#<- straight from my delirious unconscious brain

[shepherds-of-haven]

had a dream that Blade was in his feels, but then he tried a chicken tender for the first time and he felt a little better. (he specifically rated it a 7/10)

[berriusagi]

A Name’s Worth 1

Chapter One: Unexpected Gifts

Light filtered in through the blinds streaking across Soap’s face waking him from his sleep and giving him a splitting headache as his hangover hit him full force. Soap groaned burying his face under his pillow trying to quell the pounding in his head. It took a while longer for him to finally emerge from his bed and drag himself out of his room and towards the kitchen to grab himself a coffee and some painkillers.

As he walked down the hall he tried blocking out the commotion the recruits were making, about what? He hadn’t the foggiest idea and truly could not have cared less. He finally made it into the kitchen where Gaz was in just as bad of shape as himself and was nursing a mug of coffee while he leaned back in his chair with a cold wet rag over his eyes.

"Morning,” Soap yawned.

"Shut the fuck up,” Gaz rasped his voice barely there.

"Rough night?” Soap chuckled pouring himself a large mug of coffee and grabbing himself a few painkillers from the cabinet before taking a seat across from him, "The way you were practically in the captain’s lap last night it wouldn’t surprise me.” he grinned.

"First, lower your voice it’s grating,” Gaz said moving the rag just so he could glare at Soap, "Second, what of it? We had a good time.” he yawned replacing the rag and relaxed back once more, "Miracle I can even speak truth be told,” he muttered sipping on his coffee.

Soap chuckled popping the pills in his mouth before washing them down with his coffee as Price made his way into the room. "Morning boys,” he nodded leaning down to kiss Gaz’s forehead before making his way over to the coffee maker, "Sleep well, John?”

"Think it was less sleep and more straight-up unconscious," Soap said leaning back in his seat, "Anyone remember what happened last night? Things get fuzzy for me after you two started eye fucking.”

Price choked on his coffee coughing violently trying to clear his throat while Gaz kicked Soap as hard as he could under the table.

"We were preoccupied why don’t you ask Ghost; he was babysitting you.” Gaz said finishing his coffee and pushing the mug aside as he sat up and removed the rag from his eyes, "How do I look?”

Soap hummed looking over Gaz’s face for a moment even reaching out and gently rubbing his thumb under his eye, "Not too swollen won’t even look like the Captain had you sobbing and delirious last night.” he grinned taking the second kick Gaz threw at his shins.

Price let out a long-suffering sigh as he walked over to the table sitting beside Gaz and just chose to ignore his two Sergeants while he enjoyed his coffee and mentally prepared for the day. As he was getting himself ready Ghost finally decided to join their group and came trudging into the kitchen with a grumble as he made his way to the fridge.

"Morning uh…” Price started to say before pausing as his mind went blank on Ghost’s name, "How much did I fucking drink?” he muttered rubbing his head.

"What’s up?” Gaz asked looking over at Price, "You got a headache?”

"No, I… I just can’t remember Ghost’s name.” Price said squinting at Ghost, "It’s like… my mind just went blank I can’t remember it.”

Gaz raised an eyebrow looking between Price and Ghost, "That’s crazy it’s…” he paused as well trying to wrack his brain for Ghost’s name, "it’s uh… it’s on the tip of my tongue…” he muttered squinting as he thought hard on what it could be, "What the fuck is Ghost’s name?”

"You two seriously don’t remember my name?” Ghost asked walking over to them with a glass of juice, "I’m mildly insulted.”

"We didn’t drink that much,” Gaz said, "I was only tipsy I’m not even that hungover I’m just trying to get my swelling down and Price barely drank last night he mostly just smoked and nursed a few drinks.”

"Obviously you two drank more than you remember because it’s not hard to remember his name is Ṣ̷̎î̶̧̛̩̮͇͛͝ḿ̶̰̲̗͒͂͛͠o̶͈̹͒͑͋͂ṅ̷̛͕̕,” Soap chuckled sipping his coffee. It took a few moments for him to notice the others were quiet before looking up at them, "What?”

"You didn’t say his name,” Gaz said looking at Soap his brows pinching in confusion.

"What? Yeah I did his name is Ṣ̷̎î̶̧̛̩̮͇͛͝ḿ̶̰̲̗͒͂͛͠o̶͈̹͒͑͋͂ṅ̷̛͕̕,” Soap repeated.

"No see you’re moving your mouth but no sound is coming out it’s like you go mute when you say the last word,” Gaz said turning to Price, "Do you hear him?”

Price shook his head just as confused as Gaz, "No it just cuts off on the last word.”

"What? That’s ridiculous,” Soap said raising an eyebrow and looking at them trying to see if they were fucking with him, "Ś̸̜͊̄i̸̥͎͊̐͛m̶̱̞͒̐͝o̷͇̿ň̴̡ ̶͎̳͂̉͠S̶̻̮̘͛̄͝i̷͔̞͆m̷̰͓̓̓ȯ̶̭̣͠ń̷̲̇͠ ̵͉̟͈̊̈́S̸̬̹̄i̴̳͙͓͊͑̆m̵̠̗͑͌ǒ̶͙̫̂ń̴̨̖̮ ̶̡͈̯͆S̶̜̒i̴͓͙̙͂̃́m̸̰͙͎͂o̴̺̰̅͘ṇ̶͖̉̇ ̵̞̘̣̀͌̈́S̶̤͕̞͌ḯ̷̪m̸̪̊̆͐ȍ̶͚n̶̢͋͝͝ ̵̗͋,” he said looking at them, but they just looked more confused and shook their heads.

"Yeah mate no you didn’t say anything,” Gaz said looking at Ghost, "can you hear him?”

Ghost looked at Soap his eyes blank as if he was looking at a particularly difficult puzzle and was trying to make sense of it all. The other three watched him waiting for him to respond in some way. When it seemed he finally found the answer his eyes lit up, "You took my name.”

"What?” the three chorused in unison.

"Last night,” Ghost said looking around at the table, "Johnny took my name last night.”

"The fuck you on about son?” Price asked.

~.~.~.~

Soap stretched out over Ghost’s lap in the booth they had commandeered at the bar for the evening, he smelled heavily of cheap cigarettes and mediocre liquor. Ghost just relaxed back in his seat keeping Soap secured in his lap with one arm wrapped around his waist while he smoked with his free hand blowing the smoke to the side away from Soap’s face.

"Mm Si,” Soap grumbled patting at his chest trying to reach his face. Once he had a hand on Ghost’s cheek he turned it so he could look him in the eye a slow easy smile spreading across his lips.

"What do you want Johnny?” Ghost asked taking another slow drag from his cigarette.

"Just wanted to see yer bonnie face,” Soap said resting his head on his shoulder as he looked over Ghost’s features, "Ye shouldn’t hide it under that mask all the time,” he mumbled.

"I like my mask,” Ghost said blowing smoke to the side and trying to keep it away from Soap as they stared at each other, "I’m more the mask than I am me after all,”

"That’s not true,” Soap gasped grabbing Ghost’s face, "Yer still Simon even if ye don’t feel it.”

Ghost sighed his face softening as he leaned into Soap’s hand, "Simon died a long time ago Johnny, just because people say the name doesn’t mean he’s still alive.”

"That’s a load of shite and Ah’ll prove it,” Soap said his eyes taking on a fiery light.

"Oh?” Ghost chuckled, "and how do you plan to do that?” he asked

"Give me yer name,” Soap said leaning in close, "Give me yer name and it’ll be like it never existed and you’ll see just how much the name Simon really means to ye.”

Ghost chuckled rolling his eyes as he took another slow drag of his cigarette before stubbing it out in the ashtray, "Is that so?”

Soap nodded looking as serious as a drunk could while spread out over their superior's lap, "Can I have your name Simon?”

Ghost chuckled readjusting Soap in his arms, "Yeah you can,” he nodded leaning back as Soap calmed down and settled back in his arms.

~.~.~.~

"And that’s basically what happened,” Ghost shrugged after explaining everything to the group. Price and Gaz looked at the pair as if they grew several more heads while they processed this new bit of information.

"How… can you take a name?” Gaz asked trying to wrap his head around that while looking towards Soap who had gone a hauntingly pale shade of ivory.

"I uh… I need to make a call.” Soap said stumbling out of his chair and running from the room leaving the other three alone at the table.

Ghost just watched Soap’s fleeing form before turning to look at Price and Gaz, "You two seriously couldn’t hear him saying my name?”

"No, really it’s like the sound just cuts out and we can’t even remember it.” Gaz sighed rubbing his forehead, "This shit’s weird.”

"Who do you think he went to call?” Ghost asked.

The three sat in silence for a moment before getting up and following the path Soap had taken back to his room where they could hear his voice muffled through the door but high-pitched in his distress.

"What do you mean I stole it, mam!?” Soap damn near squealed into his phone.

A woman's voice could be heard from the phone and by her tone she sounded both incredibly amused and extremely exhausted with her son's antics, "John it’s just as I said you asked the poor boy for his name and he agreed to give you his name so now you own his name.” she said as if she was explaining the simplest thing in the world.

"I didn’t mean it though I was drunk!” Soap groaned, "Isn’t there suppose to be a grey area in this?”

"John,” she sighed, "Were you being serious when you asked?”

Soap grumbled rubbing a hand down his face, ”I mean the way Ṣ̷̎î̶̧̛̩̮͇͛͝ḿ̶̰̲̗͒͂͛͠o̶͈̹͒͑͋͂ṅ̷̛͕̕ explained it I sounded pretty serious.”

"Still can’t hear his name dear,” She said letting out a long-suffering sigh, "If you were serious, regardless of your state of sobriety, then there is no grey area you took his name it’s now yours it doesn’t exist no one can ever know his true name again unless you give it back.”

"Then I’ll give it back!” Soap said, "I’ll fix this thank ye mam yer the best!”

"Yes I know now don’t go stealing any more names and I expect you to visit on your next leave!” She demanded.

"Yes, mam love you bye!” Soap nodded hanging up before throwing his door open presumably to go and fix his drunken mistake only to stop short at the three men standing before his door, "uh… how much of that did you hear?”

"Enough to want answers what did your mother mean by you took Ghost’s name?” Price asked crossing his arms.

"Johnny, what did you do?” Ghost asked crossing his arms as well.

Soap looked between all three his eyes sweeping from one to the next at record speeds as he started fidgeting. As his nerves grew he started scratching at his arms and picking at the skin around his nails before letting out a loud groan and started shoving all of them towards Price's office.

The group went along with relative ease and once they were safely secured in Price’s office behind a locked door and with the shades drawn Soap dropped onto the couch and let out a long groan covering his face. 

"So… my family has a connection to the fair folk of Scotland," he said refusing to look at any of the others in the room.

"Fair folk? Like… fairies?” Gaz asked leaning on Price’s desk and crossing his arms.

Soap nodded taking a long slow breath, "Yeah some great great however many greats grandma on my mam’s side was of the fae she settled down in our plane and just over the years the connection has gotten weaker but it shows up in different and unexpected ways in her descendants.”

"How so?” Price asked settling in his chair as he tried to process this sudden information.

"So my mam? She loves to do cross stitching and embroidery since she was little and well anyone she gifts her embroidery to is also blessed with good health and protection. I keep a small handkerchief she embroidered on me during missions since it makes her feel better and it also gives me a better chance of coming back in mostly one piece.” Soap explained pulling his hand from his face so he could look at the others, "My grandma had an insane green thumb her apple tree could bear fruit in the dead of winter.”

"So all the women in your family can do mystical things what does that have to do with you taking my name?” Ghost asked.

"I’m getting to it,” Soap grumbled moving to lean forward bracing his elbows on his knees, "We all have our niche like my mom’s sewing, grandma’s gardening, mine is mischief. I can always create chaos or mischief and get away relatively unscathed it’s kinda why demolition comes to me so naturally. With mischief being my thing being able to take a name is kinda in the realm of chaos I can create.” he said rubbing the back of his neck.

Ghost watched Soap for a long moment letting that sink in before his eyes began to sparkle, "So my name doesn’t exist? S̴̥̭̆̏͌̕i̸̖̺͌̋̑ṁ̴͕̠̞̱̀̇̂̕ơ̷͕͑̕n̶͚͈͈̿͆̈ ̷̛̗̲͐R̴̨̬̖̒i̵͎̽̾̓̐̈́l̶̏ͅę̴̨͇͎̑͌̇͛y̶̹̣̹̦̥͋ doesn’t exist?” he asked.

"No, it doesn’t,” Soap sighed rubbing a hand down his face, "so long as I own your name it can’t be spoken, typed, written nothing it does not exist.”

Ghost stood there letting this new bit of information sink in before he walked over to Soap and put his hands on his shoulders staring into his eyes, "Thank you.”

"What? NO! I’m giving it back!” Soap shouted jumping up.

"Oh no, you are not this is the best day of my life!” Ghost said shoving him back down in his seat, "It’s your name now!” he laughed leaving the room.

"What no! GHOST!” Soap shouted chasing after him.

Price and Gaz watched as Soap ran from the room to attempt to give Ghost back his name. Gaz let out a low whistle as he looked over at Price, "So we’re just going to speed past that Soap is a fairy?”

Price let out a long sigh rubbing a hand down his face, "Honestly, it answers some questions about him.” he chuckled, "What we’re not going to speed past though is that he gave you shit about being in my lap and he was all over Ghost’s.”

Gaz gasped as if it just dawned on him that he had ample reason to make fun of Soap, "Permission to give Soap so much shit about that little bit of intel?” he grinned.

Price chuckled standing up to kiss Gaz gently, "Granted he should get a taste of his own medicine. Now go you have training drills to run and make sure Soap does his too we don’t need him chasing down Ghost all day trying to give back his name.”

"Do you think he’ll manage to give him back his name?” Gaz asked straightening up.

"Eventually,” he nodded heading to the door, "Ghost is just going to need the right incentive to take the name back.”

[vogueinnie]

The Favor

       ━ WARNINGS ;  changbin x fem reader, dom!changbin, college party, smut, a looooot of teasing, mention of alcohol and drugs, finger sucking, fingering (f. receiving), voyeurism, degradation, dry humping, light choking      ━ WORD COUNT ; 1.8k      ━ NOTE ; note : here is my first “real” work, please be kind !! this is so cliché lmao, but who doesn’t like cliché? keep in mind that english isn’t my first language soooo there will surely be some mistakes. if so, tell me !!

Every minds present were dizzy, just like the smoky room they were in. The grey smoke was like a cloud above everyone. We couldn't see anything except the dancing bodies that were stuck together to the defeaning music who had taken possession of the place. Even the most shy and discreet ones were totally unrecognizable. It was unbearable for anyone who wasn't in the delirious atmosphere of this friday night.

Whoever once thought that youth was decadent had been right, and they were the proof of it. No more exams, no more stress, no more angry teachers, no more homeworks. This night, they all needed to act like the young adults they were ; partying like there is no tomorrow.

Everything was made for everyone to be at ease. Indeed, Christopher Bang, the night's host, was well known for his crazy parties. His student apartment had soon turned into a nightclub, hopefully his neighbors were the same age and they probably were here, enjoying this moment. Even the open windows weren't enough to let out the smoke of all the illicit substances. Everyone was in their own world, laughing, smiling, screaming, jumping with a glass in hand, and it would be bold to assume it was water. They were free minded, for one night at least.

You were in the middle of all these excited people, in the same state, mocking the ridiculous dances moves of your bestfriend, Jihyo. She had one goal and it was to seduce the " beautiful dark haired boy over there, oh my god he's so freaking hot ! " also named as Seungmin. Jihyo burst out of laugh and without knowing why you just did the same, way to tipsy to understand whatever she was saying. You were both looking stupid but who did really care, after all ? You were here to have fun.

The mood changed drastically as the electronic bass music changed in seconds to something much smoother, much slower, much more sensual. The couples present were not shy to stick body-to-body, swaying their hips without shame.

" Wait for me I'm going to see the man of my dream ! I'll be back soon ! Well I hope no, but... Yeah... I mean... You understand what I mean ! " Jihyo said.

You didn't fully understand what she said so you laugh, nodding your head. Without controlling your body, your hips starts to move to the sound that were playing. Your movements were slow, almost erotic as you roll your head back, exposing your neck to everyone that was looking at you. Your free hand were in your hair and you unconsciously bit your lip with a little smile when you start to feel all the curious eyes on you. Thanks to the alcohol you've drinked, you didn't feel ridiculous dancing alone.

The special attention that the predators around you, men and women, were giving you, only increase the urge to reveal more obscenity.

Apparently Jihyo seized the opportunity to talk with Seungmin and you couldn't stop smiling at the view. Finally, she was not letting her shyness took the lead. But your smile fades away the second your eyes meets two dark orbs.

Seo Changbin.

You didn't know why but you both never get along together. You didn't know each other, but you weren't compatible. Everyone knew that. Changbin was naturally sarcastic, raw and must of the time he speaks without thinking twice. And you were the exact opposite ; sweet, easy going and always ready to meet new people. The funniest part between the two of you were probably the fact that you were always craving for each others attention, a little nothing could make you argue, sometimes rudely, sometimes more in a teasing way. You were stuck in a cat-dog relationship, and anyone around you could sense the tension from Changbin and you.

The black haired boy was sitting on the sofa, right in the living room’s center. And he wasn’t alone, a girl was sitting on his thighs. Even if you couldn’t see her face you could already tell that she was pretty and totally his style, long light pink hair and a body to die for. But even the goddess on him couldn't make him take his eyes off you. And there we go for a battle of gaze.

« Dude I’m so high…» Felix next to him giggled, whispering these few words in a completely derailed deep voice.

Changbin took the drug stick his bestfriend gave him and he lets the substance slide down his throat in a relaxing way. His originally brown pupils were dilated in a deep black tone, and without taking his eyes off you he spats out the smoke with controlled slowness, gripping the female’s ass on him. But he gradually lost interest in her, thanks to the show he had in front of him.

You now understand why all the girls were head over heels for him. He was hot, indeed.

You felt your heart race so fast, the adrenaline running in your blood, thanks to the alcohol you’ve drinked. Why were you hanging like that in his eyes while moving your body, giving him a hot show of your own despair ? His attention was all you ever wanted right now. Boldly you slowly put your hand around your throat, almost wishing it was Changbin’s fingers wrapped around you, you give no pressure but you can see his thigh twich at the view.

The music changed again to go back to something more happy, and the bodies around you start to jump again. But you were standing here, like an idiot almost choking yourself just for your not-so-ennemy pleasure. The man in front of you seemed to be in the same state as you, glued to your eyes without even giving the pretty girl on him some attention.

With a courage you didn’t not know you have, you walked with an almost feline step to the sofa. What would have taken a few seconds if you were sober turned out to be more difficult with alcohol in your veins. 

However, you finally stand behind the one who you recognized to be Sana. She was, indeed, one of the most beautiful girls, but it wasn't her who caught his eyes. It was you. Sana probably felt that Changbin wasn’t responding to her neck kisses, so she sits up slightly to face a surprising sight. You, staring down at your new prey. 

The boy raised his eyebrows with a certain provocation in his eyes, silently asking you by this gesture what do you wanted. But you didn’t blink a moment, and the young woman felt too much in this intense exchange.

« You could have tell that you didn’t want me, for real. » She mumbles, standing up.

«  Me ! I want you Sana, c’mooooon ! »

«  Felix… she sighs, you’re not even straight. »

« Ah, yeah… I’ve almost forgot that detail… » He shrugs his shoulders, not bothered at all, and he tooks a sip of his drink while standing up too to follow Sana.

Even Sana and Felix couldn’t distract you.

You were too far away to correctly think, your brain were so fuzzy and you didn’t even understand why you get on your knees in front of him, but youd did. With a cocky smile, he spreads his legs apart, you were offering him such a delightful view. One of  his hands reached your face to slowly brush your cheek, almost lovingly. His index gives your naturally swollen lips some caresses and you immediately took it in your mouth, gripping on his wrist like your life depends on it.

He couldn’t help but broke the contact between your eyes to fix it on your lips sucking on his index, adding his major within. You rub your thighs together, and the thought that anyone could see you in this position, in front of Changbin, makes you unbelievably excited. But people were too busy having fun to care about you. His free hand goes around your neck, like youd did few minutes ago, and you let out a little gasp, keeping his two fingers deep down your throat.

