#[Answer] Extraction Complete

[groupalpha]

And this is why you scheme in public, not in private

EPS: I know what I'm doing. It's not my fault that others are poking around where they shouldn't!

[solvednotes]

The Portrait of a Lady by Khushwant Singh – Complete Guide for Class 11

The Portrait of a Lady by Khushwant Singh is a heart-warming biographical sketch included in the Class 11 English NCERT textbook Hornbill. This blog post offers a summary of the story, explores the theme of relationship between a grandmother and grandson, and provides word meanings, questions and answers, extract-based MCQs, and important exam-style questions. This guide is designed to help…

[houseofaegon]

Don't Let Go ✩ Bob Reynolds

Pairings: Bob Reynolds x Thunderbolt!Reader

Warnings: +18 SMUT MINORS DNI. rough sex, emotional sex, public sex, mental health themes (trauma, guilt, PTSD), depictions of breakdowns, emotional, angst, praise kink, possessiveness, aftermath of violence, unprotected p in v, guilt, self-loathing, established trauma bond.

Summary: The mission was supposed to be clean. Routine. But nothing is simple when the Sentry is involved, when Bob loses control, and the Void takes over. And when he does, you're the only one who can pull him back.

Word Count: 4658

Author's Note: don't even ask me if I'm okay cause the answer is no. I'm destroyed. completely destroyed and emotionally wrecked. i am ruined. bob reynolds ruins me. if you finished this and also felt like your heart's been pulled out and kissed back to life, welcome to the club. my inbox is open if you want to send me your therapy bill—just know I’m probably gonna have to come with you cause what the fuck. i love you bobby you're everything to me!!! if you want to be added to my taglist just comment below!! <333 feel free to cry with me in the comments and scream in the reblogs. i need to go outside and touch some grass, reconnect with nature and breathe cause my heart is destroyed after this one. i literally can't stop writing for bob what the hell!! bucky is jealous cause bob's taking up space in my mind that used to belong to bucky. lewis pullman you babygirlllllllllllll

masterlist.

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The mission was supposed to be simple. In and out. Detain the targets, secure the entire facility, and minimize civilian casualties. Standard Thunderbolts cleanup. You'd done this dance before—storm in, assert dominance, extract data and bodies. Easy.

But you knew the moment Bucky said, "Bob's on this one," everything in your chest went cold.

The tower was quiet, too quiet, until it wasn't. Until the entire place was filled with hurried footsteps, shouts bouncing off the walls, and orders being thrown like grenades, gear bags being slammed open, weapons loaded with sharp clicks, and comms lighting up with rapid-fire intel. The whole floor shifted into emergency mode.

You'd barely finished gearing up when Yelena grabbed your arm and dragged you toward the elevator, her expression tight, mouth set in that grim, no-bullshit line that only ever meant bad news.

"Valentina wants all of us on-site," she muttered, pressing the call button with enough force to crack the panel. "Right now. Facility breach. Something about biotech. Hostages."

"Since when do we scramble before briefing?" you asked, yanking the zipper of your new tactical suit closed, holster strap still half-loose dangling on your hip. "Do we even have a plan?"

Yelena didn't answer. She didn't have to.

When the elevator doors opened, Bucky was already inside, pacing back and forth. His jaw clenched, comms piece buzzing with chatter. He looked up when he saw you—but he didn’t smile. Didn’t nod.

Jeez, so much for a good morning.

"Let me guess," you said, stepping into the elevator next to him. "Valentina's stunt?"

"She pulled Bob in last minute," Bucky said, his voice laced with frustration. "Didn't even care to fucking tell me. I found out when I saw his name on the team feed. Walker's there with him, Ava too."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" you froze. "She put him first? With Walker?"

“She wants to see if he's still 'field-capable.'" Bucky's voice dripped sarcasm. "Her exact words. She thinks this is some kind of game. Like we're testing out a new drone, not a man who nearly blacked out half of a city six months ago."

“Is she out of her fucking mind?” you hissed. “Bob’s not—he’s not ready. He shouldn't be anywhere near this.”

“No shit,” Yelena muttered from the other side, crossing her arms. “And we’re the ones who’ll have to clean up if he loses it again.”

You exhaled slowly, trying to damp down the rolling anger in your chest. Not at Bob—of course not, this wasn't his fault. You were mad at Valentina and her fucking need to push him to the edge. "Great," you muttered, rubbing your face with a hand. "Let's all just hold hands and pray he doesn't crack."

The VTOL sliced through the clouds like a blade, engines humming low and tense. Rain battered the sides in sharp bursts.

You sat strapped between Yelena and Alexei, your harness tight across your chest, heart beating even tighter beneath it. Across from you, Bucky was locked in, jaw clenched, staring out the side window with a look that could shatter the glass any moment. When he finally looked away from the window, he fixed his gaze directly on you.

"I need you to be ready," he said, voice low and rasped. "In case Void—" He paused, breathing raggedly. "In case Bob snaps."

You blinked. "Bucky—"

"If it happens," he cut you off, "if he breaks... don't wait for an order. Do not hesitate. You hit him with everything you've got."

Your mouth opened, but no words came out.

Because you hesitated.

Not because you didn't understand the danger. Not because you didn't know what Bob was capable of when the Void took hold. You'd seen it. Firsthand. The devastation. The aftermath. The look in his eyes—those dark, endless eyes—when he realized what he’d done.

But you'd also seen something else. You'd also seen the other side of him. The guilt

You'd been there the last time. When the Void clawed its way up his throat like poison, he dropped to his knees, shaking, burning with power, guilt, and fear. You were the only one who could get through to him. The only one who could touch him without him recoiling like he might shatter.

You'd whispered his name and watched his fist unclench slowly. You'd put your hand on his chest and feel his heartbeat slow. You'd seen how the black storm slowly evaporated, leaving a broken man sobbing against your chest.

That night was the worst for Bob.

You remember it vividly—his body trembling against yours, eyes wide and hollow after the Void had finally disappeared. He hadn't said a word. Just sank to the ground, hands fisting in his hair, like he was trying to hold his skull together.

You’d dropped down beside him, pulled him close, felt the heat radiating off his skin like a fever breaking. And when he finally clung to you—arms wrapped around your waist, face buried in your shoulder—it wasn’t just desperation. It was terror. Like if he let go, he’d fall into some pit that never ended.

He cried.

God, he cried so hard.

And you didn’t say anything. You didn’t try to soothe it away. You just held him. Let him shake. Let him break.

That night, you stayed with him.

He pulled you into bed like he didn’t even realize he was doing it—just moved toward your body like it was instinct, like your presence was the only thing keeping him tethered to the world. His fingers curled in your shirt, his face buried in your chest, breath hiccuping between exhausted sobs.

You thought he’d fall asleep eventually.

He didn’t. Not right away.

He kept whispering, voice barely audible: “Don’t leave. Please. Just… don’t leave.”

And how could you?

You didn’t.

So you stayed.

And when he finally passed out—curled around you like a second skin, little soft snores slipping past parted lips—you just watched him. His face was peaceful for once. Almost boyish. His lashes fluttered when he dreamed, but he didn’t cry out. Not with you there.

You tried to slip out once.

Just to stretch. To breathe. But the second your body shifted away, his arms tightened like a vice, dragging you back in, even in his sleep. Like his subconscious couldn’t bear the thought of you disappearing.

From that night on, it became… a thing.

Every time he had a nightmare. Every time the Void started to whisper again. Every time he needed quiet but didn’t know how to ask for it—he came to you.

He never knocked loud. Just a soft tap on your door, barely audible. You’d open it to find him standing there, shoulders hunched, hair messy, eyes big and guilty and so shy. Like he hated himself for needing you but couldn’t help it.

“Can I…?” he’d start to ask, voice barely above a whisper.

And you’d always let him in.

Always.

God, you loved it. Loved being the one person he came to. The one place he felt safe. The way he melted into you the second the door shut. The way he’d sleep tangled in your arms, legs hooked with yours like he needed as many points of contact as possible to stay grounded.

You never told anyone.

You never wanted to ruin it.

It was quiet. Sacred. Yours.

And now, strapped into this VTOL, Bucky’s words still echoing in your ears—“Don’t hesitate. Hit him with everything you’ve got”—all you could think about was how peaceful he looked in your bed. How tightly he held you. How terrified he was of being alone.

Because what if you could reach him again?

What if hitting him wasn’t the answer? What if all he needed was someone to see him before he disappeared completely?

Bucky must’ve seen the flicker in your expression, because his voice dropped lower.

“I know you’re close to him. I know he listens to you more than anyone else. But if that stops—if he doesn’t hear you this time... don’t let him take you down with him.”

He’ll hear me, you thought, jaw clenched.

He has to.

Yelena’s hand reached over, slow and steady, her fingers brushing against yours before curling around them. Her grip was warm, firm—anchoring. You turned slightly, meeting her eyes.

She gave you a small, quiet smile. The kind that didn’t promise everything would be okay, just that you wouldn’t be alone when it wasn’t.

“It’ll be alright,” she whispered. "We'll be right behind you."

You squeezed her hand back, once.

"Visuals confirm contact inside the facility," the pilot’s voice crackled through the comms. "We’ve got movement near the lab sector. Hostiles engaged. Sentry’s already on-site."

You looked up sharply. "Already?"

He wasn’t supposed to engage alone.

Bucky swore under his breath, ripping the earpiece out and jamming it back in. "Why the fuck didn’t you wait for us—"

Ava spoke through the comms, her voice shivering. “He didn’t wait. I told him to stand down, and he just… went in.”

Then the ground came into view through the viewport—flames licking up from the roof of the biotech facility, smoke pluming into the sky, the perimeter in total disarray.

"Doors open in twenty seconds," the pilot called.

You shivered. You could feel it. That humming tension in your bones, the kind that only came right before everything went to hell.

He's already slipping.

"Get ready," Bucky barked, snapping his rifle into place as he stood. "Move fast, eyes sharp. We don't know how bad it is yet."

Yelena stood up, nodding once, checking her gear. You followed closely behind.

“Hostiles are still active inside,” came another voice—Walker’s, sharp and panicked over comms. “But it’s—fuck, it’s a massacre down here. I don’t know what the hell he’s doing. I can't see him. He’s not fucking responding.”

Your heart clenched.

“Bob,” you whispered, barely audible.

Then: a boom.

A section of the lower level erupted in a plume of golden-white light, fire tearing up through the concrete as the building shook from the force of it. A pulse of energy rippled outward, flattening a chunk of the south wall like paper.

The VTOL lurched slightly from the shockwave.

“Doors opening!” the pilot shouted. “Deploy, deploy—go, go!”

The ramp dropped—and the storm hit you in the face.

Rain. Smoke. Sirens. And somewhere beneath it all, a familiar hum.

You ran.

Boots pounding against the rooftop, leaping the last few feet to the access hatch. Bucky and Yelena flanked you, weapons drawn, slicing through the chaos with practiced precision.

You barely had time to adjust before Bucky grabbed your arm, spinning you toward him. His face was grim, soaked, eyes blazing.

“Go!” he shouted over the roar. “You need to find him!”

“What about—?”

“We’ll handle the rest!” he cut in, already moving, already aiming down the chaos below. “If anyone can reach him before he turns this whole goddamn place to ash—it’s you. Yelena will be right behind you. Walker and Ava are already inside. Go!”

Your breath hitched.

Then you nodded, once, sharp and sure.

And you ran—straight into the smoke, straight into the fire.

Straight toward him.

The inside of the facility was a warzone. Emergency lights flickered through thick smoke. Sparks rained from broken ceiling panels. The walls were scorched, the tile beneath your boots cracked and slick with blood and water. You passed fallen bodies—some hostiles, some just gone, disintegrated into scorched outlines and ash.

He’d been here.

You ran faster. Your breath became shorter. Your fingers twitched at your sides.

And then you saw him.

Floating.

Just inches off the ground, his body trembling with power barely held in check. His suit was torn, soaked, blood-slick. His hair clung to his forehead in damp curls. His hands hung at his sides, fingers curled in like claws.

He hand't noticed you yet. He was talking to himself, low and frantic, like he didn't even realize sound was coming out of his mouth.

“I didn’t mean to—I tried, I tried, they didn’t listen—I told them not to run—why did they run—”

Your heart clenched. You took a breath, steady and slow. Lifted your hands, palms open, non-threatening. Stepped forward, one careful step at a time.

"Bob," you whispered.

His head jerked up like a struck animal. His eyes were pitch black. Not just his pupils. Everything. You could see the Void slowly taking over control of his entire body. Crawling across his skin in veins of shadow, threading through him like poison, claiming more and more by the second. There was nothing human in his face.

Then he saw you.

You took another step forward, heart hammering against your ribs.

"Bob," you said again, softer now.

His lips parted. The black in his eyes shimmered, like something beneath it was trying to break through, trying to remember.

You took another step.

"I'm here," you said, voice steady despite the tremble in your hands. "It's me."

"GET DOWN!" a voice screamed behind you.

You barely turned in time to see the soldier—young, shaken, finger already tightening on the trigger of his rifle, aimed straight at Bob.

“No!” you shouted, throwing a hand out. “Don’t—don’t shoot him!”

But it was too late.

You whipped back toward Bob—and his hand was already rising. Not fast. Slow. Deliberate.

Eyes locked on the soldier, face blank and unreadable, voice low and distant.

“Mine.”

“Bob!” you screamed, adrenaline tearing through your veins like lightning. You rushed toward him, arm outstretched. “STOP! STOP!”

A pulse of black energy burst from his palm. It didn’t make a sound. It didn’t explode. It just erased. The soldier was there—and then he wasn’t.

No scream. No blood. Just a curling wisp of smoke, and a blackened shadow scorched into the tile where he’d stood. Like reality itself had been scrubbed clean.

Your breath caught. Your body froze.

The soldier was gone. Just like that. And Bob? He didn't move. Didn't even flinch. Just stood there, hand still raised, void energy curling around his fingers like it wanted more.

You moved before you even realized it.

You ran.

“BOB!” you screamed, voice hoarse with panic.

You slammed into him, hands flying up to grab his face—rough, desperate, grounding. Your fingers dug into his jaw, into his cheeks, trying to feel him, shake him loose from the darkness overtaking his body.

“Bob! Look at me!” you yelled, tears already slipping down your face. “Fuck—look at me, please!"

His head twitched in your grip, eyes still black, but they widened. Like he didn’t know how you got so close. Like he didn’t even recognize his own name.

“You promised,” you choked out, forehead pressed against his. “You promised you wouldn’t let this happen again. You said I could help you. You let me in. Bob, please, I know you can hear me. Let me in. Let me help you."

And then—

He blinked.

Once.

Twice.

The black void in his eyes gone, replaced by fear. Replaced by gut-wrenching guilt.

And suddenly his hands were on you—gripping your arms, trembling hard. Holding you like you were the only thing keeping him from flying apart.

“I didn’t mean to,” he rasped, voice splintering in his throat. “I just… he—he pointed that gun at you. I—”

His knees buckled.

You caught him.

“I didn’t mean to,” he rasped again, clinging like he didn’t even realize he was doing it. “I didn’t—fuck, I didn’t mean to—”

“I know,” you whispered, trying to keep your voice steady, fingers stroking through his hair, down his back. “I know, it’s okay. You’re okay—I got you. I'm right here."

You could feel it under your hands—the tension building again. The static crawling across his skin. He was shaking harder now, like he was trying to hold himself together with bare hands and sheer will, and it wasn’t enough. It was never enough.

“I told them,” he growled, voice rising, wild and hoarse. “I told them not to send me. I told them—I told them!”

“Bob,” you tried again, your hands cradling his face, trying to ground him. “Stop—just breathe, okay? Look at me. Just look at me. It’s over. You’re okay. I’m here.”

“Bob—”

“Holy shit,” someone gasped.

You turned. Too fast. The team stood there. Yelena’s eyes were wide. Ava’s mouth hung open. Alexei looked stunned. Bucky was frozen mid-step.

And Walker? Walker’s gaze went straight to the scorched mark on the floor, and his lip curled.

“What the fuck did he do?”

That was it.

You snapped.

“You were supposed to look out for him!” you roared, your voice echoing down the hall like a whipcrack. “You knew he wasn’t ready! You knew, and you left him in there anyway—what the fuck were you thinking?!”

“Don’t yell at me because your little pet project finally snapped—”

You stepped toward him so fast Yelena actually reached out to stop you.

“Say that again, Walker.” you dared, low and deadly. “Say it. Fucking say it again.”

“Guys—” Ava started.

“Oh my god,” Yelena whispered behind you.

And that’s when you realized—Bob wasn’t in your arms anymore.

You turned, panic already in your throat. He was standing a few feet away, eyes locked on the floor, fists clenched. His shoulders were shaking, his jaw tight, like he was about to split open.

The way they were all looking at him. Like he was a monster.

And he saw it. He saw everything.

“No, no, wait—” you started.

But he was already moving. He shoved past you, not roughly—never roughly—but like he couldn’t stand to be touched anymore. Like he didn’t deserve it. And then he ran.

You didn’t hesitate.

You ran after him.

You found him down a back alley, drenched in rain, his back pressed to the wall like it was the only thing keeping him upright. His fists were clenched, jaw tight, chest heaving like he couldn’t catch his breath. He hadn’t looked at you yet, but you could see it—how close he was to falling apart, how the power still surged beneath his skin, barely contained. His body shook with it, with guilt, with the kind of rage that didn’t know where to go.

You took a step closer and he shifted like he was going to bolt again, eyes flicking to the shadows like he could vanish into them.

You grabbed his wrist. Tight. “Don’t run.”

That stopped him. His breath hitched, but he didn’t turn.

“Bob,” you said, softer now, over the pounding rain. “Please. Look at me.”

He turned slowly—and god, the look on his face broke you wide open. Soaked, shattered, eyes full of guilt and too many unsaid things. He looked like he didn’t believe he deserved to stand in front of you. Like just being seen by you hurt.

Then he kissed you.

Hard. Desperate.

