, but one way or another, he will get what he wants.  It is better, solnishko, to bend so you do not break.”

You swallow your fear and begin to sort through the makeup.  Instead of focusing on how you will be shown off in front of a bunch of men that are waiting for their chance to hurt you, you try to keep in mind that you’ll see Bucky when the Krakkens have their video call.  You can get made up for Bucky, even if he’s not really here. Right?  Right.  He’s more than worth the effort.  Yes, you will try to look at it this way – it’s the only way you’ll get through the prep.

***

An hour later you’re finally finished.  You ended up trying on a few different dresses, and thankfully found one that fit and wasn’t too revealing.  It’s a deep but vibrant shade of green, and under other circumstances you would probably think that it’s a gorgeous dress.  It’s a satin wrap with a moderately full skirt that hits just above your knees, and it has a delicate lace overlay.  The satin part of the dress is sleeveless, but the lace extends to an elbow length sleeve.  The sash is long enough to wrap around your waist twice, and it is the only part of the satin that isn’t covered with lace.

Mikhail also brought a few pairs of black heels; you choose the most comfortable shoes…just in case.

“Solnishko…you may want to remove your necklace.  Mr. Krakken may not like the way it competes with the collar.”  He sounds regretful, and you appreciate that.

“I suppose that wearing it would be incentive for them to take it, wouldn’t it?”  You take his silence as affirmation, and remove Bucky’s gift, placing it in a drawer on the vanity.  

“The final touch,” he murmurs as he presents a bottle of perfume, “A gift from the Kapitan.”  He says it with a fair amount of disgust, and you’re surprised that he allowed that emotion to leak through considering how paranoid he’s been about the cameras.

“Oh…oh no,” you push the offending bottle away after just one small sniff, “No no no.  That – that is a powerful smell.  I can’t wear that, it gave me an immediate headache!  I’m sorry, Mikhail, but I can’t…”

“But solnishko –“

“It is fine, Mikhail, if lisichka is sensitive to smells, we will not make her wear it.  My brother and I are not unreasonable.”  Nicolai sweeps into the room – you hadn’t even heard the door open.

Tagging:   @rogersxbarnesx​  @hellomissmabel​  @beccaanne814-blog​  @howdoesoneadult​  @potterandbucky  @musichowler​  @nykitass​  @danimuhle​  @iwillbeinmynest​  @4theluvofall​  @shifutheshihtzu​  @iamtal​  @passiononfire​  @jade-cheshire​  @flowercrownsandmetallicarms​  @lostinspace33​  @gingerrootknits​  @callmebucky-doll​  @learisa​  @sammedrano​  @hardcorehippos​  @knittingknerdy​  @vaisabu​  @widowvinter​  @amrita31199​  @bellenuit45​  @agentraven007​  @sarahjeaniejean​  @canumoveyourseatup-no​  @unpredictable-firecracker​  @omalleysgirl22​  @crazyliraz​  @shamvictoria11​  @kaaatniss​  @lillian-paige​  @ladylizzieofdarbyshire​  @sexyseabass1231​  @the-hidden-seeker​  @denialanderror​  @nea90sweetie​  @candyrogers​  @ijustwanttobepartofyourworld​  @k-nighttt​  @almightyunnie @srgtjamesbarnes107​ @kimistry27​  @maryvmassakre​  @mghtiestheroes​  @givemethatgold​  @manders2487​  @fvckingbuckyandsteve​  @themistsofmyavalon​  @movingonto-betterthings​  @katherinem1996​  @buckyappreciationsociety​  @stacyscarlet04​  @saffreelove​  @afangirlrambles​  @buckysmetallicstump​  @wpleiades  @buckybarnesbestbabe​

***If your name is in bold I couldn’t get your tag to work***

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fan fic #bucky barnes #marvel imagine #bucky imagine #my work #when everything's made to be broken (I just want you to know who i am) #WEMtbB #Part 35