« I’ve always known that you were so desperate. But that desperate… » He tooks his wet fingers back, wiping them on your cheek.

It was almost humiliating and you gulps silently when you felt your dripping core under your dress, your wetness stucking unpleasantly on your pantie. What was wrong with you, really ? You see in his eyes that he wanted to play. So you’re gonna give him something to play with. Your body moved closer to one of his legs, still on your knees, rubbing against it almost like a puppy waiting for some much-deserved reward.

« You want everyone to see how much of a whore you are, hm ? He pats his thigh with a mocking grin, come here. »

Without any hesitation, you straddle one of his thigh with your legs and he catches your waist between his two hands so he can trapped you against his body. His fucking hot body. Thanks to his black shirt you have a perfect view on his arms, and you can feel yourself wetter if that’s possible.

Slowly you started to move against him, you wanted to feel some friction, just a little something, the bare minimum. One of his hand slowly slide under your dress and he pushes your lace underwear aside to fully have acces to your heatness.

« So pitiful. Who would want to touch you ? You still move against him, letting his fingers slip between your wet and hot folds. Right in front of anyone, they’re all looking at you. You’re burning inside even though you know people are having fun. They see how much of a slut you are just for my fingers. »

« S-shut up… You whines, your head burried in the crock of his neck. More, I want more… »

« Can’t you be fucking polite for once, uh ? Or you can’t properly talk ? »

Changbin didn’t wait for your answer and you can feel two fingers deep inside you. You were so wet that it wasn’t unpleasant at all. Hell no, it was a relief. As if his digits were made for you, not too long, a little chubby, just the ideal length to meet your most sensitive spot. He starts kissing your jaw, his thumb were added to give your red bud some rubs. You were a mess in his arms, practically crying cause you were overhelmed by your pleasure and after a few pump inside you, you were cumming hard on his fingers, gripping his shoulder to keep your mind on earth.

« You owe me a favor now, looser. »

You now understand why you didn’t like him.

[thetorturerwrites]

Bucket

Snippet:  You were little more than a thrumming nerve. Your entire body throbbed inside your suddenly itchy sweater and leggings, aching and ready for him to do whatever it was he would do. That was the entire nature of your relationship with Adam. He told you what he wanted, and you delivered.

Notes: I wasn't sure I was going to post this because it is different from my regular Sackler, but I need to get it out of my brain. As always, this is an adult work, and there's not a lot about me that's fluffy. So, please be aware. Also, this is all the way behind the cut because it is just straight porn, y'all.

“Fuck, that’s it.”

Adam’s strong hands wrapped around your skull entirely. His fingers dug into your scalp, guiding you up and down again and again. He grunted at your whimper; the sound clipped by the stab of his dick against your uvula. Every salacious sound boomed in the empty theater.

On your knees between his, you clutched at his corded, jean-clad thighs, but the smooth fabric thwarted your every effort at keeping your balance. You slid against the stage's hardwood floor, only contained by his manipulative grip and his boots at the outsides of your thighs.

For the last half hour, Adam used your mouth to edge himself. He inched right up to the line where you’d taste that salty desire dribble out; and then, he’d back off, slapping his dick at the flat of your tongue with a lewd groan or allowing you to lick at the distended veins decorating his cock and wiggle your tongue tip into his weeping slit.

He was all you could smell, all you could taste. When he allowed it, musk and sweat tainted the air you breathed. You lapped at the tangy underside and head of his dick, swirling the slick around and around before swallowing it down on a delirious sigh.

Cock drunk from the first drop.

The longer he fucked your mouth, the more it swelled and numbed, and the natural apprehension of your throat to keep invaders out grew lax. That’s what he wanted. That was the goal — to park his massive dick into your throat as far as he could and cum down it.

His phone alarm blared, signaling the impending start of the next rehearsal.  He responded with an annoyed kick to send it skittering across the floor.

“Goddammit.” He tangled his fingers in roughly, jerking you back to the tip. He yanked his black t-shirt up and out of the way, baring that mouth-watering abdomen. “Hands.”

You were little more than a thrumming nerve. Your entire body throbbed inside your suddenly itchy sweater and leggings, aching and ready for him to do whatever it was he would do. That was the entire nature of your relationship with Adam. He told you what he wanted, and you delivered.

Blow job in the middle of the day, the park, the cab? Often. Pictures of your tits at three in the morning so he could jerk off when everyone else in the apartment was asleep? Check. Dirty bar bathroom fucking while his narcissist girlfriend waited? Of course.

He used you — however, whenever, wherever he wanted.

You reveled in it, in being his on-demand whore. Often, he didn’t care if you enjoyed it. He never worried about making you cum or being nice. You were at his disposal for every vicious fuck, for every lascivious, law-breaking adventure.

You picked up where his idiotic girlfriends left off.

And now? Now, you obeyed for the hundredth time, wrapped both hands around his straining, heated cock, and used them in tandem with your mouth, twisting and tugging. His arousal and the spit he coaxed from the back of your tongue combined to make every pass glide easily. Each obscene slurp and shuck echoed, a sinful chorus your heart beat in rhythm to. He moaned loud as you massaged and drooled and swallowed.  

The sounds he made had you rocking pitifully against nothing. Pins and needles shot through your calves and feet. Your quads burned; your head swam. But your breasts were heavy with arousal, nipples erect in that way that made you want to beg him to lick and suck them. Your pussy clamored, banging an intense, unrelenting tempo and soaking through the paltry fabric between your thighs.

“Think about this goddamn mouth more than I should.” He huffed and squirmed, unable to decide between the combination of lips and hands or the invitation at the back of your neck. “Can’t get Hannah to give a decent blow job to save my life. Shit, fuck, right there.”

You purred at his words and concentrated harder on relaxing your jaw and swiping your tongue along his length in response. This was the only praise you ever received from Adam — this comparison to whomever he was dating.

Clutching at your head, he forced you down, down, down until your nose nudged his groin and your throat, abused and beaten into submission, accepted his barrage. He growled and thrust in, pushy and pleased with himself.  He interrupted each gag with a new spearing of his cock. Barking another curse, Adam lodged himself so far into your throat he blocked your air supply and spilled straight into your gullet, denying you even the taste.

He was demanding, depraved, delectable.

He held you there a long time, until your fingers eased and your shoulders slumped with imminent unconsciousness. When he finally vacated your mouth, he held you upright by the throat as your brain came back into itself. He waited until you blinked bleary eyes at him and licked your swollen, cracked lips.

Pulling away, you took a dizzy moment to adjust your clothes sluggishly. You wiped the sticky spit from your face and nodded once, the only sign he ever asked for that you weren’t going to die or press charges.

He jerked his head towards the back door and grabbed his script from the floor.

“Get the fuck outta here.”

***

AS: Carmine’s. 15. Y: N. Too far. 30. AS: Fine.

Twenty-five minutes later, you strolled through the Italian restaurant’s door and paused at the attendant’s booth.  You were here to meet someone, you said, breezing by her with a smile as you had a dozen times before. For all she knew, you were a regular paying customer, not a booty call who was about to corrupt some recently cleaned surface.

Pointing yourself toward the restrooms, you hummed and strolled through the bustling room. You caught sight of Adam seated at an over-crowded table, surrounded by half-drunk, too loud people he looked close to murdering.

The scowl on his face promised any number of sinful things.

As soon as he caught your eye, you ducked down the dim hallway and into the ladies’ room to wait. Carmine’s was one of his favorite spots because of this particular bathroom — single occupancy, thick door, sturdy lock.

Minutes later, tall, dark, and menacing stepped in, slammed the door, and threw the lock into place. Hands on his hips, he leveled that annoyed gaze at you. Your breath hitched; your mouth watered. Slowly, deliberately, his eyes roamed from your favorite pair of come-fuck-me boots, along shapely curves accentuated by black skinny jeans. He lingered at the low swoop of your blouse and the rich plum coloring your full lips.

Somehow, his gaze darkened even further.

“You on a fucking date?”

He closed the distance in two irritated strides, prompting you to stand up straighter. Adam’s left hand pulled you in by your ass, squeezing and lifting you against him. His right found your breast to graze and swipe his thumb back and forth over the straining nipple. The lace bralette you wore left nothing to chance. You felt every nudge of the stiff peak side to side, sending electric current straight to your clit.

“Are you?” You met his eyes, a dare and a plea all wrapped up in one look. “You don’t care.”

Honey-gold eyes narrowed at you. Lush, pink lips hard lined. The hand at your breast lifted to your face and smeared the pretty lipstick all across your cheek, lending an air of just-fucked to your as yet unfucked appearance. You were loose for him from the first text, before you even walked in the door, but the sound he made melted your insides.

“You’re right.” Adam spun you to face the mirror and tore at your pants, nearly ripping the button clean off. “Don’t give a damn.”

Shoving the fabric down your hips, he impatiently tore your panties, pushed you further up onto the little counter, and dipped his fingers into the well at your core.

“Always ready for me, huh bucket?”

Your head dropped on a hushed groan at the pet name. Bucket. Short for Cum Bucket — his own personal sperm bank.

You didn’t need to answer; the evidence was clear. And before you could even plan the words, the fat head of his cock pushed past your puffy labia and broke the jellied seal on your cunt. You bit your lip hard to keep the whining noise from turning loud as he stretched you. It burned so goddamn good, and you lifted onto your toes for even an inch more.

Warm-up over, Adam gripped both of your hips and slammed forward punishingly. The force of it was so great, your mouth popped open on a hiccup, something between a delighted cry and a punch to the chest. Stunned, you planted your clammy hand on the mirror for some support, but he held you in place. His wide, determined hands kept your body right where he wanted it.

His pace was brutal. Hips pistoning, fingers digging in, teeth bared. All take and no give, he leaned further into you, pressing your abdomen against the marble counter so hard you knew there would be bruises. Each pass was frenzied, and the only thing that muffled the slap of his body against yours was the fact that the bathroom was next door to the kitchen.

The smell of sex mingled with spice and bread, coaxing a gurgle from your stomach. Starved in more ways than one, you arched your back and tipped your ass up further, earning a pleasured grunt from behind.

You knew the drill, and you held your breath. He hardly wanted to hear your sounds, often because he was muttering angrily or cursing at whatever bullshit happened over the course of the day. Your wailing was distracting, annoying, he said. You screwed your eyes shut to keep from watching him fuck you in the mirror, certain that you wouldn’t be able to keep quiet if you did.

But a whimper escaped, and you clawed at the sink. It was too much, too fucking good to bear in silence no matter how hard you tried.

His panting and grunting was music, and you pictured every shiny, veiny inch disappearing into your sizzling cunt. He didn’t care if you came, but he could drive you there, drive you crazy, the way he bottomed out, the way his sheer size filled you into your guts, the way he pushed and pulled and moved you to his liking.

Fucking you like this, in the bathroom of such a fine family establishment, was vulgar, disrespectful. His girlfriend and her friends were right outside, drinking and carrying on, but he was in here with you, hollowing out your pussy for his freight train cock.

It was mean and rude and shameful.

Addicting.

Something changed this time, though. You hurtled fast towards the kind of blinding orgasm only Adam could deliver, struggling to keep your mouth shut as you did, when his firm hand wrapped around your neck and lifted your back into his chest. He tightened his grip and hissed in your ear.

“Open your eyes. You think some suit can fuck you like this?”

The sight that met your peeking was carnal candy. His face was flushed and right at your ear. Your mouth hung open, letting strangled sounds of pleasure squeak free. He buried his dick far, far, far into your cunt and gripped the soft swell of your stomach for leverage. His fingernails dug in, and you could do nothing but brace, hold on, quake.

“Some college frat asshole gonna make you cum like I do? You know you want to. Almost there aren’t you, bucket? You think I don’t know when you cum?”

That was it. That’s all it took to send you reeling. Your body lit up, constricting around the angry cock inside and pulling a volley of curses from its owner. A long, muted ‘ffffffuck’ dripped from your lips right before the rest of you followed, shaking through the orgasm and the hot flood of slick that accompanied it.

It was liquid fire leaking down your thighs for him, a delicious loosening of every muscle to draw him in even further, and he rewarded you with a loud groan and a vicious bite to the shoulder.

He fucked you through your high mercilessly, never stopping the rough, quick pace. Pushing your torso away, he wrapped his hands back around your hips and furiously crashed into you until he snarled and emptied his cock, painting your insides with a fresh coat of Adam.

He was right.  Nobody could fuck you like that.

Slumping against the mirror, you mewled at the cool press of the glass, grateful for the temperature change. You bit your lip as he pulled out, already feeling empty in the wake of his use. Managing to make your legs work, you pulled your clothes back into place and reached to turn on the faucet so you could wash away the mussed make-up, but he caught your hand and turned you to face him.

He tipped your face up by fingers at your chin.

“Fucking tramp is what you are.” His voice dropped, and it seemed like almost a muse to himself, something you weren’t supposed to hear. “Never prettier than when you’re crying and filled with cum.”

Your brow furrowed, lost in this moment because you didn’t know what to do if he was praising you without comparing you to Hannah or whoever it was today. You could count the times he looked you right in the face on one hand, and you looked away, not wanting to go down the rabbit hole of how beautiful he was.

“Wear it like this. Show everybody what kind of whore you are.”

He dipped his head, bit your cheek, and spun out of the room. You mashed your lips together and took another long moment to get all of your shit back together. Slipping out, you tucked your hands into your jacket pockets and slithered through the crowd towards the door.

“Miss?  Hey shit, are you ok?!?”

You knew what it looked like. He knew what it would look like, too; that was the point.  It looked like you’d been assaulted in the bathroom. And to explain the disheveled clothes, the messy hair and smeared make-up, you’d have to say no, I let this guy I know fuck me while you all ate ravioli. You’d have to say no, I wasn’t assaulted; I’m his tramp, his whore, his on-call cunt.

For a flash, you contemplated doing just that, mulling over how the words would sound, would taste on your tongue.

Deciding against it, you ignored the concern and tossed a brief look over your shoulder to your at-will tormentor before disappearing out into the street.

***

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

Rigid fingers encircled your upper arm, gouging at the tender flesh through your dress shirt as the body attached to those fingers yanked you backwards into the janitor’s closet. You shrieked, pushing at the human column who kept you pinned in the corner.

“You come when I ask you, that’s it. You don’t fucking follow me here with my girlfriend like some goddamn stalker.”

It took a full 30 seconds to register the person grousing at you.

“I know the rules, Adam.” You fished out your badge and held it up for him to see. “I work here.”

He seethed for another heartbeat, then another. It was almost as though he wanted to be angry at you, at something. He snatched the badge and looked from you to it and back again.

“Didn’t know dirty sluts could get regular jobs.”

“Pay me.” It was blunt, and it shot out of your mouth before you could think better of it. “Till then, a girl’s gotta eat.”

His hypnotic eyes flashed, and he licked his lips, taking a step closer to you. Swallowing to wet the wicked dryness of your throat, you scooted back until you hit the wall, clutching your bag between you and him. You weren’t sure you meant what you said, but it was too late to take it back.

He looked at you like he wanted to eat you, and your body rose to the very idea of his mouth between your thighs. And then you thought how much better your shift would be if he fucked you first. A sloppy, rough ride to get you through the day.

“Wha-” Clearing your throat, you forced yourself to look at his face and not lower to see if his dick was hard in those navy blue slacks. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

“Some bullshit writer thing.” He leaned into your personal space and licked up the salty bead of perspiration at your temple. “But now I’m thinking about stuffing your filthy cunt full of my dick.”

Your agreement with the notion must have played across your face because he shoved your badge in your mouth, turned you around, and pushed your cheek against the cold slab wall. His deft hands wasted no time in sending your black dress pants to pool around your ankles and tugging aside your panties.

No warning, no checking to see if you were ready. He did exactly as he said he would; he stuffed his hard length into you, stretching and tearing, making you bite down on the plastic card.

Your eyes stung, tears smudging mascara and eyeliner into a globby blur. You scratched at the wall and squirmed through the pain, but Adam didn’t miss the way your hips moved, the way your ass wiggled against his groin. It didn’t matter why or where; you would always be ready for him to fuck you. Even if it hurt.

“Nasty, eager, goddamn slut.”

It was fast, frenetic. He pounded you so hard your eyes crossed. The full scope of your relationship coalesced in this moment. He fucked you blazingly quick, only worried about himself, and you flailed like a rag doll, a whore toy for his amusement.

You whimpered, unable to stop the noise even though you knew it wasn’t welcome. You carved little white divots into your badge with the death grip you had on it. Adam growled behind his own gnashing teeth, pulled you down onto his dick good and deep, and spilled into your waiting cavern. In a matter of two minutes, he finished with you and left.

It had been some time since it was that fast. Your head swam, caught in the murky middle of euphoria that only you, only your body could get him to do that and the ache and pulse he always left you with, the edge you seldom got to drop over.

It was the worst, and best, sort of torment, a masochism that got you through day after day.

***

“What’s wrong?! Are you dead?!”

You shoved your earbuds in and answered the phone in a panic because nobody made phone calls these days, especially the person on the line.

“Not dead. Where are you?”

You sighed, relieved that Adam wasn’t injured but unsure if he had lost his mind. Phone calls were against the rules.

“Working. You still haven’t paid me.”

His laugh soothed your nerves a bit; and like always, you waited for him to tell you what he wanted.

“Are you fucking anybody else?”

The question surprised you. This entire conversation surprised you. None of this was normal behavior for Adam, who spent all this time telling you he only wanted your mouth, your pussy. You weren’t sure what this was, but you knew to your bones it had to be part of his game.

“Nope. Should I be?”

He released a heavy sigh, the sort where you’ve finally sat down after a long day. You pictured it; him stretched out and relaxed. You only ever saw him relax the brief bits of time it took him to put his clothes back on.

“Can’t say no, can I? Probably shouldn’t be fucking around with me, cheating all over the place.”

“I’m not the cheater.” You half hoped he could hear the sneer, his comment souring your gut. “You are. I’m just a single gal with terrible judgment who likes to get fucked.”

“Yeah, you do.” He chuckled again, abandoning the self-loathing for something else. “Do you touch yourself when you’re not with me, bucket?”

You chewed your lip until it hurt. Even the mention of that name, the dirty things he called you, set your insides to warming, skin to flushing.

“Ah... no.” You winced because this wasn’t the sort of conversation you imagined having with anybody. Your masturbatory habits weren’t exactly noteworthy. “No, I don’t.”

“Why?”

“It.. uh... it makes sex better.”

“You don’t always cum when I’m fucking you, though. What do you do then?”

You sighed in defeat because you would do whatever he wanted, tell him whatever he wanted.

“Wait. I just wait.”

“Why?”

“Fucking hell.” You rubbed at your flaming cheeks and forehead. “Because it hurts, alright? You happy? Why are we talking about this?”

“Don't pretend to be shy. I’ve fucked you all over the city. Tell me what hurts.”

You could hear it now, a quiet rustling, a shift of his body, the slight change of his breath. He was stroking himself; you were sure of it. The very idea emboldened you.

“Fine.” You huffed, exasperated, and tried to settle, pressing your back against the wall. “It's this ache that never gets better. Everything stays swollen, and there’s this throb that’s always there. Once I cum, that goes away, and I have to start all over.”

“So, you don’t like to cum?”

You pondered the question, tapping your fingers restlessly. The answer was simple, but you didn’t want to say it out loud.

“No, I do. If it's been weeks of that deprivation, the orgasms are pretty amazing, but the in between is sometimes better. It keeps the memories fresh when I’m alone.”

Which was always.

“Does it hurt right now? Are your tits sore? Pussy wet and aching from being empty?”

The stutter to his voice confirmed it; he definitely had his dick in his hand. You shifted on your stool, spreading your legs apart far enough to push your pussy down against it. If you arched your back a little, your shirt grazed your skin in such a teasing way.

“You’re thinking about my tits now?”

He grunted, cursed under his breath.

“Think about you all the time. Your mouth and how you drank my piss that night.” He groaned and shifted again. You could hear him fucking his fist now. “How you’ll fuck me anywhere I want. Your cunt and how tight it gets when you do cum. Feel like I could fuck you every day, and it wouldn’t be enough.”

Struck dumb, you blinked hard at your monitor, unable to tell if this was honesty or manipulation. Players always played the game.

“Adam...”

“Hnngfuck. You don’t say my name enough.”

