butholious

[butholious]

the reason you, a white american, believe that white americans don't have culture is the same reason fish don't believe in water

[butholious]

📑 Gracie Swimsuit

Female (Teen-Elder)

83 Swatches

Base Game Compatible

📌 Download: Patreon (EA, Public - June, 30)

[butholious]

I was perusing the chronological list of Makarov's crimes and saw that sometime in 2004 he seemingly randomly kidnapped 15 students

I think this was the first time I wrote for remaster Makarov, so i feel like the vibe is slightly different bc i can't help but headcanon him as more human, I guess, than the og

I think what's powering this headcanon is that remaster Makarov looks just so fucking depressed in the introductory mugshot, whereas the og has that rabid dog energy about him in his

Like pretty much always not proofread and not finished, but could be finished in the future uwu

Your group of 15 had been split in three when the men had coralled you into the cars. You would never see the other ten again.

The car had dropped your group in what seemed, at first glance, to be an underground garage. Only two men, still armed, were managing the five of you at this point. There was no need for more. All of you followed their instructions with no word of protest and your heads bowed low, eyes trained on the floor underneath your feet. You were led to some stairs and through a few doors, with even your captors ultimately falling silent sooner rather than later.

Everything felt unreal. You felt dazed, mind blank and soul hollow, existing only in the slow, repetitive movements of your body. Time seemed to have stopped for you in the moment you caught your first glimpse of a gun. You had left a part of you in that quaint, overly-expensive café you had been ambushed in. You never even got to taste the drink you had ordered with your friends...

You were told to stop in a large, sparsely-furnished room. There were no windows, only two doors situated at the opposite ends of the rectangular space. The armed men waited until all of you took sat down on the cold floor and left the room without another word. One of the girls burst into tears as soon the door slammed shut and another followed in kind after a moment of hesitation. You exchanged a hollow, sight-less glance with the remaining girl, and then with the only male of the group, before bringing your knees up to your chest to hide your face from the others. The position was sure to become deeply uncomfortable because of how your hands were bound behind your back, but for now it worked. It was what you needed.

You don't know how long you sat there, with the only thing you could hear being your racing heartbeat and the irregular sobs coming from the rest of the girls who seemed to know each other and had shuffled together for comfort. The sound of one of the doors opening should have startled you and, truthfully, it did, but by the time you finally managed to lift your eyes the men had already reached your group. It was like the connection between your mind and your body had frayed, and now every movement was delayed and required concentration. For a while you stared at the three men who had entered without understanding where you were or what had happened. You saw them move and talk amongst themselves, your eyes followed them automatically as they walked around, surveying your group, simply unable to comprehend your situation—a moment of bliss. Only when the group finally approached you did your mind snap back into place and you were able to recognize the two men who had brought you in, now unarmed, and truly see the third unknown man who seemed to be their leader. The latter appeared to be inspecting your group, but as you met his eyes, almost obscured by the darkness of the room, you could not think of something about you that would be worth inspecting. Time passed like this, moment after excruciating moment, until understanding finally dawned that the unknown man was holding your gaze. Maybe he was unable to see the hollowness of your stare, maybe he didn't know you were barely able to discern his features in the room's poor lighting, maybe he thought you were challenging him somehow. With what still felt like painful slowness, you lowered your head once again and pressed your forehead against your knees. Only after another eternity in which your heartbeat became deafening and your breathing grew increasingly labored did the men finally walk away from your corner of the room. They talked between themselves again, in what you finally were able to recognize was Russian, their voices growing faint as their footsteps finally led them out of the room.

"Was that the guy from the news?" asked the male captive, his words marked by a very strong British accent.

"Yeah," answered one of the girls, clearly Russian by birth. "Makarov."

One of the other girls began crying once again and all you were able to do is try to curl further into yourself, with tears stinging your own eyes.

Hours passed in complete silence, the space between the five of you growing darker and darker until you could no longer make out each other's forms. The three girls remained together, which left you and the man isolated, but you couldn't find it within you to care much about that. Once your tears dried you were able to grow distant from yourself once again, and you rode this state of fugue until, suddenly, a light was lit in your room.

It's pale, too bright, neon tubes buzzing overhead, and all of you groan in discomfort at first contact. Your first instinct is to cover your eyes with your hands, but this only serves as a painful reminder of your bondage. You drop your knees and shuffle in place in an effort to assuage the dull ache of your almost numb limbs, only to freeze and crowd into yourself once again when the door closest to your group opens. The two men appear, alone this time, carrying what looks like trays. They set everything down on one of the few pieces of furniture in the room—a table—before returning their attention to your group. One after the other, your hands are untied from behind your back only to be bound once again to your front. Everything is done in complete silence, almost rushed, not that you're complaining. The trays are then placed in front of you, with your tray being the last one, but the men don't leave. You stare at the items before you, mind still sluggish but a sense of deep dread buzzing beneath your skin. There is a plate with the food, a glass of water and, strangely, a pill. You glance up at the men right as one of them checks his watch.

"Take it now," comes the order.

Your hands are shaking so much that it takes you a moment to be able to pick up the little white button. When you finally get it you rush to pop it into your mouth and wash it down with a big gulp of water that nearly causes you to choke. This seems to satisfy the men who finally leave the room, leaving the five of you to eat in peace. You allow yourself to cough and quickly set the glass back down.

"Do you have pills as well?" you ask, voice betraying a sense of panic that feels very far away from you when you're alone with your thoughts. "Did you... ?"

The girls say no and the man nods no, and this leaves you staring into nothingness long after they give up on you and start eating their portions. When you finally snap out of it and take your first bite it feels like you're eating sand. You force yourself to take a few more bites, knowing very well that this is likely the only food you will be getting, but ultimately give up after the fifth mouthful and wash everything down with the water that also feels wrong somehow. When you look up no one but the man has finished his food, and this makes you feel a bit better in a strange way. Feeling exhausted, you return to your distant refuge within you, moving a bit away from your abandoned dinner. When the two men return they comment over your tray specifically, sounding quite displeased, but your understanding of Russian is still too rudimentary for you to know what they are saying exactly. You could ask the Russian girl, but you don't think you really want to know.

When the lights shut off sleep comes slowly and doesn't stick, but the hours do pass. You remain hovering in this state of half-sleep for a long time, until the sound of the door opening wrenches you back to lucidity. Dazed, you watch as one of the two men who have become quite familiar at this point marches towards you and pulls you up on unsteady feet. You are given no time to react. He turns you around and your eyes are covered with a blindfold, after which he starts pushing you towards the door. It takes you some time to come to your senses and start walking on your own, but once you do the man's grip on your arm loosens somewhat.

He leads you slowly, through what seems to be countless rooms, up some stairs, and through more rooms after that. By the time you have finally reached your destination you are panting and wondering to yourself just how big this building really is. The man leading you loudly knocks on a door very close to your face, making you flinch, but doesn't wait for an answer, instead opening the door himself and pushing you into this new room. The door closes behind you and you are left hovering, struggling to process just how suddenly you had been freed from his hold. You don't know where you are, but you realize pretty quickly that you are not alone when you hear footsteps approaching you. Your mind seems to be back to its usual processing speed, but you're not sure if that is of any use for you right now.

You remain frozen in place where you are standing until you feel a hand grab your right shoulder, bypassing the too-wide collar of your shirt to latch directly onto skin. Whoever this is, they pull you further into the room you have entered and you follow their lead because, really, you have no other choice. You have to move quickly to avoid being dragged along, which doesn't help when you're already feeling so very tired. When the hand guiding you releases its hold and you are finally allowed to stop walking you sigh in relief, momentarily distracted from the other person in the room. This is probably why, when you are pushed quite violently down onto the table you had apparently stopped in front of, it comes as a complete surprise to you. The hand between your shoulders remains planted there, putting an uncomfortable amount of pressure on your upper body and crushing your own bound hands against your chest. Terror overcomes you, its edges still somehow dulled by a sense of inner distance. It's like you no longer want to care what happens to you, because deep down you are fully aware that there is nothing you could do to change any of it. So when the hand holding you down begins dragging down your back in a motion that is almost languid, although you feel yourself starting to hyperventilate, you force yourself to make no attempt to move. When the hand becomes hands which grab your hips to drag you a bit lower, until your feet can touch the ground again, you can almost convince yourself you're greatful. And when the hands move lower still, taking your shorts and underwear along with them, although your body starts shaking like a leaf, all you allow yourself to do is to move further away into your own mind until your skin starts tingling and you feel like you're beginning to lose feeling in your extremities. You can't fully separate from the situation however. You feel very cold and the man touching you feels too hot, and this contrast anchors you to your body. The point of contact between the two of you feels scalding, but when he moves even closer, in spite of the layers of clothing separating him from you, his body heat bleeds into you and that almost feels good. It doesn't stop you from shaking, far from it in fact. The closer he gets to you the worse you shake, to the point where your teeth start chattering when he leans almost completely on top of you. You snap your mouth shut and try to keep it that way, but this proves very difficult. One of the man's hands returns to your hip, fingers pushing into the hollow of your hipbone. After another moment his other hand covers your mouth completely, his grip so tight that it forces you to unclench your jaw. With him so fully on top of you the pressure on your hands becomes too painful to ignore and although you very well know that it is objectively a bad idea, you can't resist pushing back against him, desperate for some space that would allow you to reposition your arms. All things considered, you are met with very little resistance. The new position is still very uncomfortable but at least you no longer feel like your fingers are ready to break off.

"You can speak English."

You're not sure why his voice terrifies you so much. Maybe because it confirms just how close he is to you, maybe it's because of how strange it sounds.

[butholious]

Pomegranate | Nikolai x F!Reader

Chapter 9

You wake up in the hospital

cw: dark fic, dubcon/noncon, reader is being trafficked, human trafficking, physical assault

Masterpost

The hospital room looked more like a hotel room. The lights were white and sterile but the curtains were a pleasant green color and besides the hospital bed the furniture looked more comfortable than a regular hospital. There were generic floral art prints on the wall. Nikolai had opened a window so he could smoke out of it. He’d already been scolded by several nurses. “I pay for the room. I use the room.” He shrugged. It had been two days of silence between the two of you. 

It hurt to talk but you don’t think you’d have anything to say to him anyways. You didn’t expect an apology yet his silence bothered you. He’d only occasionally rise when he thought you’d fallen asleep to brush the hair from your face and rest the back of his hand against the unbruised side of your face. You had to stop yourself from flinching every time.

Other times he stared at you despondently. You hoped he knew his fault. Everything that happened this past week from John’s celebration to now was his fault.  

You had multiple rib fractures, a punctured lung, broken sternum and bruised organs. You had arrived at the hospital just to go into surgery immediately. Recovery would take months. You had no where to go after this. You knew where you'd end up, it wasn't where you belonged but did you belong anywhere anymore?

You broke the silence first. Drifted off into a nightmare about Arno. You were back in that room, tied to a chair as he used the claw of the hammer to pull your stomach open.

You woke up sobbing. Nik was dabbing a tissue across your cheeks. You yelped when you opened your eyes to his face. There was a flash of sadness across his face. He stepped back. 

“Arno’s dead?” You needed to confirm that there was no chance of him coming after you again. 

“He is.” He pulled a chair up next to you. “You’re safe.”

You shook your head and frowned at him, “I’m not.”

He would never let you go. You both knew that. He couldn’t. You knew too much about him. You’d gone too far into his world, ate from his hand. You’d never be free of him now. Live in this hell with him. Wherever you went from here was under his eye. A new set of tears blinked down from your lashes. 