Like he needed your mouth to remind him he was still real.

The kiss came out of nowhere. Teeth. Tongue. Desperation. You collided like two storms, all sharp edges and soaked skin. His mouth crushed yours, messy, uncoordinated, bruising. You dragged your hands through his rain-slick hair, pulled him closer until your bodies slammed together. He groaned your name like it hurt to say it, like it ripped something open inside him just to speak it.

You kissed him back with everything you had, dragging your fingers through his soaked curls, pulling him closer, crushing your lips to his until your teeth clacked and your breath fogged the air between you. He whimpered into it, raw and broken, hands clutching your waist through your suit like he didn’t know where to touch, like he needed to touch everywhere.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped against your lips, voice already hoarse. “I’m so fucking sorry—please, I didn’t mean to—I didn’t—” His words cut off with a sob. You shushed him with another kiss, slower this time, lips brushing his like a promise.

“I need you,” he breathed, voice broken. “God—I need you, I need you so bad—I can’t—fuck—don’t let go—please, don’t let go—”

Your gear hit the wall behind you, water slapping between you like applause. His mouth was on your throat, biting, sucking, moaning, as your hands worked beneath his already ripped suit, shoving it aside, frantic to get to skin. His hips rocked into yours like he couldn’t stand being apart from you even for a second.

“Please,” he groaned again, breath hot against your ear. “I’ll do anything. Anything. Just—fuck—just let me have you.”

You gasped, arching against him, letting him press you tighter to the bricks. You were already soaked—skin flushed, thighs shaking—and the way he clung to you like you were the only real thing left in his world snapped something open inside you.

You grabbed his face, kissed him hard, desperate. “Take it,” you whispered, voice shaking. “Take anything. Everything. I’m all yours, Bob.”

He whimpered—actually whimpered—and that was it.

Your suit came undone in ragged pieces, his hands tearing at fastenings with trembling fingers, your legs wrapping around his waist as he shoved your soaked underwear aside. His fingers dug into your hips hard enough to leave bruises, grinding his cock against your slick center until you cried out, nails raking down his back.

“Fuck—fuck, you’re so wet,” he gasped. “You want it, don’t you? You want me to lose it for you—inside you—?”

“Yes,” you sobbed, tilting your head back as he pushed in. “Yes, yes—please—”

He thrust into you in one deep, brutal stroke and you screamed, fingers clawing at his soaked suit, legs tightening around his hips. He was so deep, so hot, so real, and the way he fucked you—fast, rough, relentless—was like he didn’t know if he’d survive without this. Without you.

Every thrust hit something raw, something needy, his voice ragged against your ear. “You’re mine—you’re mine, say it—fuck, say it—”

“I’m yours,” you cried, body shaking. “I’m yours, Bob—fuck, don’t stop, don’t stop—”

He sobbed against your throat, thrusting harder, faster, panting between curses and broken prayers. “You’re perfect—so perfect—god, you feel so good—you make everything quiet. You make it all fucking stop—”

And when you came, it hit like a shockwave—your whole body convulsing around him, mouth open in a wordless scream as he slammed into you, burying himself deep and coming hard, spilling inside you with a desperate cry of your name like it was the only thing anchoring him to this plane.

He held you afterward like he might never let go, still shaking, still breathing like he’d run through hell. His forehead pressed to yours, voice wrecked.

“Don’t leave me,” he whispered. “Please don’t ever leave me.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered back, and this time, it was a vow.

His breathing was ragged.

Shallow gasps against your neck, chest rising and falling like he was still trying to outrun something only he could see. The rain hadn’t let up. It fell in heavy sheets around you, but neither of you moved. You stayed wrapped around him, trembling, your back against the soaked alley wall, his body still buried in yours, shaking with the aftershocks.

He didn’t speak.

Didn’t even lift his head.

His arms stayed locked around your waist like a vise, like if he let go even a little, you’d disappear. You felt him swallow, once, twice—and then his shoulders began to shake in a different way.

“Bob?” you whispered, hand sliding up to the back of his head, fingers weaving through his soaked hair. “Hey. Hey, I’m here.”

He sobbed.

Quiet at first. Just a ragged breath that stuttered out of him like it had been waiting for too long. Then another. And another. His whole body trembled, forehead pressed to your shoulder as he finally—finally—let himself fall apart.

“I didn’t want to hurt anyone,” he choked out. “I tried—I tried so fucking hard—I just wanted to be useful, I wanted to help—and I killed him—”

You shushed him softly, rocking him gently where you stood, your hands stroking down his back.

“You came back to me,” you said, voice low. “That’s all that matters. You came back.”

“I don’t deserve this,” he rasped, holding you tighter. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Shut up,” you whispered, tears mixing with the rain on your cheeks. “You do. You do. You’re still here. You’re still you. That’s all I care about.”

You stayed like that for what felt like forever—him wrapped around you like a lifeline, your bodies still locked together, breathing in sync. The heat between you slowly cooled, but the weight of it all stayed heavy, real.

Eventually, his head lifted, eyes red-rimmed, cheeks wet.

He looked at you like he didn’t believe you were real. Like maybe you were the only thing left in the world that hadn’t abandoned him.

“I’m scared,” he whispered.

You cupped his face, thumb brushing over the scar just below his eye.

“I know,” you said. “But I’ve got you.”

And he leaned into your hand like a man starved for touch.

Back at the tower, everything was chaos—shouting, agents scrambling to do damage control, the team fighting with each other, trying to put the blame on someone—but none of it touched you. Not when you had him. Not when he never once let go of your hand.

You didn't go to the infirmary. Didn't sit through the debrief. Bucky tried to say something, but you just shook your head. Bob didn't even look at him. At no one.

You led him straight to your room.

The second the door clicked shut behind you, his body sagged like the air had left him entirely. You helped him out of the rest of his suit, piece by piece, your fingers gentle even when your heart still ached from the weight of it all. He did the same for you, so soft, so gentle, like he was afraid to hurt you.

You pulled him into your bed without a word.

He followed like he always did. Like he couldn’t not.

He wrapped around you the way he always did—legs tangled, arms tight around your waist, face buried against your neck. But this time it wasn’t just comfort.

It was clinging.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t ask. Just held on.

You stroked his hair, tracing slow patterns into his scalp, letting your breath match his until he calmed, until that tremble in his shoulders finally stilled.

But he still didn’t sleep.

You felt him shift closer, nose brushing your collarbone. His voice, when it came, was wrecked and so, so quiet.

“Do you think they’ll ever look at me the same?” he asked, voice barely more than a breath.

You didn’t answer right away. You could feel how tightly he was holding his breath, like he was bracing for the worst. You pulled him closer, your fingers threading through the back of his hair, your lips brushing against his forehead.

“It’s not your fault,” you whispered. “They know it. Even if they won’t say it out loud. This—what happened—you didn’t want this. And they know that.”

He didn’t reply, not at first. But you felt it—the way his chest stuttered, how he finally let himself breathe.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, broken.

“I know.”

“I was so close,” he said, voice cracking like glass. “I could feel it. Like I was right there. One more second and I wouldn’t have come back.”

“But you did,” you murmured, pressing your forehead to his. “You came back to me.”

He shuddered, breath hitching again as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. Leaving a soft kiss that made your heart clench. “You’re the only one that brings me back,” he whispered. “The only one.”

You didn’t say anything else.

You just held him tighter.

And finally—finally—he started to drift.

It wasn’t peaceful. He twitched. Mumbled things you couldn’t make out. Flinched like his dreams were still trying to drag him under.

But he didn’t wake.

Because you were still there.

And he knew it.

taglist ⊱☆⊰ @notreallythatlost @mandoalorian @urfavfakeblonde @sunday-bug @ruexj283 @mylifeofcalculatedchaos

[seumyo]

people thinking that sakusa’s being maltreated because of the bruises on his forearm, but the truth is . .

Sakusa is known to always wear his compression sleeves on and off the court for post-game press conferences. It completed his signature look. His overall flair.

Everything seemed normal at first, but it wasn’t long before murmurs surfaced through the room. Reporters exchanged glances, some scrolling through their phones, others whispering among themselves.

The reason? For the first time in a long while, Sakusa wasn’t wearing his compression sleeves.

His toned forearms were exposed for everyone to see, and to the media’s surprise, they weren’t completely unblemished. Faint bruises and clusters of reddish dots speckled his skin—nothing severe, but noticeable enough to raise eyebrows. Some looked older, fading into his skin, while others were more recent.

The questions were bound to come.

“Sakusa-san, many fans have noticed that you’re not wearing your usual sleeves today. And, well…” she hesitated, gesturing vaguely at his arms.

“There’s been a lot of speculation about the marks on your skin. Is everything alright?”

Sakusa blinked once, his expression unreadable. He glanced down at his arms, clearly catching onto what she meant. A moment of silence passed before he let out a slow exhale through his nose.

He knew this would happen eventually.

“Seriously?” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. Then, into the mic, he deadpanned, “I’m fine.”

The room remained unconvinced.

Sakusa could already imagine what the internet was saying. Rumors were probably spreading like wildfire—was he getting into fights? Had he been injured in training? Worse, was something happening at home?

“If I may, are those from mosquitos? With the recent outbreak of mosquitos due to the warm weather, could it be from those?”

“No.”

“Allergies, perhaps?”

“None.”

A few more reporters shuffled in their seats, hesitant but clearly eager to dig deeper.

Then, another one asked, “Just to clarify, you’re saying these marks aren’t from… any sort of external conflict?”

Sakusa’s brow twitched. He leaned forward slightly, pinching the bridge of his nose through his mask as he adjusted the mic, and let out another small sigh. “I’m not being abused, if that’s what people are implying.”

The room went silent. His fellow players exchanged approving nods, letting their teammate handle the situation.

“My wife is in medical school,” Sakusa continued, his voice even, matter-of-fact. “She’s refreshing her phlebotomy skills, and I often volunteer to be her patient whenever she needs someone for a demo or assignment.”

The silence stretched for a moment before a few quiet chuckles broke through, some from relief, others from sheer amusement at the unexpected explanation. Well, it wasn’t often Sakusa talked about you.

“So… you’re saying these marks are from blood extractions?”

“Yes,” he answered, tilting his head slightly as if this was the most obvious thing in the world. “She wants to practice, and I’d rather help her than have her struggle to find volunteers.”

Hinata whispered something to Bokuto, but even with the low volume of the mic, Sakusa still caught it.

“That’s kinda romantic.”

He turned his head slightly to glare at them, but Bokuto was already grinning. “No, but really! That’s, like, peak husband material. You’re not even fond of monthly checkups.”

Sakusa rolled his eyes. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?” Meian chuckled. “You’re literally letting someone practice on you repeatedly. That’s dedication.”

Reporters were already typing away, some clearly rewriting their headlines. What had started as a potentially scandalous story had turned into something else entirely.

The media had long known Sakusa to be a private person, almost aggressively so. He rarely spoke about his personal life, and to this day, many fans still couldn’t believe he was married. Out of all the MSBY Black Jackals players, Sakusa and your marriage are by far the most private.

It wouldn’t even have been known if it weren’t for Hinata’s post with the newly wedded couple a year ago!

And yet, here he was, casually revealing that he lets you practice medical procedures on him just to support your studies.

“Is she any good?” another reporter asked, grinning now. “At phlebotomy?”

His eyes narrowed briefly. “Her undergraduate course is medical laboratory science—so yes, she’s been doing this for years.”

“And you’ve never complained?”

He shrugged. That was the stupidest question he’s heard today.

“Why would I? She supports me in my career. The least I can do is support her in hers.”

The room was quiet for a second before a wave of approving murmurs spread across the lobby area. The tension had completely shifted.

Bokuto grinned. “Man, you’re really down bad for your wife, huh?”

Sakusa sighed, clearly regretting every life decision that led him to sitting next to Bokuto in this moment. “I don’t see how that’s relevant to volleyball.”

Hinata laughed. “It’s not, but it’s fun to watch you get all flustered as you tell them more about [Last Name], Omi!”

“I’m not flustered,” Sakusa muttered, tugging at his jersey sleeve slightly as if contemplating whether he should just start wearing them all the time again to avoid situations like this.

“Like hell ye aren’t,” Atsumu snorted.

By the time the conference ended, social media had already latched onto the revelation.

#SakusaBestHusband started trending almost immediately, with fans gushing over how unexpectedly sweet he was. Some joked that they wanted a “Sakusa-level” of support in their relationships.

-

You had been watching the press conference from your laptop at home, your face buried in your hands as your notifications blew up.

A few minutes later, Sakusa messaged you.

Kiyoomi: I hate the internet.

You: And they love you, actually.

Kiyoomi: They won’t shut up about me letting you stab me with needles.

You: You do let me stab you with needles.

Kiyoomi: It’s more than that. Ugh, people don’t educate themselves enough about your profession

Kiyoomi: And it sounds worse when you say it like that.

You laughed, shaking your head.

You: Well, you are the best husband in the whole world ever. You kind of brought this on yourself.

He didn’t reply right away, and you assumed he was on his way back home. But when your phone buzzed again, your heart warmed at the short but sincere message.

Kiyoomi: You’re worth it. Be home in 20 minutes

SEUMYO © 2025. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[gloomwitchwrites]

For call of duty, can you write how 141 would react to you coming home after being announced KIA?

Love your work btw ❤️❤️

Not gonna lie, anon, but I genuinely read this as us reacting to the 141 coming home after being announced KIA, not them reacting to us coming home. I literally dumped everything I had planned and redid it because I missed that ONE word. (oops). Still, it's an emotional one. Your tears fuel me. :)

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Task Force 141!f!Reader

Content & Warnings (MDNI): angst, reunions, fluff, kissing, secret relationship, established relationship, grief/loss, swearing, mild humor, suggestive themes, mild sexual content

Word Count: 2k

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

Reality isn’t fair. It’s not kind or forgiving.

A week gone and John is simply floating, going through the motions, simply existing. This is why you don’t date military while in the military. It’s shit like this. It’s being told the person you love is fucking dead and now you’re the one left to pick up the pieces.

There wasn’t even a body. Vaporized is what they told him. Instant and painless. You felt nothing. It’s a small comfort, but John would rather have you in his arms than knowing you’re nothing more than atoms.

He sighs, and then puffs on his cigar. Smoke curls around him. It’s all quiet on base. Everyone is gone other than the routine patrol. John sits alone in his office, looking for files for an upcoming mission.

There’s a soft knock on is office door.

“Come in,” he says, not knowing who it might be but it must be important for it to be this late.

The door clicks and then creaks as it opens. John glances up, the cigar halfway to his mouth before the world around him completely stutters to a halt.

A phantom—a vaporized phantom—stands just inside, one hand on the doorknob. You are unharmed—clean. No scratches or wounds that John can see and wearing civilian clothing.

John is already standing, already moving, unable to resist the urge to remain in his chair and write this all off as a delusion. The cigar is forgotten, probably burning a hole in the wood of his desk. You match the forward momentum, shutting the office door, reaching out to him. When his arms go around you, and pull you in, John realizes that this is not an illusion. You are real and alive and here.

“You’re dead,” he murmurs, disbelief in his tone.

“I know. And I’m so sorry. It wasn’t—”

John grasps the back of your neck in a harsh hold, pulling you in for a kiss. He silences your voice, only needing your warmth and taste. You melt for him perfectly, answering the kisses with your own. With a gruff groan, John presses you up against the closed door.

“John,” you mumble, pulling back slightly.

“How are you here?”

“I’m sorry. We had to. It was the only way to extract me safely.”

John presses his forehead to yours, breathing you in. “Never again. Promise me.”

“Promise, John.”

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

One. Two. Three.

The seconds tick by, and still, Kyle refuses to move. For the last two weeks, Kyle has been cold and distant, sitting in the recliner in the corner of the living room.

He doesn’t read, doesn’t return the numerous missed calls and text messages, and he doesn’t turn on the television. He just sits, staring off into space, unable to figure out where his life will go next.

Why you? Why are you gone and not him?

It’s not fair. It’s not fucking fair. You should be alive and whole and happy. You should be home, wrapped in Kyle’s arms.

Kyle sighs, running his hands over his face. An overwhelming wave of grief bubbles up, threatening to rip a sob from him. Leaning forward, Kyle rests his elbows on his knees, cradling his face in his hands. He takes a deep, shuddering breath. The wave crashes against his resolve, eroding some of the numbness.

The coffin is empty. No body to bury. He still hasn’t contacted your family. He can’t do it. Can’t face them. That fact that he is here and you are not is a failure on his part. Kyle promised that he’d look after you, and now you’re gone.

Around him, the air stirs—shifts. Kyle rubs at his face, sudden awareness slipping in. There’s an anticipation in it—a tension.

“Kyle.”

That voice. He knows that voice.

Shaking his head, Kyle keeps his face covered, his breathing becoming ragged.

“You’re not real,” he gasps.

Phantom fingers lightly brush across the back of palm, traveling to his wrist. Another set join them, and two warm hands gently wrap around his wrists. They tug, and Kyle surrenders, glancing up at the delusion his consciousness is creating.

Your smile is a beacon in the dark. It is everything he’s dreamed up these aching days, only wanting to see you again. And this is no dream, this is the waking world—reality. Somehow, you are standing before him, grasping his wrists, smiling down at him with such happiness that Kyle doesn’t entirely understand how this could be possible.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Kyle.”

He’s standing, wrapping you up in his arms. There is no mistake. You are here. You are here.

Kyle murmurs your name over and over again like a mantra. He touches you everywhere, needing to know that every inch of you is real and not a figment of his imagination. You curl against him, tears forming, threatening to fall and stain your cheeks. Kyle kisses them away, grasping the sides of your face to steal your breath.

You melt beneath him, and Kyle’s only desire is to keep you near him, to relearn your every moan and whisper. He can get answers later. Later. Right now, you are here, you have returned to him, and that is enough.

John "Soap" MacTavish

Johnny made the choice, and now he has to live with the consequences.