“You don’t say my name at all!” The heavy moment lifted, and you laughed because there was a part of you that doubted he even knew your name. “You call me bucket.”

“Guh!” Short, choppy gasps wafted through the phone, conjuring all manner of salacious imagery and staining your panties. “Came in you three times that day. You were so fucking pretty on your knees for me.”

“You did.” You nodded at nothing, eyes not even focusing anymore. You didn’t think he remembered the times he spent with you, let alone the first time he called you by a pet name. “Twice in my mouth and once in my pussy.” 

You debated the next thing you wanted to say, not sure if it was even worth saying, but you jumped off the bridge. Terrible judgment. 

“I even bought a shirt that says bucket.”

This was bad. Catching feelings for Adam would be so easy and yet monumentally stupid. Luckily, reality stepped through the door and headed for your window.

“Customer. Gotta go, k Adam? Bye.”

Ripping out the ear buds, you shoved them, your phone, and everything that just happened away.

***

AS: Remember where I live? Y: Y AS: Stop ducking me AS: 6pm AS: Wear the shirt

You stalled at the door, unable to bring yourself to knock. This was risky, dangerous, and you knew you should turn right around and go home. Bringing your side piece into the home you shared with your partner was an all-around asshole move.

Yet, here you were.

He wasn’t wrong; you had been ducking him. That call was too close, filled with too much potential. So, you let it sit, went on dates and outings with your friends, spent a lot of time purposefully misplacing your phone. None of it was enough, not nearly enough to make you stop thinking about Adam. Or the way he fucked you.

But if you did this, you weren’t sure you’d recover.

Decision made, you spun on your heel, shaking your head no. Can’t do it. Won’t. He must have opened the door right at that moment because his big hand caught you around the wrist and tugged you to a stop.

“Hey, where the fuck are you going?”

You dared a look over your shoulder and found him standing in the doorway in a dark button up with the sleeves cuffed at his elbows, tattered blue jeans, and bare feet. Looking like the damn devil himself.

He didn’t see it the first time; so, you shook your head for his benefit, but you couldn’t say out loud that you were leaving.

He took that silence as invitation and pulled you towards the door, as though he didn’t have the magnetic pull of the sun himself. Back at the threshold, he hooked a finger under your chin, tipped your head back, and swept a feather-soft kiss across your mouth.

“Miss me?”

Your brain short-circuited, and you stared at him, unable to formulate any kind of response.

He’d never kissed you before.

One taste wasn’t enough for him, though, because he snatched up your face into both hands and laid a kiss on you that singed you to the very tips of your eyelashes. Those pillowy lips you’d only ever seen in a hard line moved against yours in the best way, and the satisfied sound he made blew through your resolve to leave.

He seemed to know the very second your tension somewhat eased. He hunched down, slid your arms around his neck, and lifted you onto your toes so he could walk you into the apartment. Slamming the door behind you, Adam leaned you into it for support and slid his knee between yours, pinning you right there.

You still weren’t certain what to do, and it kept your face tight, anxious. Something rumbled against your chest, tickling your nipples as he broke the kiss. Your brow knit, and you tried to focus on his face. Long fingers slid around your throat loosely, the thumb at your chin keeping your head tilted.

“Relax. Let me taste.”

He nipped at your jaw, tripping a shudder that rushed down your spine. The next pass he made at your mouth came with the tease of his tongue along the seam of your lips. Your chest seized; you clutched at his shirt and squirmed in his hold. And then, his tongue curled along yours, cinnamon sugar and Sriracha spice. You thought you might die; you certainly didn’t mean to whine the way you did, but it escaped before you could catch it.

“You’ve swallowed so much of my cum, I expected you to taste like me.” His raspy words smeared a trail down your throat as his hands slid up to find skin under the hem of your shirt. “The rest of you taste this good?”

Your instincts screamed that this all was taking too long. You never had this much time, and he was wasting it with kisses and pretty words he didn’t mean.

“You.. ah..” You pushed at his shoulders to get him to look at you. “You don’t have to say those things. We both know I’m a sure thing. So, maybe let’s skip that part, yeah?”

“You got somewhere to be?”

“No, but Ha--”

“Good.” He licked at the shell of your ear and curled his fingers into your ribs. “Cause I’m in the mood to wreck you.”

Adam slanted his mouth over yours once more, stealing any further objection. His kisses were hungry but unhurried, and he explored your mouth as though he had all the time in the world. He unbuttoned your jeans and slid his hands down beneath the waistband, cupping and kneading your ass, teasing at the edges of your panties.

Those fingers that mainly dug bruises into your hips dipped between your legs, sliding along the sticky fabric. He pressed open-mouthed kisses all along your jawline and neck, biting sexily beneath your earlobe. Your hips rocked against his caress of their own accord, your body starving for this kind of touch from this particular man. Dubious, you chewed the inside of your cheek to keep your erratic tongue in check. It was likely that if you got too loud, all of this would end.

“Stop doing that.” He tugged at your lower lip, watching the corner of your mouth quiver. “Wanna hear you.”

Caught in his confusing web, you glued your eyes to the ceiling. If you looked at him, those feelings you tried so hard to skirt would come barreling back.

“Adam... what is this?”

Finding his way into your panties, he slid his long fingers between your slippery labia and against your oft-neglected clit on a pleased purr. You choked on your own spit, fisted your hands into his shirt, and pushed at his shoulders on reflex.

“Something new.”

It was subtle, intimate, the way he stroked your pussy, and it pushed you right up to that cliff in no time flat. Shaking inside your skin, you dropped your head against his shoulder. For weeks now, you rode that line, the sharp edge of denial; and in only a few passes of Adam’s thick fingers, your body was ready to jump off.

“M’gonna.. shit.. Ad-am!”

A loud, pained groan ripped from your throat when he pulled his fingers away, dangling you right there on the verge of bliss. This was more in line with the man you knew. This cocky asshole who could play you like a violin.

“Noooo, not yet.” Hasty now, he pulled off your clothes, tossing hoodie, shoes, and jeans over his shoulder. Catching sight of your white tank with ‘bucket’ painted over your breasts in script, he paused, gaping. “That’s the best fucking thing ever.”

His hands were suddenly everywhere. Shoving your arms away, turning your face to his for voracious kisses, groping at your aching breasts underneath the shirt. He palmed and rubbed and tugged at your flushing tits, all while whispering in your ear how he wanted you to wear that shirt all the time, wanted to paint it with his cum.

When he pinched and rolled your nipples, a low tide of pleasure wracked your body, pitching you into a tremor. Your cunt contracted and twinged, bending you towards its tormentor on a strangled moan. You couldn’t help it; your body could only handle so much. Adam’s eyes flashed, dark and glittery. He said he always knew when you came, and it seemed he was right.

“Think we can do better than that, bucket.”

And then he was on his knees, pressing you into the wall by one hand at your stomach and tearing your panties out of the way with the other. His lips connected with your cunt on a loud moan, and your brain stopped working. Your knees buckled, unable to keep you steady as he lathed your sex and thighs with messy, slurping kisses.

“Adam,” the desperation in your voice was terrible. “Jesusfuckinghell.”

Your pitiful, pleading noises only made him double down. His kisses came rougher, harder, and he sucked your clit until you shouted. Tears pricked at your eyes, but all you could do was beg. Please don’t stop. Please don’t stop. Please don’t stop.

But of course, he stopped.

Flush against you, he trapped your trembling mouth to share your taste, grunting as you tangled tingling fingers into his hair to keep from buzzing right out of your body.

“Want you to crawl to my bed, bucket. Put that pretty cunt up so I can see.”

The world stopped. You blinked rapidly, feeling like someone had doused you with ice cold water. Pushing him away, you shook your head and tried to disentangle your limbs from his.

“Y-you want me to crawl,” your face dropped into a scowl, anger diffusing through your already heated chest and neck, “To Hannah’s bed?! Fuck you, Adam. No. That’s too much.”

He didn’t argue. Instead, he tugged you back into place beneath him and nudged your nose with his. He rubbed his thumb back and forth over your mouth until your gaze softened from fury to confusion.

“My bed.” His voice was soft, his eyes searching. “No more Hannah. Or Jessa. Or anybody.”

You blew out a long, uncertain breath, letting it lead right into the question. “... when?”

“The night you hung up on me. Couple hours after that.” He drew lazy circles on your hip with his fingertips. “Found out I got a part I really wanted after I talked to you, and you were the only person I wanted to celebrate with. Been trying to pin you down for weeks so I could tell you.”

Something new, he said. You looked up at him with wide, shining eyes, trying to decide if he was telling the truth.

“I want you around. When I wake up at three a.m. because I want to fuck you so bad. I wanna take you to new restaurants so we can cheapen up their bathrooms. Wanna call you bucket in public so people think I’m crazy. Think I owe you about a thousand orgasms, and I wanna give them to you.”

Twisting out of his hold, you shook your head. Unstable, fuzzy on your intention, you leaned against the couch while you slid your jeans and shoes back on. You looked everywhere but directly at Adam and dodged his hand when he reached for you.

“Can’t do this right now.”

With a crash of the door behind you, you ran out of the building with no particular direction other than away from him.

***

“Fuck, that’s it.”

You tangled your fingers in soft, raven locks and scratched at Adam’s scalp. That was your handle to guide him up and down, side to side. He hummed into your slick pussy, lapping and sucking so loud someone had to have heard.

On his knees at the little sink, he buried his face far between your thighs, nudging your clit with his nose and jostling it ever so slightly with each vulgar kiss, each smacking pop against your labia. Brushing his mouth and cheeks through the syrup shining on your skin, he murmured praises about how amazing you were, how good you tasted, what a filthy thing you were to spread your legs for him in this grimy bathroom. His words tumbled away with the spear of his tongue, replaced by your wanton whimpers. Gripping your legs to keep them apart, he tongue fucked you until the things coming out of your mouth made little sense.

Smacking his hands away, you tugged on his hair to draw Adam up to stand. He cupped your face and smothered you with a tart kiss. It was his turn to whimper as your fingers worked the belt and buttons of his pants, wiggling them open and down his hips.

“You’re sure?”

"Mhm. Debt paid." 

You bit at his swollen lips and nodded, untucking his heavy, hard dick and scooting to the edge of the sink. For weeks now, you treated Adam the way he had treated you for so long. You called him when you wanted to cum, and you put him on his knees wherever you were.

His lips, his tongue, his fingers — all worked every time you called, but you didn’t let him fuck you. And you didn’t return the favor.

All you could think about right this moment was getting his dick inside of you. You pinched a hot drop of want from his inflamed cock head and relished the needy groan that accompanied it. He hesitated, as though he didn’t want to ruin it; but finally, he lined himself up and struck, rocking his hips and shoving, shoving, shoving until he bottomed out.

He whined into your neck, gripping your hips in that possessive way you didn’t realize you wanted so badly. You clung to his shoulders, thighs cinched around his wide body. He filled and stretched you so goddamn good, but it was the things coming out of his mouth that sent you careening.

“Shit, that’s good. Missed you so fucking much. Can’t believe it's been this long since I’ve been in your cunt.”

Like so many times before, Adam held you in place, his broad hands anchoring you to the sink ledge so he could pound into you with abandon. The slide of his dick was mind-numbing, and you bit into his shirt to keep from shouting.

The tingle first started in your toes. It slithered up your calves and jerked your knees together at Adam’s sides. It had been such a long time since you’d had him inside you that your pussy squeezed tight, earning a growled string of curses at your ear. Your clit was so engorged and aching that his light touch sent your yelp echoing in the little room. Redirecting his hand, you bit down on his thumb and watched his gaze change.

In a second, he was old Adam, punishing and wickedly wild. He forced his thumb further into your mouth and pressed down on your tongue, making the saliva pool around it. Your eager moan was louder than you intended, but it only made him fuck you harder, faster.

He liked it when you were quiet, but he liked it more when you were loud. Liked it even better when you were loud in public.

“Greedy girl, aren’t you? Always ready for me to fuck you stupid.”

You tipped your pelvis into that perfectly tantalizing angle, where the drag of his cock head rubbed against those spots that made you see stars again and again, and you ignited. Everything tensed, toes curling, fingers quivering. Your cunt clenched around him so hard, his thrusts turned violent, forcing you to accept him deeper and deeper.

You wailed his name into his shoulder, unraveling completely from your white hot center outwards.

With his cock seated far inside your ravaged pussy, Adam latched back onto your clit, rubbing the hard nub in quick circles to draw out your orgasm. You shrieked and batted at his hand again, but he caught your arm, drew it behind your back painfully, and bit into your neck.

“If you want my cum, bucket, you’re gonna have to milk me for it.”

His hips kept moving against yours, the slightest of thrusts, but it was his fingers, his evil fingers that ruined you. They never stopped moving at your clit, even when you begged him for a breath. They slid down around your weeping entrance, where his cock stretched you, and back up, bringing a fresh coat of slip to help his fingers fly.

Your eyes slammed shut; your face scrunched up tight and mute. He dropped his mouth to the crook of your neck, cinched your arm more firmly behind your back, and growled as your cunt convulsed for him a second time. You couldn’t even shout; all you could do was keen and quake.

It was enough to push Adam over. He jerked against you, grinding and losing himself to the obscene pull of your spasming pussy. He moaned your name into your pulse and clung to you frantically.  His voice hitched, and he poured into you so hard you heard him sniffle, overcome with the blinding pleasure of it.

When your breathing returned to normal, and the aftershocks subsided, he helped you back into your clothes since your legs were still wobbly. He even tied your shoes.

“Don’t worry.” He bit your cheek the way he used to, the way that was unique to the two of you. “We’ll tell the manager you had a seizure or something.”

Chuckling, you snuck your hand into his; and this time, you left the bathroom together.

[otonymous]

One Stormy Night (MLQC Gavin x Shaw drabble - NSFW)

This is for all the folks that requested a Shaw/Ling Xiao x Gavin drabble.  Here it is.  PWP.  Way longer than I intended and possibly the dirtiest thing I’ve ever written.  And I am going straight to Hell for it. 🔥🔥🔥

Character(s): Gavin x Shaw (Ling Xiao) x Female MC Rating: Explicit WARNINGS: threesome, anal play & intercourse, sex toys, double penetration, oral sex, face sitting, first times (anal, double penetration), profanity, slight competition & possessiveness, spoilers (for Shaw’s identity)

“God, you’re good at this,” his head falls back, lavender strands fanning out over handsome features that bore a striking resemblance to the face you were sitting on, each hum of Gavin’s mouth between your thighs making your lips tighten around Shaw’s cock even as your hips dipped to fuck yourself deeper on that talented tongue.

“Wish I met you first; you could’ve practiced on me.” Electricity sparks in amber eyes as mischievous laughter erupts from deep within that broad chest, and the muscles tensing beneath you signals you to shift — fast — in a desperate attempt to prevent yet another brawl from breaking out in your bedroom.

The curtains by your window were already billowing, stirred by a sudden wind.

Gavin surfaces, cheeks and chin shiny with spit and arousal, eyes shooting daggers at the younger man who continued to lounge on your bed like he hadn’t a care in the world, lips pulled up in an easy smirk that challenged as much as it disarmed.

“He’s just kidding, Gavin.  Doesn’t mean anything by it.”  You run your hands over the officer’s firm pecs, caress placating as it hardens the nipples beneath your touch, goosebumps blooming over scarred skin in swathes.

“Relax, man.  You’re putting her on edge.”  

Muscular arms wrap around you from behind, the heat emanating from Shaw’s palms soothing as they mould to the swell of your breasts.  And at the sound of your moan — drawn out by the dexterous fingers teasing at your nipples — his pink tongue sweeps over upturned lips, goading on the man who watched with fire in narrowed eyes.

It spurs Gavin on, this competition — the burning insistence that he not be outdone in the arena he knew best: the dips and curves of your body and every little response that could be teased out of it.  So Gavin approaches with confidence, rough hands gentle as they frame your face to take what is rightfully his: you, your lips…blooming as his tongue teased at their corners just so it could slip past teeth and slide slow against your tongue, tasting every inch of your mouth.

And in doing so, irritating the younger man as only he could; by ignoring him completely.

“Hmph.”  Shaw’s snort of derision is hot on the back of your neck before he plants a kiss at the nape, soft lips pulling to the side to whisper in your ear, “You should be ready for me by now, right, baby?”

Index tracing down the line of your back to send shivers up your spine, Shaw drops to his knees, smiling to see your bottom jut out in an exaggerated curve that showed you were just as eager as he was to explore new territory.  

“Cheeky,” he laughs, biting down onto the smooth mound of your ass — the light sting of his teeth making you gasp into Gavin’s mouth.  The officer settles firm hands onto your hips in response, pulling you closer against his body in a soothing embrace.

You feel Shaw spreading your cheeks and unconsciously widen your stance, blushing at the thought of him staring so intently at such a private place, never before explored.

Virgin.  Until now.  

And when you involuntarily clench around the silicone plug held snug in your ass - preparing you for something much larger — you wonder if Shaw caught the twitch.

“Well, what do you know.  Purple is your colour after all.  As is mine.”

Shaw’s chuckle is dark, husky with lust as his thumb circles the amethyst-hued gem adorning the base of the plug, admiring the light reflecting off it in lavender beams.  The movement sends another flood of moisture to your aching pussy, throbbing as it tightens around empty space, futile in its search for satisfaction.  Knees starting to shake, you grip onto Gavin’s broad shoulders for support.

“Do you always give a running commentary during sex?  It’s annoying,” Gavin spits, brows furrowed as he breaks the kiss to glare at his brother.

“If you’re getting impatient to fuck, just say so, man.  Maybe you’ve got something up your ass as well.  From what I hear though, it’s supposed to be an enjoyable experience, so I really don’t know what your problem is—”

“Boys!  Please!  Could we maybe stop fighting and focus on the task at hand?!” 

So turned on you couldn’t even think straight, your patience was at an all-time low for anything that didn’t involve these two men sandwiching you between their genetically blessed bodies.

“Whatever you say, baby.  You call the shots here,” Shaw rises to his feet, giving you a quick peck on the cheek as he flashes you the smile that makes your stomach flutter and flip.

“I’m sorry,” Gavin ducks his head, swallows hard.  “You’re sure about this?”  His voice is low, full of concern, and it fills you with warmth as you reach up to cup his cheek in the palm of your hand.

Your nod is resolute, free of hesitation.  “I’ve never wanted anything more in my life.  I know this is new, for all of us…but I can’t imagine doing it with anyone else.”

“We’ll be gentle, go as slow as you want.  Won’t we, bro?”  Shaw peppers your shoulders with kisses, erection pressing hot and hard against your backside until your head falls back against his chest, breasts heaving with desire that could no longer be contained.

Two sets of amber eyes meet, twin expressions mirroring each other as the brothers nod almost imperceptibly at one another; an unspoken agreement to put aside their differences for one night, solely for the sake of pleasuring the woman they were both madly in love with.

The initial slide onto Gavin’s hard cock has you gasping in shock from the sensation of fullness alone, and it takes an entire minute of focused breathing for the spasms between your legs to subside, even with the officer stroking your thighs in an attempt to soothe.

But it isn’t until Shaw’s hands are running through your hair that you realize the toy was still buried in you; that something much bigger, much longer, had yet to be introduced.  The thought has you wide-eyed — exhilarated and aroused to the point where Gavin has difficulty keeping his hips still with the way you clenched around him, arousal dripping slow onto his groin even before he had begun to thrust.

“You alright, baby?  Ready to let me in?”  Shaw’s voice is soft in your ear, and you respond by pressing a kiss to his lips before folding forward into Gavin’s open arms, lifting your bottom higher into the air.

There is a sudden flurry of activity behind you; bed dipping as Shaw reaches for the lube on your bedside table, careful to liberally coat the length of his cock to ease his entry.  And when you feel the rhythm of his breath on your ass accompanying the gradual pull of the plug from your backside, you remind yourself to relax, allowing your body to adjust to the curvature of the toy as it finally slides out to leave you feeling somewhat empty.

The sensation doesn’t last long however, not with Shaw quickly aligning himself at the entrance — “You’re so beautiful” leaving his lips as he pushes slowly, carefully, against the resistance.

“Kiss me,” Gavin commands from beneath you, lips sucking your tongue into his mouth in a desperate bid to contain the groans that mixed with your moans to feel Shaw finally sheath himself in you.  The younger man mutters a string of expletives under his breath, gripping onto the flesh of your hips and breathing deep as he tried to focus on something other than how good this felt, for fear that it would all end too soon.

