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shootingstar698 · 4 months

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task force 141 with a controversially young civilian girlfriend.

-> mentions of large age-gaps, referenced sexual content, alcohol use. afab!fem!reader. minor dubcon (everyone's drunk.)

thinking that you're studying in uni. working on the side to try and afford rent and, if you're lucky, some noodles every other night. you don't really get seen compared to your friends, who go out clubbing and spend their spare time on dating apps.

one time, your friend drags you to a bar. not usually your scene, considering its clientele is more for tradies, and military-type men. not like the stuck-up blue collar boys at your uni.

cue you getting drunk off your ass, barely even standing, when you bump into one johhny mactavish.

he holds your elbows, your chest crashing into his. gentle with it, too -- kind and sweet and grounding.

"y'alright, lass?" he asks, a small smirk on his face, eyes darting across your frame greedily. he, in all fairness, looks nearly as drunk as you. he stumbles a little with your weight.

you giggle, tilting your head to look at him. say something stupid like, "you don't look like a student."

his brows raise, his dimples deepen. "aye, very smart, hen."

you preen with the compliment, a cheesy grin stuck to your face. you make no move to stand up and leave. you think your friend just left with a guy anyways.

johnny moves you, muscled arm around your waist as he takes you to a booth.

three other men sit in it, only one looking somewhere in a ten-year age bracket to you. they're all impossibly large, filling out the space with ease. your stomach swoops, but you easily blame the alcohol.

manoeuvring you so you sit in his lap, johnny's hand is a comforting weight on your waist. he huffs a laugh.

"didn't realise we were goin' for jailbait, soap," the youngest one chimes, dark features shining in the pub's dim light. his eyes trail your frame silkily.

you can't stop the roll of your eyes -- your inhibitions have made you senseless. "'m not, 'm completely," you drag out the syllables, "legal."

a hand on your thigh makes you jolt, and when you look over, a blonde man with a black medical mask raises an unimpressed brow. "got a problem, kid?"

you shoot him a weak glare. "not a kid. weirdo."

the arm around your waist tightens, as does the weirdo's hand encompassing your thigh.

"not scared of anythin', are you darl'?" the final man in the booth asks, hands folded together where they rest at the table. he looks at least double your age, and that simple fact along with his drawling words has your core tightening.

"what's there to be scared of?" you ask, stupidly. your head tilts to the side, unknowingly moving to rest on johnny's shoulder. he doesn't comment.

"miss bein' young and drunk," gaz sighs, hand softly gripping the gin sat on the table in front of him.

"you look young," your brows furrow, not understanding. how old could he really be, to act so nostalgic of your current predicament? "how old are you guys?"

it's an embarrassing question -- makes you feel like a child all over again. but your interest is quickly peaking, and your need for answers overpowers your need for decorum.

johnny's the one to answer, his lips brushing your ear as he whispers.

"gaz, the pretty one over there, he's twenty-eight," he murmurs, heat stirring low in your gut as you nod mindlessly, meeting gaz's eyes.

johnny stokes his thumb over the skin of your hip, and you curl into him further -- stranger be damned.

"i'm thirty," he hums, and god, he sounds so fucking sensual you're about to melt into his arms. if you aren't already.

"the guy in the mask?" said man's hand tightens impossibly against your skin, fingers just shy of grazing your aching pussy, "he's thirty-seven. got a lot of experience, aye?"

you shudder.

"what about you?" you end up voicing, shyly meeting the last man's gaze. he takes a slow sip of his whiskey.

he leans back into the cushion, eyeing you carefully.

"forty-three."

your thighs squeeze together, and fuck, if that's not a turn-on. no matter how unsafe you should feel, surrounded by four military-grade, older men, it only manages to have you wet beyond belief.

all you can manage is one question.

"take me home?"

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shootingstar698 · 2 years

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the truth of the matter

lycan/werewolf!heisenberg x f!reader

read part one here part 2 part 3

summary: the beast takes you to extract your vengeance upon those who took advantage of you

warnings/tags: mentions of sexual assault, blood, gore, violence, murder, sexual tension, religious references

author’s note: yeah i know it’s not as good as the first one but the next part will have smut so

inspired by mary on a cross by ghost

‘ and the truth of the matter is

i’ll never let you go. ”

The beast’s coat smelled of him.

The sticky scent of pine, the greased stench of oil, the faint tinge of blood - they made up the unique, enchanting aroma that encased you in a secure embrace as you followed the man before you back to the village. Your teeth had stopped their chattering since he draped the fabric across your shoulders, yet your fingers still played a game of numbness, and your lips refused to work in the way they should upon trying to form words.