“You are safe with me.”

“I’d rather you just kill me.” You spat. “I’d rather be dead than be your whore again.”

“Don’t say stupid things. You’re not stupid.” He shook his head.

“I want you to leave.” You said quietly. “I want to be alone.”

“Kotenok.” His tone was scolding. 

“Get out!” It hurt to yell. It hurt to be in the same room as him. “I want you out! Leave!”

His jaw twitched but he grabbed his coat and left, slamming the door behind him. 

You laid back down in bed and cried. The next weeks were full of crying. Your body slowly healed, putting itself back together. 

Nikolai had your favorite foods sent up to your room. A television was added to your room once you could stay awake for longer than twenty minutes. A pile of bags filled with nice, comfortable clothes sat unworn in the corner. Nurses checked on you regularly. 

“Your husband sent flowers again,” one said, setting a vase down on the side table. It was a nice bouquet, none of your favorites but pretty. Very Nikolai. “He calls us every day to check on you. You’re lucky. Lots of women go home to empty houses after stays this long.”

“Guess I am.” You agreed halfheartedly. Every millimeter of this room had his tendrils dug in. You could tell the truth and never see this woman again. Better to spare you both. You found yourself staring at odd places, wondering where he hid the camera. 

Two months pass and suddenly you’re ready to be released with orders to take it easy for another month and keep an eye out for infections. 

Nikolai meets you in the hallway outside your room. You’re still unsteady on your feet. The nurses could only get you out of bed a couple times a day to make a couple loops around the room. He extends an arm and you take it. 

It’s your turn to be the despondent one. You follow him inside like a dog. It’s the door to the garage shutting behind you that pulls a sob out. You sink to the floor on your hands and knees. 

“Nik…” You tried to make sense of all the thoughts in your head, make them make sense between sobs. “I’m tired. I don’t want to do this anymore. I can’t. I don’t want to have to fuck you to live. It’s humiliating and…and… I don’t feel human. I don't want to be a thing. I want to be myself again…I can’t be what you want and I don’t want to be.”

You arms gave out and you face planted against the rug, clutching at your aching chest. He started to lift you back up by the shoulders.

“Let go! It’s your fault! He did this because of YOU!” You pushed his hands away and curled up on your side, bringing your knees up to your stomach. You started to cry, “You did this. You did.”

His voice was so soft you thought you’d misheard him. He got down on a knee beside you and said your name again. Your real name. Not the fake one you gave him weeks ago. Your shoulders deflated. You didn't fight him when he pulled you into his arms and lifted you bridal style.

It wasn't that your body ached, your heart did. You were slipping back down into whatever hole he'd dug for you. You clung to his shirt like you'd be able to use it to pull yourself back up knowing he'd never let you.

He sat you down on the counter in his bathroom. You watched as he started to fill the tub. Bottles of soap, shampoo and conditioner sat on a little stool. A fluffy white robe sat folded beside you.

"Take your time." He said before leaving you alone.

You did. The last time you had a bath had been with Nikolai and that felt like a lifetime ago. You washed your hair slowly, detangling each strand. You rubbed your skin raw and sat in the water till your fingers and toes pruned up.

The robe was soft, you didn't expect anything less. Nik was good at spending money so of course the robe would feel like a cloud around you.

He was sitting on the edge of the bed, only looking up from the floor when you walked in. He looked disheveled, sweat beading on his brow and flecks of hair standing on end.

"Can I leave?" You already knew the answer. You'd had this conversation a million times in your head. You couldn't find a single circumstance that would allow you to walk away from him. Even with the most kindhearted version of him you could imagine, he'd only give you a longer leash.

He looked sad when he answered with a shake of his head, "No."

You wished you had something to throw. All those chances you had to hurt him earlier rushed past you. You could never hurt him like he'd hurt you.

"What now then? You going to chain me to your bed? Kill me yourself? Share me with whatever disgusting fucking friends you have? What Nik? What happens to me now?"

"You stay here or one of my other houses."

You shoved him, unexpectedly for him as he had to scramble to catch himself from falling off the bed. You took your chance and jumped on top of him, swinging wildly at his face landing a hit or two. You only wished you were stronger - make him bleed a little.

The two of you rolled off the bed with a loud thud. Rolling around on the floor as he tried to hold you down while you flailed your arms and legs around, landing more hits on whatever soft spots you could reach.

"Stop this!" He snapped, finally getting your wrists in his hands and slamming them to the floor beside your head. You screamed, something angry and animalistic , spit flying out of your mouth to land on his face.

"I hate you!" You snarled.

Nikolai let go of your wrists and got up from on top of you. He offered a hand but didn't insist when you got up on your own.

"I have a property in Italy. East coast. You'll move there tomorrow. You can have whatever you want there. I will check in but I won't touch you. You'll be safe there."

"Will I?"

"I've killed too many men for you to not be." He smoothed down his hair. "Get some sleep. I'll have your things packed in the morning."

"Kolya…"He stopped with his hand on the door and turned back with a twinge of anger. Your voice grew wet again,"Why are you doing all this for me? I..I don't understand."

"I don't either." He left, locking the door behind him.

His bed felt smaller without him. You huddled to one side. Couldn't shake the feeling that you were rocking back in forth in a very small boat. It smelled like him and you pulled over his pillow to hold against your chest.

Something more frightening than Nikolai's indifference was the possibility that he did truly care about you. Loved you even. If he was even capable of such a thing. Had he ever loved someone before? Been married? Did he have children stowed away somewhere? A girl in every corner of the world ready to warm his bed.

Don't dwell on it, you said to yourself. He wasn't letting you go but you'd be rid of him for a little bit. It wouldn't be a shack, Nikolai was too proud for that. A whole house just to yourself and you wouldn't have to fuck him for it. He said he'd visit but how often would that even be? Less than once a week but more than once a year. Seasonally you could handle. That would be okay. To see him as the seasons changed. You didn't speak Italian, you could learn but that would take time.

Being alone scared you.

All the clothes he'd bought you before were packed up in a pile of suitcases in the downstairs hall. He'd left a change of clothes for you by the bedroom door. Just jeans and a sweater.

You didn't talk as you watched him load the suitcases into the car nor did you talk when he pulled onto the tar mac and ushered you into a small private plane. You hadn't been on a plane in years. They always frightened you a little bit.

During take off you clutched the arm rests of your seats till it hurt to uncurl your fingers. Nik stared at you from across the aisle.

"It's safe. I promise. I read over the inspections myself."

"You know a lot about planes?"

"Flew them when I was in the army." You nodded along, still keeping your hands on the armrests.

The plane hit turbulence over the Alps. You yelped loudly as it dropped several thousand feet. Nik was at your side in a moment, buckling himself back in beside you.

"It's okay." He murmured, testing the waters by laying a hand over yours. "Only a little bit longer. If I knew you were afraid I would have gotten you something."

You gave him a hard look, "You think I would ever take drugs from you again?"

He sucked his teeth. You wouldn't let him think you'd forgotten. He didn't move back to his own seat for the remaining hour and a half.

This house of his was much more remote than you initially thought. After landing you took a private car to a dock where you were loaded on a boat with all your things.

"You didn't tell me you were sending me off to nowhere."

"Island is safer."

You preferred boats to planes, you realized. You stood on the deck looking over the Adriatic sea. Nik was close by, leaning against the cabin. It was cold but not London cold. The sea smelled fresh and the wind kissed your cheeks and played with your hair. You spread out your arms, in the vain fantasy that it would carry you away. It was beautiful and terrifying and you loved it.

The house was beautiful. White plaster and stone with a flat roof. It was all white on the inside with tan colored tile floors. Multiple bedrooms, a large kitchen, a pool outback. It sat on a hill so you could see the ocean from the back garden.

"You can replace whatever furniture you want. There's cards and cash in the desk. The phone on the wall is directly to me. You need anything or something happens call me. I'll check in when I can."

"You're not afraid of me leaving?"

"No." He chose an island for a reason. Only one way off - boat either ferry or charter and you imagined he'd thought that through. "Fridge is stocked. Town is a short walk…"

He kept talking, pointing out important details. You stopped paying attention, just staring at him. This was how it was going to end. You in this house alone. He hadn't packed anything for himself. He would be leaving soon. Even that afternoon.

Tears rolled down your cheeks as you hurried outside. You didn't want him to see. You walked till you reached the edge of the garden, a small cobblestone wall marking the edges of your cage. You could hear the waves crash against the shore down below.

You didn't want him to stay, didn't even want to look at him but if he left he might forget about you. Another blip in his life.

You heard your name. It still felt strange hearing him say it. It was the name of a you that no longer existed.

"Do you promise you'll come back?" He raised his eyebrows at your question before softening his features.

"Yes." He stepped closer and wiped his thumb across your cheek. "Whenever you call, I'll come."

You started to cry harder. It was too romantic, too intimate. You were broken down in so many pieces you couldn't help but cut yourself whenever you tried to pick them back up. You didn't want him. You didn't want him around but you desperatly didn't want to be alone. Not now in this strange place.

"Why are you doing all this?" You pleaded for a real answer. Something to explain all these feelings. You didn't want him to come back expecting you to display yourself for him. He couldn't be your next Arno.

"I want you to feel safe here." He cupped your face. "No one will hurt you again."

He kissed the top of your head and pulled you into his chest. You held on tightly to his shirt.

"I have to go."

"No…no…not yet please. Please Nik."

"I have to."

"How long?"

"I don't know." He pulled your hands off of him and laid them against your own chest. "I'll be back. I promise."

You stood there, salt air playing with your hair again. He moved hurriedly across the garden and back into the house.

You resisted calling. There was an absence but you convinced yourself it could be filled by anyone, not just him. You left the house regularly, picked up some Italian, left the local bookshop with a stack of children's books. You cooked for the first time in a year. Learned to make pasta from a local Nona who took pity on you.

They'd ask why you were in that big house all by yourself and you'd say your husband traveled for work - months at a time even. You joked about how he at least left his card with you.

And he did. You didn't redecorate but you bought clothes and books and small things from the local artisans. You started to fill out. No more protein bars and gruel. You ate fresh fish and hand made pasta and roasted vegetables. Sometimes you'd sit in the back garden, over look the ocean and cry as you ate. You couldn't remember ever eating something this good.

You cried a lot but it felt good after a while. Not being afraid of letting it all out. You cried during almost every movie you watched, every book you read. You cried in the shower and in your bed. You'd swim for hours just to hide the tears in the chlorine. You cry till it becomes easier to smile.

There's a fire place in the main living room and across the mantel you laid out shells - one for each one of the girls you met at the club. You hoped they were happy and learning to smile as well. You missed them.

It was a cool summer afternoon when you heard Nikolai's car pull up. You were sat on the floor of the kitchen, staring into the oven's glass, watching your bread slowly rise and brown.

There was a twinge of guilt over not calling him. You wondered if he'd just gotten back or it he just got tired of waiting on you. It was late June and you hadn't seen him since February. Spring had come and gone without him.

He knocked on the door, which was unexpected. He took up the entire doorway. He has a bag slung over his shoulder this time. He looked thinner in the face, his one hand was bandaged up.

"Can I come in?"

You nodded and moved out of the way for him.

"You didn't change much."

"I like it how it is."

He follows you to the kitchen.

"You didn't call."

"I didn't need to."

His bag was left in the bedroom furthest from yours.