It’s his own fault for caring about you, for deciding that you were the one he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. He should have found a civilian. That way they’d be mourning him and not him mourning you.

Three months and the missive still burns a hole in his chest. It’s folded up nicely, faded and worn from him unfolding and refolding it, tucked into an inside pocket beneath his bulletproof vest. It’s right over his heart. Right where you should be. Right where you belong.

The missive doesn’t belong to Johnny. It’s addressed to Captain Price, but the man handed it over to him, because he knew—even though Johnny did his best to hide it. He didn’t want to share what he had with you with anyone. That was just for the two of you.

“You all right, Soap?”

Simon’s voice cuts through the static.

“I’m aces, Lt. Don’t worry about me.”

The words feel false on Johnny’s tongue. He hates lying—but he especially hates lying to Simon.

Even behind the balaclava, Johnny can sense Simon’s frown. But the big bloke says nothing, appearing content with his answer.

“Price wants you in Conference Room B.”

“Now?” asks Johnny. “We’re supposed to transfer out in a few.”

Simon shrugs. “He didn’t say much. Just said he needed to talk to you before we leave.”

Johnny sighs but he goes, patting Simon’s arm before jogging to one of the main buildings. It’s inconvenient—and Price could have just met him on the fucking tarmac.

“What do you need, Captain?” says Johnny, pushing open the door.

Captain Price stands just inside the doorway. And he’s not alone.

At first, Johnny doesn’t understand. It’s like all but one singular bulb has been extinguished, the remaining light illuminating the one ghost in the room. Because that’s what you are. A ghost. Unreal and ethereal. Not reality at all but a simple hope in the back of Johnny’s mind that has finally blossomed into delusion.

“Soap.” Price’s voice is gruff. He sighs and then takes a step away from you. “I’ll leave the two of you to it.”

He brushes past Johnny, lightly squeezing his shoulder as he makes his exit.

And Johnny does not move. He stands in the doorway like a bloody git, unable to understand how you’re standing before him.

You’re dead. You’re supposed to be dead.

Your smile is hesitant at first, your movements even more so. It’s a tentative walk to him, and you don’t touch, you only gaze at him, eagerness and hope in your eyes.

“Johnny,” you breathe, and he knows that voice.

So crisp and clear and real.

Johnny reaches out, and pinches. He pinches your arms, your waist, your cheeks.

“Ow,” you laugh. “What the hell?”

You are not cold, but warm. Solid.

Johnny laughs in disbelief. “Had to make sure I wasn’t dreaming.”

Your arms go around him and suddenly, like a firework bursting with color, Johnny is happy and whole.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Simon shuts the front door and frowns.

Whenever Simon comes home, Bravo always greets him. The all-black German Shepherd is a singular ball of energy, turning in quick circles and tap tap tapping his paws against the hardwood in anticipation of back scratches and belly rubs.

For the past week, Bravo’s presence has been the one bright thing, the only bit of happiness keeping Simon going. The rest of it was snatched from him, torn apart and shattered, scattered to the wind. The letter is tucked inside the drawer of the bedside table. He only read it once. And once was enough.

You are dead. That’s what the letter says anyway. And it infuriates him more than anything. Every mission you’ve ever been on has been with Simon. Except this last one. And on this last one, you did not come home.

“Bravo!” shouts Simon, dropping his keys in the designated spot next to the front door.

Removing his coat, he hangs it up, and then kicks off his sneakers. Sighing loudly, Simon heads down the hall but Bravo does not emerge. Simon pokes his head into the living room and finds no dog. Kitchen, and still nothing. He even checks the backyard. No Bravo.

As Simon turns into the bedroom, he comes to an abrupt halt.

There’s Bravo on the bed, and sitting on the edge—

“You—”

You hold the letter in your hands, attention turning to Simon as he enters. Standing quickly, you extend the arm holding the letter while you bring a singular finger to your lips, implying silence.

Simon’s stomach flips, and then twists quickly. He moves across the room a couple strides, grasping your waist and pulling you close. He says nothing, only searching your face as you keep that finger pressed to your lips.

You flip the letter over to the blank side.

Compromised.

Everything clicks into place. Either you faked your death or someone lied.

Simon cups the side of your face as you drop your finger away from your lips. His mouth replaces, tasting and seeking, wanting to remember. You open for him, accepting it all. His hands tighten on your waist and it takes every ounce of Simon’s control to not throw you onto the bed and rut like an untamed beast.

But he does refrain.

Simon has the car loaded and the alarm system armed in ten minutes. Even on the road, Simon doesn’t speak. He’s not sure if he can. All he does is keep his hand on your thigh, squeezing tightly, attempting to ground himself and keep his focus on the road.

At the safehouse, Bravo takes off, running through the tall grass as you and Simon enter the barn through a small side door. The moment the bags are dropped onto the floor, Simon is on you, fisting your clothes, tugging at them in a need to seem them gone.

“Simon,” you groan against his mouth.

He wants answers. He needs to know what happened. But reconnecting with you is far more urgent.

“After,” he begs. “Please.”

You nod, understanding.

The two of shed your clothes quickly, falling onto the sofa in a tangled heap. Simon’s hand delves between, fingers finding your arousal. You’re ready for him—just as eager as he his. He makes no gentle effort, just a quick thrusts until he’s in to the hilt. Your brief gasp is swallowed up by his mouth, tongue delving inside for a taste as he starts to thrust.

This is what he needs. More than anything.

Talking can come after.

[oaksgrove]

The Codebreaker

pairing: Platonic!Task Force 141 x Reader

synopsys: You had always kept your distance from the team—focused, distant, and hidden behind a mask. But when a mission goes wrong and you get gravely injured, the team is forced to confront what they’ve never seen: the person behind the mask.

warnings: Angst, injury, near-death experience, trust issues, emotional tension, some swearing, Ghost being protective, emotional revelations, Ghost and Reader’s situationship…

word count: 1798

No one in the 141 knew much about Phantom.

You were a ghost among ghosts, a shadow wrapped in tactical gear. A tech expert, the best they’d ever seen—able to slice through encrypted networks like butter, reroute enemy drones mid-air, and turn any battlefield into a controlled digital playground. If the mission required intel, misdirection, or cyber sabotage, Phantom had it covered before anyone even finished asking.

But off the field?

You blended into the background, as if you were part of the walls. Not unfriendly, just… distant. Spoke only when necessary, never rude but always concise. Answered when asked, nodded when acknowledged, but never lingered in conversations longer than needed.

You weren’t cold, just hard to grasp.

A constant presence but never the center of attention.

The others noticed, of course.

Soap had once muttered to Gaz, "He doesn't take up space."

And he was right.

You never interrupted, never inserted yourself into banter or stories. When you were in the room, you were invisible in a way that had nothing to do with their tactical skills. You occupied the corner of the rec room with a laptop, earbuds in, or sat with a sudoku book in your hands, solving puzzles in complete silence. Always listening but never there in the way the others were.

Even in base, You never exposed their face or body. Gear came off only in private, always ensuring no one caught so much as a glimpse of skin. High-collared undershirts, gloves, layers—never a stray detail out of place.

The team accepted it without question.

Phantom, how you were called, was an expert at keeping unknown.

And everyone just assumed you were a man.

Soap had tried, on multiple occasions, to break through that quiet shell, determined to make some kind of dent.

"Do you ever relax, Phantom?"

"I’m relaxed now."

"Christ, mate, that’s sad."

Phantom hadn’t reacted, just kept solving their sudoku puzzle.

Gaz had once thrown a pack of gum at you during a mission debrief, just to see if you’d catch it without looking. You had, effortlessly, then tossed it back without a word.

Price trusted you without hesitation. He never questioned the silence, never pushed for more than they were willing to give. If Phantom said something was secure, it was secure. If Phantom gave a time frame, Phantom met it.

And Ghost?

Ghost understood you in a way the others didn’t. He never pried, never asked. He knew what it was like to live behind a mask, to carry a name that wasn’t really a name.

Phantom wasn’t close to the team—not in the way they were with each other. But they were part of it. A constant presence, woven into the unit’s rhythm.

And that was enough.

Until the mission where everything fell apart.

"We’re in and out. Quick, clean, no unnecessary noise" Price said, voice steady as he laid out the plan.

A cartel base deep in hostile territory. High-value intel buried in their systems, locked behind multiple layers of encryption. The team needed Phantom to get in, extract the files, and be out before anyone knew they were there.

Easy.

For them, at least.

"I’ll crack their network before we breach," You said, tapping at your wrist console. "Should have access to their security feed before we even hit the ground."

Price nodded. "Ghost, Soap—you’ll be Phantom’s cover. Gaz and I will clear the outer perimeter. We move fast. Any questions?"

No one spoke.

"Good. Wheels up in ten."

Phantom did a final check of their gear, making sure their mask was secure, their gloves snug against their fingers. The mission was simple.

They’d done riskier ops before.

So why did something feel… off?

The op started smoothly.

You breached the cartel’s network before your boots even hit the ground, feeding the enemy false security reports and rerouting camera feeds. The team moved through the compound like shadows, taking down targets with ruthless efficiency.

They reached the objective with zero complications.

Too easy.

You worked fast, fingers flying across their portable console as they pulled the files. They barely glanced up when Ghost muttered, "Make it quick."

A few more keystrokes—then a small confirmation beep.

"Got it."

Price’s voice came through comms. "Extraction point secure. Move."

And that’s when everything went to hell.

The moment they stepped outside, the alarms blared.

"Shite," Soap cursed.

Your blood went cold. "That’s not me. I disabled their systems—"

Gunfire erupted before they could finish the sentence.

The cartel had known they were coming.

A goddamn trap.

"Move!" Price barked, his voice sharp through comms.

The team pushed forward, cutting through enemies as they raced toward the extraction point. You stayed low, recalibrating your wrist console to jam the cartel’s reinforcements.

Everyone was so focused on the fight that they didn’t see the sniper.

Not until it was too late.

A sharp, searing pain tore through your chest.

You staggered, breath catching, as your body folded under the impact. Their gloved hand pressed to their vest, but it was already warm, slick. Blood. Too much of it.

Distantly, you heard Soap’s frantic voice through comms.

"Sniper! Tech's hit—shit, they’re down!"

Boots pounded against the ground—Ghost, closing in fast.

"Stay with me, mate," he ordered, voice tight as he dropped beside them. "Keep your eyes open."

You tried, really tried, but breathing wasn’t working right.

Every inhale rattled, wet and sharp, drowning them from the inside. Panic clawed at their ribs.

Ghost’s hands were on their mask.

"Gotta get this off," he muttered.

A sharp pocket knife was pulled from his belt—a sleek line drawn across your mask—then cool air hit your face.

Ghost froze.

His expression shifted—something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.

And then you blacked out.

When you woke up, you felt like drowning.

Pain swallowed you whole.

It was the first thing you felt, the first thing that told you—you were alive. It burned, sharp and relentless, twisting inside your ribs like a serrated knife. Every breath rattled, wet and broken, lungs struggling to work through the thick haze of agony.

Something beeped steadily nearby. The scent of antiseptic clung to the air, cold and sterile. The weight of blankets pressed down on you, too heavy, too confining.

Hospital.

Your fingers twitched weakly, brushing against the IV in your arm. The world blurred and steadied, the dull light above flickering as you forced your gaze to shift.

You turn your head sluggishly, and that’s when you saw them—you weren't alone.

Price, Ghost, Gaz, and Soap.

They stood around your bed, too still, too silent.

Their usual confidence, their sharp-edged ease—gone. In its place was something heavier. Something unfamiliar.

"How bad?" you rasped.

Soap let out a breath—sharp, unsteady. "You almost died, lass."

Lass.

The word lodged deep, piercing more than the bullet had.

Right, they knew now.

Something cold curled in your stomach.

Price’s voice broke through the heavy quiet. "Shot went through your lung. We barely got you out."

You swallowed, gaze fixed on the IV in your arm. "It doesn’t change anything."

A scoff. Bitter. Tired. Ghost.

"Yeah, it does."

The words weren’t sharp. They weren’t a reprimand, or an accusation.

They were quiet. Weighted.

Gaz ran a hand down his face, exhaling hard. "Bloody hell, Phantom. We didn’t know what to think."

They were still processing it. Still recalibrating everything they thought they knew. Phantom could see it in their faces—the way their eyes traced over her now, like they were seeing her for the first time. Like they were realizing how much they didn’t know.

"Should’ve told us," Price murmured, not unkindly.

Not a command. Not even a question. Just… something else. Something you didn’t know how to name.

You wet your cracked lips. "Would it have made a difference?"

Ghost’s jaw tightened, gaze darkening. "You wouldn’t have been bleeding out on the ground with a mask suffocating you."

Silence.

Cold. Heavy.

Soap let out a breath, rubbing a hand over his face. He looked… lost. Frustrated. "Do you even trust us?"

The question settled like a weight on your chest.

Did you?

You had spent years making sure no one got close enough to ask. It had always been easier that way—no questions, no attachments, no complications.

You opened your mouth.

Then closed it.

Price’s voice was quieter now, steady. "Look, we’re not mad. We just—" He exhaled, shaking his head. "We care, kid. That’s all."

Gaz nodded. "You’re family, Phantom."

Family.

The word dug into your ribs like shrapnel.

Your fingers curled into the stiff fabric of the blanket, lungs too tight, throat raw.

Soap sighed, rubbing his temples. "Christ, lass. We thought we lost you." His voice cracked. Barely noticeable. But it still struck like a bullet between your ribs.

Ghost was silent. Arms crossed, shoulders tense. His usual unreadable mask firmly in place—except for the way his fingers twitched against his sleeve.

Like he was holding something back.

Like he was holding himself together.

You weren’t used to this.

Weren’t used to people giving a damn about whether you came back or not.

"I’m here," you muttered, unsure if it was meant to reassure them or yourself.

Ghost’s eyes stayed on you, unreadable but piercing.

"Yeah," Ghost murmured. "Barely."

You wanted to joke, to brush it off, but there was no dodging this.

Not when you had seen the way they’d looked at you the moment you woke up.

Not when the usual mate had been replaced by lass and she.

Soap let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. "Y’know, I should’ve guessed. You were always too fuckin’ quiet. The real mystery is how we didn’t clock it sooner."

You raised a brow. "Because I made sure you didn’t."

Soap huffed. "Aye, well, I’m starting to think we should’ve pried a little harder."

"You would’ve gotten nowhere," you muttered.

"Yeah, I’m getting that."

There was a long pause, thick with something unspoken.

Then, Ghost shifted closer, standing at the side of the bed. "You’re one of us, Phantom." The words were calm, certain. "Doesn’t matter what’s under the mask. Never did."

Your throat tightened.

Price sighed, stepping forward and placing a careful hand on your shoulder—solid, grounding. "We’ve got your six, Phantom. Always."

Gaz nudged your foot lightly, the closest thing to a brotherly shove he could manage with you stuck in a hospital bed. "Next time, don’t scare the shit out of us, yeah?"

You exhaled a soft, tired laugh. "No promises."

Soap groaned. "Jesus. We’re doomed."

Laughter rippled through the room, something lighter breaking through the tension.

You let your eyes drift over them—these men who had been her teammates, her squadmates, but were now something else entirely.

Family.

It still felt foreign. 

strange even.

But maybe, just maybe…

You could learn to live with it.

taglist: @honestlymassivetrash @pythonmoth

[zorobff]

how to disappear. (opla!zoro x fem!reader)

synopsis: joining luffy’s crew made you believe that you’d finally escaped your former pirate crew and nightmare of a captain for good. that is, until a certain butler starts looking a little too familiar. good thing zoro’s keeping a close eye on you.

warnings: opla spoilers (ep 3), some direct dialogue from opla, mentions of verbal/physical abuse, kuro is just a weirdo tbh, reader is called a bitch, protective zoro, for the sake of the story sham and buchie joined the black cat pirates after reader left

word count: 4.7k

“this guy is full of shit.”

you knock your shoulder into zoro’s wider one. “be nice. and so what if he is?” 

zoro gives you a pointed glare. “then we should turn around and look for someone who can actually help us find a ship.” 

“all business, as per usual,” you reply, with a purposefully dramatic sigh. “why can’t you have a little fun?” 

“what about this is supposed to be fun?” zoro spits out the word like it’s poisonous. “this is the blandest village i’ve ever seen.”

you scoff. “now you’re the one that’s full of shit. nothing’s ever bland with us and you know it.” 

the us in question was your newly formed pirate crew… if you and luffy could even be considered that. having left the ship you’d been on a few years ago, you were in search of a new crew. luffy was persistent and charming — when you’d crossed paths in shells town, it took little to no time for him to convince you to join his hunt for the one piece. zoro and nami, on the other hand, had yet to follow in your footsteps. 

“well, considering that we’ve only been traveling together for a day and a half and i’ve already escaped a marine base, defeated a marine captain, and fought a clown with devil fruit powers… i’d actually have to agree.” 

you can’t help but giggle at his sarcastic delivery. “be grateful, zoro. not many pirate crews are this fun to be on, trust me. oh wait, that’s right, you still haven’t officially joined—”

“tell me about your old pirate crew,” interjects zoro, your comment having piqued his interest. 

you notice that the playful atmosphere dissipates. “god, where do i even start?” 

zoro answers that for you. “why did you leave?”

“starting with the hard hitting questions, huh?” you joke, mostly to stall. you clear your throat before you answer. “well, it was different. nothing like what luffy has going on. he actually cares about his crew… and even those who aren’t technically on it.” 

at that, a smile tugs at the corner of zoro’s lips. even you crack a small grin. although as you continue speaking, it fades. 

“on my old crew, we were dispensable. anytime something went wrong, our own captain would threaten to kill us. it was… scary, to be completely honest. there were so many times when i thought i’d die with that filthy crew. and i never wanted that. so as soon as we docked at shells town, i left.”  

zoro’s jaw clenches as imagines the things you’d seen and been subjected to. “this old captain of yours sounds like a real—”

“he was a nightmare,” you tell him. “he didn’t care that i was the only woman on board, he treated me just as horribly, if not worse.” 

zoro stops so suddenly that it takes you a second to realize he’s not walking alongside you.