The cold seeped into your bones like lake water pulling you under, latching onto your very marrow and yanking you beneath the surface. Yet you resisted. You did not collapse to the ground just yet, despite the ache in your lungs, despite the throbbing of your wrists where the metal shackles had kept you tied to the offering pedestal.

Instead, you drove yourself onward, following the footprints of the towering man that trekked slightly ahead of you. Your rage was not yet frozen through. Your fury had thawed. Your hatred and need for revenge and vengeance overpowered any natural instinct your body sent screaming through your veins. Your friends, your parents, your neighbors… they had simply stood by and watched as you were violated. Dressed like a doll. Left to be ravished, then slaughtered.

And where were they now? Warm in their homes, eagerly awaiting what the beast would bring them in exchange for your blood.

“You don’t have to come with, you know.”

You lifted your head upon hearing the beast’s words. Heisenberg. Karl. He’d stopped just ahead of you, gazing over his broad shoulder at your small, hunched form. The corners of his eyes, darkened with his silvery irises, peeked out from the edges of his shades. You wondered where he’d gotten them; the only specs you’d ever seen were the ones made by the carpenter in town for those with poor eyesight. But those were not tinted, as his were.

“No,” you grunted out and quickened your pace to fall in step beside him. You were forced to crane your neck to look up at him. Your exhausted gaze was met with that unreadable expression of his, eyes hidden behind those panes and his mouth set in a thin line. “I want to. I…” You panted slightly, your mind racing. Then your rage resurfaced. “I need to,” you added and set your jaw. “They’re monsters, the whole fucking lot of them. I want to see them suffer.”

Your own words surprised you. Even when you were small and your playthings had been stolen by the other children, you had never been one to resort to violence. And yet when you thought of what they had done to you, without an inch of your consent… it made you want to drop to the frozen ground and howl and scream until your lungs gave out and you succumbed to the elements.

You watched as Heisenberg’s mouth quirked slightly at the corner. His beard twitched with the movement. Again, there came that fluttering and leaden sensation that dropped from your stomach to the space between your thighs.

“And here I thought I was the only beast in the woods,” he rumbled. He cast a thoughtful gaze down the path to the village, then took a step closer. Upon instinct, you inched backward. Yet you stilled yourself, afraid and enraptured all at once. “It’s still a mile or two to the town. Your choice, princess, but take it from me - a wounded animal never makes it far.”

You looked down at the hand he’d extended; gloved in leather; no claws; warm. A flash of memory panged into your head like an empty shotgun shell, freshly fired. You recalled the feeling of hands upon you, restraining your wrists, lifting your skirts, digging with sharp nails into your thighs and pushing them apart. Dirty fingers digging through your most intimate places. Would his hands on you feel like that?

Somehow, in some way, you knew they would not.

Silently, you looked up at him and nodded your head once. Then, with a grunt, he wrapped one arm around your back and the other beneath your legs, and hefted you into a bridal-style carry. At once, your heart skipped a number of beats. You watched the way his muscles flexed beneath his shirt, felt the murmuring of his heart as the side of your body pressed against his chest. Warmth radiated from his chest like a hearth, and suddenly you were wrapped entirely in that scent of his. It settled your racing nerves.

When you reached up to secure your arms around his neck, a few strands of his grey hair were caught between your clamped fingers. He jerked slightly, releasing a rumble from the pit of his chest.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured and released his tresses.

To your surprise, his lips curled upward to show off the whites of his teeth. Again, you imagined his canines growing into jagged blades. “Don’t say sorry for something I liked, sweetheart,” he said.

To avoid his gaze, and perhaps distract him from the sudden uptick in your pulse, you turned your head away.

“Nervous little villager, aren’t you?” he said. He carefully adjusted your weight against him, then began the trek toward the town once more. “Don’t worry, honey.” His voice was suddenly at the shell of your ear, his hot breath fanning against your temple. “Nothing’s going to hurt you like they did now that you’re mine.”

It seemed he was aware of the effect his words, his voice, simply his presence, had on you. He relished in the way your grip on him tightened slightly, in the way your breath hitched in your throat and how you squeezed your legs together. Yet all he did was smirk that agonizing smile to himself and tramp along through the snow.

You shut your eyes to the blinding whiteness of the snow in the late afternoon sun, instead tilting your forehead to rest against Heisenberg’s collarbone.