He made a fire in the living room. The two of you sit around the coffee table with a spread of cheese, meat, tin fish, wine and still warm bread. You notice he winces when he moves his left arm too much.

"You're hurt." You held your hands in your lap, stopping yourself from reaching out to him.

"Not badly." He shrugged, tearing off a chunk of bread and stuffing it in his mouth.

"What would happen to me if…"

"If I die?" He finished. You nodded.

"You'd be free of me." The corner of his mouth turning up in a small smile while his eyes betrayed it with a glint of sadness. He poured himself another glass of wine and drank it down quickly. You grabbed the bottle and pulled towards yourself and finished it off - it was only a glass or so more.

You remembered the night he took care of you after Marcus beat you for the last time. How you were curled up to his side, eating pizza and drinking wine. You felt safer with him then than you did now. You still got up and fetched another bottle.

Rain began pelting down as you drank. Storms were harsh here. Thunder shook the house and if you stuck your head outside you could hear the waves crashing harshly. You jumped as lightning etched across the sky.

Nikolai grabbed your wrist, rubbing his thumb across your veins reassuringly. You didn't tug away, let him pull you in towards him. Your back against his chest. He played with the ends of your hair. You watched the storm, how the lightning hit the waves. Every drum of thunder had you shifting in his hold. He fed you pieces of cheese and bread.

It all felt off. You still had so much anger towards him. You wanted to hate him but something stopped you. You couldn't hate him, not forever. Sure, he could die tomorrow or in thirty years. You'd be here for however long that was. You could lock your heart away, let the lonely ache stay. Or you could pick up old habits.

You leaned up and kissed his jaw, stubble pricking at your lips. He took your chin between two fingers and tugged your bottom lip down. Your hand was on the back of his neck.

It was the softest kiss you'd ever shared. His touch was gentle as he turned you over to straddle him. He kept his hands above your waist, no grinding against you. Just kissing,

You broke first, resting your hands against his chest.

You were in a little boat, being tossed about in the ocean outside. Despite it all Nikolai was the only solid thing to hold on to. He came back for you, he offered you up to Arno but he came back. He killed them all for you.

"N- Kolya?"

"What can I do?"

"Can we go to bed?"

"Of course." He grabbed hold of the top of your thighs and lifted you up as he stood. You wrapped your arms around his neck.

He laid you down on your bed, letting you get settled before climbing over you. He nuzzled your neck and it all felt off again. He nipped at you and pushed back against his chest.

"Stop please I can't. I can't do this." Your stomach churned violently as fear overran you. You were shaking, rapidly pulling yourself up from underneath him to cower on the far corner of your bed. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

You held your hands up to protect yourself as you tucked your head between your knees.

"It's okay, shhh, it's okay." He cooed. "Did I hurt you?"

"YES!" You sobbed, flinching when you felt the bed shift. "You let him touch me! You gave me back! You pissed him off and gave me back! You knew he would hurt me! You let that happen!"

You were heaving out sobs, drool dripping down from your mouth, swinging a hand at Nikolai whenever he tried to reach for you.

"I trusted you! I shouldn't have but I did. Now I'm going to fucking die here! I don't even understand why you're doing this! Fuck! I'm so fucking scared, Nik. I'm scared of you."Waiting for the shift, where he'd finally grow tired of you. Take what he wanted and discard you. Like Marcus did. You were a whore who couldn't fuck. He'd made it clear how he thought of women like you. Useless and a waste.

"You don't have to be afraid of me." He'd moved off the bed, standing by the edge and leaning down to meet your eyes. "You can trust me. I just want to keep you safe."

"How can I believe that? I watched you kill Marcus and Arno. Why won't I be next?" You could hardly catch your breath.

"Because I love you!"

[butholious]

POW!Ghost and EnemyMedic! Reader who come into his cell and patches him up after every torture session.

You never talk to him, even with all the vitriol he spews about how medics are supposed to protect, do no harm, all that stuff. You never react when he is uncooperative, when he spits blood at you, yells at you, screams at you.

No matter what he does, you simply clean the blood from his skin, patch his wounds, and make sure he gets nutrients and fluids, even if you have to use an IV.

He gets rescued, eventually, and they take you prisoner. The strip you of your uniform, force you to take the medical mask off your face.....

And find that your mouth has been sewn shut. There's a feeding tube taped to your cheek, dissapearing into your nose, not visible under the mask.

Turns out you were a POW as well, a medic captured years ago who figured out it was just easier to do what your captors wanted than to fight back.

Part 1 Playlist

[butholious]

it’s 2028. trump is dead. elon is dead. zuckerberg is dead bezos is dead they’re all dead

[butholious]

You know I love these men and everything but like. Can you imagine how insufferable it would be for your best friend to be dating them.

Gaz: the “can jakey come” boyfriend. Once they’re together, she’s bringing him every fucking place. Girl time is OVER. And you can’t even really be mad at him because he’s really nice and treats you like a friend and isn’t intrusive or awkward at all.

Johnny: the “is this ALLOWED? 👉” boyfriend. Mind numbingly awkward amounts of PDA that he either doesn’t know or doesn’t care that you can see. Constantly running off to fuck your friend in whatever alleyway or public bathroom is closest, leaving you to fend for yourself. Sometimes this leaves you alone with his weird, beefy, quiet friend covered in scars that scares you.

Simon: the “you’re invisible” boyfriend. Will only speak to you directly if absolutely necessary. Otherwise, you don’t exist. You are like a benign tumor on his girlfriend. Your friend acts like a fucking translator between you and it’s exactly as awkward as you think it is.

Price: you think it’s a red flag that a man his age is interested in your best friend. And you’re correct.

[butholious]

[butholious]

Summary: You're Kyle's old friend, and you've had a crush on him for ages. Too bad he has no idea, and leaves you high and dry to fuck some other girl. Thankfully, Price comes to the rescue. Word Count: 2140 Warnings: sfw, emotional hurt/comfort, alcohol, can be read as platonic Price/Reader Notes: This was supposed to be about Gaz showing off his hot gf to the 141 and making them jealous... but he was not cooperating lol. So now we have this. If I ever continue this, it will be a Gaz/Reader/Price love triangle, but who knows if I'll get the inspiration or have the time lol. As it is right now, it's just a moment of Reader being sad and silly and Price being the gentleman we all know he is. (Masterlist)

Gaz hasn't done a modeling gig since before he signed up to join the military, but he keeps in contact with the friends he made during that part of his life. One of whom (you) happens to have had a crush on him for years.

You've never said anything, though, and Kyle either knows and ignores it, or is completely oblivious. Either way, when you meet his team for the first time, you entertain their lingering stares in a way you wouldn't usually, hoping it will make Kyle jealous. Hoping it will make him spontaneously realize that he's been in love with you this whole time.

No such luck.

Kyle is a gentleman, making sure you're safe and comfortable and having a good time, but he doesn't pay you any special sort of attention, playing pool with Soap ("Call me Johnny") and not turning away the girl who sidles up next to him, asking him to teach her.

You maybe, possibly, definitely drink too much to try and soothe the ache in your heart.

Kyle and Pool Girl leave together when you're only two drinks deep and can convincingly act the part of "sober friend who is definitely fine with being abandoned for you to go fuck a stranger, Kyle, absolutely, I'm going home soon anyway." Soap-Call-Me-Johnny slides into the seat across from you and next to Ghost ("If you call me Simon I'll shoot you.") He starts trying to chat you up, and he's at least a lot more personable than his masked teammate, who has been sipping his pint and staring at you unflinchingly for the last half hour while you pine for Kyle from afar. You're not entirely sure why Ghost was observing you so intently, but if you weren't already well on your way to tipsy-town, you'd be severely creeped out. As it is, you figure he's trying to a) decide where he recognizes you from or b) make you so uncomfortable you leave. Or maybe work up the courage to hit on you. Unlikely, given he hasn't said a word to you this whole time since introductions were made, but not entirely impossible. Unfortunately for him, if that's what he's going for, you're not biting. The whole silent and mysterious schtick is so not your thing.

Johnny, on the other hand, is definitely trying to hook up. He is not subtle about it at all, despite his superior officer being right next to him. But he, too, is not your type—charming and handsome, certainly, but too... energetic. You prefer a proper, refined gentleman—it's why you'd fallen for Kyle—and while Ghost is stoically silent, Johnny talks so much you can barely get a word in edgewise.

You think about giving Johnny some friendly advice that he should... not talk less, but perhaps leave openings for other people to respond. But based on the way Ghost is hanging off every one of Johnny's words, you're pretty sure you'd get a knife to the gut for your trouble.

Those two end up heading out together a while later, leaving you alone with Kyle's Captain—Price, you think. It's a bit hard to remember with how fuzzy your head has gotten, and Probably-Price seems to notice how done in you are just from a single look.

"Going to have to have a talk with Kyle about leaving a woman alone and vulnerable like this," he says as he gently loosens the death grip you have on the stem of your empty cocktail glass. You blink sluggishly at him, wondering if he's joking, but he seems genuinely upset on your behalf—lips pursed beneath his mustache, a furrow between his bushy brows, blue eyes flinty. His eyes aren't beautiful like Kyle's—big and deep and brown like a well-steeped cup of tea, or an expensive mahogany table, you can never decide which shade is closer—but you find yourself staring at them anyway.

In the dim lighting of the pub, they're more grey than blue, hooded and adorned with fine wrinkles at the edges, ones you didn't notice earlier but do now that you're up close. You know he's older than Kyle—and thus yourself—by a fair few years, and you feel a bit like a misbehaving child being caught out by their father.

"Sorry," you murmur, looking down at the table as you're suddenly overwhelmed by the urge to cry. You blink again to try and keep the tears at bay, but a sniffle escapes. Embarrassed and dizzy, you lay your head on the table with a groan.

"Didn't— didn't mean to so— to dr— to get so. Drunk," you finally manage to get out, words halting and slurred. Your embarrassment only grows worse at how badly you stumble through a single sentence.

"S'alright, love," Kyle's captain says, laying a comforting hand on your upper back and rubbing slow circles on it. It's grounding, and you focus on his touch, trying to still the spinning in your head. After a moment, he speaks again. "Let's get you home, hmm?"

You nod, peeling yourself off the table and trying to hop down from the raised booth. You realize what a stupid idea that is a second later when your spindly heels fail to hold up your drunken, uncoordinated weight—so much for having a model's grace—and with an undignified yelp, you face plant onto the floor.

Or you would, if Kyle's captain doesn't catch you the second you stumble, his big, warm hands landing on your waist as he redirects you to fall into him instead.

"Easy now," he says, deep voice rumbling in his chest—which is quite broad and solid, but not uncomfortably hard like the male models you usually work with—beneath your ear. You shiver at the feeling of the vibrations traveling across your skin, and it takes you a moment to realize you're turned on by it. You cringe at yourself, taking a deep breath to try and clear your mind so you'll stop acting so sloppy—but instead, you just get a deep whiff of Price's scent. That only makes your situation worse, because he smells good—like some sort of spicy cigar smoke, the top shelf whiskey he'd been sipping on, and good old English oak.

"You smell nice," you tell him, because you're drunk and have zero filter left. The regret is instant when you realize what you've said, but Price doesn't seem to mind, based on the low chuckle that escapes him.

"Thank you, darling," he says, and you can hear the amusement in his voice. At least one of you is having fun.

Kyle's probably having lots of fun with Pool Girl, a voice in your head reminds you none too kindly, and the tears escape before you can stop them this time.