Because it was good, the best thing anyone in this licentious collective had ever experienced.  And as the men began to move according to the dictates of desire — reading every movement of your body as it writhed between theirs to drive you further up the precipice of pleasure — you realized just how greedy you had become.  It didn’t matter that their lips painted the canvas of your skin with innumerable kisses, or that hands, fingers, teeth and tongue left no stone unturned in their delivery of ecstasy, you wanted more and more.  

Enough to fill you even more to bursting than you already were, with a cock buried in your pussy and another deep in your ass.

Body arching and hands indiscriminately grabbing at fistfuls of hair in a futile attempt to anchor yourself, you were nonetheless swept away — senses lost in the intensity of the stimulation between your legs.  So much so that the blinding flash of lightning just outside your window barely registered in your brain, hazy with lust.  Nor did you notice the gale force wind that suddenly appeared to sweep all your potted plants to the balcony floor, shattering loud in a messy pile of soil and terracotta shards.

No, all you noticed was the way Gavin tensed beneath you and Shaw above, practically simultaneous when they climaxed in you just as your body convulsed helplessly between the hard vice of theirs, riding out the waves of your own delirious release as if you had just survived the roughest storm of your life.

[lu-undy]

Chapter 49 - SBT

Here it is!

"Docteur? Docteur, please!" 

[Doctor? Doctor, please!]

It was past midnight and it took the medical expert about a minute to wake up from his slumber and realise that someone was shouting his name in the street. He slipped a gown on and thurtled down his stairs to the door. Of course, he had recognised the French accent. 

"L? Oh! That stench!" The Doctor fanned the air in front of his nose with his hand.

"It's M, he has been drugged and beaten up." 

"Is he breathing?"

"Oui, he is just unconscious."

"Come in, go straight to the bathroom, we'll make him take a bath first then." 

Lucien was carrying his unconscious friend and followed the doctor until he put Mundy's body in the bathtub. 

"Start undressing him and throw his clothes in this bin bag here... I need to get a change." The Doctor said and left Lucien alone.

The Frenchman sighed and threw his black jacket away before getting to work. He undid his cuffs and rolled up the sleeves of his black shirt after he threw his gloves away. Then, he started with Mundy's brown sleeveless jacket. 

"Mundy… Pourquoi tu as fait ça? Ils allaient te tuer, imbécile! Et puis on avait promis de le faire ensemble… Arh, j'imagine que j'ai brisé ma promesse en te disant que j'allais tuer Duchemin seul, donc tu ne fais que me rendre la pareille… Hm." 

[Mundy… Why did you do all that? They were going to kill you, imbecile! And we had both promised to do it together… Ugh, I guess I broke my promise when I told you that I would kill Duchemin alone, so you were only doing the same to me… Hm.]

Lucien removed the red, washed out polo shirt off of Mundy and looked down at his shoes. He removed the old, worn out boots and mismatched socks. His eyes then moved to the brown trousers. He gulped down hard and opened the zipper before pulling each leg swiftly. Now Mundy was laying in the bathtub with nothing on but his underwear. 

Lucien wouldn't remove them. Instead, he took the shower head and started the water. It took a few seconds before getting it warm. He rinsed Mundy's body quickly to get rid of any stains of mud or dirt. 

He then took one of the washcloths hung on the wall and started scrubbing the Aussie's skin with some shower gel. 

"Je ne sais pas à quoi tu pensais… Est-ce que seulement tu te rends compte de ce que tu as fait…?"

[What even were you thinking…? Do you even realise what you have done…?]

Lucien rinsed the first round of shower gel off and went for round two. The Doctor was behind the door and hearing Lucien talk to Mundy, he preferred giving them a moment alone. Lucien's eyes and hands went everywhere on Mundy's skin. He felt the tense muscles in his arms, the soft layer of fat on his stomach. But on the skin everywhere, Lucien could see the bruises, patches of red and even bluish, here and there. Mundy had got a pretty good beating and the Frenchman knew that he could defend himself. 

Ah. 

That surely must have happened as Mundy was chained or at least restrained. Lucien looked at his wrists, he could see the red marks that rope binding would leave. He raised his eyes to the unconscious man.

"Ils t'auraient tué, Mundy. Si je ne t'avais pas suivi, ils t'auraient tué…! Pourquoi tu as fait ça? Pourquoi? Est-ce que c'est de ma faute? Est-ce que j'ai dit ou fait quelque chose que je n'aurai pas du?"

[They would have killed you, Mundy. If I hadn't come to your rescue, they would have killed you…! Why did you do that? Why? Is it my fault? Did I say or do something that I shouldn't have?]

And of course Lucien knew that it was his fault. He imagined so. Mundy must have felt that nothing and no one held him back to this rock of a planet, and so he decided to take his leave, taking Duchemin with him… 

Lucien bit his lip. He felt atrociously guilty. The unconscious man he was washing the face of now had gone to his death all that for what…? God only knew, but Lucien was convinced he had something to do with it all. 

He rinsed off the second round of shower gel and took the shampoo. He spread some in his palms and applied it on Mundy's long hair. He didn't realise it as he was deep in thought, but Lucien was kneading the Aussie's scalp slowly, his fingers sliding between the long locks of dark brown. He took his time as if he was in slow motion, but that was only because his brain was thinking fast. 

If Lucien hadn't found Mundy early enough, he would have been washing a corpse's head. 

The realisation hit him like a punch in the throat and Lucien screwed his eyes shut. 

"Merde… Merde…" 

[Shit… Shit…]

He was breathing fast in shock. Of what? Of the thought that he indirectly had sent Mundy to die and that if Maurice hadn't told him anything, the Aussie wouldn't just be unconscious…

"Je te demande pardon… Je ne suis qu'un vieux con qui ne pense qu'à sa gueule… Pardon…" 

[I beg you to forgive me… I am nothing but an old idiot who only thinks about his own fucking self… I am so sorry…]

Lucien, who was kneeling next to the bathtub, pulled Mundy's head and hugged him. 

"Pardon… Pardon, j'ai failli te tuer avec mes conneries… J'ai failli te perdre avec mes mensonges…"

[Sorry… Sorry, I nearly had you killed with my nonsense… I nearly lost you with my lies…]

He clawed in his wet hair and his head strongly as he was whispering in his ear. 

"Je te promets que je ne voulais rien de tout ça. Je voulais t'épargner, je voulais te sauver. Je voulais y aller à ta place. Je sais que tu veux tuer Duchemin toi-même, mais tu n'y arriveras pas sans te faire tuer."

[I swear that I didn't want for any of this to happen. I wanted to spare you, I wanted to save you. I wanted to go in your stead. I know that you want to kill Duchemin yourself, but you won't manage it without getting killed.]

Lucien's lips were right next to Mundy's ear. They were so close to him that he could feel the warmth softly radiating from his body.

"S'il te plaît… S'il te plaît, quand tu te réveilleras, pardonne-moi, je t'en supplie…"

[Please… Please, when you wake up, forgive me, I beg you…]

Lucien squeezed the Aussie tighter before looking at his face, resting against his shoulder. He was still unconscious and a bit pale. Lucien rinsed his hair off, paying attention that no shampoo would drip to his eyes. 

He sighed, thinking again about Mundy's willingness to go and get killed instead of him.

"Je suis désolé…"

[I am sorry…]

Lucien stopped the water from running. The smell in the bathroom had turned from an abominable stench to vanilla, the shower gel's scent. The Frenchman put his wet hand on the Aussie's cheek and let his thumb brush it slowly. 

"Je ne mérite pas un homme comme toi." 

[I don't deserve a man like you.]

He rested his head on his arm, on the edge of the bathtub, and stared at Mundy, covered in bruises and sleeping. He pushed his long hair behind his ears and continued stroking his face slowly, while cupping his cheek in one hand. 

"Let me see what we have here…" The Doctor entered the bathroom and had to pause for a moment. Lucien's posture did surprise him, but the Frenchman didn't move. "Well the smell is much better for starters. You can leave him with me and take a break if you want."

Lucien turned his head and looked up. 

"Are you sure? You don't need any help to carry him?" He asked.

"Nah, don't worry." The Doctor picked up Lucien's black jacket and matching gloves and put them on a table in the entrance hall of the house. Lucien had followed him. "I'll deal with him now, I'm used to it. Go and get some fresh air, you look like you need it."

Lucien nodded and the Doctor headed back to the bathroom. 

"Docteur?"

[Doctor?]

The beggar stopped and turned to Lucien. 

"Yes?" 

"May I stay with him for the night?" 

The Doctor smiled. 

"Sure. Just let me deal with him."

"But of course, many thanks."

Lucien took his cigarette case and lighter in his jacket pocket and went outside. He sat right behind the front door, on the few steps there and lit a cigarette. 

The night was deadly dark and equally quiet. 

Lucien yanked off his balaclava, his hair following in a mess, and rubbed his eyes. 

"Huh?" 

Only now did he realise that his vest and shirt were wet and some foam from the shampoo had stuck to him when he had hugged Mundy.

He didn't mind the cool sensation of the night breeze on his wet clothes. Nothing compared to the guilt that weighed on him now and his only response to that crushing pressure was to suck harder on his cigarette… 

Lucien carded his hair back and stared at the buildings of the poor neighbourhood. Old houses in decay, eaten by wild vines and other climbing plants. The wind rustled between their leaves like the whispers of ghosts. 

Only the cigarette end lit up a spot of orange in the deep and dark blue night. 

The door opened and Lucien turned to look up. 

"You may come back in." The Doctor said and the Frenchman crushed his cigarette before obliging. 

He followed the old man to the room him and Mundy had been in the first time they had quarrelled.

"I take it that you weren't the one responsible for his bruises this time?" The Doctor asked. 

"Non… I found him chained like a prisoner to a wall. He was conscious although slightly delirious, as if he was drunk, and then he passed out as we tried to flee the scene." 

"Hm, I see." 

"Will he wake up fine?" Lucien asked. 

"Yes, he will. He should wake up tomorrow with a headache on top of the pain caused by his bruises, but not much more. I gave him something that will help his body eliminate the drug."

"Merci Dieu…" Lucien whispered and sighed in relief.

[Thank God…]

"You may stay here as long as you don't bother the patient…"

Lucien looked at the Doctor with intense eyes. 

"... But I know you won't. Good night." 

"Many thanks. Good night to you too." 

The Doctor shut the door after him and Lucien looked down at Mundy's body lying down on the bed, under the duvet and wearing a white medical robe. He sat on the edge of the bed, at Mundy's side and put his hand on his forehead.

"Hm." He couldn't really see anything, the room was so dark. Lucien remembered that there was a night lamp. He groped for the switch that he soon found and flipped it. 

Lucien then devoted all his time and his attention to the Aussie. He pushed the locks of hair that were a bit too close to Mundy's face and let his fingers cup his cheek, his thumb brushing it slowly. 

"Mon Dieu… Je n'ai jamais voulu que te protéger. Ça me paraît tellement fou qu'un homme comme toi puisse être mêlé à autant de bêtise. Tu es doux, inoffensif et attentionné. Tu n'as rien à faire avec les gens comme Duchemin et moi. Nous, on est des vauriens. On force le respect à travers les vies qu'on vole. En fin de compte, Duchemin n'est pas si différent de moi."

[My God… I never wanted anything but to protect you. It seems so strange that a man like you ends up involved in all this nonsense. You are soft, inoffensive and caring. You have nothing to do with people like Duchemin and me. Him and I, we are good-for-nothings, rascals. We force people to respect us through the lives that we steal. In the end, Duchemin and I aren't so different.]

Lucien slid his fingers through Mundy's hair and brushed it lazily, feeling his silky locks flow in between his fingers. Gosh, it was so soft… 

"Demain, quand tu te réveilleras, tu m'en voudras. Tu me haïras, te me détesteras non seulement parce que tu m'aimes, mais parce que je t'ai empêché de faire ce que tu voulais."

[Tomorrow when you wake up, you will be cross with me. You will hate me and detest me not only because you love me, but because I was the one to prevent you from doing what you wanted.]

Lucien sighed. He looked around him and saw the clock striking three in the morning. He hopped off of Mundy's bed and opened the curtain that stood between his bed and the Aussie's. The Frenchman removed his vest and his shoes. He took off his socks and garters, his utility belt and he opened his shirt completely before removing it, staying only in a white tanktop. The watch was the last one to go to the table and after all that, Lucien pushed his bed next to Mundy's. When they were flush next to each other, the Frenchman lied in his bed, bringing his pillow as close as he could to Mundy's without encroaching on his personal space. 

Lucien lied on his side, staring at Mundy sleeping. 

"Si seulement j'étais quelqu'un de brave. Si j'étais quelqu'un de courageux, je te dirais que l'homme qui habite mon cœur c'est toi. Si j'avais l'espoir de vivre encore quelques années, je passerais mon temps à tes côtés sans compter les jours qui fuient. S'il y a quelqu'un à qui je pardonnerais de détruire mon coeur, c'est toi."

[If only I was brave. If I was courageous, I would tell you that the man who lives rent free in my heart is you. If I had any hope to live another few years, I would spend my time at your side, without counting the fleeting days. If there was someone whom I would forgive if they destroyed my heart, it would be you.]

Lucien's hand slid on the bed and found Mundy's. He slid his fingers through the Aussie's and brushed it slowly. 

"Mais je n'ai plus de temps à vivre, ni à aimer. Je n'ai plus rien et je ne suis plus rien, ni un espion, ni un père, ni un époux, et encore moins un homme."

[But I don't have any more time to live, or to love. I don't have anything anymore and I am nothing at all: neither a spy, nor a father, or a husband, and not even a man.]

Lucien looked up, trying to hold back the waters of his shame that he felt were burning his eyes. 

"Je ne suis rien qu'un costume sur mesure, un masque et une pile de mensonges."

[I am nothing but a tailor-made suit, a mask and a pile of lies.]

He sniffed. His nose burnt and his throat felt like it had just been punched. 

"Je ne suis pas l'homme beau que tes yeux croient voir. Je ne suis pas le chanteur sensible que tes oreilles croient entendre. Ce ne sont que des masques et des costumes. Je ne sais pas qui je suis, ni ce que je suis."

[I am not the handsome man that your eyes believe they see. I am not the sensitive singer that your ears believe they hear. They are but disguises and masks. I don't know who I am, or what I am.]

That sentence made the first tear brave enough to roll down the Frenchman's cheek. 

"Je suis une erreur, un monstre, un pantin que l'on déguise à sa guise pour aller faire le travail que personne d'autre ne peut faire, parce que personne d'autre n'est aussi inhumain… que moi."

[I am a mistake, a monster, a puppet that they disguise at their will to go and do the job that no one else can, because no one else is as inhumane… as me.]

His breath broke out of sync. That was it. He took a moment to let the waters flow and the hot sensation fill his entire face, his red eyes, his running nose, and the shame everywhere. He squeezed Mundy's hand as he cried. 

"Je suis désolé… Je ne peux pas t'aimer en retour, je ne peux t'offrir aucun bonheur et surtout pas celui que tu mérites, parce que même si je me laissais t'aimer, alors quand je mourrai, je te laisserai seul et le cœur brisé. Je sais ce que ça fait de rester vivant quand sa chère et tendre est partie pour toujours. Je sais l'enfer que c'est et je ne veux surtout pas te faire vivre ça."

[I am sorry… I cannot love you in return, I can offer you no happiness and not the one that you deserve, because even if I let myself love you, then when I die, I will leave you alone and heartbroken. I know what it feels like to stay alive when the person you love with every fibre of your body is gone. I know that it is hell to live through and I absolutely do not want to put you through any of this.]

Lucien pulled Mundy's hand and his entire forearm. He held it under his chin, like a child would their teddy bear. 

"Je t'aime trop pour te faire ça."

[I love you too much to do that to you.]

He lowered his head, stuck Mundy's hand to his chest and let himself sob while no one was there to see. In a flash, he wished Perle was there and hoped she was alright. But his mind was overwhelmed right now and as much as his vision was blurred by the tears, his mind was blurred by the guilt, the remorse, and his heart was torn apart in his ribcage as if Mundy had decided to leave him; because in essence that's what Lucien was saying. He loved the Aussie like he never loved any man before, that wasn't the issue, non. The problem was that all would soon end, somehow, and so he didn't have the time to offer Mundy what his heart burnt for. 

-- Next morning --

When Lucien opened his eyes, it took him a few seconds to remember where he was and why he was there. But seeing Mundy sleeping next to him was both the best sight in the world, and one he wished he never saw. 

While of course he loved the feeling of waking up next to the person he loved, Lucien anticipated the heartbreak it would be to leave him. 

The Frenchman sat up on the bed and rubbed his eyes as he yawned. The night had been short. But he wanted and needed to look after Mundy so going back to sleep was out of the question. 

Lucien put on his black shirt again without closing it and went to the bathroom right next to their room. He splashed water on his face and carded his hair back. The grey front tuft fell on his forehead as always. 

He came back to the bedroom and grabbed his cigarette pack and lighter. He opened the window and started smoking at the windowsill. The noises of the city woke him up with the fresh air. Cars passing by, children shouting as they played in the distance, dogs barking.

"No smokin' here, you mongrel." 

Lucien's eyes popped wide and he turned his back. Mundy had opened his eyes and was looking over to him. 

"You are awake?" 

"Nah, it's my bloody ghost speaking to you from the afterlife…"

"Don't say that." 

Lucien crushed his cigarette and closed the window. He came back on the bed that he had stuck next to Mundy's. He sat cross-legged and took Mundy's hand in both of his. 

"How do you feel?" Lucien asked. 

"Head's hurtin' like hell… What happened? Did I get Duchemin?" 

Lucien shook his head. 

"Non. He nearly killed you as a matter of fact."

"Bugger… I'll get him next time…"

"Non, Mundy." 

"What?"

"Non." Lucien repeated.

[warnerxferrars]

Aaron & Juliette reunion in IMAGINE ME

Ella Juliette

Run, Juliette run, faster, run until your bones break and your shins split and your muscles atrophy Run run run until you can’t hear their feet behind you Run until you drop dead. Make sure your heart stops before they ever reach you. Before they ever touch you. Run, I said.  The words appear, unbidden, in my mind. I don’t know where they come from and I don’t know why I know them, but I say them to myself as I go, my boots pounding the ground, my head a strangled mess of chaos. I don’t understand what just happened. I don’t understand what’s happening to me. I don’t understand anything anymore. The boy is close. He moves more swiftly than I anticipated, and I’m surprised. I didn’t expect him to be able to meet my blows. I didn’t expect him to face me so easily. Mostly, I’m stunned he’s somehow immune to my power. I didn't even know that was possible. I don’t understand. I’m racking my brain, trying desperately to comprehend how such a thing might’ve happened--and whether I might’ve been responsible for the anomaly--but nothing makes sense. Not his presence. Not his attitude. Not even the way he fights. Which is to say: he doesn’t.  He doesn’t even want to fight. He seems to have no interest in beating me, despite the ample evidence that we are well matched. He only fends me off, making only the most basic effort to protect himself, and I still haven’t killed him. There’s something strange about him. Something about him that is getting under my skin. Unsettling me.  But he dashed out of sight when I threw another table at him, and he’s been running ever since. It feels like a trap. I know it, and yet, I feel compelled to find him. Face him, Destroy him.