A man had never touched you like this before - well, before today. You’d craved this kind of touch in the past, but the boys in the village were always far too pushy or clingy or cocky to woo you into letting them come any closer than was proper. It wasn’t as if they hadn’t tried; as one of the only young eligible women in the village, it was known you would marry soon and begin to grace the town with the new generation. Every boy that was not already committed to another girl practically tried to jump you.

They invited you to attend service with them, asked you advice for gifts for their mothers and sisters, paid you for the stitching and embroidery you’d made a small hobby of. When you watched over the younger children in the school while the teachers stepped away, they would be sure to bring their little brothers and sisters, just to have an excuse to speak to you.

Some were sweet. Others were downright heinous. And yet your answer had always been no. You were content without a man; and while you, of course, had carnal urges no one could suppress, you did just fine on your own. Yet there were things you wondered about…

“Here.”

Heisenberg’s voice brings you tumbling from your thoughts. He’s stopped at the tree line surrounding your village, stood atop a small hill overlooking the church and the small rows of houses. Inside windows, fireplaces roared and children played on hearth side rugs. Stragglers hurried through the streets in order to get home before dark. Each and every one of them was wondering what great reward they would be bestowed for their sacrifice.

Your grip on the beast tightened yet again without your permission. A small bit of disappointment overpowered the fear for a moment when he let you down to stand on your own. Within your head, a tiny, devilish voice whispered, ‘Soon. He’ll hold you again soon. Make you feel safe again. Touch you like he did in the forest. Soon.’

“Listen, sweetheart,” he said as he began to pull his gloves tighter over his massive hands, “you might want to stay here while I go and pay your people a visit. This might get a little messy.” He cast you a glance. “Messier than even what you had in mind.”

“But -“

“Don’t you worry.” He swept close, taking your chin under his thumb in that way he does. His lips were inches from yours, a mere breath away. If you leaned forward just slightly, you’d be kissing him. “I’ll make them hurt for what they did to you.”

With that he was gone, sauntering down the hill toward the town. He walked with a sort of swagger that brought out his rather wily personality, and yet demanded respect all at the same time. You remembered how frightened you were when you first laid eyes upon him less than an hour ago - hell, how frightened you were now watching him leave - and imagined the terror that would fill the village when they realized just who he was.

You stood at the tree line, still huddled in the beast’s coat, watching. Waiting. So much time passed you thought nothing happened.

Then a scream, shrill and horrified and filled with pure, raw terror, ripped through the air. It rose the birds from their hidden perches in the trees, seemed to shake the ground beneath your feet. Slowly, more howls and shrieks followed the first. You saw the tiny figures of villagers scattering, scrambling for cover as some unseen force sent them all running.

A roar tore through the ravine. It was unlike anything you’d ever heard before; the trees seemed to shake upon their very roots and the clouds threatened to tumble down from the heavens. It was animalistic in its nature, wet and guttural.

The beast.

Suddenly you were filled with that same urge you’d felt when first released from the chains, when tramping through the snow - the urge for vengeance. For revenge. To take the justice that was rightfully yours after what they had done to you.

Despite the cold still controlling your bones, you found yourself stalking down the hill, your footprints following Heisenberg’s larger ones. The image of them fueled you with courage. Knowing he would be there, knowing he would protect you… it made you feel powerful beyond compare; something you had never experienced in your lifetime.

It seemed both an eternity and just moments later that you reached the village. You knew you would not like what you saw, and yet you continued on anyhow. You would not be some martyr, some victim, some nameless sacrifice to them.

You would become their worst regret.

Screams and howls of terror filled your ears, became your whole world, as you turned the corner of a building and laid eyes upon what was your home just this morning. A number of bodies - all men - lay scattered about the snow, each and every one torn near apart with gigantic claw marks. Some’s necks were barely still hanging onto their shoulders, shredded by rows of blade-like monster teeth. The white had turned red, the cobblestones flooded with blood. Women fled into the nearest buildings with their children, wailing for their lost loved ones. One girl prayed before a fallen body and rocked herself on her heels.

They were far too distraught to pay you any mind.

There came a new commotion - from the church - that drew your attention. Some large, ground-trembling force shook the small building in its very foundation. The bell in the tower overhead rang gently, sadly, helpless to do anything but sing its mournful song. You followed its melody. Your boots stamped along the front steps you were dragged up this morning, through the open doorway, and into the threshold.

The sight waiting for you inside was one that nearly brought that sick, sadistic smile back to your painted lips.