“what do you mean by that.” the way zoro phrases the inquiry doesn’t even make it sound like a question. more like a demand. his narrowed eyes are fixed solely on you. holding his gaze feels… intense. 

you can’t help but glance away as you answer him. “he was just a bit of a creep.”

before zoro has the chance to try and extract more information out of you, a familiar voice calls both your names. you’re not really sure when you and zoro had fallen behind but from where you currently stand, the rest of your group looks miniature. or perhaps it’s just the massive size of the mansion behind them that makes luffy, nami, and usopp look pocket-sized in comparison. 

“why’d you stop walking?!” your captain shouts, hands pressed on each side of his mouth to amplify his voice. “get over here, we’re about to go in through the top secret entrance!” 

you vaguely make out usopp gesturing for luffy to keep his voice down. you’re sure that would warrant another comment from zoro about his reliability but he’s too busy staring at you with that expectant look in his eyes. 

“we better catch up,” you tell him, heading in the direction of the deluxe home. 

he allows you to dodge the subject and sighs, walking in long strides to catch up to you.  

“i’ve never seen a house this big before,” luffy admits, admiring the mansion along with the wellkept greenery surrounding it. 

“awesome, right?” usopp gloats, walking around like he owned the place. “kaya’s given me an open invitation to drop by anytime i want.” 

“wow.” you’re not sure if luffy was just going along with usopp’s act or if he really believed him. knowing the devil fruit user, it was more than likely the latter. “all this for just one person?”

“well, she lives here with her butler and a few other staff,” usopp replies, leaning against the stone well that sat in the middle of the lawn.

“money really shows you who people truly are,” nami mutters, eyes scanning the property. “most people only care about themselves and what’s theirs.”

zoro is quick to throw the insult back at her. “sounds like someone i know.”

you roll your eyes at his comment, though you make no effort to disagree with him. nami was a little on the materialistic side. 

“and a small staff makes for easy pickings,” she continues, proving your point.

“we just got here and you’re already planning on robbing the place blind?” you ask though you already know the answer.

“at least a little blurry,” she smirks, following behind luffy and usopp who walk toward the entrance. 

you and zoro share a look. one that says disappointed but not surprised. 

going under a shrub shaped as an arch, you’re met with a beautiful pond. you admire the pink lilies that float at the top and the bushes that were intricately trimmed into the shape of various animals. even if the people that lived here were filthy rich, at least they had good decorative taste. 

“so if you have an invitation, why are we going around the back way?” luffy ponders.

usopp’s answer is nonchalant. “oh, i never use the front entrance. like i said, this is the vip entrance reserved for special guests.”

zoro scoffs. “this guy’s definitely–”

“don’t start,” you groan, cutting him off. 

abruptly, usopp freezes and spins around, attempting to usher your crew back. “you know what, there’s actually a more exclusive entrance this way–”

the sharp swoosh of a knife cutting through the air and burying itself in the ground between usopp’s feet cuts him off. from the direction the kitchen utensil was thrown stands a heavyset gentleman with his face wrinkled in anger. his demanding voice booms through the garden, “the hell are you doing here, usopp?” 

the dark-skinned boy fumbles over his word. “buchi, buddy, uh, kaya’s expecting me.”

“another one of your lies,” the man – seemingly named buchi – seethes, grabbing him by the collar. “you ain’t welcome here and you know it.”

“i know nothing of the sort,” usopp retorts, keeping his cool even when he was practically being lifted off the ground by his shirt. “i’m here to give kaya an extra special gift.”

before buchi can get another word out, a feminine voice calls out for your companion. coming down the steps is a frail looking girl in a pink dress. on her arm is a man dressed in a crisp suit, presumably the butler usopp had mentioned earlier. though, from where you stand you can’t see either of their faces too clearly. 

“what a wonderful surprise,” she exclaims, breathlessly. 

“kaya!” usopp exclaims, returning her enthusiasm. buchi has no choice but to let him go, begrudgingly. usopp makes sure to shoot him a smug look before walking towards the young girl. “happy birthday.” 

the butler clears his throat, not afraid to intrude on their special moment. “usopp, we’ve discussed this before. you mustn’t show up unannounced.” 

“nonsense, klahadore.” kaya smiles warmly. “have you come to tell me another story? i do love hearing about your adventures.” 

“i’ll do you one better,” usopp smirks with such confidence that even you’re left wondering what kind of surprise he has up his sleeve. “i brought some of my crew!” he gestures back towards the four of you, proudly. 

your excitement vanishes. “oh. the surprise is… us.”

“well, that’s boring,” luffy agrees, just as disappointed as you are. 

kaya, on the other hand, is none the wiser. “it’s so nice to meet you. you must all stay for dinner.” 

klahadore lowers his voice. “miss kaya, it is a bit last minute. i’m afraid the kitchen hasn’t prepared for any extra guests.”

“please,” begs kaya, softly. “it’s my birthday. can’t be too much trouble can it?” 

giving in, klahadore purses his lips. “anything for you, miss kaya.” 

luffy claps his hands together. “alright! when do we eat?” 

“you don’t. not dressed like that, at least.” the butler directs himself to a staff member with teal colored hair. “sham, kindly show usopp and his friends to the guest suites. you will bathe and change before dinner.”

she follows his orders and leads the way. luffy, usopp, nami, and zoro trail behind her and you go to do the same. however, all it takes is a quick glance to stop you dead in your tracks. usually, you weren’t one to stare but klahadore’s face. that stare. so dark and depraved. 

“yes, miss?” he asks, holding your gaze. “can i help you?” 

“n-no, i…” your throat goes dry as you attempt to recover smoothly. “i just wanted to, um, thank you for being so hospitable.” 

his lips curve upwards into a sinister grin. “the pleasure’s all mine.” as if to confirm your worst fear, klahadore uses his palm to readjust his glasses. his beady eyes gauge your reaction closely.

the familiar gesture sends chills down your spine. appearance-wise, he had changed drastically but his aura was still just as menacing as you remember it. he was still the corrupt pirate captain you used to serve under. you feel like a weak and helpless subordinate all over again.

“klahadore!” giggles kaya. “you’re smiling! that’s certainly a rarity.”

he hums. “i’ve simply come to the realization that having guests once in a while can truly be a delight.”

his sickeningly sweet tone makes your stomach turn. just the fact that you were standing in front of him – captain kuro – again after all these years was nauseating in itself. last you’d heard he had died at the hands of captain morgan. how was this even possible? then again, he wasn’t dubbed kuro of a hundred plans for no reason. he always had a trick or two up his sleeve. you assumed this was no different. 

“hey, you comin’?”

you turn around to see zoro waiting for you. he meets your gaze for a moment. the softness of his eyes is a stark contrast to kuro’s. it’s a breath of fresh air. he then shifts his attention to your former captain and you swear his eyes darken. 

“yeah, sorry,” you mumble, trying not to look shaken as you walk up the steps. 

zoro follows behind you, this time closer than before.

“why would anybody even need this many clothes?”

“it’s not about need with these people, luffy. it’s about want,” nami spits, thumbing through the various fabrics on the wall. 

“at least she’s rich and nice,” luffy replies, innocently.

nami rolls her eyes. “yeah, letting us stay for dinner must be her idea of charity work.” 

“what are we even supposed to wear?” luffy continues, uninterested in nami’s criticism of the rich. 

“anything you want. when are you ever going to get the opportunity to wear things this nice?” 

you step out from behind the changing board where you’d swapped out your old tee and cargo skirt for an elegant satin dress. it was a stunning shade of olive green and frilly lace decorated the edges. not to mention, it hugged your curves in all the right ways.

nami’s eyes widen. “see, she’s got the right idea. you look amazing.” 

you smile, bashfully. “honestly, i feel amazing.”

“you look the same to me,” your captain shrugs.

nami shoots him a death glare but you intervene before she can scold him.

“way to keep me humble, luffy.”

“no problem!” 

at that exact moment, a freshly showered zoro arrives donning a silk robe. he eyes the multitude of garments that cover every inch of the room, not particularly impressed. 

“there you are. don’t you think she looks nice?” nami asks him, gesturing towards you. she doesn’t notice how you shrink under zoro’s gaze. neither does he, as his eyes take their time raking over you, from top to bottom.

he hums. “suits you.” with that, he sets off towards a chair in the corner of the room.  

“seriously?” sighs nami, exasperated. “are you two physically unable to give compliments or something?” 

“hey, doesn’t that butler seem familiar to you guys?” zoro asks, promptly ignoring nami’s complaint. 

his question causes your breath to hitch. you’d pushed the kuro problem to the back of your mind while you were in search of a suitable dinner outfit. you figured that as long as your crew was by your side, he wouldn’t dare try anything. and even if he did… well, you’d seen what had happened to axe-hand morgan and buggy. 

“yeah, i think he was at the last dinner party i attended,” nami replies sarcastically, taking a handful of dresses behind the changing board. 

as he takes a seat, zoro grumbles, “i swear i’ve seen him before.” 

“where?” you can’t help but ask, fiddling with the lace on the neckline of your dress. 

“so far, i’ve got two suspicions. a wanted poster or funky bar on mirrorball island. you ever been?”

you know zoro’s teasing you, judging by the grin on his face. after all, funky bar was known to get insanely rowdy; never would he imagine finding someone as gentle as you there. but what he didn’t know is that it happened to be one of kuro’s favorite bars. per his request, you and the rest of the black cat pirates frequented it often, so he was more than likely right about having seen kuro there. he’d probably even seen you in passing, once or twice. thankfully, he doesn’t seem to have any recollection of that.

the thought of zoro knowing about your past forms a knot in the pit of your stomach. would he think less of you for having joined such a ruthless crew at one point in your life? what if it put a strain on the friendship you’d worked so hard to form? 

“i’ve, uh, heard of it,” you decide to reply, pushing down your worries for the time being. 

he tilts his head slightly, thinking out loud. “then again, i have seen a lot of wanted posters and bars in my time as a pirate hunter.”

you feel a grin creep onto your face. “probably more bars than posters, huh?”

zoro mirrors your smile. “shut up.”

by the time dinner rolls around, the entire crew is doing what they do best. 

luffy is stuffing his face, nami is attempting to swindle one of the staff, zoro is hanging by the drinks, and you’re hanging by zoro. 

“hey zoro, you gotta try this!” luffy calls through a mouthful of food.

“i’ve got all i need right here,” he mutters, taking a swig out of his champagne flute. 

“you know, i don’t think i’ve ever seen you choke down something that isn’t alcohol,” you comment, watching the way he downs the glass in one go. 

dryly, he replies, “that’s because i haven’t.”

“very on brand.”

“ladies and gentlemen,” calls out that voice from the top of the stairs. “may i present… miss kaya.”

arm in arm, kuro and kaya walk down the steps, all eyes on the birthday girl and her stunning gown. well, except you. your eyes never leave the so-called butler by her side. your jaw clenches when he has the audacity to meet your gaze and hold it. shameless bastard. 

once they reach the bottom, merry leads kaya to the guests while kuro takes his post at the bottom of the stairs… right next to the drink table. before you can think about steering yourself and zoro away, kuro speaks.

“forgive me if i am speaking out of line, madam, but i must inform you. you look positively radiant,” he purrs, soaking in your appearance. he looks ready to pounce.

you can’t stop your eyes from rolling. good to know he’s the same pervert he used to be.

looking between you both and sensing your discomfort, zoro steps in. “and you look familiar.” 

kuro’s head stiffly turns to face him, eyes peeling away from you. “highly doubtful, sir.” 

“funky bar? mirror ball island?” 

“funky bar?” kuro repeats, disgusted. “well, i can assure you i’ve never patronized that type of establishment.” 

while it was amusing to see your highly esteemed former captain lie through his teeth, the tension between him and zoro was unbearable. 

“well then.” zoro continues with his little interrogation. “ever been on a wanted poster?”

you cringe at his bluntness. sometimes it seemed like he had less of a filter than luffy.

kuro puts on a scandalized face at the question. “sir! such an accusation is highly offensive.” tugging on his collar, he goes to remove himself from zoro’s probing. “now, if you’ll excuse me, i’m going to help prepare the dinner table.” 

he leaves, en route to the dining room. zoro’s eyes follow his figure until he disappears, squinting as he racks his brain for any further recollection of this suspicious butler. 

you sigh. if zoro was going to continue being so relentless, you were sure the night would end in bloodshed and uncovered secrets. 

“keep this coming,” zoro demands, handing the empty wine bottle to sham. she takes it with a glare. 

“would it kill you to say please?” you ask, slicing the slab of fish on your plate into smaller pieces.

“the service here is shitty. why should i have to be polite?” 

you scowl. “remind me to never have dinner with you again.”

zoro turns to you with that cocky grin of his. “what if i asked nicely?” 

his quip makes your heart flutter but you manage to keep your composure. “you can try your luck.” 

before he can respond, usopp speaks up. “luffy, isn’t there something that you wanted to talk to kaya about?” 

luffy gesticulates enthusiastically with his fork. “oh, yes! usopp told me that you own the whole shipyard.” 

“well, actually, my parents founded the shipyard and merry’s been running the business since they… passed. but all that’s about to change. tonight, at midnight, i will become the sole owner.” she smiles somberly. 

“well, that’s great,” luffy says, raising his drink at her. “because we want to buy a ship from you.” 

“ah, i see. usopp mentioned that you’re sailors.” 

“nope, not sailors. we’re pirates!”

you’re certain at least three people at the table choke on their food, yourself included. 

“this ought to be good,” zoro mumbles behind his glass.

you’re too busy coughing into your napkin to chastise him for finding this entertaining.

“pirates?” kaya repeats, unsure of how to react. 

“yup! we haven’t sailed together for very long but we’ve already defeated an evil clown, raided a marine base, and taken down a captain with an axe! for a hand!” luffy holds up a fist, presumably to impersonate axe-hand morgan.

“sounds a lot like your adventures, usopp,” kaya says, turning to the brunette.

all he can do is laugh dryly. “yeah, that’s… that’s crazy.” 

“and we’re just getting started!” luffy continues, climbing up onto the table.

“someone put me out of my misery,” you mumble, looking down at your plate to ignore the secondhand embarrassment.

a tap on your shoulder answers your plea.

turning around, you find yourself face to face with kuro once again. “madam, a word please?”

“might i ask what for?” zoro cuts in before you can so much as think of a response.

kuro offers him the most forced grin you’ve ever had the displeasure of seeing. “i’m afraid that is between the lady and i.”

the swordsman turns to you, scanning your face for any ounce of discomfort. “you okay with that?”

you inhale, figuring it was finally time for you to confront the darkest part of your past. it was silly to assume you would be able to ignore him throughout your entire stay here. besides, you were sure zoro, just like the rest of your crew, would be on standby if kuro got brave enough to try anything. “sure. just… keep an eye out.”

zoro understands completely. truthfully, you didn’t even need to ask – he always looked after you. “got it.”

you push yourself out of your seat and smooth out your dress. you allow kuro to lead you to the doorway – he was smart enough to know that was the farthest you’d let him take you. 

“what do you want, klahadore?” you seethe, folding your arms.

he arches a brow. “why must you call me that? it’s ridiculous.” 

you tilt your head with faux innocence. “oh? is that not your name? must have misheard.”

he gives you an irritated look, dark eyes drilling into you.

“i remember that look,” you mutter, your memory serving you well. “it’s the same one you’d give me before you’d threaten to slice me to bits with your claws.”

kuro has the audacity to chuckle dryly. “but i never did, did i? although there were certainly times times where i should’ve.”

“what you should be is dead,” you hiss bitterly. “when i heard the news, i knew it was too good to be true.”

“you wound me, kitten,” he drawls, reaching up to fix his glasses. 

the condescending nickname makes your skin crawl. it carried so many awful memories of your time spent with the black cat pirates. it reminded you of just how weak kuro viewed you — nothing but a helpless, pitiful kitten in his eyes. typical of the man that abused his authority and treated you with not a single ounce of respect. 

he continues, putting on a sweet tone. “after all these years, stuck waiting hand and foot on that spoiled brat, there’s nothing i’d love more than to hear my favorite crew mate say my real name.”

you snap at him. “i’m no crew mate of yours.”

he sighs, dramatically. “sadly, you’re correct. after all, you did slip off the ship the moment we docked in shells town. locating you on an island crawling with marines proved to be nearly impossible. we had no choice but to leave without you.”

“that’s exactly why i chose to escape there.” 

“and to this day i can’t for the life of me figure out why you would ever do that. why would you want to leave us? leave me?”

you actually laugh right in his face. “is it really that hard to figure out? you were evil. you threatened and harassed me on a daily basis.”

“so your solution was to join that ragtag crew?” he glances at the table. “it’s pathetic, even for you.”

you lean into his face, lowering your voice down. “i’m happier than i ever was on your shitty crew. every day i wake up grateful that i managed to escape you.”

you see that vein on his forehead bulge before he’s gripping you by the chin. “listen here, you little bitch–”

the shiny silver of a sword slides between you and kuro, coming to rest against his neck. his adam’s apple bobs as he gulps anxiously, releasing you. thanks to zoro’s sword, it seemed as if he finally remembered where he was. you were no longer on his ship, he was no longer allowed to treat you like the dirt he walked on. not without someone noticing, that is. 

“why don’t you step away?” zoro offers simply.

that much was a kindness. usually those who found themselves on the end of zoro’s blade(s) weren’t lucky enough to receive a warning. however, the swordsman didn’t wish to cause a scene. at least not when you were right there and everyone was watching with shock from the dinner table.

kuro obliges, stumbling back. he meets kaya’s horrified eyes, feeling ashamed that he allowed his act to slip. surely this would cause some setbacks in his plan. with no excuse for his uncharacteristic behavior, the raven haired man scurries away and up the stairs.

zoro turns and locks eyes with luffy, giving him one singular nod. luffy returns it, jumping out of his seat and going after the butler. quiet murmuring breaks out at the dinner table, everyone surely confused. 

sheathing his sword, zoro directs his attention to you once more. “are you alright?” a calloused hand comes up to grip your chin, much like kuro had. however, this time, the touch is gentle. loving, almost. you welcome it.