A calloused thumb wipes the salty trails away, and Price grips your chin gently, tilting your face up towards him.

“What’s all this for, then?” He asks, and just like before, he truly seems to care. It’s that that makes you crack, you think. That and the alcohol.

“I— I got all dr-dr-dressed up for— for him and he— he w-went home with P-Pool Girl!” You sob, lips quivering and shoulders shaking. You probably have snot dripping down your face. Good lord, you’re a mess. You’re a mess and you’re probably embarrassing Kyle in front of his Captain—what if Price tells him how sloppy you’d gotten and Kyle never wants to see you again? Suddenly desperate, you clutch onto the man’s sweater-jacket, fingers twisting into the fabric as you stare at him with big, panicked eyes. “P-please don’t— don’t tell him or— or m-make him scrub the— um, the— the loos!”

“Oh, he’ll be on latrine duty for months, alright,” Price says darkly, and you wail. Loudly. Price immediately tucks your face into his neck to muffle the sound, petting your hair as he tries to calm you down. “Shhh, lovie, s'alright. You haven’t done anything wrong. M’gonna take you home now, yeah? Can you tell me where your place is?”

Through your tears, you tell him the address of the little flat you share with your roommate. You’re not well known enough yet in the modelling industry to get paid the big bucks, so you’re stuck with the other girl for now, no matter how nasty she can be.

You don’t remember most of the drive there—you think you must have fallen asleep at some point—but you come back to yourself when Price gently shakes you awake after parking in front of your building. He walks you to the door, putting up with you hanging off his arm like a limpet so you don’t fall again. There’s another blank stretch in your memory, but then you’re lying in bed, still in the outfit you had spent so much time picking out tonight, only for Kyle to barely look at you twice. You groan in embarrassment, pulling your legs up to your chest so you can curl into a ball and hide from the world—or you try to, but you abruptly realize someone is holding onto one of your feet. You shriek in fear, sitting up sharply—and then promptly plop back down when you’re hit over the head with vertigo so bad you almost lose your three (four?) espresso martinis and… however many shots you had. It’s definitely not good that you can’t recall, but at least you don’t have work tomorrow.

You suddenly remember that there is someone in your room and they are holding your foot hostage, so you do the only thing that you can think of in that situation—you try to kick them. From the loud oof you hear, you’re successful, and you feel momentary pride that you’ve wounded your would-be attacker—at least until he speaks.

“S’a strong kick you got there, love. Kyle teach you that?”

“Oh fuck,” you blurt out, because you recognize that voice. It’s Kyle’s captain. The man you’d confessed your crush on his subordinate to, cried all over, and made take you home. And now he’s here, in your room… holding your foot. For some reason. Drunkenly, you ask for clarification. “Why are you trying to steal my foot?”

There’s silence, and then a loud, booming laugh. He lets go of your foot, standing up so you can see the pair of heels he’s holding in his hands. Your heels. That you had been wearing. He was taking them off of you. To steal them.

“Wait, don’t— don’t take those, those are my— my, um. Lou— Loobtons. Loooobtons. Loo-ee-batons? Lubes. Um. My red bottoms… don’t take them. Please?”

“Nice as they are, darling, I’ve no need for high heels,” Price says, still chuckling, and sets the heels down the shoe rack next to your closet. “I’m not takin’ ‘em. Just didn’t want you getting your bed dirty.”

“Oh,” you say, blinking several times in a row, and then nodding. “Right… that— that makes sense. Yeah.”

“Yeah,” Price echoes, and his face is kind of blurry because there’s two of him and you’re not sure which one to focus on, but you think he’s smiling. You wish you could see it better—he probably has a really nice smile. The two Prices move closer, leaning over you and turning you on your side.

“Um,” you say, because what else are you supposed to do in this situation? It’s starting to feel like all those anti-rape ads you always see. “Do I need to kick you again?”

Rather than be offended, Price just chuckles again, and you can’t help but calm a little bit at the sound of it. When he pulls a blanket over you rather than climb into bed behind you, you relax fully.

“Oh,” you repeat. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he tells you, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear. “And if you ever feel afraid like that, trust your gut. Better to overreact and be wrong than underreact and face the consequences.”

Price’s voice is darker now, harder, and you think you’re seeing a glimpse of the man that Kyle must know. It’s a bit intimidating, but also kind of hot, and you nod obediently. It’s good advice, after all.

“Thank you for helping me,” you say quietly. You may be drunk, but you still have manners. “You’re really nice, Mr. Price.”

A beat, and then you giggle at the unintentional rhyme, finding it hilarious in your drunken state.

“Call me John,” Price says, pulling up the blanket a little more when you shiver, so it’s right under your chin.

“Okay, John,” you agree easily, and then close your eyes. You’re exhausted, and heartbroken but trying not to think about it, and still really dizzy. Sleep sounds like exactly what you need right now. “Night night.”

“Goodnight, love,” John answers. You hear his footsteps walking away, but you’re out before he even reaches the door.

[butholious]

Something something becoming an accidental prostitute for Simon lol.

Hear me out though, you’re at a bar. You’re making out, you’ve had a little too much to drink. Not enough to be completely gone like you’re sure Simon is but enough to be making out with a stranger.

Then you’re back in his truck, he’s practically begging for you to let him fuck you and you say no. You ‘don’t do that type of shit, one night stands and all that’ you say. Simon’s next thing is to beg for a blowjob, you again say no. ‘Part of the boyfriend package’ blah blah blah.

Then Simon delivers his final offer. He is so desperate he offers to pay for a handjob, he cringes after the words come out of his mouth thinking you’d be offended. But to his surprise you say yes. You need the money, and want him to feel good so why the heck not.

And it’s the best damn handjob he’s had in his life.

He drives you home and soon enough after a few days he’s at your door offering more money for another handjob. You feel a little dirty but when his calloused hand slides up your thigh and his hot breath is fluttering on your neck, the feeling fizzles away into something else.

Seeing him come undone with just your touch drives you wild, it becomes increasingly difficult not to do more for him. So when Simon comes over again, this time you kneel in front of him watching as his dark eyes widen when your knees hit the ground.

And just like your handjobs, it’s the best damn blowjob he’s ever had in his life. All sloppy and filthy, not like he imagined but so much better.

You don’t ask for anything but after Simon has kissed you goodbye -(after he’s done begging to let him make you cum)- you turn to find a stack of cash on the coffee table, almost double the amount he’d given for the handjob.

It’s not long after that, that you give in and let him spend hours between your thighs. He even pays you for that, mumbles into your cunt that it’s just as good as your lips around his cock as he ruts his hips into the mattress. You don’t see it until later, long after he’s left, but there is a triple stack of cash on your nightstand.

A day later you receive a text from him saying he’ll be gone for a couple of weeks on work but he can’t wait to see you when he’s back. You feel a strange fluttering sensation in your tummy that makes you feel sick. You thought Simon was the type to hide his feelings and be more stoic and blunt so seeing that message from the hulking giant has your stomach in knots.

It stays that way, you can’t rid the feeling so much so that when he finally shows up at your door you tell him whatever it is between you had to end. It was certainly not the welcome Simon was expecting after dealing with a gruelling mission with nothing but men for weeks on end. He feels something snap in his mind and suddenly he’s throwing you on the bed, gripping your jaw, brown eyes glaring into yours as he speaks, “I’m not goin nowhere sweet’art.”

You ‘fight’ with him blah blah blah but let’s get real you let him finger fuck your pussy until you go cross eyed. You let him fuck you into the mattress until you can barely remember your own name. You let him kiss your neck until the sun starts to rise. And you let him pull your body into his as you both drift off to sleep together.

In the morning you hear the envelope, heavy with weight to it, placed down on your nightstand. Then Simon kisses your forehead and whispers he’ll be back later to take care of you.

Then, the money stops appearing but he’s still fucking you. Soon the rent is paid in cash by an anonymous ‘good samaritan’. And before you know it, you’re waking up with a glittering diamond on your wedding finger and a swollen belly that moves when Simon says I love you.

[butholious]

In her old life, she was the ill-fated Step-Empress of Ula-Nara, a footnote in the reign of the Qianlong Emperor. In her new life, she would be ambitious, calculating, and ruthless yet most beloved. She would protect all who were sincere and crush those who offended her. The empire would be hers, and history would remember her name.

[butholious]

Daenerys’s rise to power is inseparable from the setting in which it unfolds. Unlike the female pov characters in Westeros, who remain trapped within rigid societal structures, a portion of Dany’s storyline exists largely outside of what is considered the “civilized” world. This separation is not incidental—it is fundamental to her ability to seize power in a way no other woman in asoiaf can.

Like the noblewomen of Westeros, Dany is sold into marriage, her body used as currency to further her house’s (her patriarch’s) ambitions. But while Westerosi arranged marriages are framed as political alliances, the underlying reality remains the same: women are commodities, their fates dictated by the men who claim authority over them. What sets Dany apart is not simply the brutality of her circumstances—being sold as a bridal slave to a foreign Dothraki warlord whose language and customs are alien to her—but also the opportunities those circumstances create. In Westeros, a woman’s best hope for power is to influence the men around her or exercise power in the name of the men she is connected to, but even the most politically savvy women remain constrained by a system that does not recognize their autonomy. Dany too has to initially wield power through her husband as Dothraki society is also patriarchal, but once he (and her unborn son) dies, she finds herself in a space where she is no longer beholden to any man and rejects the last institution that would otherwise confine her.

The decentralized nature of Dothraki society gave Dany an opening to refuse to join the Dosh Khaleen. Custom dictated that she should have done so, but there is no true institution enforcing this tradition, likely because it’s normally a self-enforcing one. More importantly, the powerful remnants of Khal Drogo’s khalasar were clearly not expected to enforce their own traditions, so they did not do so. Dany was not useful to them, and there was likely no benefit in sending her to Vaes Dothrak when they needed to focus on forming their new khalasars. Dany turned that perceived uselessness into an advantage. By stepping outside the last constraints placed upon her, and by the nature of her setting, she created the conditions necessary for her dragons to be hatched safely. Believed to be useless by Khal Drogo’s ko’s, they split the khalasar and rode away, leaving her in a perfect position as they took with them anyone powerful or greedy enough to challenge her for her dragons long before she even stepped into the pyre to hatch them.

So, upon Khal Drogo’s ashes, she hatched her dragons, and in doing so, she reclaimed motherhood from its patriarchal definition—not as a role that serves the interests of men, but as a source of her own power.

Her story makes it clear that working within an oppressive system to gain power is often futile. This parallels how our female Westerosi povs who attempt to gain power by playing the game remain trapped by its rules. No matter how skillfully they navigate it, the system itself is built to ensure their subjugation. Dany has succeeded not because she played better, but because she refused to play at all. She burnt the board, then removed herself from civilization—from its structures and trappings—by crossing through the Red Waste to protect herself and to safeguard her dragon hatchlings. Because of this, she is later able to reenter society as a force of disruption in her world. It’s important to note that it was Dany herself who chose to reenter society—annd later decided to use her dragons not just to empower herself, but to liberate others as well.

The message asoiaf presents through Dany is quite clear: true liberation is impossible within a system designed to oppress. Hatching her dragons on the Dothraki Sea, far away from the “civilized” world, was the perfect setting for her liberation—both practically and symbolically.