I spot him, suddenly, at the far end of the laboratory and he meets my eyes with an insouciance that enrages me. I charge forward, but he moves quickly, disappearing through an adjoining door.  This is a trap, I remind myself. Then again, I’m not sure it matters whether this is a trap. I am under orders to find him. Kill him. I just have to be better. Smarter.  So I follow. From the time I met this boy--from the first moment we began exchanging blows--I’ve ignored the dizzying sensations coursing through my body. I try to deny my sudden, feverish skin, my trembling hands. But when a fresh wave of nausea nearly sends me reeling, I can no longer deny my fear: There’s something wrong with me. I catch another glimpse of his golden hair and my vision blurs, clears, my heart slows. For a moment, my muscles seem to spasm. There is a creeping, tremulous terror clenching its fist around my lungs and I don’t understand it. I keep hoping the feeling will change. Clear. Disappear. But as the minutes pass and the symptoms show no sign of abating, I begin to panic. I’m not tired, no. My body is too strong. I can feel it--can feel my muscles, their strength, their steadiness--and I can tell that I could keep fighting like this for hours. Days. I’m not worried about giving up, I’m not worried about breaking down. I’m worried about my head. My confusion. The uncertainty seeping through me, spreading like a poison. Ibrahim is dead. Anderson, nearly so. Will he recover? Will he die? Who would I be without him? What was it Ibrahim wanted to do to me? From what was Anderson trying to protect me? Who are these children I’m meant to kill? Why did Ibrahim call them my friends? My questions are endless. I kill them. I shove aside a series of steel desks and catch a glimpse of the boy before he darts around a corner. Anger punches through me, shooting a jolt of adrenaline to my brain, and I start running again, renewed determination focusing my mind. I charge through the dimly lit room, shoving my way through an endless sea of medical paraphernalia. When I stop moving, silence descends.  Silence so pure, it’s deafening.  I spin around, searching. The boy is gone. I blink, confused, scanning the room as my pulse races with renewed fear. Seconds pass, gathering into moments that feel like minutes, hours.  This is a trap. The laboratory is perfectly still--the lights so perfectly dim--that as the silence drags I begin to wonder if I’m caught in a dream. I feel suddenly paranoid, uncertain. Like maybe that boy was a figment of my imagination. Like maybe all of this is some strange nightmare, and maybe I’ll wake up soon and Anderson will be back in his office, and Ibrahim will be a man I never met, and tomorrow I’ll wake up in my pod by the water. Maybe, I think, this is all just another test. A simulation. Maybe Anderson is challenging my loyalty one last time. Maybe it’s my job to stay put, to keep myself safe like he asked me to, and to destroy anyone who tries to stand in my way. Or maybe-- Stop. I sense movement. Movement so fine it’s nearly imperceptible. Movement so gentle it could've been a breeze, except for one thing:  I hear a heart beating.  Someone is here, someone motionless, someone sly. I straighten, my senses heightened, my heart racing in my chest. Someone is here someone is here someone is here-- Where? There. He appears, as if out of a dream, standing before me like a statue, still as cooling steel. He stares at me, green eyes the color of sea glass, the color of celadon.  I never really had a chance to see his face. Not like this. My heart races as I assess him, his white shirt, green jacket, gold hair. Skin like porcelain. He does not slouch or fidget and, for a moment, I’m certain I was right, that perhaps he’s nothing more than a mirage. A program.  Another hologram. I reach out, uncertain, the tips of my fingers grazing the exposed skin at his throat and he takes a sharp, shaky breath. Real, then. I flatten my hand against his chest, just to be sure, and I feel his heart racing under my palm. Fast, lighting fast.  I glance up, surprised.  He’s nervous. Another unsteady breath escapes him and this time, takes with it a measure of control. He steps back, shakes his head, stares up at the ceiling. Not nervous. He’s distraught. I should kill him now, I think. Kill him now.  A wave of nausea hits me so hard it nearly knocks me off my feet. I take a few unsteady steps backward, catching myself against a steel table. My fingers grip the cold metal edge and I hang on, teeth clenched, willing my mind to clear.  Heat floods my body.  Heat, torturous heat, presses against my lungs, fills my blood. My lips part. I feel parched. I look up and he’s right in front of me and I do nothing. I do nothing as I watch his throat move.   I do nothing as my eyes devour him.  I feel faint.   I study the sharp line of his jaw, the gentle slope where his neck meets shoulder. His lips look soft. His cheekbones high, his nose sharp, his brows heavy, gold. He is finely made. Beautiful, strong hands. Short, clean nails. I notice he wears a jade ring on his left pinkie finger.   He sighs.   He shakes off his jacket, carefully folding it over the back of a nearby chair. Underneath he wears only a simple white T-shirt, the sculpted contours of his bare arms catching the attention of the dim lights. He moves slowly, his motions unhurried. When he begins to pace I watch him, study the shape of him. I am not surprised to discover that he moves beautifully. I am fascinated by him, by his form, his measured strides, the muscles honed under skin. He seems like he might be my age, maybe a little older, but there’s something about the way he looks at me that makes him seem older than our years combined.   Whatever it is, I like it.  I wonder what I’m supposed to do with this, all of this. Is it truly a test? If so, why send someone like him? Why a face so refined? Why a body so perfectly honed?  Was I meant to enjoy this?  A strange, delirious feeling stirs inside of me at the thought. Something ancient. Something wonderful. It is almost too bad, I think, that I will have to kill him. And it is the heat, the dullness, the inexplicable numbness in my mind that compels me to say-- “Where did they make you?”  He startles. I didn't think he would startle. But when he turns to look at me, he seems confused.  I explain: “You are unusually beautiful.”  His eyes widen.  His lips part, press together, tremble into a curve that surprises me. Surprises him.  He smiles.   He smiles and I stare--two dimples, straight teeth, shining eyes. A sudden, incomprehensible heat rushes across my skin, sets me aflame. I feel violently hot. Sick with fever.   Finally, he says: “So you are in there.”   “Who?”  “Ella,” he says, but he’s speaking softly now. “Juliette. They said you’d be gone.”  “I’m not gone,” I say, my hands shaking as I pull myself together. “I am Juliette Ferrars, supreme soldier to our North American commander. Who are you?” He moves closer. His eyes darken as he stares at me, but there’s no true darkness there. I try to stand taller, straighter. I remind myself that I have a task, that this is my moment to attack, to fulfill my orders. Perhaps I sho--  “Love,” he whispers. Heat flashes across my skin. Pain presses against my mind, a vague realization that I’ve left something overlooked. Dusty emotion trembles inside of me, and I kill it.   He steps forward, takes my face in his hands. I think about breaking his fingers. Snapping his wrists. My heart is racing.  I cannot move.  “You shouldn’t touch me,” I say, gasping the words.   “Why not?”  “Because I will kill you.” Gently, he titles my head back, his hands possessive, persuasive. An ache seizes my muscles, holds me in place. My eyes close reflexively. I breathe him in and my mouth fills with flavor--fresh air, fragrant flowers, heat, happiness--and I’m struck by the strangest idea that we’ve been here before, that I’ve lived this before, that I’ve known him before and then I feel, I feel his breath on my skin and the sensation, the sensation is--  heady,  disorienting.  I’m losing track of my mind, trying desperately to locate my purpose, to focus on my thought, when  he moves  the earth tilts, his lips graze my jaw and I make a sound, a desperate, unconscious sound that stuns me. My skin is frenzied, burning. That familiar warmth contaminates my blood, my temperature spiking, my face flushing.  “Do I--”  I try to speak but he kisses my neck and I gasp, his hands still caught around my face. I’m breathless, heart pounding, pulse pounding, head pounding. He touches me like he knows me, knows what I want, knows what I need. I feel insane. I don’t even recognize the sounds of my own voice when I finally mange to say,  “Do I know you?”  “Yes.”  My heart leaps. The simplicity of his answer strangles my mind, digs for truth. It feels true. Feels true that I’ve known these hands, this mouth, those eyes.  Feels real.   “Yes,” he says again, his own voice rough with feeling. His hands leave my face and I’m lost in the loss, searching for warmth. I press closer to him without even meaning to, asking him for something I don’t understand. But then his hands slide under my shirt, his palms pressing against my back, and the magnitude of the sudden, skin-to-skin contact sets my body on fire.  I feel explosive.  I feel dangerously close to something that might kill me, and I still lean into him, blinded by instinct, deaf to everything but the ferocious beat of my own heart.  He pulls back, just an inch.  His hands are still caught under my shirt, his bare arms wrapped around my bare skin and his mouth lingers above mine, the heat between us threatening to ignite. He pulls me closer and I bite back a moan, losing my head as the hard lines of his body sink into me. He is everywhere, his scent, his skin, his breath. I see nothing but him, sense nothing but him, his hands spreading across my torso, my lungs compressing under his careful, searing exploration. I lean into the sensations, his fingers grazing my stomach, the small of my back. He touches his forehead to mine and I press up, onto my toes, asking for something, begging for something--  “What,” I gasp, “what is happening--”  He kisses me.   Soft lips, waves of sensation. Feeling overflows the vacancies in my mind. My hands begin to shake. My heart beats so hard I can hardly keep still when he nudges my mouth open, takes me in. He tastes like heat and peppermint, like summer, like the sun. I want more.  I take his face in my hands and pull him closer and he makes a soft, desperate sound in the back of his throat that sends a spike of pleasure directly to my brain. Pure, electric heat lifts me up, outside of myself. I seem to be floating here, surrendered to this strange moment, held in place by an ancient mold that fits my body perfectly. I feel frantic, seized by a need to know more, a need I don’t even understand.   When we break apart his chest is heaving and his face is flushed and he says--  “Come back to me, love. Come back.” I’m still struggling to breathe, desperately searching his eyes for answers. Explanations. “Where?”  “Here,” he whispers, pressing my hands to his heart. “Home.”  “But I don’t--”  Flashes of light streak across my vision. I stumble backward, half-blind, like I’m dreaming, reliving the caress of a forgotten memory, and it’s like an ache looking to be soothed, it’s a steaming pan thrown in ice water, it’s a flushed cheek pressed to a cool pillow on a hot hot night and heat gathers, collects behind my eyes, distorting sights, dimming sounds.   Here.  This. My bones against his bones. This is my home.  I return to my skin with a sudden, violent shudder and feel wild, unstable. I stare at him, my heart seizing, my lungs fighting for air. He stares back, his eyes such a pale green in the light that, for a moment, he doesn’t even seem human.  Something is happening to my head.  Pain is collecting in my blood, calcifying around my heart. I feel at war with myself, lost and wounded, my mind spinning with uncertainty. “What is your name?” I ask.  He steps forward, so close our lips touch. Part. His breath whispers across my skin and my nerves hum, spark.  “You know my name,” he says quietly. I try to shake my head. He catches my chin.  This time, he’s not careful.  This time, he’s desperate. This time, when he kisses me he breaks me open, heat coming off him in waves. He tastes like springwater and something sweet, something searing.   I feel dazed. Delirious.  When he breaks away I’m shaking, my lungs shaking, my breaths shaking, my heart shaking. I watch, as if in a dream, as he pulls off his shirt, tosses it to the ground. And then he’s here again, he’s back again, he’s caught me in his arms and he’s kissing me so deeply my knees give out. He picks me up, bracing my body as he sets me down on the long, steel table. The cool metal seeps through the fabric of my pants, sending goose bumps along my heated skin and I gasp, my eyes closing as he straddles my legs, claims my mouth. He presses my hands to his chest, drags my fingers down his naked torso and I make a desperate, broken sound, pleasure and pain stunning me, paralyzing me.  He unbuttons my shirt, his deft hands moving quickly even as he kisses my neck, my cheeks, my mouth, my throat. I cry out when he moves, his kisses shifting down my body, searching, exploring. He pushes aside the two halves of my shirt, his mouth still hot against my skin, and then he closes the gap between us, pressing his bare chest to mine, and my heart explodes.  Something snaps inside of me.  Severs.  A sudden, fractured sob escapes my throat. Unbidden tears sting my eyes, startling me as they fall down my face. Unknown emotion soars through me, expanding my heart, confusing my head. He pulls me impossibly closer, our bodies soldered together. And then he presses his forehead to my collarbone, his body trembling with emotion when he says--  “Come back.”   My head is full of sand, sound, sensations spinning in my mind. I don’t understand what’s happening to me, I don’t understand this pain, this unbelievable pleasure. I’m staining his skin with my tears and he only pulls me tighter, pressing our hearts together until the feeling sinks its teeth into my bones, splits open my lungs. I want to bury myself in this moment, I want to pull him into me, I want to drag myself out of myself but there’s something wrong, something blocked, something stopped--  Something broken.  Realization arrives in gentle waves, theories lapping and overlapping at the shores of my consciousness until I’m drenched in confusion. Awareness.  Terror.  “You know my name,” he says softly. “You’ve always known me, love. I’ve always known you. And I’m so--I’m so desperately in love with you--”  The pain begins in my ears.  It collects, expanding, pressure building to a peak so acute it transforms, sharpening into a torture that stops my heart. First I go deaf, stiff. Second I go blind, slack.  Third, my heart restarts.  I come back to life with a sudden, terrifying inhalation that nearly chokes me, blood rushing to my ears, my eyes, leaking from my nose. I taste it, taste my own blood in my mouth as I begin to understand: there is something inside of me. A poison. A violence. Something wrong something wrong something wrong And then, as if from miles away, I hear myself scream. There’s cold tile under my knees, rough grout pressing into my knuckles. I scream into the silence, power building power, electricity charging my blood. My mind is separating from itself, trying to identify the poison, the parasite residing inside of me.  I have to kill it.   I scream, forcing my own energy inward, screaming until the explosive energy building inside of me ruptures my eardrums. I scream until I feel the blood drip from my ears and down my neck, I scream until the lights in the laboratory begin to pop and break. I scream until my teeth bleed, until the floor fissures beneath my feet, until the skin at my knees begins to crack. I scream until the monster inside of me begins to die.   And only then--  Only when I’m certain I’ve killed some small part of my own self do I finally collapse.  I’m choking, coughing up blood, my chest heaving from the effort expended. The room swims. Swings around.  I press my forehead to the cold floor and fight back a wave of nausea. And then I feel a familiar, heavy hand against my back. With excruciating slowness, I manage to lift my head.  A blur of gold appears, disappears before me.  I blink once, twice, and try to push up with my arms but a sharp, searing pain in my wrist nearly blinds me. I look down, examining the strange, hazy sight. I blink again. Ten times more.  Finally, my eyes focus.  The skin inside of my right arm has split open. Blood is smeared across my skin, dripping on the floor. From within the fresh wound, a single blue light pulses from a steel, circular body, the edges of which push up against my torn flesh.   With one final effort, I rip the flashing mechanism from my arm, the last vestige of this monster. It drops from my shaking fingers, clatters to the floor.  And this time, when I look up, I see his face.  “Aaron,” I gasp.  He drops to his knees. He pulls my bleeding body into his arms and I break, I break apart, sobs cracking open my chest. I cry until the pain spirals and peaks, I cry until my head throbs and my eyes swell. I cry, pressing my face against his neck, my fingers digging into his back, desperate for purchase. Proof.  He holds me, silent and steady, gathering my blood and bones against his body even as the tears recede, even when I begin to tremble. He holds me tight as my body shakes, holds me close when the tears start anew, holds me in his arms and strokes my hair and tells me that everything, everything is going to be okay.

[i-demand-a-hug]

Here’s chapter 7 of my shuake fic where Ren’s a shapeshifting cryptid mermaid and Goro’s something else entirely. This chapter’s posted both here and on AO3!

-

How many times had he thought, "I could stay here forever," while sitting in a hot bath? Now, as the hours trickle past, the idea feels horribly unbearable. Goro is flushed red like a cooked lobster, scowling down at his reflection in the water. The fact that Goro has no one to blame but himself only sours his mood further.

How stupid. Why didn't he just finish his homework like a normal teenager?

Thankfully, Goro doesn't have to contemplate whether he'll die from staying in the bath too long—though wouldn't that be rich, after everything he's done—because it’s then the mermaid decides to enter the room. Whether it's from relief or simply the heat making him delirious, Goro's smile feels genuine for once.

This time, Goro takes the opportunity to observe the mermaid, who sinks into the water at the other end of the bath. He seems plain, almost meek; most humans would barely look at him. But there's something more to the still waters of his face, an inscrutable depth that could be hiding anything. This mermaid could be nothing but a harmless slug—or he's the alluring light that would lead Goro straight into the maw of an angler fish. It's an exciting, dizzying thought, and Goro has to wrestle his grin into a more harmless shape.

Goro clears his throat. The way the mermaid's frizzy hair covers his eyes as he looks up is just a little irritating—hasn't this boy heard of a haircut?

"Good evening," Goro says with a polite smile. "It's quiet tonight, isn't it?"

The mermaid goes rigid for a moment, then turns his head away. Goro might as well have spoken to the wall. How rude.

Goro tries not to let his irritation show on his face.

"You look familiar..." Goro says, making a show of pondering and humming, then clapping his hands together as if a puzzle piece slid into place. "That's it! I saw you here last night, didn't I?"

"Mm," is the mermaid's only response.

“My name is Goro Akechi. And you are...?”

The mermaid actually mumbles something this time, a barely audible “...Amamiya.”

"Bumping into you two days in a row is quite a coincidence, huh? Perhaps it's fate."

Had he the chance to truly express himself, Goro would have sneered at his own saccharine voice.

It's all so repulsively fake.

The mermaid is unresponsive once again, and Goro nearly grits his teeth. The worthless adults who surround Shido ignore Goro, too, unless they need something from him. It's a matter of superiority, acting like they're better than him.

And yes, he's furious that the mermaid would act as though Goro's beneath him, and yes, he's taking it as a personal insult. And no, this has nothing to do with being starved of positive interactions with people his own age. It’s just curiosity. That's all. That's all!

He rises from the bath, an oddly empty feeling in his chest.

As he steps out of the water, however, an odd sensation hits him. It's as if someone turned his bones to jelly. He tries to wonder why, but his mind is slowly filling with cotton. He sways, and then the floor leaps up to attack him as his vision cuts to black.

His face is squished against the wet tiles when his senses return. A frigid hand grabs his shoulder—Goro relies on instinct and snarls something incomprehensible yet threatening.

Just as his eyes fall on the startled mermaid, who is crouched beside him, Goro remembers where he is. He also remembers that yelling at someone typically has consequences. While Goro collects the scraps of his composure, the mermaid speaks.

"You… You collapsed.” 

Goro can’t say he remembers fainting, but it would certainly explain why he’s on the floor. He meets the mermaid’s anxious eyes with a cobbled-together smile.

“Oh! I suppose I was in the bath a little too long.” An understatement. “I’m sorry for making you worry. Tell me, how long was I unconscious for?"

The mermaid twists a lock of his hair. "Um. 20 seconds?"

That’s not too bad, Goro thinks. The fact his towel stayed on is also a plus. However, the idea of fainting due to his own stupidity is infuriating, not to mention embarrassing. What if he’d hurt himself? What if he’d been alone? More importantly, what if his feathers appeared, even for a second?

Goro shivers, then remembers he’s naked and soaked and really needs his clothes.

“I should get dressed,” says Goro, trying to stand, but the static hasn’t quite left his limbs and he nearly falls again. The mermaid, however, steadies him, cold hands on Goro’s shoulders. Goddammit. Apparently the universe really wants to humiliate him tonight.

“Are you okay?” the mermaid asks softly, but the question feels like an insult. “I know a doctor… I could—”

“Oh, there’s no need!” says Goro in his best ‘good boy’ voice. His smile is tight against his skin. “I’ll be fine, but thank you for your concern. I just need to rest, cool down a bit.”

He peels the remaining glue from his brain and forces his legs to move. 

As Goro puts his clothes back on, he glances at the mermaid, who is turned away at the opposite end of the changing room. The mermaid was unresponsive up until Goro fainted. Does he now think Goro is some pathetic, unthreatening worm? Or is he simply a bleeding heart who hates to see someone in trouble? A mermaid with a hero complex is a strange thought: Goro breathes a laugh, then grimaces. 

He has to wonder if he should quit being a detective, because he's clearly an idiot. Was Goro really so eager to escape his role of shattering people’s minds that he let himself pass out? Maybe he should save himself the trouble next time and ram his head against a wall. 

“Here.”

Goro blinks away his thoughts. The mermaid is standing next to him (when did that happen?) and holding out a can of soda (where did he get that?).

“You might be dehydrated,” the mermaid says when Goro makes a bewildered face. And still it takes another five seconds for Goro to realise that, yes, this is genuine kindness. Something about the tiny gesture makes him feel a little better. He takes the soda can.

“It was, ah, Amamiya-kun, right?” says Goro.

Amamiya has fallen silent again, but he at least offers a nod. 

“I…” Goro is dangerously close to saying something sentimental. “I should be getting home. I have school in the morning, unfortunately.”

“Wait,” Amamiya says, suddenly. “Will you be okay? You won’t collapse again?”

The pity in Amamiya’s voice is a slap to the face. Goro sips at the drink to hide his failing smile.

“I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure? I… I could walk you to the train station, at least.”

“Oh no, I couldn’t take up your time like that. It’s getting quite late; you should hurry home before your family worries.”