“yeah, i’m… fine.” your heart is beating out of your chest and it has everything to do with your close proximity to zoro.

he tilts your face around, inspecting every inch of it. once he finishes, he pulls back. his demeanor goes serious once more. “we need to have a talk.”

you nod. “i know. i’ve been keeping some things from you guys and–”

“just tell me what’s been going on,” he demands. “and don’t overcomplicate it. you can be straightforward with me.”

his sincerity makes you start over, this time far more candidly. “klahadore used to be a pirate. i was part of his crew. he was my… captain.”

the shame in your voice pulls at zoro’s heartstrings. didn’t you know there was no reason to feel guilty with him? “is that it?” 

you open your mouth to speak but come up empty. all you can do is furrow your eyebrows at his unexpectedly dismissive reaction.

“i knew it,” zoro continues, annoyed. “i knew i’d seen him on a wanted poster before. just didn’t have any proof.”

“wait, so you don’t– you really don’t care?” you ask, still avoiding eye contact. “me being a former black cat pirate doesn’t bother you?”

he shrugs. “you said it yourself. ‘former.’ all that matters is that you got the hell out of there. and away from that creep. would he always put his hands on you like that?”

you blink a couple times, sighing. “his temper was really bad so–”

that seemed to be enough for zoro. “i’ll kill the bastard,” he hisses. “wanted to slice him to bits the moment i saw him grab you.” 

though it’s a violent threat, you can’t help but smile. the idea of zoro being so protective that he’d kill a man just for touching you made you blush. pirate love language, you suppose.

“well, i wouldn’t have stopped you,” you tell him, more than ready to see your former captain go.

zoro clicks his tongue. “nah. could’ve stained your new dress with his blood. i never would have been able to forgive myself.”

“so you do have a soft spot,” you tease.

“only for pretty things.”

“do you mean me or the dress?” 

now it’s zoro’s turn to become bashful. though, his lack of response is an answer in itself. you can’t help but giggle. 

a loud bang from upstairs interrupts your moment with the green-haired man. you assume luffy had gotten his hands on kuro… or vice versa. zoro must be thinking the same thing judging by the way he instinctively rests a hand on the handle of his blade.

“you should go up there,” you tell him. “i’ll stay with kaya.”  

he gives you a nod, though he doesn’t make any effort to leave. he stands there like he wants to say something… or do something. before you can think about it too much, you pull him in by the collar and crash your lips onto his. they’re slightly chapped and taste like the wine that’d come from the cellar – it’s pleasant. his large palms come to rest on your lower back; his hold feels tight and secure. 

when you finally allow yourself to pull away, you’re biting back a smile. “kick his ass for me.” 

“will i get more of that if i do?” asks zoro, wetting his lips. they now taste like the cherry lip gloss you’d borrowed from kaya. he takes a step forward, attempting to close the gap between you two once more.

you shrug, pushing him away by the chest. “go help luffy and we’ll see.”

you both know that means yes.

[kabr0ztrousers]

A shy chubby fem reader is looking for a job and is offered one by a well built demon. He's looking for another maid for his mansion and he's offering ridiculous sums of money. It's too good to be true and it sorta is? It's still a maid job and she is still getting paid very well but like the rest of the servants she has to dress in a really slutty outfit and be a free use toy for himself and any guests.

Her first day on the job?

Bouncing on her boss’s cock while he and his associates (who are also fucking the staff) are enjoying the view.

Kabr0z Writes Episode 137: Employment Hell

Find the rest of the Kabr0z Writes Anthology here!

Ao3!

CWs: initial dubcon; enthusiastic content; size difference; oral sex; demons; mild religious themes; mild alcohol use; sex work; excessive cum; cum inflation

A/N: This one almost reached 2600 words, and took literally all day. Have fun with it :D

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You'd think Hell would be a pretty shitty place to live, and you'd be right. Though, you might be surprised when you get down here. Turns out the whole Hieronymus Bosch schtick isn't so popular any more. There's a finite number of demons, and the sheer quantities of the damned are overwhelming. If they were to actually do the job, each demon would be personally responsible for the torment of over ten thousand souls and counting at best guess. That's not considering the impossible task of taking a census in a realm that is literally infinite. Demons are a lot of things: avaricious, impulsive, lustful, but above all indolent. Supposedly, they're the army of Hell, poised to invade and wreak havoc across creation. In practice, they're a bunch of hedonists. Some greater authority makes sure the real nasty bastards get their due, and many of the more violent demons absolutely get their rocks off in the pursuit of that duty, but most demons were perfectly happy in an endless stream of orgies and alcohol.

So the eternal punishment takes another form. It just so happens that it's the exact same varietal of low-grade misery that exists every day for millions of the living. Unless you want to live completely off the grid, rent needs paying, so many people have a job, or live with someone who does. In theory it was a similar level of awful as up above, in practice food is strictly a luxury, as is shelter. If you don't mind couch surfing, you could live in relative ease. Everyone knows that of course, so the actual jobs tend to be less "extracting value from labour" and more "thinly veiled excuses"

When you applied for a job, you didn't know this. Freshly damned and with nothing to your name but the clothes you died in and a glossy pamphlet entitled "Welcome to Hell!" containing the contact information for a few places where you might find a cheap bed, flanked on all sides by dozens of adverts for everything from obscure streaming services to almost every imaginable sexual proclivity for sale. You found a number for a recruitment agency, clinging to the corner of the document, just below an image of a demon spreading her drooling cunt whilst holding her impressively knotted cock.

You begged a coin off a stranger for the payphone and called the number, a bored voice answered your questions. Yes, it's regular work. No, you're not going to be hurt. Yes, most of it is housemaid work. Uniform is provided, as is a room in the manor where you'll be working. Your first shift can be this evening if you like. The voice gave you an address, even called you a cab to get there. You'd find out more about the job when you got to where you're going and the head maid gave you more information.

The taxi arrived, driven by a short-haired man in a flat cap who regaled you on the best places to eat, the best bars in town, when to avoid driving, even some of the nicer demons you might meet out and about. He reassured you, sure, you're in Hell, but generally folks were no worse here than up above, just a lot less pious about things.

He dropped you at the mansion. It looked like an old-money townhouse, the kind of thing you'd see in central London, a large square detached house complete with decorated friezes a gate out front and a woman dressed in a skimpy maid outfit waving at you

"Hi! You're the new hire, I bet?"

You nodded and introduced yourself to her

"Good, good! I'll show you inside and get you a uniform, do you prefer men's clothes or women's? Never mind, I'll give you a couple of sets of each. You'll be refreshments for tonight's soiree, so no need to worry about cleaning anything for now, just get comfy in your room, we'll go over some ground rules while you're living here and make sure you're all set for tonight"

You allowed yourself to be led inside. Serving refreshments doesn't seem too bad, you'd worked behind a bar for a while in life, and the skills don't get all that rusty. The house was surprisingly bright and spacious, marble tiled floors, plush furniture, art hanging on the walls, even the stairs down to the servant's quarters were well lit and maintained, individual rooms were afforded for every member of the household staff. Sure it's a bit of a shoebox but a room like this would set you back 3 grand a month in London's zone 1, so you're not complaining.

House rules were simple enough too. The duty roster is 4 on 4 off, if you're not working in the morning you're not expected back, guests are permitted but must be signed in and enter via the servant's entrance at the rear of the house. She set out a pair of uniforms on your bed. One was similar to hers, a French maid dress if it'd been through several tailors each one directed to make it shorter, more revealing. You held it up to you, it barely covered your ass, the tops of the stockings would be clearly visible, and you'd never be more than one wrong move from your tits falling out. The men's outfit was almost worse, somewhere between butler and stripper, made of leather straps and sporting totally assless trousers. You put away the maid outfit, indicating to your new manager you weren't going to need the men's attire.

"I thought you might say that, but sometimes people surprise you. Go ahead and get settled. There's a book with everything you'll need to know in the drawer. Oh, and before I forget, your safeword is epsilon, like the Greek letter"

Safeword? Nice to know you have one, but you hadn't thought you'd signed up for that kind of job. You shrugged and sat back on the bed, the mattress was a little firm, but not uncomfortable. You lay back and took a handbook out of the drawer. The master of the house was called Ankhayat, he had a whole page dedicated to his list of titles and epithets, but if unsure, you were simply instructed to refer to him as "Dominus"

Your heart sank as you read on. You had apparently misheard when you thought you would be providing refreshments. You were to be refreshments, namely to swan around looking pretty until a demon decided they liked the look of you and claimed you for the evening. Like everything else down here, this job revolved around sex, and you were on the menu.

You sat back on the bed, contemplating your next steps. You’d been promised that you wouldn’t be hurt, and they had given you a safeword, presumably that worked the same down here as up there. The pay was good, and the room was clean. The handbook even went over the process of cleaning the house, such as it is, that mostly boiled down to running a duster across surfaces and bending over a lot., Your job wasn’t being a maid so much as it was eye candy. You didn’t mind that so much, but you couldn’t help dwelling on your trepidation as the appointed hour neared. Every time you checked the clock it seemed to have jumped, time ticking down until you had to put on the dress and walk up the steps to the cigar lounge where they’d be waiting for you.

You changed. The dress clung to you in ways you weren’t expecting, though you’d later learn the fabric itself it enchanted. No matter which way you twisted or turned your tits stayed put. You could bend over and the skirt would just so happen to fall in the perfect way to accentuate your ass without showing too much. Even the underwear was bewitched, riding up in the perfect way to show off your ass and create a perfect camel toe, while being so comfortable you’d forget you were wearing them. On the one hand, it was nice that you wouldn’t have an unexpected wardrobe malfunction. On the other, it was another reminder of exactly why you were there, to be ogled, and then to be claimed for an evening.

Motion outside your door broke you out of your thoughts. Your new colleagues moving down the hallway. You joined the rush, another woman smiled at you, sensing your unease. You felt her hand on your shoulder “Don’t worry, Ank’s nice really. Just don’t be put off by the big horns” The rest of the staff offered similar advice, each one having gone through something similar on their first day. It helped calm the shaking in your hands, but the butterflies still fluttered in your stomach.

The group stood at the foot of the stairs, above was a door in a panelled wall, near invisible from the corridor above. Before you stood the head maid, it occurred to you you never caught her name. She looked over the group and smiled “Looking good, everyone. Remember, if anyone gives you trouble, find me. Don’t be afraid to take some air if you need it, and we’ve got a newbie today so keep an eye on her if you can so she doesn’t get overwhelmed. Have fun out there” She stepped aside and the group started up the stairs. You caught her giving you a thumbs-up as you passed, grinning from ear to ear.

The cigar lounge was exactly as you’d have pictured a room with that name to look. Narrow windows flanked a large fireplace, small tables contained ashtrays and decanters of amber liquid, demons of all shapes and sizes lounging in high-backed chairs, most smoking, some holding hands of cards, some playing dice. You recognised Ankhayat from the descriptions you’d been given. Broad-chested, red skinned, curved ram’s horns on his head, deep scars on his cheeks. He was wearing a smoking jacket fastened about the waist and dark velvet trousers. He was looking straight at you. You milled around the room with the others, topping off glasses, engaging in light conversation, but even as your colleagues were finding themselves being picked up by attendees, nobody asked you, until you got within Ankhayat’s long reach.

You felt his hand rest on your ass. You turned to him, and he pulled you towards him by your waist “So,” he began, speaking in a low, deep voice “How are you enjoying your first day?”

You blushed, turning your head a little until his hand cupped your cheek, turning your gaze back to him “It’s not exactly what I expected, a lot more fucking, a lot less housework”

He smiled at you, “Nobody’s touched you yet, what do you say about giving me that honour?”

Your blush deepened as you stepped into his embrace. You sat on his lap, one of his hands on the small of your back, the other guiding yours to the bulge in his pants. His thighs were like tree trunks, spread apart just wide enough for your hand to slide up his inseam, coming to rest on his member. You opened the buttons of his flies, allowing his cock to spring free. It was thick and concerningly long, ridges spaced out along its length. Your hand slid over them, firm but soft under your fingers. He grunted as you rubbed it, twisting your hand, squeezing the tip, eking out a drop of precum.

You slid between his legs, licking up his ventral duct, tasting him as he looked down at you, hand gently resting on your cheek. You kept one hand wrapped around the base of him, the other palming his balls as you went, hearing his groans as you licked and sucked on him, tracing the ridges with your tongue, teasing the tip, taking the end into your mouth. You could feel him resisting the urge to push you down, his hand tensing on the back of your head. You pulled off him and stood up, planting a kiss on his cheek as he panted at you.

He helped you up onto him, your feet on his thighs, facing him as you reached down, lining the ridged cock up with your cunt. You lowered yourself down onto it, whining as each ridge slipped in. Every one made you whine, each getting thicker as they entered. You paused halfway down, feeling the tip pressing against your cervix, rolling your hips a little, rubbing him against your back wall. You locked eyes with him, he was staring back at you, his breath catching, hands on your waist, barely touching you. You nodded, just a little, just enough for him to see what you were doing, and know what you meant.

His hands tightened on you, squeezing your waist as he pushed you down. You felt him pushing against you, slipping deeper in, grinding painfully against the entrance to your womb. You leant forwards a little, slipping it past your cervix to the space above. You gasped as another two ridges entered you, rocking your hips, trying to get the last one. Your cunt was stretched wide, the last ridge challenging you as you struggled to take it.

You both gasped as it slid in. You rocked yourself on him, feeling the ridges sliding up and down inside you, massaging your insides like no cock had before. You could feel him leaking, an extra layer of lubrication dripping from his cock in a steady stream, helping you as you stretched yourself around and over him. You felt close, your belly starting to tense up as you grabbed his wrists, leaning backwards to rub him against you better. You could feel your belly bulging as his cock filled you up, one of your hands sliding to your belly to feel him rearranging your guts.

Your eyes rolled back as you succumbed to your orgasm. You groaned loudly as you squirted hard on the demon fucking you, eliciting a ripple of quiet applause from the other guests, some clearly watching your antics. Your body shook and twitched, your breath coming in great heaving gasps. You could feel yourself squeezing him, pulsing against the ridges of his cock, his face screwing tight as he fought not to empty his balls in you. You reached behind yourself and grabbed his tight ballsack, feeling them churning in your hand, aching to release.

You squeezed, only a little. A long, low groan escaped his mouth, almost a growl. You felt him throb, twitching and squirming under you as he held on. Then he sighed. Thick streams of cum pumped out of him, gushing into your ready cunt as you rolled your hips on him, edging every drop out of him. He squeezed your waist, driving himselkf deep inside as more of his cum flooded you, swelling your belly even as it dripped out onto the chair

At last you fell onto him, feeling his still-hard cock still leaking inside you. He held you to his chest with one arm, the other picking up a crystal tumbler, sharing his drink with you. You stayed like that for the rest of the evening, him wearing you like a drooling, whining accessory, occasionally feeding you sips of whisky as he smoked and gambled until you eventually fell asleep, still wedged down on him.

You woke the next morning to a note, and a roll of bills.

“For an unforgettable first night. You’ll go far around here

- Ankhayat”

[brucedefender4eva]

Another dream lol, I’ve been sitting on this one trying to put it into words

——

Something terrible happens on patrol. It’s one of the rare nights that Bruce is completely alone, the rest of the family too angry to even be in the same room as him. Bruce understands, he really does. He hates himself too.

So, instead of sitting his family down and risking the inevitable fumble of his words, which would ultimately just make things worse, he does what he always does. He dons his cowl and he roams the streets, looking for someone to save, even if he can’t save himself.

It rough. It’s like all the petty criminal somehow got the memo that Bats was going at it alone. Bruce hardly had a moment to breathe as he jumped from alley to alley, just doing what he could.

Whether or not Bruce gets distracted by trying to protect an innocent civilian, overwhelmed by sheer number of perps surrounding him, a flashback of intense trauma, or another reason; Bruce gets shot.

Batman takes down the criminal who shot him with ease, pretending that the bullet missed or was deflected by his cape.

Bruce stumbles into an empty and desolate alley, bleeding severally from his side as he slumps down against a wall. He can’t help but remember his parents in a ln alleyway so similar to the one he was in now.

And fuck, if that doesn’t make him want to see his family. So, he calls them. The rapid blood loss making his hands shake and his vision swim with every movement.

Dick first. His first baby that he made so many mistakes with, but they still love each other. Dick is a constant in his life that he can always rely on for joy and to see the brighter side of things. Bruce is sure that if he never got involved Dick still would have grown into the wonderful and impressive adult that he was currently.

He goes straight to voicemail

Jason next. He’s not technically supposed to have his number but he’s Batman so it wasn’t that hard to find. Letting Jason down has always been Bruce’s greatest regret. He’s happy where they are now in their relationship, but he can’t help but think of the what-ifs. He wonders if Jason truly knows how much he loves him and never regrets taking him in.

He goes straight to voicemail

Tim pulled him out of the most depressive time of his life when not even Alfred or Dick could. No matter what Tim thought, he would always be his little boy, not just the neighbor’s son. He’s so intelligent and kind that Bruce feels his hearts swell every time he sees him

He goes straight to voicemail

He wishes with everything in his being that he had been in Damian’s life since the beginning. He wishes that he could connect with him now. Damian is so sweet and kind, not only with animals despite what he and a lot of people think. Bruce loves seeing him grow and learn away from the League of Assassins.

He goes straight to voicemail

Alfred has taken care of Bruce since the very beginning, even before his parents died. Even if Alfred would never acknowledge it, he knows that the three of them were in love with each other. Alfred took the place where his father would be if he was still alive. He’s always been there to set him straight or encourage him. Alfred promised him, when he was just a boy in a world of unknown, that he would always answer when he called.

…

Bruce finally calls the Batmobile and has the car auto drive to his location. He limps into the front seat and watches his city fly by.