[butholious]

cw. infatuation? drawing w/o consent? johnny x reader. in love with this concept. ~400 words

no one likes pity, so you jar it when you meet the new employee.

big fella. patchy, short hair that grows awkwardly, like it had been something else, once. jupiter rings around baby blues, that linger on people and things longer than would constitute normalcy.

a long, white scar. star spark that emerges from the horizon of his jaw, and implodes right behind his ear.

atlas after dropping the world.

the owner of the coffee shop explained he had an accident while deployed. her wife worked closely with him- hooked him up with the job to keep him busy while on injury leave.

you won’t complain. his fat muscle lifts twice the amount of new deliveries that you do, and stocks the high shelves before you could even grab the stool.

doesn’t talk much. stares a lot. a little unsettling, like a dog with human eyes. trapped in a body that isn’t his.

but you’re not going to pester a veteran. he’s had enough of that anyway, you’d assume.

time passes slowly, and it’s a thursday at 3:32 PM. you’re wiping the windows because there’s nothing else to do, and he’s eats at the table beside you.

a journal rests next to him. you scold yourself for looking, but the reward is almost worth the guilt.

customers. well drawn, strikingly realistic depictions of regulars, new comers, commuters. you could taste their orders just by looking at the page.

he worked the back. he’d only have seconds to see someone- yet remember enough to draw-

“those are incredible.”

he looks up and you and you immediately feel like retreating into your shell. you shouldn’t have said anything. it’s the only privacy he’s allowed and you decidedly invaded it.

but something in his dialated pupils makes you want to do it again.

“I…,” you cough sahara from behind your teeth, “if you’d like, you could help me with the sign designs…im sure they’d look better than they do now.”

he nods like a snail, as if the words register half a second slower than their said.

“ah’d like tat, hen. yer very kind.”

it’s the first time you heard his voice. of course he has an accent. you swallow and keep cleaning.

“no problem.”

johnny is lucky to be alive. he’s lucky to have this job. but he’s never felt more lucky that his journal was open to that specific page, because if it had been any other, you would’ve found that every single one contained sketches of you.

likely scare off the one thing he’s convinced will keep him afloat.

[butholious]

Pomegranate | Nikolai x F!Reader

Chapter 7

Nikolai returns you

cw: dark fic, dubcon/noncon, reader is being trafficked, human trafficking, physical abuse

Masterpost

This is what it felt like to be devoured. To be held above gnashing teeth, ready to be masticated to bones and blood. A whole year of being chewed on till you could barely recognize yourself. 

A year ago you were in a similar position. Standing in your flat, crying to Marcus about the eviction notice when Arno walked in calling your name. Seeing him next to Nikolai made it seem like your world was collapsing all over again.

A year ago you screamed and begged for Marcus to save you, to not let this happen, to protect you. You wouldn’t debase yourself by doing the same with Nikolai. You shrugged off the fur and pushed it into his arms.

“Keep it.” He went to throw it over your shoulders and you skirted to the side.

“I don’t want it.”

“I’ll take it.” Arno snatched the coat from the air and threw it over his own shoulder. “You still owe me for all this time, Nikolai. Consider it a gesture of good faith.”

Arno grabbed your bloodied arm and yanked you out the door. Nikolai’s lip twisted in anger, “Get out of my house.”

You scooped up your clothes and quickly changed, trying to avoid Arno’s leering. You still had your coat and the cash inside. You kept moving to avoid breaking down. You weren’t leaving heaven but Arno was a different type of hell.

You made it two steps outside before being thrown to the ground, a bright spike of pain radiating from the back of your head. Arno put his knee on your back and grabbed your hair, pulling your head back as far as it would go.

“You stupid fucking bitch. What did you do?” He shook your head up and down rapidly. You moved your hands in front of your face to avoid eating the pavement. You prayed for a gunshot, to feel Arno slump on top of you and to be pulled out from under him by Nikolai. He was so close, a couple meters away. 

Arno dragged you by the hair to the car, the snow soaking your legs through your pants. You didn’t dare fight him. Arno lacked all of Nikolai’s restraint, always letting his anger explode into violence. You had to crawl into the car after him, hand scraping against the dirty carpet. 

“You know he hasn’t fucking paid me.” He kicked your side, battering you against the driver’s seat. “This whole time he’s put off paying for you.”

He grabbed your arm and pulled you up onto the seat, “Can you believe that?”

He smushed your cheeks, fingers digging into your jaw. He looked to Abel as they pulled away, “I think we should just fucking kill him. He talks about respect then he fucks me!”

“I never trust Russians.” Abel shrugged. “Just refuse to send him any more girls. But there is a reason your father told you not to piss him off.”

“I’m not afraid of some arms dealer! This cunt,” he shook your head, “isn’t fucking afraid. She scratched up his fucking face.”

Abel laughed, “Did she really?”

“Yes and now he won’t pay me.” He slapped you. Your head was pounding now, the car spinning around widely. Drugs or concussion you didn’t know at this point. “Waste of fucking time. Getting rid of her this week. Hear that? You’re too much trouble for what your cunt is worth.”

You put your head between your knees, your stomach lurching up towards your throat. 

“Maybe the Austrian will take her. The big one. He breaks his toys so often, always needs a new one.”

You had one moment. One chance. If he got you back to the club you’d never escape. You had 1k in cash. That could get you out of the country. 

You forced yourself to gag till you felt it bubble up from your stomach. Arno yelled in disgust as you threw up in his lap. Abel cursed as he pulled over the car. You grabbed the back of Arno’s neck and put all your weight into throwing his head full force against the center console. Blood poured from his nose, mixing with the vomit on the floor. 

The doors unlocked as Abel parked the car. You threw yourself out of the car and took off down the street.

You had never run so fast in your life. You thought about Cassie. You’d make it for her. You’d make it for yourself.

You rushed down the steps into a tube station and jumped the turnstile and flew onto the first train you saw, not carrying where it was going. You collapsed into a seat once the doors closed. You didn’t see Arno or Abel on the platform as you pulled away. 

Your hands were shaking but you were free. You’d made it. There was a limit to Arno’s reach and once you were out of it you’d never have to worry about him again. 

Nikolai…

“I will hurt her more than they ever could.”

Maybe he would never look for you. Arno would never admit you got away. He’d tell Nik you were dead. You hoped that your supposed death haunted him. He would haunt you.

Up until last night he’d lulled you into this state of pliancy. A doll for him to dress up and fuck as he pleased. His cruelty felt disingenuous, a forced reminder to the both of you that this was the man he was. It pulled apart your heart to think about. All those nights where you fell asleep with your head on his chest or tucked up against his side. His hand would graze over you till you squirmed, complaining he was tickling you. He’d smile softly and do it once more just to see you laugh. You would never see him again and a part of you felt sad. 

You didn’t get off the train till the line ended. You went to the nearest Lidl and bought food for the next couple days. Hopefully you would be on a train this time tomorrow. You’d go to Edinburgh and figure out how to get home from there. You just couldn’t stay in London. 

There was a cheap hotel a few blocks away from the grocery store. It was disgusting with stiff sheets and the pervasive stench of mildew but you had a whole bed to yourself. You just slept on top of the covers. 

For over sixteen hours…

Your arm ached the next morning. In the dingy bathroom you peeled off Nikolai’s improvised bandage. It wasn’t bleeding but the skin was discolored and swollen. You’d get it looked at later. 

You didn’t really have a plan. There were organizations that could help you but you couldn’t tell them anything about Nikolai and Arno would sell out anyone and everyone so you couldn’t tell them anything about him either. Would they even believe you then?

You could answer that question in Edinburgh. You had to just keep moving. 

You knew LNER ran trains to Edinburgh out of King’s Cross. You and a friend had gone once. You ate an apple and granola bar before setting off again, keeping your head down and the collar of your coat up.

You held back tears as you approached the station. In less than five hours you’d be good. No more looking over your shoulder. Your hands shook as you handed over the money for your ticket. A hundred pounds.

You had roughly half an hour before it arrived. Enough time to get a cheap cup of coffee. Nikolai had an espresso machine but it lacked the comfort that a shitty cup of coffee gave you. One that you customized with the exact amount of cream and sugar you liked. 

You sat outside the station cafe and smiled down at your little paper cup. 

“This seat taken?” A large hand rested on the back of the chair across from you. The voice made your stomach drop.

John stood there, a teasing smile on his face. You pushed your chair back, ready to sprint away, scream for help.

“I’m not going to stop you.” He sat down, pulling his leg over his knee. “Our mutual friend hasn’t told me you ran off so you either killed him or you ran away from someone else.”

“Arno wants to kill him.” You blurted. John raised an eyebrow at you. 

“It would be funny to see him try,” He chuckled. “How’d you escape?”

“I threw up on him and then broke his nose.” 

John covered his mouth to stifle his laughter. “Nik always knows how to pick them.”

“Are you going to bring me back?”

“No. Unless you want me to.”

You could prostrate yourself at Nik’s feet. Clean his feet with your hair, humiliate yourself in an attempt to win his favor again. It would be easier than rebuilding your life. He could keep you safe from Arno. 

“I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

“You break his nose too?”

“I scratched him.” John wasn’t a priest so your confessional state surprised you. This was the man that had assaulted you only two nights before. 

“I’ve done worse to him.” He shrugged. “He does like you. More than I’ve seen before. Thought he was gonna rip my head off when you passed out.”

He’d been so gentle when you woke up. You remembered that. How nervous he looked. He never said sorry yet still blamed himself for ‘overdoing it’. 

“My train is going to be here soon. I have to go.”

“If he wants to, he’ll find you.” There should be a word for things that are both comforting and terrifying. Like the ocean or thunderstorms or Nikolai. 

You quickly downed the rest of your coffee before standing.

“Have a nice day, John.” 

You turned around and walked into another person.

“I’m sorry…”

Arno stood there with a bruised, bandaged nose and a sneer. John’s chair scraped harshly against the floor.

“Sit the fuck back down.” Arno looked over you, towards John. Something sharp pressed against your stomach. “I will gut her, right now.” 

You looked back over your shoulder. John was looking over the two of you. 

“Don’t ruin my day by making me talk to the police.” John sighed before waving his hand away, “Take her. She’s not my problem. Might want to keep a better grip this time. Though she can only improve your ugly mug.”

Arno yanked you closer, you sucked in your stomach to prevent being punctured. 

“C’mon. We’re going home.” 

You gave John a pleading look. If you screamed you would die. If you didn’t you would die. This was it. Your last chance of escape was being called for boarding over the speakers. 

He held up three fingers before tapping the outside of his wrist. 

“I’m going to have so much fun killing you.” Arno growled in your ear as he dragged you down a side street. Abel was waiting by the car. You were shoved into the open boot.“Pick which fingers you want broken first.”

He slammed the boot shut, leaving you in darkness. 

[butholious]

Shelter - 3

Summary: You saved Soap's life. Your life continues to go off the rails.

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley/F!Reader (No Y/N)

Warnings For This Chapter: Continued military inaccuracies, my attempt at writing accents, slow burn romance, canon typical violence and death, ...soft!Simon

A/N: Thank you to everyone who commented or liked the last chapter! Your continued support means the world to me.

Previous Chapter

“Quiet, Johnny.”

The Scot muffled his chuckle into his palm as he walked beside Simon, leading the charge up to the house. Gaz and Price were hauling the bags up from the car behind him. And Simon…Simon was carrying her.

The safehouse was up near the Scottish borders, quiet and secluded. And old. Well stocked, if Laswell’s promises meant anything (they almost always did) and Price said he’d used it before, calling it “basically a B&B.” The last stretch of the trek had been on a dirt road that hadn’t shown up on any sort of navigation system and they had to refer to a poorly drawn map. They’d hit more than a few rocks.