Amamiya stiffens, a detail Goro files away for later, but he still seems ready to argue.

“How about this, then?” says Goro, as though the idea only just hit him. “Why don’t we exchange contact information. I can let you know when I’ve safely made it home or if I run into trouble. Will that put your mind at ease?”

He sees Amamiya relent at this, albeit reluctantly. Goro’s plan to satiate his mermaid-related curiosity was a disaster, but a phone number is useful. Next time, he won’t have to rely on chance—now he can simply message Amamiya, and the buds of further conversation should sprout from there. 

Once Amamiya’s details are safely stored in his phone, Goro smiles with unfeigned cheer. He tells the mermaid goodbye, see you later, and begins his walk down the street. 

It’s when Goro turns at a corner that he tries to release his feathers and fly home. He can’t, however. A strange chill traps his wings beneath his skin, and Goro nearly shivers. 

Changing from one form to another is a difficult feat—Goro’s found he struggles to release his feathers unless protected by obscurity. Darkness helps, as well as enclosed spaces, but the most important factor is that no eyes can be on him. Goro twists around; the streets are empty. And yet, his feathers still won’t appear. 

...The train it is, then. Goro grits his teeth and marches down the road. Though the sensation of being watched leaves fairly quickly, the phrase, “curiosity killed the cat,” echoes in his mind. He doesn’t let himself relax until he’s behind his apartment door. 

[ialwayscomewhenyoucall]

Unshackled

for @buckybarnesbingo​

by: lira (me!)

square filled: C1 - through a scope

main pairing: bucky/clint

rating: T (for this chapter, the fic is rated E)

major tags/warnings: enemies to friends to lovers, slow burn, implied/referenced mind control, captivity

chapter summary: Nausea roils in Clint’s stomach, and he’s suddenly glad there’s no food in his stomach. Mind control. HYDRA’s perfected brainwashing and mind control. He needs to get out of here, he needs to tell…   But of course it doesn’t matter. Because he’s shackled to the wall across from the fucking Winter Soldier, deep within who knows where surrounded by who knows how many HYDRA goons, and he hasn’t eaten for...how many days now? Even if he could get to his bow, he’s not sure he’d have the strength to draw it.  In other words, he’s well and truly fucked.

chapter word count: 2881

Chapter Two

“You sure you don’t want to tell me why you’re locked up in here? ‘Cause I’m still half convinced that you’re not actually a prisoner, that you’re just here to get intel from me.” Clint looks the Soldier straight in the eye, not blinking. “I’d return the favor, but I still have holes in my memory.”

The Soldier jerks back at this, and Clint almost crosses the space to comfort the man. He stops himself before he actually moves, though. The Soldier looks shaken, off balance. He sits in perfect stillness for long minutes, then he seems to collapse in on himself. He says something, but his voice is so low and soft that Clint can’t make out any words.

“What’s that?” Clint says.

“I’m always a prisoner.”

Clint is reeling. The Winter Soldier, a prisoner? An unwilling assassin? How does that even work?

“You’re…” Clint shakes his head. “I don’t understand.”

“I don’t really either,” says the Soldier. “But whatever they’ve done to control me, lately I’ve been able to fight it. I know I’ve been alive for a long time, but I don’t actually have many memories of...of anything. Most of my life is just a blur, a haze. But I’m learning to break free of the fog. Sometimes it’s only a moment or two, other times I can willfully disobey. It…” He pauses, breathes once, twice, three times. “It doesn’t go well, disobeying. The punishments are not easy. But maybe it’s worth it.”

Clint holds himself still, but inwardly he shudders. He does not want to even think about what a punishment from HYDRA would be like.

“I think they’re not sure what to do with me. I haven’t been sent on a mission in weeks, but they haven’t put me back–” He stops, a violent shiver going through his whole body. “They haven’t put me back on ice,” he says in a low voice. “I don’t know why. They just locked me up in here. It’s been twenty-seven days now.”

“Twenty-seven... Have I–” Clint stops, unable to get the words out.

“You’ve been here three days,” the Soldier says, an almost reassuring tone to his voice. “You were delirious when they brought you in, calling out for Natasha and Steve and Tony. Then you passed out, and woke up two days later. They came in twice a day to poke at you, but apparently they wanted you to be in pain when you woke up; they could have healed you immediately, but chose to mess with your head instead.”

“But why would they put me with you?” Clint wonders aloud.

“I think they’re hoping I’ll kill you.”

It’s as if all the oxygen is suddenly sucked out of the room; Clint can’t draw a breath and his vision starts to spark and blur around the edges.

And then the Soldier is there–how is he so fast?–holding Clint’s shoulders and shaking him. “Breathe. Fuck, breathe! I’m not going to kill you.”

Clint somehow manages to gasp a breath before his vision blacks out completely. “Why do they think–” he starts, but before he can finish he’s hit by a coughing fit. His body isn’t happy about going without oxygen.

The Soldier sighs; it sounds wrong coming from this deadly man. “They think I’ll kill you because a few months ago you were a mission. You were a mission that I deliberately failed.”

It’s too much.

“You–” Clint stops and takes a deep breath. “Okay, so you were supposed to kill me? Why? I mean, I get HYDRA sending you to kill Steve or Tony or even Bruce. But I’m just a guy with a bow, you know? I’m…” His words fade into nothing because suddenly the Soldier’s words–the rest of the Soldier’s words–have penetrated his brain. Clint looks him straight in the eye and says, “You missed me on purpose? You went against HYDRA?”

The Soldier doesn’t break the deliberate eye contact; it suddenly feels warmer in the small cell. “It wasn’t...it wasn’t about you. Not exactly,” he says finally. He sounds almost pained when he adds, “How much do you know about me?”

“Just that you’ve been around practically forever and you’re a particularly deadly assassin for HYDRA.”

They’re still looking at each other intently, each trying to learn something. After a long pause the Soldier lowers his eyes and says, in a voice so low Clint almost misses it, “I didn’t want to do it. I didn’t want to do any of it.”

Clint lets the words roll around in his head, trying to dissect them. He didn’t want to kill those people? Didn’t want to become feared, a name whispered in the dark? Finally he says, “I don’t–”

“They programmed me. They had this…” He shudders, remembering. “This chair. It took away my memories and made me...pliable. Trainable. Imagine the worst thing you’ve ever felt–this was worse. And then they have a list of words, if they read them in the right order I become theirs, perfectly and completely. I obey without thought.”

Nausea roils in Clint’s stomach, and he’s suddenly glad there’s no food in his stomach. Mind control. HYDRA’s perfected brainwashing and mind control. He needs to get out of here, he needs to tell…

But of course it doesn’t matter. Because he’s shackled to the wall across from the fucking Winter Soldier, deep within who knows where surrounded by who knows how many HYDRA goons, and he hasn’t eaten for...how many days now? Even if he could get to his bow, he’s not sure he’d have the strength to draw it.

In other words, he’s well and truly fucked.

A thought breaks through Clint’s melancholy. “But you said you missed me on purpose. How does that work, if they’re in complete control?”

The Soldier grins, and Clint is aware for the first time how close they are. It is another of his not-nice grins. This one says I could eat you and spit out your bones and it would not be the most difficult thing I’ve done today. He unconsciously leans away. It’s only a fraction of an inch, but he notices, and he sees the Soldier notice too. The grin widens.

“Lately I’ve been able to fight their control. Little bits at first, stopping for coffee on the way to a mission, or taking a long and out of the way route instead of the one I was instructed to take just because I wanted to walk by the river. But missing you, intentionally missing you, that was the biggest thing I’ve ever done.

“It’s what landed me in here, actually.”

Clint flinches.

“It was… Well. It was an interesting thing. You were in my sights, I had a perfect shot. But a thought got through the brainwashing, an independent, original thought at just the right time. It was just this: What did he ever do to you? And I looked at you, big as life through my scope, and you were laughing about something and you just seemed so happy and I thought, Nothing. He’s never done anything to me. So instead of shooting you I shot a tree about ten feet to your left. No one was injured, no one even noticed the shot. And I think the tree’ll be okay, it looked like a fairly healthy tree.”

Barely noticing the Soldier’s attempt at humor, Clint says, “Okay. You were supposed to kill me? And because I was laughing–”

The Soldier heaves an overly dramatic sigh. “It’s not because you were laughing. It’s because my brain decided to shrug off a bit of the brainwashing at what happened to be just the right moment for you. The laughing was just…” He looks at Clint, then shakes his head.

“So,” Clint says, squinting at the Soldier, “you’re not sitting over there waiting for your chance to, I don’t know, throttle me with that arm of yours?”

“Don’t you think if I had full control of this arm I’d have busted us out of here by now? I’ve punched through thick cement walls with this thing before, that door there would be easy as pie. They’ve got it on some kind of lockdown. It works, but only like a normal arm. No super robot powers.” He wiggles the fingers of his metal hand. “I’m certainly clever enough to murder you with just my fingers, but it’s not really my style. Sorry to disappoint you.”

Clint fights the urge to roll his eyes. He’s pretty sure the Soldier’s enhanced abilities include vision, and he doesn’t want to risk being seen even in the dim light.

“Alright, so you’re kind of on my side. Even if you’ve been killing other people on my side.”

The Soldier glares. “I’m just the weapon. HYDRA pulls the trigger. And it’s only in the past few months I even realized how I was being used.”

Clint raises his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright, I get it. You’re a killer, but not a murderer.”

“I–” The Soldier starts, then reconsiders. “That’s acceptable.”

Flashing a lopsided grin, Clint says, “Well, I guess we can be pals then. The enemy of my enemy is my friend, and all that. Right?”

They look at each other in the dim light. Neither of them speaks. Clint wonders who will be the first to look away; he’s still wondering when he falls asleep.

 A sharp pain in his ribs brings him to violent wakefulness. “Fuck!” he tries to shout, but it’s barely a whisper by the time it comes out of his mouth; the air’s been punched out of his lungs. No, not punched, he realizes, bearily looking around him. Kicked. There’s a HYDRA goon standing over him, pulling back his foot to kick again. Clint’s curled around himself, protecting his stomach and ribs, but he knows it’ll hurt if the goon lands another kick. He squeezes his eyes shut.

The kick never comes.

Instead he hears a thud and a whoosh of breath, and he cracks open his eyes to see the goon on the floor, curled up tighter than Clint himself.

At first Clint doesn’t understand. And then he looks at the Soldier, who actually grins at him...and then winks.

“Soldat, you will be punished” the goon wheezes in Russian, trying to catch his breath.

“Fuck you,” says the Soldier in a lazy voice.

Clint looks from the Soldier to the goon and back again. How could he have done so much damage to the guy with those shackles holding him back? And he’d barely moved! He’s still sitting against the wall, relaxed and grinning that fucking terrifying grin. Clint really hopes he’s never on this guy’s bad side. A small shiver runs up his spine, and he momentarily forgets the pain in his ribs.

The goon glares at the soldier, or as much as he can glare from his position on the floor. From Clint’s vantage point, the guy looks pretty well thrashed. As he’s looking him over, Clint sees something that makes him want to shout. He doesn’t, of course. Nat would murder him herself if he broke training like that. But honestly. These HYDRA guys, they might have a pretty good science thing going, but from what he’s seen, they’re all idiots.

“Hey,” Clint says, nodding to the Soldier. “Can I hit him too? I’m pretty pissed at these guys, and it’s no fair if you have all the fun.” He winks.

The Soldier raises an eyebrow, not knowing quite what’s up but playing along. “Sure. Should I hold him down for you?”

“Nah,” Clint says. “Just don’t let him get away.”

Nodding, the Soldier relaxes into the wall and crosses his arms over his chest.

Clint makes a show of pulling the goon to a sitting position, straightening the guy’s shirt and even patting his cheek before punching him in the gut. “Good enough?” Clint asks the Soldier.

A small shake of the head is all Clint gets in response, so he punches the guy again. “Better?”

“That’ll do.”

Clint shoves the guy as close to the door as he can and then starts yelling. No words, just lots and lots of noise. When their door finally opens Clint says, “You should probably get this guy to bed. He seems pretty sleepy.” He grins.

The two new goons look at the goon on the floor and haul him out without a word, glaring at the Soldier.

“If looks could kill…” Clint says.

“I’ve got a pretty bad track record around here.”

Clint can’t help but laugh.

“Nicely done, by the way.” The Soldier’s comment stops Clint’s laughing short.

“You saw?”

“No one else would have noticed, it was an excellent lift. Stupid of the guy to bring a pen in here.”

An ordinary ball point pen slips from Clint’s sleeve into the palm of his hand. In seconds he’s got it dissected into bits and is straightening the small metal spring that’s inside it to fashion a makeshift lockpick. Less than a minute later his ankles are free of the shackles.

It’s a small thing, being able to stand and walk freely from one side of the cell to the other, to stretch and jump and even cartwheel if he wanted to. It should be a small thing, but it feels monumental. Like Christmas morning, or perching on the safety rail that runs around the observation deck of the Empire State Building.

He looks at the tiny cell again, and decides against the cartwheeling. He’d probably hit a wall. Or the Soldier.

The Soldier. He’s still got the straightened spring in his hand, absentmindedly twirling it between his fingers. He minutely moves toward the man on the floor, then hesitates.

This man, the Winter Soldier, is dangerous. Right now they’ve got a sort of temporary truce, but what happens later? What happens when this whatever it is wears off and he’s ordered to kill Clint or his friends again? What is the better course of action right now?

“It’s alright,” the Soldier says, his voice surprisingly soft and...is that sadness Clint hears? “I understand. Next time they come in I’ll hold them off as long as I can, you just run. Run fast. Try not to stop and fight unless you have to. Just run.”

And that settles it for Clint, turns the soft metals into steel in his mind. He resolutely steps forward, crouching at the Soldier’s feet, and begins to pick the lock on his ankle shackle. It’s a trickier lock, but it’s not too long before it clicks.

At first he doesn’t say anything, although Clint hears a small hitch in his breath. After Clint pulls the shackle open and looks up to meet the Soldier’s eye he simply says, “Why?” He sounds truly at a loss.

Clint shrugs, and hedges. “The enemy of my enemy, right?”

“It has to be more than that,” insists the Soldier.

“Maybe,” Clint says. “But that’s my business.”

 Clint and the Soldier are sitting against their respective walls, shackles exactly where they belong, the next time the door opens. Their look says, ‘Hey mister HYDRA guy, don’t worry about us. We’re far too tired to cause any trouble.’

Which, of course, is exactly what they’re gonna do.

The Soldier moves so fast it’s almost a blur. Clint nearly forgets his part in the plan just standing there gaping at the incredible speed and strength–not to mention the line of the muscles he can clearly see even under loose, made for agile movement and possible assassination clothing–of the man he’s been sharing a cell with for the past few days. But he pulls himself out of his daze in time to slide the end of his chain into the doorway, stopping the door just before it closes. There’s no keyhole inside, not even a doorknob, and since they don’t know today’s secret knock–yeah, really, these guys are geniuses–to get out they’re going to have to rely on brute strength. Which, Clint thinks as he watches the Soldier wrap a length of chain around a HYDRA goon’s neck, isn’t going to be much of a problem.

The goon’s face is changing colors, from pink to red to something even darker, before Clint snaps out of his trance enough to say, “Hey!” The Soldier looks up, not loosening the chain. “You don’t need to kill him,” Clint says, trying to keep his voice steady and calm. “Look at him, he’s just a lackey. And isn’t it time you chose these things for yourself? Killing is what HYDRA made you do. Is it what you want to do?”

The Soldier drops the chain. He looks from the goon to Clint and back again. “My choice,” he says.

The goon rubs a hand all over his neck, soothing himself. “Thank you,” he rasps, his voice harsh from his swollen throat. “Oh, thank you.”

But in the midst of his simpering he pulls his other hand out of his pocket and–of course–he’s got a syringe. Before he can do anything with it, the Soldier punches him square in the face, sending him flying straight into the opposite wall, where he slumps down onto the floor.

The Soldier looks at Clint, an eyebrow raised. “Alright then,” Clint says.

[fandom-necromancer]

1165. Part 3

This was prompted by an awesome anon, the lovely @aurea-b and the amazing @rufina72! Please heed the warnings. This chapter isn’t nice, but I promise, the next part will be super fluffy! I will try to finish it today too, so it will come anytime in the night (at least for my timezone). If you don’t want to read this part because of the warnings, you can skip it and still read the next one!

Fandom: Detroit become human | Ship: Reed900 (Warnings: violence, kidnapping, graphic description of android dismantling, mentions of physical and mental abuse) [Part1]   [Part2]   [Part4]

‘No, no, please, no! No! Ahhhhh!’ Gavin was awake, but that static scream jolted him from unconsciousness in mere milliseconds. His sight was still hazy, but a small red light smeared over his vision as he rolled his head from one shoulder to the next. Everything was turning around him and refused to stay still, there was a weird cheeping sound and he felt like he might throw up. The hit to his head must have done some damage, but despite all of this, his detective senses told him the situation was bad. He was still alive, that had to be good? But it was so dark, and his head felt like a cannon ball on a toothpick. Phck.

He heard the buzz of electric motors and soon there was the scream again. Right. Little red circle, robot sounds… Nines? The damn toaster had been run into by a car. The memories were coming back one after the next. And with it his vision. Two thugs stood a few metres away from him and towered above him. But they had their backs to him and were working on something. He frowned and tried to focus. He was sitting, hands bound behind him and back leaned against a pillar. He leaned to one side and his nausea got worse, but he could spy through their legs. There was a lot of blue. Blue liquid flowing down on a white surface. It dripped to the ground and gathered in a puddle. Gavin tried hard to piece it all together, but a great percentage of his will was focussed on not vomiting all over himself.

The thugs helped him assess the situation as they stepped back in a laughing fit. It gave the bound man a better view on the other figure on the ground: A human shape, naked, completely white, bleeding blue from a circular hole. Red lights pulsing through the armour plates and panicked, pleading grey eyes darting around. Dirty human hands on a cylinder that looked about the same size as the hole. What did it mean, what did this shit mean? The one time Gavin needed his braincell and it was unavailable.

The weird white human opened his mouth, the blue liquid flowing from it. There should have been words coming out, but it sounded more like a radio without connection. It was pained and it was loud, earning him a kick to his chest that let him fall to his side.

‘Come on, stick it back in, we don’t know if the boss needs it’, one of the thugs said. It. Suddenly it clicked. He had been with Nines when he was hit unconscious. It made sense he would wake up with him. But… was this really the android? Gavin had never seen him without skin. But there on the ground, this had to be him, hadn’t it? He tried to will his brain to function and focussed on the android’s face. Shit. It was Nines. No doubt. ‘Urgh, fine. But let’s be real, what would she want with a fucking android, huh? She’ll kill it anyways.’ ‘Yeah, then let her do it. Wouldn’t want to get in any trouble. Stick it back and let’s go.’ The other man seemed to be hesitant, but then kneeled down to slam the thirium regulator back into its socket. Nines pulled his eyes and mouth wide open, but it was a silent scream this time.

When the thugs took their leave, Gavin pretended to still be out cold. It wasn’t that difficult, with a headache that made thinking unbearable. He heard the door slam and lifted his head again. Motions still made him feel sick, but at least he had recovered enough that they were possible now. Nines laid on his side remaining in the position the two men had kicked him into and staring straight ahead. Gavin would have thought the android had shut down if it weren’t for the slow red flash of his lights. He had never seen the android in such distress and that counted in the times he had threatened the thing. He didn’t like the RK900. He hated him. He hated the whole of androidkind. But to his own surprise seeing the ever uptight, nose-in-the-sky android like this brought him no satisfaction. He didn’t know what he could do in his bound position, so he just sat there, staring at the oddly calming red pulse of Nines’ body.

When he finally snapped out of it, he tried to move his hands. They were bound behind his body, but not too tight. Maybe he could work the knot loose. He knew pulling would only fasten it more, so he felt with his fingers for the knot and fumbled with the strands of rope they used. It wasn’t the most efficient way, but it showed slow progress in widening the loop. With time he maybe could get his hands free.

He worked on his confines while he was watching the android. Thirium still dripped from the regulator and his mouth. Maybe the thing wasn’t fully connected, Gavin mused, or maybe them slamming it back in broke it. No matter what the cause was though, it didn’t look too good. He was nearly sure he could get free in the next minutes, as he froze. There were voices outside.