The beast had cornered the village priest - the one who had called your name and assaulted you in checking your virginity - in one of the front pews. The man was a bloody, torn-up mess. Blood cascaded from a wound in his shoulder and his nose looked to be broken in two different places. One eye was swollen shut. Scarlet dripped from his mouth and down his pant leg, to where one knee was bent the wrong direction. There was also a wet spot at his crotch.

And the beast - well. He had truly become the beast you’d heard in the legends growing up. He’d become the monster, the savior, the god. Teeth that had once looked just like yours had grown into razor-looking things, the tips and his lips and his beard stained with still-warm blood. Claws had stabbed through his gloves, near six inches each. His shades were gone, allowing that once star-like gaze to become a wicked yellow that burned like rum on fire. Teeth bared, chest heaving, expression torn into one of fitful rage, you feared momentarily that whatever curse or blessing he’d been bestowed upon at birth had overtaken him.

And yet still, in some way you could not understand, you felt safe.

“I beg of you, great one,” stammered the priest as he squeezed up into the pew, “have mercy upon our souls. We meant not to anger you.”

“Don’t speak to me about mercy, you fucking weasel.” Heisenberg reached out a clawed hand and easily lifted the man by his throat, then turned and slammed him back against the pulpit. The wood cracked and splintered beneath his weight. “How many times did that girl beg you for mercy? How many times did mercy cross your mind while you waited for your reward?”

The priest cowered against the pulpit, blood staining the carpet beneath him. He gurgled slightly before pulling his words together. “We wished to appease you!”

“With a fucking human being?!”

His eyes wide enough to drink from and his body bruised and bloody and broken, the priest’s gaze shifted from the creature before him and toward your figure in the doorway. He gasped and sputtered, his terror now tripled.

You relished in his fear. He knew what he had done was wrong, and now he was awaiting your judgement.

The beast followed his eyes with a snarl, jowls curled to show off his teeth, before his golden gaze landed upon you. He watched as you reached around the doorframe of the church and produced an old, warped axe; kept there for emergencies in case of a blizzard. Or an attack. His smile grew into something far more sinister and he stalked - practically on all fours - around the side of the pulpit so that he could peer over the top. What an ironic scene before you; the priest, upon his knees begging for reprive, and the beast you once worshiped as a god braced upon the pulpit.

What a sick, twisted sense of humor the world had.

The priest stammered your name as you slowly approached him, your weak arms struggling to carry the axe with you. “We - we didn’t know…! I told them it was unjust. I tried to stop them…! The council -“

“I once looked up to you,” you seethed, blue lips now moving upon their own accord. The blunt end of the axe dragged upon the floor as you walked, filling the air with the metallic sing of its contact on wood. The beast watched silently, curled around the pulpit, that gaze upon your body and those lips curled into an amused sneer. “I trusted you as a child. I trusted you today. What have I done to deserve this?”

“The council -“

“Coward!” you found yourself shrieking. Your throat tore itself apart with your scream. “You are the council. You are the village! You did this to me!”

“Our God demanded -“

“The truth of the matter is, Father…” With a grunt, you hefted the axe further into your arms and secured your frozen fingers around it. The man before you began to cry and beg. The beast waited. “There is no God.”

The axe swung, propelled by your strength and momentum and grief, and came to rest with a wet, sickening thud. Blood spattered upon your face, your skirts. The priest’s protests silenced. Scarlet slowly, ever so slowly, began to spread in an almost-pretty pool at your feet. When you let the handle go, it stayed put, the blade buried deep in your attacker’s head.

For a moment, there was nothing. Nothing but the still-warm body before you and the rising bile lurching in your throat. Gradually, your rage and need for vengeance melted to horror. You felt your hands drift to your mouth to cover it, your eyes wide and your legs suddenly crooked and unstable.

Before you fell, large, strong arms wrapped around your form and near scooped you up against a warm wall. You inhaled slightly, and you were met with that same scent that enveloped you while walking through the forest. The beast. Heisenberg. Karl.

“May his soul never find the peace he prayed for,” you heard him rumble. Again, those arms lifted your legs so that he was carrying you once more, your feet hanging limp as he turned and brought you to the doorway. Cold reached out for you with thin, spindly arms, carrying with its wind the scent of blood. It was on your face. Your clothes. Your hands.

A small noise must have escaped your throat, because the beast tilted your head slightly so that your face was pressed into his collarbone once more. “I know, honey. Just rest now.” Your hands closed into fists around his shirt, your nose pressed into the nape of his throat. “Sleep, sweetheart. I’ve got you.” And then, right beside your ear as you found yourself drifting away into the darkness behind your eyelids, “No one will fuck with you now that you belong to me.”

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