When he gets to the cave he collapses in a cot, shivering slightly, wondering why that cave suddenly feels so cold and why he feels so tired.

Bruce doesn’t have any time for that. He patches himself up, extracting the bullet from his side and stitching up his wound. He writes his report, keeping it simple and void of an unnecessary actions and emotions.

If anyone asks him, Bruce will tell them that nothing happened. It was a quiet night.

╰(*´︶`*)╯♡

[autonomousroboticorganism]

hands off (Bayverse Bumblebee)

pairing - Bumblebee x F!Reader

summary - Bumblebee is NOT happy that Sam's new roommate is with you guys.

warnings - none

a/n - i wrote this in chunks so if it seems disjointed, i apologise 😔

Before he met Leo...

After your twin had refused to take Bumblebee to college with you guys, making the poor bot cry, you had stepped in to give him permission to come with you two. Mostly for your sake.

And at first, he was over the moon. But it quickly became clear he was going to have some issues.

Your rommmate was nice enough, a sweet girl you quickly made friends with but didn't hang around much. Sam's roommate, on the other hand...

"And who do we have here?"

Your eyebrow raised at his flirtatious tone, your arms crossed over your chest. You were completely unimpressed, and it must have showed on your face because Leo turned to Sam for an answer.

"This is my sister, (Name)," Sam introduced you. "She's taken."

"If you're saying that just because you're her brother and you want her off-limits, that's cool," he held his hands up, "But I would treat her like a queen, just saying."

"She's taken," Sam repeated, his face expressing disbelief at the stupidity of his new roommate.

"It's okay, bro, I'll prove my worth."

"She's-" He pinched the bridge of his nose, "Okay, you know what? Forget it. Yes. She's off-limits."

The whole situation was amusing, especially since Leo did not stop trying to earn your attention, and simultaneously prove to Sam that he would be a good boyfriend to you. You ignored his advances, even at the party he took you and your brother to. That is, of course, until Bumblebee crashed it.

"Whose car is this?"

"Mine," you and Sam spoke at once, then gave each other looks. You glared at him, and he looked confused.

Things went downhill from there, fast.

What could have been a normal college day turned into a high-speed getaway from Decepticons, after Megatron had kidnapped Sam and tried to extract the symbols from his brain. Bumblebee had managed to get you, Mikaela - who was happy to see you but not your brother - and Leo to safety. Optimus went after Sam.

But when you next saw your brother, he was without the red-and-blue truck.

After he met Leo...

Hours later, after a very silent car ride full of unspoken grief, you were on the run. From pretty much everyone in the world. Some Cybertronian called the Fallen had called your brother out personally, asking human governments to bring Sam to him.

You hid out in some abandoned ruins, though you weren't sure where you were. Sam and Mikaela were cuddling somewhere close by, Leo was freaking out by the twin Autobots, and you were nestled against Bumblebee's neck cables.

"Could you stop for one second!" You hissed at the panicked boy.

"Oh I'm sorry, are the giant talking alien robots not supposed to freak me out?!" He yelled back, then took a deep breath, "I'm sorry, my goddess, I did not mean to yell at you."

Bumblebee huffed in irritation at the name, flicking a stone at the boy.

Leo yelped and glared at him, "What was that for?!"

You laughed, "Oh, did I forget to mention? This is my boyfriend."

Leo blinked once, twice, then started laughing like a mental asylum patient, "You're kidding, right?" His smile dropped. "Right?"

"Nope," you grinned, enjoying his shock as you kissed Bee's faveplate. "Sam was serious when he said I'm taken."

"By your car?" Leo asked sceptically.

Bumblebee didn't like the way Leo was eyeing him, so he flicked another stone at the boy.

"Hey! Stop that!"

Your mech's radio burst to life, "Keep looking at my woman like that, and I'll kick your ass."

Leo stared at him, trying to seem unfazed but he was very visibly trembling, "What? So I'm second to a giant alien robot that can't even talk?"

"You wanna go, boy?" Blasted from Bee's radio, followed by him raising his massive fist.

"You were never an option?" You reminded him, confused on how he got to that conclusion. He was persistent, you'll give him that, but you were not going to choose him over the Autobot who had a very strong hold on your heart.

As if things couldn't get worse, the idiot who'd tried to kidnap you when you first met the Autobots was the same man who could supposedly help you. Which you found out when Leo took you to him.

Jealous became a very common feeling amongst the boys of the group once Mikaela revealed she was carrying around a mini Decepticon.

Fast-forward to the museum and the five of you running out chasing a senile Decepticon. Leo was clinging to you, half out of trauma from tasing himself and the other half from fear of the big bad sky Con.

"You can let go now," you glanced down at Leo's hand, which was gripping your arm like a vice. "He's calm."

"Right. No. Sorry, I just thought I might, you know, protect you," he tried unsuccessfully to laugh it off. At your raised eyebrow, he added, "I was ready to pull you out of the way!"

"I'm here...for that," came from behind you, Bumblebee moving dangerously close to Leo as if he was tempted to run him over - or at least give him a warning bump.

You laughed as Leo shot the transformer a glare, bickering with him again while near you, Sam and Mikaela bickered over the perverted actions of the minicon, Wheelie.

The next time Leo pissed Bumblebee off, the big guy wasn't even there. Jetfire had blasted you all to Egypt through a space bridge, and that resulted in all of you landing all over the desert. Your luck led you to Leo, and you ended up on top of him with your face just above his crotch, not even realising it until he spoke.

You scrambled off him when you recovered from disorientation, "Hands off!"

"That wasn't me!"

"Oh, sure."

"Though I'm not complaining."

You threw sand at him, before going to find the others. Bumblebee saw you and Leo approaching together and connected the dots before you got to even tell him.

"Hey! This is NOT funny!" Leo cried seconds later, dangling upside-down from Bee's digits. "Tell your robot boyfriend to put me down!"

You snickered, "It's kind of funny."

"Can't say I didn't warn you," Sam shook his head, before Jetfire preoccupied him with instructions on how to find the tomb of the Primes.

Later that evening, you were laying across Bumblebee's chassis, the large bot laying on his back as you both looked up at the stars.

"You know you don't have to worry about him, right?" You spoke quietly. "I only have eyes for you."

"I know," came through the radio. "It's fun to...mess with him."

"It's hilarious," you laughed, the sound making Bumblebee's engines pur. He loved hearing you laugh, even more so if he was the reason you were laughing.

The last time Bumblebee saw Leo, after the very chaotic and very crazy fight against the Decepticons, he was trying to brag to you that he took down the biggest one - when, in fact, it was mostly due to Simmons's efforts.

"Bumblebee ripped the spine out of a robot dog," you stopped him halfway through. "Leo, this is never going to happen. Okay? I'm sorry, but I love my car."

The scout patted Leo's shoulder comfortingly, failing to not aopear smug about your choice. Leo sighed, but eventually relented and gave up, thought you were pretty sure he was still boggled by your relationship with an alien being.

Oh well.

[venusbyline]

Mother Above — Aemond Targaryen.

— summary: His wish for revenge had broken the bond of love and affection between him and his mother. Alicent no longer saw him as her good boy. She was seeing him as a monster, worse than Aegon. A murderer. A murderer who could only find comfort in another woman's arms. In your arms.

— pairing: Aemond Targaryen x brothel worker!reader

— type: smut

— word count: 1.6k

— tags/warnings: female!reader, sub!Aemond Targaryen, prostitution, breastfeeding, lactation kink, handjob, mommy kink, mommy issues, breast worship, naked snuggling, implied Aemond Targaryen/Alicent Hightower BUT NOT REALLY, mention of Helaena and Aegon together during the Driftmark incident, Lucerys Velaryon's death mentioned, Jaehaerys Targaryen's death mentioned, religious imagery and symbolism (Faith of the Seven), single mother!reader, kinda fluff, kinda angst too, fluffy but open ending, canon divergence, porn with plot. no use of y/n. english is not my first language.

— author's notes¹: Reader has no specific description of physical appearance other than breasts (no specific size mentioned) and a vagina.

— author's notes²: This one-shot is based on an anon horny thought that I received on my inbox this week 🤭🤭💕💕 Tysm sweetie!!!

— crossposting: AO3

❥ Aemond masterlist • HOTD masterlist

❥ about me • main masterlist

Aemond entered the brothel with the same stoic face as always, his jaw clenched almost like a stone, perfectly matching the coldness of his gaze. His single eye scanned the place without worrying about the whispers of the other people around.

The whores and their clients... All whispering about the constant presence of the Targaryen prince there, once again that week. Such visits no longer caused great surprises, no longer raised confused or fearful looks. No one asking about what he might want... Everyone knew.

Everyone knew why Aemond was there. They knew who he was looking for. Who he was paying. Who he was desiring, and not just physically.

"May I help you?" A random girl approached him, as she was instructed to do. Regardless of how obvious the reasons for Aemond's visit were, the rules established by Madam Sylvi had to be followed. The whores had to offer themselves to him first, no matter what.

Aemond grimaced at the sight of the girl coming close to him like a dog in heat, her nipples perky behind the fabric of her silk robe that did little to keep her mounds covered. She was not ugly, perhaps she was the type that would catch his older brother's attention — although Aegon did not have very high standards when it came to women. He just liked any tight cunt he could fuck.

"No." Aemond answered to the whore's suggestion, returning to survey the brothel with his eye, not even bothering himself to try to be a little more friendly or to thank her for that offer.

He was there for a specific purpose, and that one did not include tarnishing his dignity with a woman of no importance.

With a woman who was not you.

The whore did her best to disguise her reaction, a poor and weak performance. The offense at the quick rejection was clear on her face, as difficult to mask as it was impossible for Aemond to hide who he really was.

His attempt to hide his Targaryen bloodline was failing, despite the hood he wore to cover the color of his long hair.

Everyone knew he was a Targaryen prince. Everyone knew he was Aemond One-Eye. After all, who else on that damn city would have silver hair and wear an eye patch?

After a few more minutes of complete silence, an older whore approached the one who was already close to Aemond, whispering something in her ear. The younger woman took a deep breath and nodded, before turning to the prince with a fake smile. "She is waiting for you."

Aemond's tongue circled around your nipple, teasing the peak so he could turn it more perky... Drops of milk dripped even though he had not made any real effort to suck and extract them yet.

The taste was sweet. Familiar and comforting. Just like the sounds of pleasure that came from the lips of the pretty woman beside him. You.

You seemed like some Goddess before Aemond's eye. The Mother Above in all her glory, granting him the blessing of taking you, of drinking from your breasts like a starving child. Like a newborn baby desperate to stay alive, to survive the hardships of life.

The hardships he brought upon himself when he killed Rhaenyra's son. When he let himself be carried away by impulsiveness, by a strong wish for revenge since the Driftmark incident.

Aemond could blame his cousins, Rhaena and Baela. Daemon’s daughters who had been too stupid to understand that a dragon was not like a puppy and could not be stolen, and that he had every right to try to claim Vhagar before Rhaena could recover herself after her mother’s death.

Aemond could blame Aegon and Helaena. His older brother had been so drunk that night that as soon as he was escorted back to his chambers by their grandfather, Aegon had snuck out and sneaking into their sister’s, laying next to Helaena even after he complained about his recent betrothal to her, both of them not even remembering about Aemond’s existence while they were having a decent conversation for the first time.

Aemond could blame Rhaenyra and Daemon. His spoiled cunt half-sister and his idiot uncle had not even paid attention to their own children, because they were so focused on having sex on that beach after years apart.

Aemond could blame Lucerys and Jacaerys. His nephews who were too easily influenced and who always played tricks on him along with Aegon. His nephews who always saw Aemond as someone inferior, who had accompanied Rhaena and Baela to argue with him about a matter that was none of their business. He could blame Jacaerys for bringing that knife, just like and he could blame Lucerys for using it.

Aemond could blame Viserys. He could blame his damned father for letting things go too far, for not defending him that night, for caring more about those "false" rumors of Rhaenyra's children's bastardy than the fact that Luke had mutilated his eye. For always favoring Rhaenyra, his firstborn, and completely ignoring the existence of his other children, even though he had spent years wanting a son, a male heir.

Deep down, though, Aemond knew there was only one person he could blame. And it was himself. His wish for revenge led him to murder his own nephew Lucerys Velaryon. His wish for revenge caused the war between the Greens and Blacks to begin in earnest. His wish for revenge was the reason for Jaehaerys' tragic death and for Helaena's incessant melancholy.

And worst of all... His wish for revenge had broken the bond of love and affection between him and his mother. Alicent no longer saw him as her good boy. She was seeing him as a monster, worse than Aegon. A murderer. A murderer who could only find comfort in another woman's arms. In your arms.

"You are hungry tonight..." You teased him, fingers stroking the prince's long hair.

A groan rumbled from Aemond's chest when your free hand moved down between his legs, teasing his shaft, but not quite touching it. Not quite holding it tightly and stimulating it. Not quite giving Aemond the pleasure he wanted. The pleasure he needed.

He felt like a son being denied by a mother. He felt like the way he had when he had tried to hold Alicent close after returning from Storm's End. His often stoic face was contorted into a look of despair, barely able to tell her that he had just killed Lucerys. His single eye were filled with tears that refused to let go, like when Aegon and their nephews played pranks on him and he sought comfort from his mother.

That time, however, Alicent did not comfort him. She slapped him across the face and yelled at him, the same way she always did with Aegon.

The boy had been deprived of any affection or words that could help him deal with the situation. During that night, just hours after becoming a Kinslayer, Aemond found himself entering a brothel for the second time in his entire life, thinking about distracting himself with a little sex, a tactic Aegon used whenever he was scolded by Alicent.

Unlike his older brother, who drowned his sorrows with wine and rough sex with any whore he saw, Aemond was looking for someone who would care about him. Create a bond. Someone who could love him the way Alicent had loved him before all of that. Or at least someone who was good enough at pretending.

And from the very first moment, you were willing to do it.

Now, after so many moons bedding with him, your motivations were no longer focused on the gold he paid you, no longer just focused on the opportunity to have enough money to keep your daughter fed and safe.

Aemond was not pretending.

You were not pretending.

Neither of you were pretending.

"Do not deny me..." Aemond's words sounded muffled against your breasts, not like an order dictated by a prince to a mere whore. It was like a little boy begging for his mother.

Like a believer begging for the compassion of the Seven.

You guided your palm until it finally closed around Aemond's thick pink cock, the young man's only eye closing with the pleasure of that touch while the sapphire that filled his empty eye socket looked even more beautiful than before.

Oh, how grateful he was to the Mother Above for your motherhood, for the breast milk that trickled from your breasts as he sucked and squeezed them, nourishing him like they nourished your own child, nourishing him like the wet nurse had nourished him when he was just a little baby, nourishing him like Alicent never cared to do when he was born.

"Gentle Mother, font of mercy. Save our sons from war, we pray, stay the swords and stay the arrows. Let them know a better day..." Your voice sounded soft, humming the hymn Aemond had already asked you to recite when he was breastfed by you for the first time.

Aemond whimpered with a mixture of pleasure and sadness, melancholy filling him as he remembered about the afternoons he had accompanied Alicent to the Sept so they could pray together. As he remembered about her humming that hymn along with Helaena when he and his sister were little kids.

Melancholy filling him as your milk wet his lips and his creamy seed splattered onto your fingers.

"Gentle Mother, strength of women. Help our daughters through this fray. Soothe the wrath and tame the fury, teach us all a kinder way." You finished singing, kissing Aemond's forehead like Alicent used to do. Like Alicent would never do again.

[solvednotes]

Hornbill Class 11 English – Complete Chapter-wise Guide

Hornbill Class 11 English Solutions – Your one-stop guide for all chapters from the NCERT textbook Hornbill. Whether you’re looking for summaries, theme-based analysis, word meanings, questions and answers, or extract-based MCQs, this post has it all. Each chapter is explained in simple English, along with helpful explanations in Hindi and Urdu to support your understanding. These resources will…

[saphig-iawn]

Milking Her Mind Away

Since playing with her body and entwining it in my ribbons, a doll wanted to explore hypnosis with me further.

She was so inspired by so many things that we ended up having quite a list of things to possibly do, and that list is continuing to grow.

But she did decide on something, inspired by another session I did with a doll of mine, cow girl transformation.

She prepared a little outfit, a cow girl bikini stop with cow print armlets, and a cute black skirt. She had cute little cow ears and horns, and a beautiful cow print collar complete with bell.

That was when inspiration struck.

My spells are things that are woven, and they can find purchase in more places than someone's mind.

I said to the doll that I was going to weave this spell into the collar.

That the moment she feels the clasp on the buckle close-

THRUM

A deep arousal will bloom inside her, and an inescapable pressure begins to build within her chest.

Then she realises that this arousal is unlike anything else, its deep, its primal, its animalistic.

Its an arousal that has no real word to describe it because the animals that feel this deep need have no words to use.

It is just there and hungry and needing and wanting

And there it was again.

The look on the doll's face that I've come to adore.

The look of realising the power of my spell and that the point of no return is rapidly diminishing in the rearview mirror of her mind.

Perhaps when I turn her into a statue or a portrait I'll have her face held in this expression.

But the dam of self restraint within her is creaking, its groans felt deep in her bones. It can't be ignored, and it won't be. Animals operate in impulse after all. A stimulus causing an unstoppable domino run.

Her eyes darted about in the middle distance, unfocused. She's not animal, she's a person, she shouldn't be feeling this in such a raw way, but the mental gymnastics did precious little to answer why she had these basest urges ravaging her mind and her body.

Her breath was quicking, her hands were grasping and pawing needily.

She felt a precipice approaching but her words were beginning to melt in her mind. She would try to snatch something, anything to say but the words crumbled into letters and the letters into sand that fell between her fingers.

But my spell gave her something to say, something succinct, something perfect as the precipice was at her doorstep.

I could see what needed to happen dawning in her eyes, but her mind wouldn't have said it so eloquently, nor using any words because her mind only offered one thing...

To moo...