‘…with them?’ ‘Ugh fine, have some fun. But don’t touch the pig. We have no use for the bot, but the guy could be useful as a hostage. I’ll be out for today. See you tomorrow.’ A door outside slammed shut and a few moments later the door to this room opened. Gavin again mimed the unconscious man, watching in silence how they pulled Nines back up. Upon touch the android’s LED blinked faster, but other than that there was no sign he was still alive. One of the thugs snapped his fingers in front of him and as that didn’t work, took a pipe from the ground and hit him with it. Nines’ head flew to the side, but he remained silent.

‘Let’s try this next.’ The second man announced and knelt down. Something blinked in his hands, then Gavin identified it as a pocketknife he pushed in between two plates on the android’s chest and angled upwards. The plate resisted, then gave in and fell to the ground. ‘Please, stop, I didn’t-‘ He was interrupted by the same knife hastily slammed in between the plates over his heart. ‘Please, don’t. Stop!’ The next plate fell to the ground with a dull plastic sound and light flooded the ground. Gavin got a good look of the fast beating pump glowing red in his chest and the surrounding Thirium pipes. There were a lot of air bubbles in the liquid and the lights were stuttering. ‘And why should we?’, one of the thugs asked, adding an ugly laugh afterwards and prying the next one off. Expecting another plea, they stood there waiting as the android remained silent. ‘What? No more begging, huh? Come on, we want to hear your beautiful voice, tin-can!’

They worked the knife between the next plates, as Nines eyelids fell half shut not unlike with a broken doll. ‘This unit is damaged severely. Please contact Cyberlife for repairs.’ ‘Oh, that’s good, that’s good!’, one of the thugs exclaimed excitedly. ‘I nether managed to push deviants back into their machine routines! Didn’t even knew they still had them in them!’ ‘Did this unit fail its mission?’, Nines asked, not answering to the thug’s discovery. His voice was completely level and void of any emotion. Gavin had never heard him like this. It didn’t even sound like the android he knew anymore. ‘Guess so.’ The android nodded as if understanding. ‘Is this correcting this unit’s errors?’ ‘Heh, yeah, it is.’ ‘Registering failure and correction in mechanics log. Please continue.’

Gavin didn’t believe what he just heard. He wasn’t able to think through what he was about to do, it just happened: ‘Nines! Nines, what the hell?’, he shouted from his position, gathering the attention of the two thugs. ‘Oh, so the pig is finally awake? Missed one hell of a show, buddy!’ ‘Show? What the hell are you assholes doing…’ Just then Gavin realised he hadn’t only had the full attention of the criminals. Nines looked at him and he seemed to be more afraid than he had been at any point in this torture. Even in his utterly damaged, panicked state, he tried to get away from him.

‘Gavin!’ His voice was wavering. ‘What are you doing here, this isn’t possible. Only Cyberlife personal is allowed in here. Please. This unit doesn’t need repairs just yet, Gavin. This unit is still functioning! This unit can complete the tests! Please, Gavin, don’t do this to me!’

The two thugs looked at each other in confusion, but Gavin tried to ignore their conversation about what this meant. He was too occupied being shocked. He got that the android was delirious from depleting Thirium levels and the pain. But he couldn’t understand why he was afraid of him of all people. Yes, he had been a bit rough with him from time to time, but that wasn’t enough for him to be afraid of him, right? But when he thought back to these occasions now, Nines had always been afraid of him, hadn’t he?

The two thugs seemed to come to the conclusion, that it didn’t matter. They shrugged and continued with their cruel work. Gavin couldn’t see the android, but he could hear his pleas over the clunk of hull pieces falling to the floor and thirium dripping down. He had gone back to talking about himself as “I” and his intonation had come back, but that didn’t make things any better.

‘No, Gavin, please! Don’t do this to me! What did I do to you? I-I never told anyone, please! I never told anyone what you did to me! I know I’m not what you want me to be. I know I’m not enough for you. But please, I didn’t do anything! I just tried to be your friend, please, stop. Gavin. No! You are killing me. Stop. Please.’

‘Goddamnit, this thing is creepy as hell! I think we should leave it alone’, one of the thugs said and the other nodded, taking a step back. ‘I agree. It’s gonna deactivate soon anyways. Let’s just get out of here.’

Gavin would have joined them, if that was possible. He was rightfully mortified, watching his work partner hanging in his confines, whispering the words over and over again, static thick in his voice: ‘I never told anyone. I didn’t do anything. Gavin. I never told anyone. Please. Stop. I didn’t do anything.’

But it wasn’t his place to run. His hands were free for a long time now, he only had to find the strength to stand up. His knees were weak from the realisation that this android had been afraid of him for as long as they had worked together, and it had needed criminals torturing the tin-can for him to realise that. He owed the android, if only because he had ignored his warnings and let him run into this trap blindly.

In a soupçon of determination, he wiggled free and stood up. He scurried over to the android and let himself fall on his knees next to him. He used the knife the thugs had left behind to cut the rope, all the while muttering: ‘Everything will be fine, Nines, listen. Everything is fine. See? It stopped. I’ll get you out of here. Just hold on. Stay with me, okay? We’ll get out of here.’ He got more and more desperate to cut the thick rope. They had done a far better job on binding the android than him. But Gavin was thankful for that mistake. ‘Nines, it will be fine, you hear me? It will be alright again, stay with me. I will change, okay? I don’t know what has you so scared but shit, I will try to be better. I promise you. We’ll get out of here and then you will kick my ass for being such an asshole, okay? We’ll get you back in order, I swear. I phcking swear!’

Finally, the rope gave in and the android plopped to the ground. Apparently, that had pulled him from his trance and the android was lucid for a few moments. He looked up at Gavin, pain evident on his face. His LLED was impossibly dark, near to no colour left in it. ‘Don’t… Touch… Me…’, he struggled to whisper just before he deactivated.

Gavin winced at the words cutting deep. But still he looked at the lifeless android. ‘No can do, tin-can. I’ll get you out of here.’

[>next part]

[mypassionfortrash]

Perfect

You and Roger had made big plans for your date in the park. But a morning of rain ruins those straight away. Instead, you and Roger decide to stay at home and get around to something else you’ve been planning for a while... losing your virginity.

Warnings: Roger Taylor x f!Reader; strictly 18+; fluff and a little bit of shame towards the end! Notes: The second last fic from my old Queen blog that I’ve rewritten. Just imagine this is 90′s Roger.

Toes at the threshold, basket in hand, the heavens opened, dumping an almighty deluge on to the street. It came on so suddenly that Roger's clothes were drenched before he realised. When he did, his bright, eye-crinkling smile sank. Stood in his driveway, he flung out his arms in resignation.

"I told you it was supposed to rain today," you called from the hallway.

"Yeah, well, Mr Fish isn't known for his accuracy, is he?" Roger huffed, slipping past you.

Your gaze darted between Roger, who was shrugging off his shirt in the hall, and the downpour outside. Nerves clawed at your insides, but you maintained your wide eyes and perky tone. "It's not all bad. We could just stay inside."

Maybe it was too soon. The pair of you were used to going on dates where one could leave the other at will. Dinner. The theatre. That one swanky bar in town he liked.

But you were in his house. And the silence between you grew increasingly awkward.

"I made sandwiches and everything," he pouted, clutching his sopping cotton shirt.

Your voice wavered. "We could eat them here." Your legs threatened to give out as you made your way to him. You noticed his jawline was back to being soft under your touch - your last meeting ended with giddy protests about how much his five o'clock shadow tickled when he nuzzled at your neck. Your brain lingered on that thought too long. Maybe you preferred his stubble after all? Before you became too distracted, you snapped back to reality. A sulky Roger pressed against you, staring down at you with a glimmer of naughtiness beneath his features.

"What's so special about the park, anyway?" you prodded.

Roger opened his lips to speak.

You knew it would be something along the lines of soaking up the sun or drinking nice wine. But you didn't give him a chance. You sent him blundering backwards into the wall. Your mouth on his. It quelled your raging nerves, replacing them with a welcome swell of courage. Until, once again, the realisation hit.

Roger's cheeks couldn't have flushed brighter if they tried. His mouth dangled open long after you pulled away, as his mind scrambled to assess the situation.

"Can't do that at the park," you remarked, taking a step back.

Roger thwarted your retreat, luring you back into him by the fabric of your dress. "When did you get so brave?" He murmured, hovering out of reach.

If you couldn't kiss him again, you were going to at least conceal your face as another giddy rush struck you. His neck was the ideal spot.

"Not that brave?" Roger grinned, holding you tighter.

You smirked against his warm, sodden skin. "It's just you, you big distraction."

"Sight of me shirtless got you all hot and bothered?" Roger quizzed, swaying with you in his arms.

"Maybe."

"Dread to think what you're gonna be like when we… when you're ready. Of course. I'm sure it'll be-"

"Fine, Roger," you began, interrupting him. Fully removed from his neck, you peered up at him, reassuringly. "It'll be fine."

Roger swept a stray strand of hair off your forehead. His eyes misted over just thinking about what lay ahead of you both. "I don't want it to be fine, though." He inched dangerously close to you again. So close you could hear his breathing become jagged against your lips. "I want it to be perfect."

The sound of his voice. Those words. Having him so close and all to yourself with no one else around. That feeling fired lightning bolts in your gut and forced a soft groan from you. You kept your eyes on his, watching as the fine lines around them grew.

He loved having that effect on you; relished it from the second he met you. But this was different. "I think you'd like that too."

"Now?" You couldn't hide it. The crack in your voice. Or the way you begged him, looking up through your lashes.

Scrambling up the stairs like a couple of excited teenagers, you and Roger tumbled into the pile of luxurious sheets on his bed. In one sudden action, you turned to straddle him. All he could do was hopelessly drum his fingertips on your thighs and flash you a coy smile.

Like a sheepish kitten, you bowed your head, letting your hair shield your face as you grinned. You drew your nails over Roger's belly, edging closer to his jeans. And then, you looked up.

Roger's breathing stalled, waiting for you to make your next move.

"I'm so nervous," you giggled, breaking the silence between you. The expression you wore made your eyes screw closed and your cheeks puff out. Delirious happiness. A glorious sight, if you asked Roger.

He couldn't resist. Moving on top of you, he planted a hand above your shoulder to steady himself. "Let me do all the work, ok? You just relax and try to enjoy it," he reassured, placing a gentle kiss to your nose.

"Ok," you responded, running your fingers through his hair.

Roger shot you a knowing look, shimmying down the bed. He settled between your thighs and grasped at their undersides; pressing a series of tiny kisses against the sensitive skin close to your knee. He kept his eyes trained on you, for any reaction he could find as he worked his way towards your core.

But instinct kicked in, burning away all your inhibitions. Parting your thighs even further, your hips rolled, urging him closer to where you wanted him.

Roger's hand trailed around your thigh, stopping just short of the seam of your underwear. With one finger, he pulled them aside, spying what was underneath. He dragged his thumb over your folds, spreading your glistening sweetness over your slit.

You found it tricky to stay quiet as Roger's efforts quickened; you resorted to burying the side of your face against the pillow. A low groan escaped you when he continued stroking you with his thumb. Finally, he tugged off your underwear. The air in the room fell cold against your skin, reminding you of the nerves burbling away inside your gut.

But Roger's mouth soon seized your attention again. The flat of his tongue lapped a heavy, lazy stroke along your core. The warmth of him felt delicious with the glow spreading across your lower half, building in intensity. Roger's tongue weaved through your folds with deft swiftness, all the while he gazed up at you, admiring you.

He sensed the way his actions took hold of you. Everything from the way your eyes squeezed shut, to your sweaty palms clawing at the sheets. Especially how your hips rose and fell, grinding against his face in time to the movements of his tongue. He chuckled at how fast he managed to put you at ease and make you come undone. But it was time to up the ante. He brushed the tip of his finger against your tight, slick entrance, gauging the way it pulsed and quivered.

Your hips writhed at the sensation, as you whined with need.

Roger's tongue slowed as he gingerly eased his finger inside you. He smirked against your skin, watching as your mouth dropped open then formed a contented smile. He added another and set about a tentative rhythm.

"Oh god," you gasped, feeling his fingers gather momentum inside you.

His mouth. Where was his mouth?

You let go of the damp sheets and tugged at Roger's hair to guide him back.

The shock of your life came.

Roger's tongue flicked across your clit. Quick, deliberate flicks.

Your moans escalated. Your senses heightened. Everything he did, you felt tenfold. Everything. The sound of his fingers fucking you. The focused look in his eye. The chilly air in the room pricking against your sweat-soaked chest. Writhing and squirming took so much energy. Even breathing was difficult.

The tension became too much.

When your eyes opened again, your chest still heaved. Roger loomed over you. His cheeks flushed, and his chin glistened.

"Are you ok, darling?" Roger asked, concern cutting through his tone.

"I think so," you sighed. Reaching down between your bodies, you began pulling up your dress. But Roger quickly stopped you.

"I've got you," he reassured, slipping his hands underneath it to pull it up. He flung it into a pile on the floor.

Desperate to get out of all your clothes, you quickly undid your bra, throwing it beside your dress.

Roger, still in his jeans, watched, open-mouthed as you lay naked underneath him. "Are you sure you want this?"

Still breathless, all you could do was nod with as much enthusiasm as you could muster.

Roger beamed, fumbling with his belt, and then his jeans, leaving just his underwear behind. Then he settled beside you.

As Roger stroked your hair and peppered kisses over your temple, you couldn't ignore how prominent the outline of his cock was, gazing down at it. Curiosity got the better of you. You reached down and ran your hand over his length. Nerves seeped their way through you again as you marvelled at it. Just able to get your hand around it, your mind wandered to how exactly you were going to stretch yourself around it. How would it feel? Would it hurt? You turned your head to Roger, locking your lips with his in search of some reassurance in the form of lazy little kisses. Unconsciously, you continued to stroke his cock through his boxers.

Roger sighed against your lips. Then he pulled away. "You're gonna get me off before I've even…"

You giggled, pressing your nose against his. "Sorry."

"That's alright, darling," Roger reassured, moving on top of you. He buried his face against your neck, lavishing the delicate skin with wet, drawn-out kisses while pushing his hips ever so slightly against your own.

His cock pressed against your stomach so deliciously that you couldn't help but match his movements. Instinctive need charged through you again. Legs snaking around his waist. Fingernails clawing at his neck.

"You're keen," Roger chuckled, easing back.

You crossed your arms over your chest, lying there fully exposed to him.

"I know you're nervous, darling," Roger smirked, curling his fingers underneath the waistband of his boxers. "Try to relax." Then he pulled them down around his hips.

Now uncovered, his cock seemed even more intimidating. Girthy, swollen and resting against your stomach, you swore it stretched up to your belly button. You kept your eyes glued to it as Roger moved back, drawing the tip over your pussy, glazing it in your juices.

"If it hurts or gets too much, tell me," he continued, teasing you with his cock. Finally, he lined himself up with your entrance. "You ready?"

You nodded, trying to bolster yourself by grasping at your breasts. Then you closed your eyes. Waiting.

In one frustrating and painstaking movement, Roger filled you. While you felt like you were about to burst, Roger gave a satisfied purr. "Does that feel ok?"

You opened your eyes, chuckling through your nervous haze. "It's huge," you squeaked.

Roger leaned over you again, his breath caressing your lips. "Want me to keep going?"

"Yeah," you sighed, squeezing your nails into his biceps.

Roger popped a kiss to the tip of your nose and began a cautious rhythm. The slow drag away, leaving you empty and needy. The quick snap into you, making you gasp and mewl. It felt divine with his weight shifting over you, cocooning you. You kept your eyes closed tight, face nestled against his collarbone. All you could focus on was the feeling of him opening you up to take every inch of his cock, more and more with every careful thrust. Every single time, Roger's cock brushed against just the right spot inside you. And every single time, the tension in your belly swelled.

"God, you feel so good, darling," Roger groaned against your neck.

"You can go faster if you want," you sighed, the desperation simmering to the surface.

"Yeah?" Roger asked. "I'm not hurting you?"

"You could never hurt me," you encouraged. "Go for it."

It was all the reassurance Roger needed. He moved back and grabbed your hips. Then he let loose.

Your eyes shot open as Roger pounded into you. Having your hips elevated to meet his harsh thrusts made the feeling so much more intense. You couldn't contain all the frantic, incoherent moans and curses, meeting the obscene sound of his flesh slapping against your own; not to mention the bed frame thudding away against the wall. Your head tilted back, spying the metal slats above your head. One hand reached to grab on to it, stretching yourself out for him.

"That's my gorgeous girl," Roger hummed, marvelling at you.

His words - his assessment - of you spurred you on. It made you brave. You needed more than just his cock. Your free hand reached down between your legs, fingers delving between your folds to circle your clit.

"That's it," Roger coaxed, "play with yourself for me."

It was precisely what you needed. Each feverish circle aligned with Roger's increasingly jagged pace, and the curses just kept tumbling from your mouth.

"Make yourself feel good for me," Roger sighed.

You could feel yourself start to come undone underneath him. The familiar feeling of your thighs trembling and the burning in your core told you everything.

"Fuck. Keep going, darling, I want to feel you come on my cock. Come on, let it go, baby…"

You took one final look at Roger. The dull sheen on his skin. His head tipped back, totally lost in how amazing you felt. Succumbing to his own high.

Dragging you with him.

The soft sound of sheets rustling and a faint groan halted you in your tracks. You hadn't even reached the hallway on your hunt to find his bathroom. The shock caused your arm to find its way across your chest. It was stupid. He had already seen you naked. But you couldn't fight instinct. You welcomed what little protection it afforded you.

"Where are you going?" A drowsy voice whined.

You turned to face him.

Propped up on his elbows and peering at you over the narrow rims of his glasses, Roger silently begged you to come back to bed.

Discomfort returned as soon as Roger finished and his eyes closed. Leaving you to fester in your own filth and wrestle with your doubts for an hour. Until you couldn't take any more. You needed to be alone. "I'm just going to clean myself up, I'll be back in a minute."

Roger's expression lifted. His cheeks puffed out as the corners of his mouth curved up. He closed his eyes and nodded. "Ok, darling. Toilet's at the end of the hall. There's a linen cupboard just behind the door with lots of fresh towels. Use whatever you like. I'll grab a shirt for you."

"Thanks."

In a flash, you scrambled down the hall, following streaks of daylight that caught tiny specks of dust in the air all the way to the bathroom. You closed the door with such urgency that it threatened to drop off its hinges. But, now, alone, you could get your bearings. You glanced to your right at the linen cupboard as you slid on to the cold tiled floor. Your eyes worked overtime, processing your surroundings. Everything in its right place. Shimmering, sparkling white everywhere. And the scent of Roger's aftershave. The neat, pristine room overwhelmed you. The worst part about it was that you knew it was stupid. Sitting on the floor, shaking your head. It was only a room. Your back was turned on the difficult stuff for now. The hardest part was finally over.

The shower cried out to you. Examining your reflection in the cubicle door, your skin crawled. Roger was all over you.

A series of pointed strikes to the door almost knocked your heart from your chest.

"Darling?" Roger sang. "I've got a t-shirt for you."

You edged around to crack the door open, peering up at Roger. Reaching out for the shirt in his hand. But he took it back, out of your grasp.

His lower lip jutted out as he realised the state you had managed to work yourself into. He still asked the question, leaning down, getting on your level. "Is everything alright?"

His touch was such a comfort, you cursed yourself for allowing shame and panic cut you to shreds. As he ran his fingers through your hair, you couldn't help but keen against his hand. "I don't know," you sighed, closing your eyes. "I was going to shower."

"You look pale," Roger continued. He drew his thumb over your cold, clammy cheek, assessing everything and noting it in his head. It kicked his mind into overdrive, and the words came pouring out. "How about I run you a bath?"

Opening your mouth to reply, he didn't give you a second to respond.

"Was earlier too much?"

"Rog-"

"Do you need a bit of time on your own?"

You managed his name, this time. But he still wittered on.

"You seem really shaken. I'm going to run you a bath. You don't look like you could stand up in the shower; it might help you relax."

"Roger!"

That grabbed his attention.

"A bath would be lovely."