She was a heavy sleeper. Hadn’t moved when the entire SUV jostled over the uneven terrain or when it came to an abrupt stop outside. Simon had tried to poke her. Nudged her. Called her name. And nothing. Well, that didn’t leave him much choice. He wasn’t going to have her wake up alone in the car in an unfamiliar place. So, after removing the bag from over her face, he just scooped her up and tried not to jostle her too much.

But it was the way that she nuzzled her cheek into his chest, uncaring of the rough fabric of his tac vest catching her skin, that had his grip tightening a fraction. She wasn’t built like a model but she was weightless in his arms. Just because she…

Simon wasn’t sure what to do with that thought as he trudged up the house’s stairs and toward the small bedroom at the back of the hallway. The bed was small, made smaller still when he set her down. He expected her to roll away immediately, curl into the blankets, something. Instead, she let out what Simon could only describe as an angry meow and her arm flopped back toward him as he stepped back.

Again, something twisted in the dark confines of Simon’s chest. He couldn’t, wouldn’t name it.

He turned on his heel and left the room.

“Steamin’ Jesus, LT!” Johnny groused as Simon rounded the stairs. Her small bag was in his hand. “When did ye even get up here?”

“Been ‘ere the entire time, Johnny. Keep up.” He took the bag from the sergeant’s hands without asking and pivoted back to her room. He set the bag—that he definitely didn’t have to rifle through when they first retrieved it from the hotel—down in front of the small dresser near the door. She was curled around the pillow now, hugging it basically into her face as continued to sleep. And if Simon watched her chest rise and fall with the next few breaths, well, that could be his little secret.

The safehouse wasn’t awful. You’d actually describe it as charming if you weren’t abundantly aware that you were basically a government informant against your will. It was two levels with three bedrooms and a bathroom upstairs, the eat-in kitchen, living room, office, washroom, and primary suite below. The appliances and decor were dated but again…charming. You weren’t dumb enough to walk into the office that Price had claimed. They had started setting up a hub of sorts with a satellite laptop, an assortment of phones, and a large array of weapons stored along the back wall. Not that you were cataloging everything in the house that you could use to make an escape. You weren’t that stupid.

God. You really needed to work on being more positive.

The sun was still rising by the time you’d found your bearings in the house and you took a chance to slip out the back door, hinges groaning in protest, and found a small stone patio leading out to a long stretch of tall, wild grass abutting a thick forest. A pair of rusty lawn chairs were positioned around a cold fire pit and you settled into one, content, for now, to not be in the way of everything going on inside. This was better.

Positive. Think positive. You wouldn’t have shitty paychecks anymore or have to deal with Doctor Brookes breathing down your neck and making you uncomfortable whenever he ‘surprised’ you down in the archives. You could finally pick up pilates. Maybe.

The wind whistled through the trees and rustled the grass. It was quiet here. You often fell asleep to the quiet scream of the city back in Chicago and London had been little different for the few days you’d managed to have before shit hit the fan. You’d always gone from one city to the next. You were sure you would miss the buzz of it soon, but for now? For now, this was nice.

You shut your eyes as another gust of wind brushed your face and you pulled in a reedy breath, trying to remember the techniques your therapist had taught you. Years ago. You probably should call her again after all this. Maybe. (You probably wouldn’t but it was a nice thought.)

There was a noise on the other side of the door, it could have been an argument, but you didn’t open your eyes or turn back toward the house. Wasn’t your problem. The less you heard, the better. Hearing things you weren’t supposed to was how you got into this mess in the first place.

Your head fell back against the chair as the sun finally started to peek out from behind the ever present clouds and you tried to angle your face to let the warmth wash over you. The crick in your neck from the flat hospital pillow was gone. The pillow on the little bed upstairs was comfortable. And no, you were not thinking about how someone must’ve carried you up to that tiny bedroom. And no, you weren’t hoping it was Ghost. He had been quiet and warm beside you during the drive to wherever-the-fuck-you-are and he’d been…nice. Sort of. They all had been. A little cold. A little guarded. Not that you could blame them. You were probably the same or worse in their eyes. And that was another reason you were out here, out of their way.

“-she?”

Your face scrunched as you caught the last bit of a question asked on the other side of the door. Were they talking about you? There was an answering rumble and then a, “fan out! Couldn’t’ve gone far.”

What on earth…? Whatever. Not your problem. You kept your face angled toward the sun and-

The door behind opened with a screech, banging against the stone wall and you hurried to your feet, turning with your heart in your throat to see Soap standing on the patio, chest heaving. His bright blue eyes trained on you. “What were ye doin’ out here, lass?”

“Sitting.” Out of habit, you pointed unhelpfully at the chair.

He glanced down at the chair, too, frowning, before turning and hollering into the house. “Found ‘er!” Soap waved you back inside and herded you into one of the chairs around the small dining room table and stood at your back as the others filtered in. Ghost was the last to come in, dark eyes unmoving from your face as he moved to lean against the far wall, a mass of black fabric against the cream colored plaster. Soap explained that you had gone outside. “Didnae look like she was running.” He even patted your uninjured shoulder like you were a kid. Wonderful.

“I told you I was sitting. I thought it would be better for everyone if I wasn’t, you know, bothering anyone.”

“How did you get outside?” Price asked.

“Door was open.”

Stupid.

The noise came from Ghost again and you still weren’t entirely sure if he was laughing. And perhaps the ridiculousness of the situation was making you bold, but you opened your mouth again. “Am I not supposed to go outside?”

“We just weren’t sure if you were pulling a runner,” Gaz supplied, helpfully.

They didn’t trust you. Still didn’t trust you. Great. And you really should’ve known that. You didn’t even know their names. Or what Ghost looked like under his masks. “I just…” The words were stiff on the back of your tongue. “I didn’t want to be in the way.” You’d also been kept in a tiny room for the last handful of days and the sun let you feel like a human again. But that felt like oversharing.

Price looked at you, his blue eyes a different shade than Soap’s but no less alarming. “You’re not in the way. You’re a target.” He paused and you tried to brace to be told to stay in your room or- “We’re here to help you. You help us, we help you, yeah? You kept my men alive and we’d like to return the favor.”

And to your abject horror, the simple statement had tears stinging your eyes. He sounded sincere and you were always so used to people saying stuff like that only to get what they wanted out of you. But this… “Right.” The single syllable warbled. God, this was embarrassing.

Ghost knew her routine.

It had been two weeks since they’d arrived at the safe house and she’d been a shadow for most of it. He wasn’t entirely sure why but she’d taken it upon herself to have coffee made first thing in the morning, waiting for them in the kitchen alongside a kettle ready to be warmed for tea. It was usually sitting beside a mountain of pancakes or waffles or some other sweet pastry. Today, she’d made fresh bread and set it beside the carafe with butter and jam.

She was never around to have breakfast with them. Or lunch. Or supper. She was a shadow when she was inside. She also seemed to be a reader, if the stack of books that had disappeared from the living room and reappeared on her bedside table was any indication (the phone and tablet they’d nicked from her bags back in London were also stuffed full of books). And he’d watched her take a book outside to read in the back garden whenever Price said it was allowed. She was also attempting a new workout regimen that Kyle said was supposed to be pilates but “it doesn’t look like she has the patience for it.” But Simon didn’t mind watching her stretch.

“Lass makes good breakfast,” Johnny said around a mouthful of buttery toast.

Simon grunted his agreement and grabbed another slice, smearing the raspberry jam across the top. On instinct, his eyes tracked to the stairwell, willing her to arrive. She never did. The only time she appeared was when Price called for her, wanting her to review what she’d overheard in the tunnels before one of Laswell’s other contacts went out to investigate and destroy anything they could. It chafed at all of their nerves, knowing they needed to stay put for now, laying low to throw Makarov off their own scent.

Simon hated that phrase, too. For now.

But Johnny was alive. Their team was safe. His teammates’ families were being looked after, just as a precaution. And they had at least some sort of intel on Makarov. He tried to focus on that.

And not on the curve of her lip or how he could smell her perfume on his clothes long after he had left her in that small bedroom upstairs. And not how he could hear her sigh through the night, thinking everyone else had gone to sleep.

Simon kept eating, devouring half the loaf she’d left before he noticed. Kyle gave him a tired glare over his own plate and took two more slices before Simon could stop him. And then Johnny did, too. And Price watched it all from over the edge of his tea before sighing and getting up. He disappeared into the kitchen for a moment before returning with another loaf of bread. “I guess she knew you lot would be hungry.”

Simon ignored how something twisted in his chest. Again.

It was better to just take another bite and think of what Farah and Alex should be reporting to Laswell soon, if all went to plan.

Price had said they wanted to keep you alive, a thank you for saving Soap. And they were kind to you, now that the initial rigidity had somewhat subsided. Gaz always checked on you throughout the day, made sure you took your medications with his megawatt smile and a joke or two. Soap could talk your ear off about anything and everything and you could almost understand his accent all the time now as you slowly made your way through your physical therapy requirements alongside him. And Price was usually all business with you when you needed to verify this or that, but he always thanked you and never minded when you asked for more books to read or food to be delivered so you could make more breakfast (which was all you could do, really. They were keeping you safe and you didn’t really have any skills to reciprocate except your weird ability to make a good breakfast so you offered it to them every morning before they woke up and skittered out of the way like a feral cat). And then there was Ghost. Who watched. He just watched and seemed to disappear whenever you had to blink. But he was just there. With his mask, cloth that reached just beneath his dark eyes and painted with a skull’s jaw (at least it wasn’t the one that looked like he’d sewn a piece of an actual skull onto some fabric), and that noise he made that you still couldn’t figure out if it was a laugh or not. He had helped you with your stitches, which was a kindness he didn’t need to extend to you but he did anyway.

And you hated that you sometimes thought about the weight of his hand on your back whenever you couldn’t sleep at night. The closest thing to an actual conversation you’d had with Ghost was when he’d snuck up on you (intentionally or not) when you were reading out in the infrequent sunshine and your embarrassment about being caught off guard manifested, as it often did, with you sticking your foot straight into your mouth. “So, do you have to special order all your skeleton stuff or do you hit up a hobby shop whenever you need it?” Ghost didn’t dignify that with a response other than that damn sound again.

And it didn’t really matter because you still needed to get back to Kirby. Her due date was barreling toward you and you were slowly trying to work up the courage to just ask if you could go see her. You had a speech planned out and you hoped that the breakfasts had at least softened them to you. The four men seemed to be at ease in the house, like things had been going their way in regards to the Makarov situation.

And Soap had said that he would talk to someone about you wanting to leave. You had to trust him in that regard. He didn’t seem the type to lie about that.

As you gnawed on the side of your thumb, making your way through another book, you heard the heavy steps of one of the men downstairs. They weren’t usually loud but men of that size didn’t move without a sound…most of the time.

Except for Ghost.

He was unnervingly quiet. Or would be, if it were anyone else. You found yourself wondering why you didn’t seem to mind when he appeared out of seemingly nowhere, like a wraith or…well, a ghost. Stupid. But the name did seem to fit.

You turned another page just as something thumped downstairs. And you knew you shouldn’t pry. It wasn’t your place and overhearing things was the reason you didn’t have a job, weren’t back in the States with your sister, and currently holed up in a safe house with men whose names you didn’t know. But when a second thump came and it was quickly followed by a grunt, you set your book aside and walked to your door, chanting that you knew this was stupid under your breath.