Her mind became a passanger as the cow within her began to take control, the performance of her humanity falling off her skin like satin.

Gripping her at her chest she finally mooed.

She bucked and arched in the beauty of its simple power.

She clawed at her skirt and top to start milking.

There was no mistaking that was what she was doing. All of those pesky words were now dripping out of her udders, so she couldn't even know the words for getting off.

Every stroke extracted a moo from her heart. Every moo made the arousal deeper and ravenous.

What was so beautiful was seeing her as she was on all fours milking herself.

You could see those little moments where her personality would try and shine through, like she'd spot the camera and pull a sexy face, but then her eyes would glaze over and the tongue she held out in cheekiness would hang loose as she milked just that little bit harder.

Slowly, those flashes of her would soften and wane until she was just a mindless cow, mooing and milking.

She made such a sweet batch of milk for me, and the poor thing was so spent she was barely able to hold herself up afterward.

We wound down our session with a little dollification, helping her roiling mind calm into stillness as I tended to her body.

While I adored her mindless cow girl face, seeing her so poised and focused, like a freshly sharpened blade was exquisite.

Yes-

I think I know what I'm going to do with her next.

She will look so pretty in porcelain.

(This writing is about a real hypnosis session with real hypnosis and real people. If you would like to see more writing like this, then please support me over at https://ko-fi.com/saphig, where you can also commission 1-on-1 hypnosis sessions and have your own piece of writing just like this!)

[circeyoru]

Loyalty of The Shadow _ Part 3 *END*

[Sung Jinwoo x Friend!Reader]

Part 1 — Part 2  — Part 3 (here)

“Arise!”

[YOU FAILED TO EXTRACT THE SHADOW.]

[YOU STILL HAVE TWO CHANCES REMAINING.]

“Arise!!”

[YOU FAILED TO EXTRACT THE SHADOW.]

[YOU STILL HAVE ONE CHANCE REMAINING.]

“No… I can’t lose you…” Jinwoo hugged your cold body close, ignoring all the blood that dirtied his clothing or the scene he was making in front of his Shadows who watched with bated undead breath. “I shouldn’t have been with Hunter Cha… I shouldn’t have let you leave…”

It all happened within less than an hour. Jinwoo heard from Igris—with the help of Beru, who was the only Shadow to speak—that you left for some time alone and wanted to be completely alone. He thought it was fine as long as you were near him and he could go to you the moment he was done with Hae-In. But it took longer than expected and look what that led to.

You were the target of some people that saw Jinwoo through a negative lens. Since it was impossible to harm the S-Rank, it was simpler to put their anger and envy on people close to him. You happened to be unguarded at the worst time possible. When he got the news from his patrolling Shadows, it was already too late. Your body was cold and you had lost too much blood for his potions to do anything.

Jinwoo pleaded, he wished, he begged, he hoped. This was his last chance.

“Arise.”

From your body, misty tendrils formed and flickered around until it started to create a figure he was all too familiar with. There was you, standing before him with purple eyes and a body of shadow and darkness, dressed in what appeared to be robes like a mage—just like Min Byung-Gyu—but also some form of armour at the joints, everything outlined by neon purple like his Shadows. 

[SHADOWS HIGHER THAN RANK KNIGHT CAN BE NAMED.]

It was weird that you could be named, and even more bizarre that you were ranked as high as Igris was when he was first extracted. That wasn’t the issue. The issue was what to name you. It felt wrong to give you your original name because this was just a Shadow version of you, but then he can’t just give you another name. 

Just then, he had the answer. He stared at you in the eye and brushed his thumb across your cheek. “Blank. You’ll answer to that from now on.”

His heart ached when you bowed to him with a hand over your heart area. Your gaze fixated on him when you straightened up, and there was wonder and eagerness in your eyes that he couldn’t help but be reminded of your memories. 

Well, he might as well say it now. Still, with all his perceptive point investment, he somehow failed to notice his Shadows giving you a particular look. Particularly Beru and Igris, who appeared most fidgety, as if they had something to tell but couldn’t. 

“I have loved you for so long… Will always love you. I am so sorry for letting that happen to you. I should have protected you. I should have been with you.” Jinwoo leaned down where his forehead lightly touched yours and his eyes closed. “I love you.”

Hm!

??

Jinwoo’s eyes opened with confusion. The sound was way too close to be from the outside source. Not to mention… He raised his head and stared at the Shadow newly added to his army. He definitely felt a flinch from this Shadow. His eyes narrowed as he eyed the Shadow that stiffened for no reason. “Hey…”

Your eyes blinked and somehow avoided his gaze. Which was weird already since his Shadows never does something like this. They never act this human, nor were they affected by what he says on an emotional level. This was very suspicious. 

“Is there something you want to say to me?” Jinwoo’s eyes stayed glued to your facial expressions.

You shook your head and made a cross with your arms in front of your face, anything to shield you from Jinwoo’s intense gaze.

“It is you, isn’t it?” Jinwoo sighed your original name. “Stop acting.”

You tried maintaining your Shadow act as much as possible. It was too much and you ended up nodding in defeat with a droopy attitude. 

“How is this possible?” Jinwoo questioned aloud as his eyes widened, bewildered by the relaxed posture you suddenly took after your admission. You were acting the same as before, like nothing has changed and he didn’t just extract your shadow from your dead body. Wasn’t there an urge of loyalty placed on you that directed your attention to him? A force that compelled you to act inhuman?

You shrugged and pointed at your neck, no, throat to be more specific. Your mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. 

“Are you saying ‘you can’t speak’?” Jinwoo guessed your meaning.

You nodded enthusiastically and clapped your hands with a smile. Your lips moved, but once more, Jinwoo couldn’t hear anything from you. 

“My Queen is calling you smart and quick on the uptake, My Liege.” Beru spoke up suddenly, his wings fluttered with pride as he was now more important, being a bridge between his master and his master’s love. 

“You can understand?!”

“I can understand you now!?” 

Both Jinwoo and you exclaimed. The two of you looked back at each other and giggled. Soon, some changes were made. Instead of Beru watching over his mother and younger sister, Jinwoo had a legion of knights, mages, orcs, ice bears, and ants to guard them. Since Beru was the only one who could deliver your words to him, Beru had to be close by. 

Then he wondered how you could have your voice back. His only answer was to raise your rank. However, sending you into battles was something he swore he’d never do to you. He wanted to protect you, but not have you serve him. Now that you weren’t any ordinary Shadow but something akin to a reincarnation of yourself, he can’t do this to you. 

“My Liege.” Beru’s words brought him out of his thoughts. “My Queen wants to fight as well.”

“Nonsense. I won’t allow it.” Jinwoo spoke without missing a beat. “Never.”

Beru continued to relay your words, “My Queen wants to fight your battles with you, to be next to you. Rather than listening to your hardships.”

Jinwoo looked over to you, who was busy mingling with his Shadows, seemingly trying out a sword or a mage’s staff. Needless to say, the Shadows were ecstatic to finally communicate with you, even though it was your death and their master’s powers that allowed it. Still, they all made the best of things and kept you busy. 

“We will ensure The Queen is never in danger, My Liege.” Beru promised. 

It wasn’t like he and the other Shadows wanted their master’s beloved to fight alongside them. Yes, it’s an honour. But they shared their master’s worry when it came to your safety and health. When you told the Shadows this, they were against it until they heard your reasoning behind it. You wanted to be able to talk to Jinwoo again, to accept his confession by your own voice. For you, too, saw this as your second chance in life or the afterlife.

Jinwoo sighed, though a small smile was on his lips. “I could never say no when it comes to that, huh? Fine.”

As if you heard the resolve, your head turned over to Jinwoo while you waved with a beaming smile, not caring that you were swinging a sword in the air. 

“Let’s do some levelling up.”

Note: Welp, first one of the Christmas update is out~ And this is the end of this series. Thanks for following this series! (even though I never planned for it to last this long)

Circe Y.

My Works: MASTERLIST

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[thechaoticcherub]

Some mean qz!joel pleasee

Rents Due

pairing: qz!Joelxreader

warning: dubcon/noncon, mean!Joel, virginity loss, blowjobs, one instance of mouth spitting, size kink, pussy/dick pronouns, no use of y/n, lack of aftercare, seriously joels pretty mean

word count: 2,078 (I got carried away with this one)

Song I was listening to: Blue Hour - Anna Graves

The springs on the old bed you were asleep on creaked as Joel eased himself down next to you. It was early in the morning, predawn when the light was cold and blue, seeping in through the grimy window. Your stomach clenched in fear the second you became conscious. You knew exactly what this was. It had been the same since the first month you had started living in this apartment in the Boston QZ. 

“Rents due,” Joel gave your cheek a pat and you looked up at him, silently pleading that this wouldn’t happen. Every month he would come into your room, extract his “rent”, and leave you reeling, feeling broken and burdened. It was all bullshit. It wasn’t like he paid for this fucking apartment, that wasn’t how it worked in the QZ and yet, letting you live here meant he could do what he wanted. 

“No…no, no, no,” Your voice was groggy and your eyes were still crusted with sleep but Joel reached down, to the hair on top of your head, curling his fingers around it and tightening his grip. 

“You ain’t got a choice, kid,” he growled. Pain woke you up even more as he pulled on your hair, dragging you off of the bed, your knees hit the cold ground and he adjusted you so you were right in front of him. Joel had been a scary figure in your life for a few months now, barely around but foreboding when he was but you couldn’t find it in yourself to leave the relative safety of this worn down apartment, you couldn’t find it in yourself to leave him either. No matter what the “rent” was and how much you hated it. Joel tilted your head back to look up at him as he methodically began to undo his belt. You let out a little frustrated whine, 

“I don’t…I don’t want-” “We goin’ to have this argument every fuckin’ month?” he asked as his belt came undone and then the button of his jeans and the now familiar sound of his zipper sliding down. You shut your mouth and tears started to burn at the corners of your eyes. You knew he’d just plug your nose if he really had to but you felt like you needed to put up a fight, you just had to. Despite how you felt after it was all over, despite the sticky mess in your underwear when he was through with you, you needed him to know you were disgusted by it. Joel watched as you obstinately shut your mouth so he reached out with his other hand and held your face in his hand, pitching your cheeks together. Joel leaned down, his face getting close to you, you could smell him. Sweat. Burning. Tang from alcohol maybe. It wasn’t as unpleasant as it should have been. 

“You open up for me, I’ll go easy on ya,” He said. Maybe that was a promise that was worth it. It was always the same with Joel, on your knees in front of him, mouth open and taking his come either in your mouth or on your face. Nothing more. Nothing less. The promise of it going easily was enticing so you parted your lips, he let go of your cheeks, his other hand still locked in your hair. He was still directly in front of you looking at your willingly open lips. You could see him smirking. Joel leaned in close and for a second you thought he was going to try and kiss you, which was completely unheard of, instead he spit directly into your mouth. 

You were so shocked, the spit nearly dripped out of your open mouth, 

“I had to reward ya for bein’ a good girl, didn’t i?” he asked and before you could answer he had pulled his cock out and forced the blunt head into your mouth. You let him slide it along your tongue, into the back of your throat, using your hair as a anchor he rocked his hips forward. You gagged, your own saliva mixing with what he had spit into your mouth and dripping down his cock. 

Joel was your first experience with a cock, you had absolutely zero to compare it to but you knew it was large. Your lips felt tight around it and you gagged easily on it. Joel groaned as you tried to swirl your tongue around the tip. You wanted to make this fast, you wanted to get it done with. Looking up at him from your knees, he looked all dark, blue in the fuzzy predawn light. Maybe your eyesight was just still bleary from sleeping. He seemed unreal, even as his cock tickled the back of your throat, making you gag again but he held you down, forcing you to keep it in your mouth. Joel pulled your head back off of him excruciatingly slowly, 

“Lick it like ya love it, darlin’” He instructed. You licked around the fat head of his cock, paying attention to the underside of it, feeling the foreskin move under your tongue. “Atta girl,” Joel said. “You do love it, don’t ya?” He laughed. “You love my cock,” His hand held himself at the base while he forced you to lick and suckle at the tip. You whined and didn’t reply, his hand tightened in your hair and he pulled you off of his cock completely,

“Say you love it an’ I’ll keep bein’ nice,” he growled. Nice? He had practically choked you with his cock not five seconds ago! 

“I love it,” You sounded defeated. Joel snorted,

“yeah right.” he said. “get on the bed,” You stared at him, confused. This was new, he had never changed positions, never wanted something other than you on your knees sucking his cock and now…

“What?” you asked dumbly. Joel’s free hand came out and gave you a sharp smack on the cheek, not so hard that it left a mark, but hard enough to wake you up to the situation,

“You fuckin’ deaf? Get on the bed.” he let go of your hair and you hesitantly got up and sat down on your bed. Joel stood up and shoved you back so you were laying down before reaching down and grabbing your pajama pants, yanking them down along with your undies. You squirmed away from him, crossing your legs, 

“What are you-”

“I’m playin’ yahtzee, what the fuck do you think i’m doin? I’m goin’ to fuck you. I said I’d be nice,” He grabbed your legs to try and pry them apart but you struggled. 

“N-no! I’m…no! I’ve never…I haven’t done-” There was a brief moment where Joel stared at you and you thought maybe he wouldn’t do what he had always done which was take what he wanted. But then he smiled this sick, sinister sort of smile, 

“Nobodies ever buttered this pretty lil’ biscuit?” he asked as he tried to ease your legs open. His stupid, country saying just pissed you off and you pressed your knees together tight. 

“Please don’t,” you whined. 

“Aw honey, you ain’t gettin’ away that easy. Spread ‘em,” He started to force your knees apart now and you tried to struggle back. He finally got your knees open and he pressed his elbow hard into your thigh to keep your legs open. “Oh she’s real pretty, can’t wait to get to know her better,” He said. you let out a choked whine. The thought of the cock that usually choked you being shoved inside of you made your stomach clench up with fear and maybe a little of something else but you didn’t want to admit that. Joel moved up so he was kneeling between your legs, one hand still holding your leg open. He grabbed his cock, palming it up and down as he looked down at you, spread out for him on your bed. 

“Now, he’s kind of a big guy,” Joel said, replacing his hand with his knee, pinning it against the bed to keep your legs open. You stared down between your bodies at the languid way he rubbed himself. He was just looking at you, no one had ever looked at that part of your body and his eyes were just drinking you up. It disgusted you. It infuriated you and it made your tummy boil with need. He settled down between your legs, notching the head of his cock at your entrance. “So we can do this one of two ways,” he continued. “We can go easy does it and take our time letting him open her up. Or we can get the worst part out of the way and do it all at once,” You struggled a little as you felt the head of his cock start slowly burying itself inside of you. You let out a cry and shook your head. 

“Ohh you don’t wanna decide?” he asked, his breath caught in his chest as he pressed himself into you, just barely starting to stretch you open. You shook your head, ‘No! I don’t…I don’t…” You whined, clenching up. 

“Yes you do want him, that’s why she’s gettin’ all leaky all over me,” Joel laughed. “But fine, you don’t wanna decide-Jesus, girl, you’re tight- I can decide,” Without warning he plunged himself into you, filling you up, stretching you open. You screamed. He was so big it felt like you had ripped open for him, pried apart to accept him inside of you. Tears filled your eyes and with each blink they dripped out of your eyes, sliding down your temples. 

“Shh,” Joel whispered, “Probably better to do it all at once, you’re a tight lil thing,” he said, “i’ll let you get used to him a second,” He was still and actually reached out and stroked your hair back. It was strange to feel his hands be gentle. He slowly started to rock back and forth, making a little room for himself inside of you. There was a spark in your belly, the pain had burned through you and left a tingle. The tingle was pain and pleasure meshing together. You breath caught in your chest as he started to draw himself out of you. Involuntarily, you lifted your hips towards him, wanting him back inside of you.

“Aw, you missin’ him?” Joel asked with a strained laugh. You felt yourself nod but it felt almost out of body. Joel pushed himself back into you and that pain, pleasure was inescapable. You wanted more, more of his cock, or…just more of somethign you didn’t know what. Joel was chasing his own pleasure more than anything, practically ignoring your need but loving that you were needy. 

“Shoulda done this sooner, kid.” He groaned, as his hips pumped back and forth, repeatedly opening you up to him. Your pussy felt like it was on fire in all the best ways and you just needed a little more but Joel was edging closer and closer to his finish and his thrusts became erratic. You tried to grind yourself down on him, wishing you could make yourself beg but you couldn’t force the words out of your mouth. 

“J-Joel,” you moaned. 

“You want my come?” Joel asked, “That what you about to ask?” He knew it wasn’t but it was too fun to mock you a little. You whined in frustration,

“Joeeel,” You whined again, still not able to say anything else, unable to come up with the words. 

“Go ahead, darlin’, beg for my come and I promise I’ll be nice.” He growled, his voice rough, right on the edge of his orgasm. You were silent. Joel grabbed your jaw again, giving you a rough shake, “Beg.” He instructed.

“Please! Please, I want your come!” you cried, brow furrowing. 

“You shoulda just said so,” Joel mocked, he pumped himself in and out of you as deep as he could go a few times, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix before he ripped it out of you. Ropes of his spend landed against your lower tummy, dripping down onto your pubic hair. “Did ya think ya were gettin’ it in your cunt?” Joel asked as you stared down at the mess. 

“I-” 

“Gotta be a real good girl for that,” he said. “Maybe next time.” He added before leaving a quick kiss on your forehead and getting up off the bed.

Thanks for reading! I love all the likes but remember the writers put their stuff out for free and the only thing we get is comments and reblogs. So please consider reblogging so more people see my work! Love you!

[museanddream]

One Night - part 3 || Ona Batlle x Lucy Bronze x Reader

Summary: When you complete a dream transfer to Barcelona, there’s only one problem - you have to learn to coexist with your ex-hookup and her new girlfriend.