“Are they safe?” came Soap’s voice. Biting. Barely restrained. You’d never heard him like that before.

“They’re safe.” Laswell’s voice crackled over a speaker—probably the laptop Price was always glued to.

Peeking around the corner when you reached the ground floor, you saw Soap nod before turning quickly, dragging stiff fingers through his mohawk. It looked like someone had swiped one of the shelves clear of its contents, spilling books and baubles across the floor. That was probably what you had heard.

“They’re all safe, boys. I made sure of it myself.” She was using that same tone she used with you when you woke up on base. Placating. Cool confidence. It scratched at something in the recesses of your brain, pinging warning bells that something was very, very wrong. More than a mission. More than a brother-in-arms out in the field.

“What about-”

“All of them. I personally saw to it.”

There was another stretched silence and you took the chance to inch closer to the office. Well. You tried to inch closer before a hand clamped over your arm and you were tugged back into the stairwell. Ghost stared down at you, unblinking.

“I heard something,” you whispered, the words tumbling out of your mouth before you could think of a better—less suspicious—explanation as to why you’d been creeping in the shadows.

Ghost didn’t say anything.

“Is…” You licked your lips as your heart gave an uncomfortable lurch behind your ribs. “Is everything okay?”

“Listenin’ like that ain’t a good look.”

Something hot and angry slithered down your spine. Did he really expect you to just stay upstairs and only come down when called like a dog? You’d had enough of that. “I’m not doing anything wrong. I heard a noise.”

“And ‘id in the shadows.”

You could feel the sneer starting to curl your mouth. “I’m sorry, did I take your hiding spot?”

And then he made that fucking noise again. That sharp breath. “Heh.”

“Are you laughing at me?”

And then he did it again. “‘course I am.”

Really, you should have been absolutely pissed. And you were. But that snarl started to twist and push and you found yourself fighting a smile because his laugh was ridiculous. A man that large should not be allowed to laugh like that. “Whatever.”

His grip on your arm tightened a fraction, thumb pressing into the delicate crease of your elbow, before he tugged you back toward the office. You halfheartedly tried to ignore how his fingers trailed against your arm when he dropped his hold. And it didn’t seem like he did it on purpose because he was busy talking to Soap about something—you heard the word sitrep and you weren’t about to ask what that meant.

Not when you realized you were staring at the remnants of a destroyed home. Pictures upon pictures filled the small screen of the laptop and your stomach sank the more you looked. That was someone’s home. A couch was gutted and overturned. A stereo was broken into pieces. And frames were smashed. It was one of the last pictures that had your veins turning to ice. It was a picture of Soap, surrounded by women who could only be his family, bright, shining smiles behind shattered glass.

That was Soap’s family home.

And you were sure Gaz, Price and Ghost all had families, too. There were pieces of their lives scattered on that small screen. They had been targeted. Or at least their houses had been.

Gaz was the first one to catch your eye and he gave you a tight smile. “Didn’t think you would want to see this, love.”

“I…” The words you could have said dried on your tongue. What could you say to someone who just learned that their family was in danger? “Is there anything I can do?”

Simon watched her retreat back up the stairs. It had been kind, he supposed, for her to offer her help. She couldn’t do anything. Nothing that she hadn’t already done. But he saw the flash of concern in her eyes before it disappeared again as she nodded, quietly leaving the office when told to do so.

“Has there been any movement against her sister?” Kyle asked but Simon saw his eyes dart to the picture of his dad’s overturned office.

“We have her monitored, but I don’t think Makarov knows of her either. She isn’t on any sort of official documentation we can find.”

“Shouldn’t there be birth certificates? Where’s their mum?” Price asked.

Things weren’t adding up. There were holes in all of this. Simon crossed his arms as he let the others talk.

“Her mother’s dead. Dead for decades. And before you ask, Kirby has a different mother. Only Kirby has a father listed.”

“Same father, then?”

“A possibility. But that doesn’t change the fact that he’s dead, too.” Laswell sighed, crackling the line.

Simon’s eyes dragged across the destruction Makarov had brought across his teammates’ families’ homes. His stomach churned, just for a moment, remembering a different home, a different family, with no one there to shuttle them off to a safer haven.

Just as quickly as the thought came, it left. Just as it always did. And the scent of her perfume lingered and how she looked more sad than scared when she saw the pictures.

You hadn’t really known what you could do when you asked if there was anything you could do so it only stung a little when you were dismissed. After sneaking a bit of dinner from the kitchen, trying to not listen to anything still coming from the office, you readied for bed and managed to fall into a dreamless sleep after finishing your book.

Brief, bright light had your eyes snapping open. You waited for a moment, your frown growing deeper, wanting to know if it would happen again. And it did, bursting through the small window for a split second.

Someone was outside.

Scraaaaape.

You frowned at the ceiling and tried to filter through the possibilities. Animals. Wind. But the scraping sound came again and it twisted at something in your gut. You were supposed to be alone out here. Isolated.

Safe.

But something was screaming at the back of your mind that this wasn’t right.

The noise came again and you slid off the bed as your heart inched its way up your throat. Something was wrong. Something was terribly, terribly wrong. On quiet feet, you moved toward the window, trying to keep your back pressed to the wall, hidden in shadows. And then you heard the scrape again. And then a rhythmic thudding across the dead grass.

Something glinted, catching the moonlight. And your heart nearly stopped before beating a painful staccato against your ribs. Guns. Men with guns. Men with guns were surrounding the house, sliding out of the trees behind the house and slinking closer. One of them held a flashlight—that had been the light.

“Fuck.” You turned and tried to find something, anything that could be used as a weapon. The only thing that you thought could work was the lamp, heavy enough to cause some damage but only once. It was better than nothing. You slid back toward it and-

The room tilted as a tight grip dug into the back of your neck and hauled you backward. Before you could scream, another hand clamped over your throat. Your next breath wheezed out from between your teeth and you blindly tried to pry the thick fingers from around your windpipe but only served to have the grip on your neck tighten. “There you are, little brat.”

The accent was harsh and flashes of your time in the tunnels sped through your mind. They were back. Makarov’s men.

“Now, tell us what-”

“I know nothing,” was your wheezed reply. It was a knee jerk reaction and not a complete lie but that hardly mattered with your heart beating wildly behind your ribs.

But the grip on your throat tightened a fraction more. “You’ve been living with them for weeks. You know nothing? Useless American,” the man sneered, spittle splashing against your cheek.

Your therapist had once said you were impulsive. And she might have mentioned trauma and the need for continued meetings but that didn’t stop your tongue from lashing. “You call me useless?” Black dots were lining the edges of your vision. “I wouldn’t tell you a-anything even if I did know. Go fuck yourself!” The last word was garbled on your leaden tongue as the grip on your throat tightened and completely cut off your airway.

“What did you tell them, then, hm?” More spit landed your face. He grumbled something in Russian your addled brain couldn’t comprehend and the black edging in on your vision grew darker, lungs burning with each empty pull you tried to take. Your nails dug into the man’s hands around your throat but his grip didn’t falter. Even as your vision tunneled, you knew you had to do something.

Anything.

Kirby was waiting for you. Blindly, you thrust a hand out and the tips of your fingers slipped across the lamp’s shade. You thrashed against the man’s grip and you might have heard him laugh but you still tried again until your hand closed around the flimsy shade and you yanked it up and backward with a croaked shout. It cracked in your grasp but it made contact, raining shards of porcelain against the side of your face.

Your next breath burned as the vice of his hands opened. You didn’t waste a moment and yanked yourself away from him, only managing to collapse onto the bed on your belly as your knees knocked together. A slew of curses punched out of his mouth and you turned to see blood pouring from a large cut above his eye.

Good.

He wiped at his face, smearing blood across his cheeks, before lunging for you.

You threw yourself off the other side of the bed, legs slamming against the floor but he did not follow. You stood and turned, ready to-

-a hand pressed over your mouth and stifled the scream you felt blooming behind your teeth. “Quiet,” Ghost whispered.

It was then you noticed the man, unmoving on the floor. A knife embedded in his left eye.

You nodded, the fabric of Ghost’s gloves scratching your lips. He was here. He was with you. It snapped and fizzled at something in your belly but was quickly snuffed out by the quick pop-pop-pop of gunfire downstairs. Ghost didn’t flinch at all—not that you expected him to. Instead, he dropped his hold on you and grabbed one of your hands, moving to thread your fingers through the belt loop on his side, a silent command you followed readily. He pulled a gun from its holster and turned, quietly tugging you along as he moved out into the hallway.

The sound of more gunfire battered your ears as Ghost led you down the short hallway and down the stairs. You didn’t say anything as you stepped over one, two, three bodies on your way down. Ghost was a solid mass in front of you, unwavering and his gun ready. Before you could blink, he moved, shoving you to the side and you tightened your grip on his belt loop as he fired off two rounds right where you were about to step.

The next body hit the floor without any fanfare and he continued to tug you along. The house wasn’t big—you knew this—but it felt massive as he continued to lead you toward the front door. As you stepped out into the living room, both Gaz and Soap emerged from the shadows, guns drawn and tac vests thrown over their shirts. They flanked you as Ghost continued to lead you out onto the front yard where the SUV rumbled, Price behind the wheel.

A quick flash of light caught your eye and you saw the left side of the house catch fire–quickly. And then the world tilted on its axis, sliding beneath your feet—oh wait, no. Ghost had just grabbed your shirt and wrapped an arm around your waist and threw you into the car. No one screamed at Price to “move move move” like they did in the movies but Ghost hauled himself in behind you and immediately grabbed the back of your neck and shoved you down toward the floorboards. “Keep down,” he said, voice just a touch above his usual drawl. You couldn’t move even if you wanted to, the grip on your neck smarting. You’d probably be bruised before the sun came up. You did chance a look up as the car rocked side to side, racing through the field and over the hidden bumps and rocks. Gaz and Soap had guns trained on the back window as Ghost kept his hand anchored on the back of your neck. But you shivered when his thumb brushed against your hammering pulse.

He must have felt it because he did it again.

What a way to end the night.

A/N: Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you think! I'm not going to lie, getting less than 1/3 of part one's notes on part two bummed me out. I'm considering only posting this on ao3 as I seem to get at least a little more engagement there. Let me know what you think! Because, yes, while I write for me, it is shared with you guys and I'd like to know if you're enjoying it.

[butholious]

Cw- coercion (kind of)

Okay okay so-

Picture Gullible! Reader who just got promoted to Sargeant and both Kyle and Johnny tell her that it's custom for a new Sargeant to stay the night with their lieutenant.

You don't want to believe them, but they seem so genuine, saying they both did that, Johnny even starting to Yap about how awesome his LT is and you think that maybe they're genuine?

That ends up with you, simon's hand over your mouth as he pounds you into his bed. It's rough and scary and leaves you breathless as he holds you against his chest, making you puff his cigarette once he's done :(

"M' honoured you wanted me first." He huffs and when you ask what he means he just says; "Don't ya know? Custom is you fuck the 'captain of your new squad."

[butholious]

line-up [alpha!141 x omega!reader]

summary: pack 141 shows their interest in you.

pairing: alpha!141 x omega!reader

warnings: +18 (mdni), omegaverse, a/b/o, mild sexual themes, heavy misogyny, low self-esteem, forced exchange of personal items (underwear).

part 1: the gift exchange

you’ve heard that they’re picky.

somehow that doesn’t surprise you. there’s not many people who are allowed in their pack. even less people step on their territory and not without good reason.

it makes sense why they’d choose this specific prison establishment.

it’s a whole process. every omega’s package was sent to a pack for The Selection. from there, they would choose which omegas should be placed in a room to come and meet them for the first time. after that, only one (or a few) get to go home with them.

you sent in your package weeks ago. you were required to send a few things in that box. someone cut a few pieces of your hair to place in ziplock bags. scent packets too (these were very important); you had to rub square pieces of wet cotton on your scent glands and put those in ziplock bags too. a few items of clothing, both washed and unwashed, each also placed in it’s own ziplock bag so the smells don’t mix. usually, it’s a shirt, a hoodie, something with your sweat. and finally, one vial of your blood for genetic testing and to see if there’s any conditions they need to be aware of.

it’s all very clinical. hardly any feeling put into it. you just go through the motions of following instructions given to you like the good little omega you are.

however, this pack, 141, a week after you sent in your package, put in a request for one pair of your underwear.

then. you were... surprised, to say the least. when you sent your initial package in, you thought that would’ve been the end of it. packs and lone alphas usually overlooked you and didn’t pay you no mind. you assumed it would be the same again this time.

“no.” said Laswell.

you halted in your tracks when you attempted to get a pair of panties from your hamper. Kate Laswell is a cold individual. she stands tall with a stern face and speaks with a temperament that douses you in ice cold water.

her tone, though not unkind, makes you think she doesn't like you very much. more like she’s running an errand that’s wasting her time. she’s not too low on patience, but it’s not enough for her to be overly nice to you.

Kate is no omega, that much you’re sure of but it’s hard to discern if she’s beta or alpha. she gives no sign that she might be beta as she gives off no scent that speaks to her designation. and while she seems non-aggressive to the naked eye, you can tell that she could easily put down an arrogant alpha if she needs to.

icy blue eyes drop to just below your stomach. “the one you’re wearing right now.”

what. the. fuck.

the mere notion of it is so crude. your cheeks burn hotly as you stare at her with wide eyes. she bears no emotion on her face. like what she’d just asked you was completely normal. like it was just standard procedure.

it wasn’t. this was new. unprecedented, even. for you, anyway.

“o—oh. um…” you nervously glance at the two guards behind her. “is— is that allowed?”

the one who came with her, Alex, a beta with nods. like Kate, pale, blond haired and blue eyed. except, unlike her, he has a friendly face.

“it is.” he softly confirms. “we’re sorry that it’s such a sudden request. the pack just wants to be sure.”

it’s not the suddenness of the request that’s so jarring. it’s how wildly inappropriate odd it is.

and they want to be sure? of what exactly?

you don’t know what your panties have that the rest of your package doesn’t. it’s all scent, all biology. clinical. right down to the bone. you can’t think of a single good reason why the package you had sent wasn’t enough for them.

you stood there, mouth agape as you try to think of something to say. to resist. to counter. but you know nothing you say has no weight. you don’t have a choice in this. it hardly matters how degrading the request is. you must follow through with it, even if you expect no follow up on how the alphas have responded.

either you give them what they want or suffer the consequences.

the other guard, the one hired by the establishment, growls when you take too long to decide. his brow twitches, face twisted into a scowl as he snaps his teeth at you. “come on, Ms. Laswell doesn’t have all day. do as you’re told, omega—”

you flinch at his raised voice. his burning scent invades your nose faster than you can try to prepare yourself for it.

Jason has always been like that. an alpha who cracks his whip at any disobedience. he especially seems to have it out for you. you have no idea why and you’ve done your best to stay out of his way.

Kate, however, doesn’t tolerate his anger. because she immediately shot back—

“quiet.” a veiled threat. she’s not even as loud as he was. she turns to face him, blocking you from his view. “do not talk to her like that.”

alpha, your mind screams.

her annoyance freezes the air over. it’s the only sort of emotion you’ve seen from her up until this point. and it’s the only thing that gives her away.

she’s an alpha.

it’s all she needs to make Jason’s spine straighten in a split second. every ounce of bravado vapourized into thin air faster than you can blink. he hangs his head in shame and looks away. “y—yes, ma’am. my apologies.”

you’re stand very still, watching the exchange in awe. you think this might be the first time anyone has ever truly put him in his place. nonetheless, you obeyed when she turns back to you, if only you don’t end up on the receiving end of her ire.

when Laswell looks at you once more, you’re quick to avoid her eyes as you reach under your skirt and took off your underwear, a simple piece of soft cotton, cheeks burning with heat because you’re all too aware of the wet spot on it. you wonder how many more omegas were also made to hand over their panties like that.

she holds out an open ziplock bag and lets you put them inside then seals it shut. Alex then steps forward. he holds out a box. it’s the standard semi-clear package. your eyes widen when you get a glimpse of what’s inside.

ziplock bags. you count four big bags. there’s more in there but you can’t see how many from where you’re standing.

“take these.” he gives you the box. your arms sag a bit at the unexpected weight of it. it’s heavier than you thought. “they wanted you to have them before The Selection.”

“thank you.” you squeak, unable to think of anything else to say.

Kate leaves without another word and Alex bids you goodbye with a warm smile before he follows.

Jason glares at you. all of that sheepishness is sadly short-lived and once they’re well out of earshot, he points a finger in your face. “don’t think you’re special just because you’re whoring yourself out.”

you flinch. he scoffs at the hurt look on your face.

must he remind you? that you shouldn’t get your hopes up? that you know this ritual won’t go anywhere? it’ll end the same as all the others that came before.

“and don’t get your hopes up. they’re not gonna pick you.” he hooks a thumb in his belt, leaning on the door frame.

realistically, you shouldn’t let his words get to you. he’s mean to everyone who isn’t his group of friends. he’s mean to every unmated omega he crosses paths with.

“you’re too…” he looks you up and down, eyes damn near glowing with disapproval at what he sees. “ordinary.”

the word strikes true. tears sting your eyes.

“they probably asked ten other omegas to give them their panties to sniff.” he backs away from your door and chuckles. “don’t be too disappointed when you’re not called to The Selection.”

he slams the door and locks it behind him. leaving you standing in a sea of sorrow. you take in the silence of your small enclosure and take a deep breath, your head tipping back to look at the ceiling as you try to will back the tears.

an arrogant ass he may be but at least he’s truthful. that’s your only consolation. your only reminder that not every omega gets to leave this place. not everyone gets a happy ending.

when you sit down on your small bed and place the box right next to you, you sigh before opening the clasps. immediately, a potent mix of scents permeates all around you.

your body reacts to it faster than your mind can process.

it’s a gut-punch. pure molten heat poured straight down your throat and flowed all the way further down to your cunt. you hadn’t expected the intensity of it, the sheer want to be filled to the brim.

the sudden pulse coming to life between your legs had you whimpering and panting as if you’d just ran a mile. clenching your thighs didn’t do much to help ease the ache. not with your panties clinging to the slick suddenly dripping from your pussy.

you had to put the box away and retreat into your bathroom to calm down. gripping the cold sink and breathing uncontaminated air more so to stop yourself from reaching under your skirt than anything else, but eventually, you had to return to your room.

the box was half opened when you returned. you pull up the lid and peered inside. like you thought, the four massive ziplock bags. each with a hoodie and a shirt inside. all of them were labeled with names.

Johnny was scribbled messily on the front of the one you picked first. his heady scent was faintly earthy with a touch of what you assume is motor oil and gasoline. not bad. he must like cars then. his hands must be rough from all the work he puts in them.

GHOST was written in big block letters and with a small skull face at the bottom right. his clothes were huge. he must be a really big guy. bigger than Johnny even. he smells like gunpowder and sweat, and strangely enough, that doesn’t make your nose wrinkle as it does with every other alpha you’ve come across.

then there’s John. neatly written, but you could tell he doesn’t really care too much about how his letters are formed on paper. you recognize the scent of cigars anywhere with how often the alphas in your facility take part in smoking them every week in their lounge room. your lips purse in contemplation but ultimately decide it’s not that bad. with time, if they decide to take you with them, you might get used to it.  

lastly, Kyle’s name was written in cursive and circled in one big heart. that alone makes forces a giddy smile on your face. you can already tell that he showers more often than the other three. there’s hints of shower gel and cologne alongside the smell of John’s colognes. you like him already.

you liked all of them. you don’t even know which one to start with.

that’s not all, though. there’s snacks too. chocolate bars, bags of chips and three bottles of different flavoured sweet tea. but every muscle in your body stopped when you saw something else. neatly packaged in between all those gifts was a bundle of beautiful red roses.

they’re... this is…

there’s a note between the petals, which you’re scared to even touch. your shaky hands pluck it out and open it to see what was written inside.

It’s a little early but Happy Valentine’s Day to our favourite omega. Looking forward to seeing you at The Selection <3

no. it can’t be. surely not. they’re not doing what you think they’re doing.

you look back to the roses. the gifts. the food. a box filled with clothes from four alphas who express an interest in taking you into their pack. this.

it’s clear, cut and dry what this is.

it’s a courting gift.

panic rises up your throat. it feels more like bile and you think it best to stay in the bathroom, preferably near the toilet in case your stomach decides it doesn’t want to hold its content anymore. you end up standing there, staring at the toilet bowl for approximately four and a half minutes and spend another two taking deep breaths while pacing around the bathroom because your omega is too charged to let you think clearly.

and your clear, rational thoughts tell you to be serious for a second.

usually, one or two omegas are chosen for one individual or one pack. pick too many and you run the risk of creating conflicts because you didn’t allow everybody to get used to each other first before letting the pack settle into a sense of normalcy.

since there are four alphas, it’s likely that each one might want to have their own.

which leads you to believe that there are three more omegas who probably got sent the same package and with the same note. there’s four alphas. surely, they’re not going to be satisfied with just one of you.

one omega won’t be enough to contend with four ruts on differing occasions or worse, four ruts at once if one decides to trigger the other. it’s just not possible if they truly are serious about you.

besides, there has to be some mistake. it can’t be you they want.

it just can’t.

courting gifts usually aren’t exchanged until after the selection process is complete and the pack is certain that they’re keeping you.

this is definitely not something that should be happening right now.

Jason might be right about one thing. they probably did ask a bunch of other omegas for the same thing too. alphas are perverts like that. you’re not special. they probably want to add to their collection of sorts.

and yet, regardless of that fact...

your eyes drift to the hoodie you left on the edge of your bed. its scent calls to you. fervent and sweet, you’re drawn to it. the cold air in your room makes it difficult not to crave any sort of warmth that’s been given so freely.

regardless, of all this logic telling you that you shouldn’t have high hopes for anything, for even daring to think that you’ll ever leave this place.

regardless, you bury your nose in the hoodie and sharply inhale Kyle’s lovely scent and roll around your bed, purring and sighing deeply. he smells like kindness. like the first ray of light after a brutal winter. he smells like everything you’ve ever dreamed of in an alpha who would be willing to take care of you.

whatever the case may be with these gifts, you hope they meant what they said in the note. you yearn to be their favourite, you want them to look forward to finding you.

(and you hope they aren’t disappointed once they do).

four alphas expressing an interest in you is far more than you could’ve hoped for. it will break you when the unfortunate outcome finally rears its head and you don’t get to follow them to their home.

you hope that you’ll still get to keep one of their hoodies once The Selection passes.

in my defense, i was ovulating when this n00dled in my head.

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[main masterlist]

[part 2]