Warnings: 🔞 | strap-ons, degrading language, exhibitionism, voyeurism

Word count: 4k

part 1 | part 2

You keep kissing Ona like you’ve got nothing better to do. Which you do, but her lips, the feeling of her body underneath yours, her arms and legs wrapped around you so that it’d be hard to extract yourself from her embrace even if you wanted to, is enough of a distraction to stop things from progressing much further.

Eventually, the rest of your clothes come off, tugged at by Ona’s eager hands. It’s a bit of a miracle that they managed to stay on for this long, but you suppose you had more important things on your mind. Namely, getting Ona out of her clothes.

With no barriers between your hot skin and Ona’s, what comes next is back at the front of your mind, more pressing than any distractions.

“Where do you keep your toys?”

The whine that Ona lets out when you pull away from her lips fades into nothing when she registers your question.

Her eyes darken and flicker towards the nightstand.

“In the top.”

You thank Ona with another kiss, then crawl off the bed. You have to walk past Lucy, who you’d almost forgotten was still watching, to get to the bedside table. Your eyes meet as you pass, her expression not giving anything away, until her gaze drops down your body and a glint of hunger flashes across her face.

Putting an extra sway to your hips for the last couple of steps, you reach for the handle of the drawer and slide it open to look through it for a strap.

Their toy drawer is well-stocked but doesn’t contain anything particularly unexpected. A blindfold, some silk ties, a couple of vibrators. Your hand reaches for the harness that lies on top and as you lift it from the drawer, your gaze catches on a metal plug that had been hidden beneath.

Your cunt clenches at the sight, thinking of the similar one in your own toy collection, before you turn your attention to the dildos in the drawer instead. They have a few different ones, different lengths and girths, one with more of a pronounced curve to it and one that has a second bulbous end that would fit inside you, but your eyes are drawn to the biggest toy in the drawer. It’s probably bigger than anything you’ve ever taken and definitely bigger than anything you’ve ever worn.

It doesn’t take much imagination to figure out which of the two of them uses it on the other.

“Not that one.” Lucy’s voice rises up from the corner of the bedroom as she watches you lift the biggest dildo out of the drawer. “That’s mine.”

The decision is made for you by Lucy’s possessiveness.

Slotting the dildo through the ring in the front of the harness, you turn your head to look at Lucy and reply, “Really? I could’ve sworn I was about to fuck your girlfriend with it. Let’s ask Ona, huh?” You turn your attention back to Ona and ask, “Whose dick is this, Ona?”

The answer from Ona is instantaneous.

“Yours.”

As you step into the harness and start fixing it around your hips, you smile triumphantly across at Lucy and say, “I think that’s one to me, Bronzey.”

Lucy folds her arms across her chest but if she didn’t want you to use this toy, she’d get up from her chair and actually stop you from using it, which she doesn’t.

“You can’t win at sex,” Lucy replies with a disgruntled pout.

“Definitely feels like I’m winning.”

Satisfied with the fit of the harness, you crawl your way back onto the bed where Ona waits patiently for you. Her eyes are on the toy, wide as they watch the way it bobs with each movement you make.

“Is this still okay?” you ask as you crawl between her legs, realising that your animal brain has chosen the biggest toy for rather selfish reasons instead of asking Ona which one she’d like to use.

Ona’s dark gaze flits up to your face and then, with a pleading look in her eyes, she nods once.

You reward her with a kiss. And it can only have been three minutes since you last kissed her, but you kiss her like it was three years.

Ona kisses you back just as eagerly, like she simply can’t get enough of you. Her tongue slides wetly against yours, while her hands claw at your waist, pulling you as close as she can physically get you. With no space between your bodies, the toy gets caught between your stomachs, the angle of it causing the harness to press against your clit. You can’t help but take advantage of that, rolling your hips into Ona’s to give yourself something to grind against.

Realising what you’re doing, one of Ona’s hands slides back further and paws at your ass, her hips shifting beneath you as she tries to manoeuvre the toy towards where she wants it.

Pulling back from the kiss, you lean your forehead against Ona’s, stilling the slow grind of your hips enough to be able to say, “I want you on top.”

Ona pulls you in for another kiss with a hand on the back of your neck, hungry enough to tell you that she wants that too. As you tongues slide against each other, you lose yourself in the kiss, enough of a distraction that it takes you by surprise when Ona hooks a leg around your hips and swiftly rolls you onto your back.

You let out a little grunt as your back hits the mattress.

Ona looks like a goddess sitting astride your hips. Even more so when she sits back and reaches up to tie her hair up into a messy bun on the back of her head. The stretch only emphasises the lines of her body - the muscles of her abs and the curve of her breasts.

Having her on top seemed like such a good idea less than a minute ago. Now you don’t know how you’re going to make it through alive.

As she wraps the elastic on her wrist around her hair, you send your hand between her legs, testing her entrance with two fingers. Ona falters, eyes fluttering shut as you push inside. She’s still wet from before but deliciously sensitive too, clenching around you in an echo of her previous orgasm.

“Another?” you ask her, after a few thrusts, knowing that the toy you’re preparing her for will be much more of a stretch than what she’s already taken.

Ona rocks against your hand, then nods.

You tuck a third finger alongside the first two and ease it inside, a little deeper with each thrust until you’re filling her completely.

The moan that Ona lets out is more wrecked than any other sounds she’s made tonight. And if this is what she sounds like when it’s your fingers inside her, you can’t even begin to imagine what sounds will leave her mouth when it’s your cock that she’s riding.

One of Ona’s hands drops between her own legs. As her fingers find her own clit, she grinds down into your hand and you can feel her getting wetter still.

It’d be so tempting to let her continue like this. Having already seen her fall apart once, you’ve got a taste for it now and it’s all you want over and over again.

And maybe you would let her come again before you fuck her properly, except that Ona has other ideas. Her hand drops, slick fingers wrapping around your wrist to pull your hand out from between her legs. She lets out a gentle sigh as your fingers slip out of her, but it’s your turn to groan when she immediately reaches for your toy and lines the head of the cock up where your fingers were just seconds ago.

“Fuck.”

It should be her swearing as she slowly sinks down onto the toy, but you’re helpless to the way that the expletive leaves your lips.

You don’t quite know where to look. Ona’s face is something you want to commit to memory, teeth digging into her lower lip, eyelids so heavy that they’re almost closed, her eyebrows scrunched together in pleasure. But you can hardly tear your gaze away from between her legs, where her pussy swallows each inch of your cock until you’re filling her completely.

Her hips flush against yours, Ona pauses with her eyes still closed. And though your animal instinct is to want to rut up into her, you lie still to give her a chance to get familiar with the feeling of having so much of you inside her.

At least, that was your intention until Lucy speaks up.

“Go on,” she urges Ona. “Ride her. There’s no need to pretend you need warming up.”

Ona opens her eyes and turns her head to glare over her shoulder at Lucy, but with the hazy look in her eyes and her general sex-rumpled appearance, she doesn’t look anywhere near as fierce as she probably wants to.

You glance across at Lucy too, who simply raises her eyebrows at Ona in a challenge, a familiar smirk gracing her lips.

Slowly, Ona rolls her hips against yours. Despite what Lucy said, she seems to be trying to get used to the feeling of you inside her, grinding gently back and forth.

Your hands settle on her hips, just to give yourself something to hold onto as she starts to slide up the length of the strap, before sinking back down again. Her eyes are furrowed shut, her breathing heavy and interspersed with pretty little grunts. She takes her pleasure from your toy and it’s all you can do to lie there and help her up and down, barely able to take in the sight of her on top of you.

“So greedy for it,” you managed to choke out, very aware that any control you might have over the situation is hanging on by a single thread.

Ona leans over you to press her mouth to yours, hot and open-mouthed and so messy but it’s perfect. The way she rides you is perfect, the way she kisses you, surrounds you, overwhelms you is all so perfect.

She pulls back from the kiss with a gasp and it gives you a split second to breathe and think.

“Did you talk about this with Lucy too?” you ask her, surprised at how husky your voice comes out. “Did you tell her you wanted me like this?”

Lucy speaks up, “She’s always a desperate little whore when there’s a strap involved. Always so ready to be filled up.”

“You’ve had a lot of practice, huh?” you tease Ona. “No wonder you look so good riding it.”

You send your hand up Ona’s sides and over her ribcage until you’ve got her tits in your palms, giving them a generous squeeze to elicit another moan.

You still can’t really believe that you’re having her like this. That Ona, who is so sweet and lovely and has the face of an angel, is letting out such filthy noises as she rides you in a desperate chase of her second orgasm of the night.

Your mind wanders again to Lucy, who must have seen Ona like this countless times before. Yet when you look over at her, there’s an expression of pure wonder on her face that probably mirrors your own, like it’s the first time for her too.

“Touch yourself,” you instruct her.

Lucy seems to fall back into reality, blinking a few times as her gaze switches from Ona to you.

You can probably count on one hand the number of times Lucy has willingly followed an order from you in the bedroom and she’s clearly not about to start now.

“Nah, I’m alright,” she answers, with a nonchalant shrug, as if she wasn’t just transfixed by the sight of Ona.

Ona arches her back prettily as she stops riding you and instead grinds in slow circles against your hips, letting out a low whine.

“Please, Lucy.”

You rest your hands on Ona’s hips to still her so that you can put all your focus on Lucy.

Now this is more of a dilemma. You can see it in her eyes. She wants to fulfil Ona’s wish, but not at the expense of conceding to you too.

Eventually it’s Ona, who lets out a particularly theatrical moan despite the fact that your hands on her hips are preventing her from being able to do anything to the toy that would cause her to make such a noise, who wins out in Lucy’s mind.

Green eyes bore into yours as Lucy starts to undress, the staring contest between the two of you only breaking for long enough for Lucy to pull her T-shirt over her head. When it drops to the floor, she stands up to unbutton her trousers, letting them fall down her legs and kicking them off her feet before she sits back down in just her underwear.

You manage to refrain from teasing Lucy about how whipped she is, though mostly because Ona starts moving again and the sight of her bouncing up and down on your cock with her eyes furrowed shut and her lips slightly parted is enough to render you speechless.

The view is too good to gatekeep. And Lucy probably deserves some kind of reward.

“Turn around,” you tell Ona, stilling her movements with your hands on her hips. “Show Lucy how pretty you look riding my cock.”

You help Ona to lift herself from the toy, pleased with the dissatisfied little whine she lets out when it slips free and bounces towards your stomach. But then your hands are guiding Ona to turn around, still with one knee on either side of your hips as she faces Lucy.

Sparing a quick glance to the corner of the room, you’re pleased with what you see. Lucy still wears her underwear but her legs are parted, her good knee bent with her foot planted against the fabric of the chair, while her hand rests teasingly over her clothed pussy.

Wanting to give Lucy something to touch herself properly over, you fist the toy again, slick with Ona’s arousal, and guide it back towards her cunt.

Bracing her hands on your thighs, Ona sinks down onto the toy without needing to be asked twice.

She really is as eager for it as Lucy said she was, moving up and down like she never even stopped. Your hands slide back from her hips to her ass, spreading her cheeks gently until you can see the way that every inch of the toy gets swallowed by Ona’s pussy, only to emerge even shinier each time she lifts herself upwards.

And fuck, maybe you’ve actually deprived Lucy of the best view.

But there are no complaints from Lucy, only praise.

“Fucking hell, babe. You’re unreal. So fucking hot.”

Your eyes flit across to Lucy, first to her face, then to the hand between her own legs. Though she still wears her underwear, she’s at least given up on whatever shred of pride she was still trying to cling onto, hand hidden beneath the fabric where you can visibly see her rubbing herself in time with Ona’s rhythm on your cock.

The power of it all is dizzying.

You’ve still barely wrapped your head around the fact that you get to have Ona like this, and she’s practically been throwing herself at you since Lucy‘s earlier admission that Ona has been craving you for a while. Though Lucy isn’t giving herself to you in the same way that Ona is, this still feels like something of a submission to you, touching herself to the sight of you fucking her girlfriend.

Even more determined to make it worth Lucy‘s while, or perhaps simply with a point to prove, there’s nothing else to do except double down until Ona is coming on your cock.

You try to manoeuvre Ona on top of you, pulling her backwards until she’s left with no choice but unfold her legs from beneath her. The toy slips out of her in the process, though not for long because you reach your hand down between you and guide it back to her entrance with ease.

The new position gives you more control over the pace. With Ona now almost lying on top of you, back against your front with her weight supported on her own arms, you plant your feet on the mattress and rut up into her.

“Fuck!” Ona cries out, before repeating the sentiment in Spanish.

The sensory overload is almost too much. Having Ona on top of you gives you nowhere to go but up into her, and each rough thrust presses the base of the harness against your clit. You can’t remember ever being able to come directly from just wearing the strap before but you can feel it building. The sounds Ona is making, the feeling of her skin against yours, the memory of her falling apart on your fingers earlier. Not to mention the fact that it’s simply Ona, who you’ve spent months trying not to pine over, only to end up here, fucking her with a strap while her girlfriend watches on.

The whole thing is just so much more than anything you’ve ever experienced before.

“Yes, Ona,“ Lucy growls from the corner of the room. “Let her use you. Always such a pretty little plaything, aren’t you?”

Your eyes turn to Lucy. Her fingers still work between her legs, hips now bucking up against her hand in time with your thrusts. The thought that you might be able to get her off without even touching her only spurs you on.

Your hips rut the toy up into Ona at a punishing pace and she lets out another ungodly cry.

“Dios mio.”

Banding your arms around Ona’s middle, you send one south to play with her clit as you continue to thrust into her from below.

Propped up on her arms, Ona’s head falls backward as her back arches. The position puts her in an ideal position for you to lean up and murmur in her ear, “You gonna come for me?”

“Close,” Ona gasps.

“Yes,” you hiss. “I want you to come.”

You can feel yourself hurtling towards your own orgasm but you really want Ona to come first.

It gets harder to fuck into her, the slight resistance as the incoming orgasm has her tightening around the toy, not to mention your own pleasure building and the tiring of your hips, but just a few more thrusts and Ona is falling apart. Her hips jerk against the hand on her clit, her entire body writhes on top of yours, the sounds that ripples from her throat seem to echo around the room, and the whole thing has you following her into your own climax in a matter of seconds.

It washes through you, slowly at first as you teeter over the precipice, then all at once, spreading right through to the fingers that twitch against Ona’s clit and the toes that curl into the mattress beneath your feet. You cling to Ona like she’s a lifebuoy stopping you from drowning in the pleasure of it all, your hips jerking up into hers where you’re still connected through the toy, face buried into the side of her neck as the intensity finally bleeds away.

On top of you, Ona is still now too, except for the heavy rise and fall of her chest as she catches her breath.

“Holy shit,” you murmur into Ona’s neck, pressing your lips to the place where her pulse flutters beneath the corner of her jaw. “That was … well, fuck.”

Given the intensity of the orgasm that you can still feel the aftershocks of, you’re surprised you manage to be even that coherent.

Ona pushes her weight up on her arms and carefully lifts herself off the toy, letting out one final whimper as it slides free, before she twists herself onto her front and lies on top of you, chest to chest. You wrap your arms around her, sweaty and sated as your hearts beat almost in unison, and press a litany of barely there kisses to the messy tendrils of her hairline.

You could fall asleep like this, maybe you actually would, if not for the way that the mattress dips at the end of the bed, reminding you of Lucy’s presence.

Ona nuzzles her face into your neck, pressing her lips to a spot that’s sensitive enough to send a reminiscent tremor through your body, then slowly disentangles her body from yours. She looks down at you, still oh so fucking pretty with her dark eyes and pink cheeks, teeth digging into kiss-swollen lips as she asks, “Okay?”

You can’t help but laugh.

“Fuck, Ona. I’m way more than just okay.”

It’s Ona’s turn to chuckle, a familiar low rumble from her chest. She leans down to kiss you, first a gentle peck, then something long and lingering before she finally withdraws and shuffles across the bed to reunite with Lucy.

Lucy knees her way closer to Ona until she can cradle her girlfriend’s jaw in her hands, tucking a loose strand of hair that’s escaped from Ona’s bun behind her ear. The expression on her face is one of affection mixed with pride and you watch for a few seconds as Ona leans her cheek into Lucy’s hand, before you have to look away. They must both know that you’re still there and not care, but it feels like a moment that’s too intimate for witnesses.

Your head falls back against the pillow, and you focus on steadying the in and out of your breathing while listening to the gentle sounds of their reunion. You hear a soft sigh, one which you can now recognise easily as Ona’s, then the unmistakeable wet sounds of a slow kiss. After a few moments, it stops, then Lucy’s low voice cuts through the stillness.

“My beautiful girl,” Lucy murmurs. “You always look so pretty when you come. But that was something else, wow.”

Ona speaks up, “Did you…?” She trails off and you can hear the uncertainty, asking the question you don’t know the answer to either.

“Yeah,” Lucy replies, the pride audible in her voice. “Course I did. You looked so good with her.”

Your eyes flutter open at this and your ego swells with the admission. You’d been so caught up in the other two orgasms in the room that you missed Lucy’s entirely. She was never the kind of girl to come dramatically, usually reaching her peak much more physically than verbally, with shaking thighs and a tight hand in your hair. And though you’re a little sad that this one went by completely unnoticed by both you and Ona, you’re also pretty sure that the night is far from over and there’ll be time to rectify that.

Something which gets confirmed by Lucy just seconds later, when her attention shifts from Ona to where you’re sprawled on the bed.

“Now, what am I going to do with you?” she asks, eyes raking up and down your body, naked except for the harness.

You push yourself up onto your elbows and gesture at the toy that still stands proudly from your hips.

“Ona’s warmed it up for you. If you want.”

You already know that the chances of Lucy agreeing to your suggestion are close to zero before you even say it aloud, but you can’t help yourself. You’re still running high on endorphins. Besides, you’ve probably earned the right to be somewhat cocky after the show you’ve just put on with Ona.

Lucy’s eyes drop to the dildo, still wet with Ona’s slick.

“Take it off.”

In what you know may be one final act of defiance before Lucy truly takes control, you challenge her by replying, “Take it off me yourself.”