Before you knew it, you found yourself perched on the edge of the sumptuous, marble bathtub. No sooner had you agreed to this, but Roger had swaddled you in a soft, fluffy bathrobe and got to work, decanting all sorts of potions into the stream of steaming hot water. You watched, tugging the collar around your nose to catch his scent, as Roger swished his hand through the luxurious lather, making it lap at the sides of the tub. Neither of you exchanged words until he turned the tap off and made for the door.

"Can you stay?" you asked in a small voice.

His shoulders slumped. "That was a big deal for you earlier," he began, wrapping his arms around your waist. "Are you sure?"

The blanket of bubbles moved in soothing waves over your skin. The stiffness in your shoulders disappeared, and your legs felt a little less like jelly. Easing yourself backwards as Roger stroked your hair, one question popped into the front of your mind, and out of your mouth. "Did you actually enjoy that?"

Roger's fingers stilled on your scalp.

You cast your eye over to him. The top of his head, just visible above the rim of the tub, but that gave zero indication as to what he was thinking. You could never quite tell with Roger.

He sighed. "Did you enjoy it?"

"I'm asking you."

"Your first time with someone new is never going to be perfect."

His tone seared through you. So cold and matter of fact. Your heart sank. "You said you wanted it to be, though."

"I wanted it to be perfect for you."

Your teeth dug into your lip. You squeezed your eyes closed. You tried to focus on the circles that Roger drew on your scalp.

"Can I tell you something?" Roger asked.

"Suppose so."

"I was just as nervous as you. I've never taken someone's virginity. I didn't want to hurt you... I'm really sorry I couldn't do more for you."

"That's ok."

"But are you feeling ok?"

"I think so."

"We'll get better at this," Roger mused. Then, he broke into view, hanging his head over the edge of the tub wearing a comical pout. "D'you reckon we could practice that again? Definitely, think I could do better next time," he asked.

Moments like that reminded you why you fell for him in the first place; the way he barely had to try, and yet, he still managed to make you grin from ear to ear. He could also draw out a livelier version of you. The best you, in your opinion. "I hope, for your sake, you get better at this," you giggled. "At least I've got an excuse, being the inexperienced young thing that I am. Don't know what your problem is."

Roger skimmed his fingers over the surface of the water. "That bath looks really good," he said with a wink.

You looked away from him as you hauled yourself up, feeling another pang of nervous excitement in your gut.

"Can I join you?" Roger asked.

The smile on your face grew larger the closer you got to him until your noses touched. "Only if you ask me nicely."

Stealing a chaste kiss, he caught you off guard.

"Can…"

Another kiss.

"I…"

And another.

"Join you..."

A longer one.

"Please?"

Roger leaned back, looking utterly pleased with himself while your brain played catch up.

"Well?"

[elixir4paradise]

Promise-of-Happiness

Set after Bad Relationship Ending 1, what happens if V catches wind of what Rika has done to both her and Ray? Will they be saved?

I could remember screaming, a voice screaming my name. A voice asking, begging, pleading for forgiveness for leaving me alone. The face before me seemed so familiar, yet so far away. Bleached hair with pink tips splayed messily on his forehead, his gloved fingers running over my cheek. Why was his touch so familiar? Why couldn't I speak?

I hazily remember him shouting as believers grabbed him and pulled him away. He continued to shout for me, telling me he would be back..but why..? It was like I had no memories of him, I only remembered the Savior calling me down to her throne room and scolding me for barely using the messenger I had come to test. The game? Oh wait. It wasn't a game, they were real people. What a strange feeling.

Feeling darkness invade my field of vision, I cried out; or so I thought. I was awake but I couldn't open my eyes, a faint beeping filled my ears. I struggled and cried out internally as I begged my body to listen to my commands. A futile effort, I couldn't wake up. Ceasing my internal struggles, I faintly recall hearing a voice, speaking to me so very softly.

"It'll be okay, MC." The owner of the voice gently stroked down my hair, tangling his fingers between the locks. "I'm so sorry I got you involved in this, so please wake up soon." Then my memory faded back into black as I felt my consciousness slipping back away. Sweet darkness, warm darkness, comforting darkness.

The redhead who sat beside the hospital bed, untangled his fingers from the young woman before him. His eyes clouded with worry as he turned towards the door that slid open. "V.."

The man with mint colored hair adverted his gaze from the golden eyes baring straight into his soul. "Luciel, I didn't think you'd still be here." he spoke softly, nervously approaching the redhead. He lowered himself onto the foot of the bed, flitting his eyes to the hand Luciel had the unconscious girl's in. "I didn't realize you were so close."

Seven pressed his mouth into a thin line, glancing back to the girl. "We're not." he said curtly. "We get along in chat and I..." biting his tongue before considering his next words. "..I feel responsible, with Saeran and all."

V watched him closely, feeling he was hiding something, but it was not an issue he was going to press. He knew Luciel had started to develop feelings towards the woman attached to IV and a heart monitor before them, it was obvious in the way he interacted with her on messenger. It was even more obvious as he set aside his work for the agency even after their rescue was completed.  Not mentioning it was the least he could do since Luciel never once asked how he knew she was at Magenta. How he knew his brother was there too, he just listened as they infiltrated and carried out the mission, no questions asked.

--- My dream was hazy, I felt the warmth of the sun hitting my face. It felt so good, I felt myself shifting to my side and a hand supporting me. I stirred again before opening my eyes. Beautiful mint green/blue eyes gazed into mine, the familiar white haired man looked to me with such tenderness on his face. I gathered that I was on his lap, I could feel a soft pressure on my head causing me to reach up before his fingers intertwined with my own.

"I'm sorry, did I wake you?" His voice was beyond comforting and familiar. "Don't mess with your crown princess, it's fragile."

Crown? I strained my eyes to unblur as I began to notice he was sporting a crown of flowers, causing me to reach up and touch upon some soft petals entwined around my head.

"I'm sorry." He spoke again, brushing a strand of hair from my eyes. "You just looked so much like a princess I had to make you a crown to match the sleeping beauty before me."

The heat that rose to my cheeks had me certain that I was burning as bright as the roses that adorned his crown. I adverted my eyes quickly as I sat up, his hand loosening on mine, allowing me to shift into a sitting position.

I felt my body move on it's own as I let my head lay into his chest, curling up lightly inbetween his legs, I took in the surroundings before us. We lay against a tree in a garden, vibrant colors painted the scenery before us, the orange of twilight cascading the area in an even dreamier glow.

"You fell asleep, Princess." Lips touched the back of my hand and touched again on my forehead. "We were having a picnic, remember? The Savior has allowed it and I was so happy to see you." He smiled wistfully as he stroked my hair, a nervous but calm aura surrounded him.

"I love you." he broke the silence, his voice shuddering, it sounded as if it was his first time confessing those words. I heard myself confirming his feelings by pushing up and letting our lips touch, before I pulled away I spoke. "I love you too, Ray. So much."

A sad smile crossed his features as he began to dissolve infront of my very eyes. He faded into darkness, leaving my arms cold and empty. I reached out as I watched him disappear before my very eyes. ---

"RAY!!" I shot up in bed, the scenery around me vastly different from my dream. Sterile white walls, a beeping monitor. I jolted my body forward, gasping for air and wincing as I felt the IV tube grow taught against my movement. A hand grasped around mine, causing me to whip around. Gold eyes bore onto mine, an intense, somehow familiar stare, peering into my soul.

"Who-" Before I could even get it out, the redhead before me was moving me to lay back down on the hospital bed.

"Rest. You've been out for a few days." His voice was so quiet, sweet and somewhat sad. For some reason he also seemed familiar. His red hair messy, disheveled and yellow and black striped glasses adorned his face. "I'm sure you're surprised. He won't hurt you anymore."

Who? I glanced around the room nervously, trying to figure out what he was saying, trying to rack my brain as to who he was. He reminded me of the guy in my dream, but starkly different with the red mop atop his head. "Ray....?"

Seven sat back down after getting her to calm down, sighing softly and shaking his head to the confused woman. "MC, You probably know me as Luciel.. I.. I'm so sorry."

"Seven?" Obviously bewildered, his name came from my lips probably louder than I intended. "Where's Ray?"

"He won't hurt you now."

He didn't! He was always kind to me. I was remembering now, my affirmation to his feelings, the memories we  shared in the garden seemed like so long ago.

 "He... he would never hurt me.." I finally managed to choke out, contributing to the mix of emotions on his face. "He... He's not--"

"No. He's okay. V and I got him in the psyche ward.." His voice trailed, an obvious pain contorted his features. "His name isn't Ray." He inhaled deeply, resting his hand on my shoulder. "His name is Saeran. He's my twin.. it seems like someone pit him against the RFA, he was unconscious when we found him, just like you were." His amber colored eyes seemed to search mine for answers.

Seven shifted in his seat before continuing. "He was in a basement, locked in a cel. According to the doctors he ingested the same mixture of chemicals you did, but a greater quantity. I'm not sure what that stuff was but he was angry and delirious. MC.. Do you remember who did this..? Anything.. He's my brother. I left him in Rika's care, V ensured he was safe but he won't answer my questions."

The young man spoke so quickly, feverently that it was almost so hard to keep up. It was a lot of information. "The Savior must have... The Savior must have punished him after I stopped coming on messenger.." I recollected to the best of my abilities. "She... looked really familiar.." suddenly something dawned on me and as I began to ask him to show me a picture of Rika, the door to the room swung open and a gentleman with mint colored hair and mint eyes stood, his breathing labored.

Seven and I sat in silence as the man entered the room. "Please don't say any more." He panted. "Please." He approached us slowly, holding his hands in a clasped position. "Please let me handle... that Savior."

I shifted my attention to Seven, whose hands were gripping the railing to my bed, his knuckles white. As if to comfort him I moved my hand to cover his lightly. His whole demeanor relaxed at my touch. He let his head hang down in defeat, not pressuring the mint haired man further.

"V..." Seven spoke softly, trying hard to mask the shaking in his voice. "Why are you here...?"

"I came to check on you both, the other members asked me to since you haven't been on messenger. I filled them in the best I could."

Seven nodded lightly. "How is he..?"

"He's still angry, he keeps calling for someone, he seems desperate but incoherent."

I tried to find the courage to speak, moving my mouth opened and closed, like a guppy gasping for breath. "Can I see him...?" I finally managed. His memory was becoming clearer, our memories together. I wanted to see him more than I could bare.

"He's your kidnapper. I don't feel it'd be wise." V spoke sternly, his eyes narrowed lightly, somehow betraying the calmness and tenderness behind his voice. He approached me and reached out to touch my arm gently, his expression has since relaxed. "He is very frantic, I'm not sure you'd help. I'm sorry."

Seven watched his "guardian" speak to MC, watching them interact closely. He was acute to the emotions being hidden in their tones as their voices bounced along the walls of the sterile room. Thank goodness for his experience as an Agent helping him read the situation better. While he understood V's concern, he could feel the eagerness and sincerity behind MC's intentions too. After a while V excused himself, leaving the two in silence. They waited a while, ensuring V was gone before he spoke up, his voice still hushed. "Want to come with me..? I know where he is."

I couldn't help the joy that sprung to my eyes, glittering with happy tears as I nodded vigorously. "Please!" ---- I could hear screaming from the room, thrashing around and a nurse leaving quickly before our presence caught her attention. "I wouldn't go in there." She spoke quickly as she finally pushed past. 

I could feel Seven looking at me, concerned, as if he was questioning our next move. I was holding onto the IV drip, rolling it beside us as Seven was pushing my wheelchair towards the room. His excuse was that I haven't used my legs in days and he didn't want me to overexert myself.

The shrill screams filled my ears again snapping me from my distracted state. I made sure my eyes met with Seven's and mustered up the most determined, pleading expression I could muster. I was scared but I had to see him with my own eyes.

"Little brother.." Seven's greeting was met with a hiss and another crazed scream. "Bro, Listen. I--" A book flung across the room, narrowly hitting him. Sighing he confirmed with me again but I wasn't ready to give up. Finally he wheeled me into view.

The frail figure on the bed was bound tightly, his chest struggling against the bounds, causing the railing to rattle with the sheer force he was using. Another sharp hiss of an inhale before those icy mint eyes met with mine. For a moment his angry expression faltered.

He gasped and tugged at his binds again, his eyes seemed to brim with tears. 

She was here. She was here! She was ALIVE! He pulled again, desperate, his demeanor no longer one of anger. "MC..." he choked out, completely forgetting the man who brought her to him. "MC!" his voice broke out in a sob, a strangled desperation of an onslaught of emotion crashing into his weak body.

Seven watched his brother's attitude go a complete 180 upon seeing the girl. What did he feel towards her? The same thing he felt? Maybe he only liked her because they are twins and they felt the same thing? Trying to piece together his own emotions, he didn't notice the girl struggling and reaching at the railing of the bed.

I shakily grabbed the railing to Ray--Saeran's bed and pulled myself up, I could barely stand but I felt the need to get close to him. Tears were threatening to burn my eyes as I managed to pull myself forward, stumbling. "I'm here.." I felt a strong pair of arms lift me and sit me on the bed, Seven smiled tenderly, mussing my hair before stepping to the side with a soft nod, signalling me to go ahead.

Glancing at the sobbing figure before me, I lifted his chin gingerly, examining his face. Ray--wait. Saeran's face was stricken with tears, a look of relief gracing his lovely eyes. He buried his head against my shoulder, choking back another gasp. Wrapping my arms tightly around him I let him cry it out into my shoulder, feeling the tears I was holding back falling freely. ---

A month has passed since we were discharged from the hospital, Saeran and I were living in Seven's bunker, I slept in one of the guest rooms, Saeran had his own room and Saeyoung, who I learned was Seven's real name obviously had his own.

The brothers have gone through a lot in the time we've been together. Saeran had pushed away from his brother and fought feverently against the belief's the Savior had instilled in him. Deep down he understood Saeyoung did what was best for them at the time but there was a part of him that didn't want to accept it.

Saeran suffered a lot, anxiety attacks riddling him a useless sobbing mess. I was always quick to help him breathe and calm down. We would press foreheads together and count slowly. His tears would slowly dissapear as his breathing would slip away from erratic to calm and collected.

I stayed in my room a lot to give them to bond and to struggle with my own feelings, I loved Saeran so much but I was very confused. I was trying hard to process the that Saeran and Ray were similar but not quite the same. I tried to quiet my steps as I headed towards the kitchen. Upon reaching my destination I was graced with a serene scene of the brothers actually eating peacefully together. Saeyoung was cracking some joke or another and annoying Saeran but not to the point of angering him.

Mint and gold eyes flitted over to me, holding my surprised gaze. 'G-Good morning you two.." I pushed past, bowing my head lightly, trying to seem as small as possible, to not disrupt their peaceful moment. Saeyoung's voice rung through the morning. "Let's go on a date!!" His hearty laugh reverberated in his chest, the mirth in his eyes youthful and excited.

"Date..?" Saeran looked up from his breakfast curiously, knitting his eyebrows together. "What do you mean..?"

"You, Me and MC!"

I felt the plate fall from my hand, clattering to the counter. My face was so hot I felt like I couldn't breathe. "W....what...?"

Saeyoung wasted no time, moving and wrapping his arm around my shoulders in a onesided hug. "Well! GOD7 is bored and you've helped us both so much! If you hadn't come to chat.." his voice grew serious from the hearty boyish tone he had before as he pulled me tighter. "I wouldn't have been reunited with my baby brother and I wouldn't have met you so please! Let us treat you.."

I could hear Saeran choke on his food before getting up and prying his brother's arm off me. "Okay okay that's enough of that.." He spoke flatly, mussing my hair. His tender eyes glanced down on mine, smiling lightly. "Go get ready.. Yeah?" 

Saeran watched as she scrambled back to her room to get changed. He moved to meet his brother's gaze. "What's with you?"

Saeyoung only grinned largely, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. 

"Whaaaaat?" feigned innocence dripped over his words. "Jealous?"

Saeran didn't miss a beat. "Yes. Stop flirting with her."

Saeyoung slumped his shoulders, defeated before his shit eating grin disappeared. He tried to gather his thoughts before speaking again. "You love her...?" He watched a series of emotions flash through his brother's face. Gold eyes widened as his brother confidently nodded. Back to a shit eating grin, Saeyoung grabbed his twin tight. "I'M SO EXCITED FOR MY SISTER IN LAW!!!" 

Yes, his heart had been shattered into a million pieces but he bounced back quickly. He was happy to set his feelings aside as long as they could both be happy. He swung his brother back and forth laughing loudly to keep from the feelings he buried deep in his heart. He understood his feelings may not change but his brother has suffered enough and deserved this chance. ------ The "date" was lovely, walking around a botanical park and Saeran explained the many different flowers. Saeyoung played on his phone but he and I cracked jokes freely, teasing one another. We poked and prodded as Saeran would watch on with tender eyes.

I was on cloud 9. The happiest I've felt in years. We were headed towards our final destination to the date, my arm linked in Saeyoung's playfully as we pretended to be heading down the yellow brick road. As my free hand swung freely, I brushed against the back of Saeran's hand. I shot an embarrassed glance to him and his response took me back to the days in the gardens. His fingers intertwined with mine, staring straight ahead as if it was a natural action.

The ice-cream shop was bustling, Saeyoung had already unlinked with me and went off to order ahead of us. Saeran's fingers never left mine as we sat across from each other laying our linked hand on the square table. His eyes bore into mine as he smiled lightly. "One chocolate, one strawberry and one vanilla coming right up!!" Saeyoung's voice snapped me out of my trance and Saran and I untangled our fingers. I touched my burning cheek in embarrassment. Saeyoung sat at the table, handing the cones out, laughing to himself. Sarean and I blinked together as if wanting in on Saeyoung's inside voice.

"Together we make Neapolitan Ice-cream!" He held up his chocolate cone while Saeran held up his vanilla, I brought my strawberry cone in the middle, the flavors lightly touching as we made a "toast" with the ice-cream. Laughter ensued. ---- Saeran and I have grown even closer since that day and my realization that Ray was alive inside of him only made my feelings stronger. Saeyoung and I had become the best of friends and hung out constantly. I was no longer confused about my feelings. I did love Saeyoung, but not the same way he hoped I did.. 

My feelings for Saeran.. have become clear as day.

Saeran was planting some flowers outside of the bunker, admiring his work and wiping his arm on his head. I sat on the ledge of the flower box, kicking my legs as I watched him work. "What did you plant?" I asked curiously.

"Primrose, roses, dandelions, baby's breath and lily of the valley." His cheeks dusted with a sweet rosy pink as he mentioned the last one. Curiosity must have filled my face because he answered me without my asking. "Lily of the valley.." 

He removed his glove and cupped my cheek gently. "The promise of happiness." I felt the blood rush to my cheeks, my eyes softened lightly as I leaned into his touch. "I hope you'll find all the happiness in the world. You and Saeyoung deserve it." I touched my fingers along his wrist, stroking them lightly.

He relaxed into my touch and caught my gaze in his own, keeping eye contact, he searched mine as if asking if I was listening. Before I knew it, his face was so close to mine, our foreheads touching, his eyes never leaving mine. "I've already found it.."

Saeran's breath tickled my lips, casuing my breath to hitch in my throat. I shivered against his touch, my heart hammering in my chest. "Y...You have?" 

Without a moment of hesitation, he closed the distance between us, cupping my face now with both hands. I felt like I couldn't breathe for a moment, giving into his kiss I exhaled, wrapping my arms around his neck. His free hand wrapped around the back of my head, pulling me closer. He exhaled through his nose, pushing the kiss deeper.

We stayed like that for what felt like an eternity, not wanting the other to pull away, but we both needed to catch our breath. A radiant, gentle smile graced his features, tears brimming in his eyes. "My MC. I love you. I always have. I know now.. those feelings weren't just Ray's but mine. Thank you for being by my side constantly and for helping me find my family."

I inhaled nervously, pulling myself into a closer hug, trembling lightly. His words processed as I let my eyes flutter closed. I had no doubt in the world now. 

Nothing could break this moment. I exhaled against his collar bone, peppering kisses on it lightly. "I love you too... I love you Saeran... All of you, every side of you and that will never change."

I heard him let out a relieved sob, exhaling a breath I was unaware that he was holding. We both laughed to ourselves, showering the other in months worth of kisses to make up for lost time. Both a tearful, hiccuping laughing mess, we couldn't have it any other way.

The promise of happiness. Everlasting love.

Nothing ever felt more right in the world and we had it, in our hands.

Forever.

[adora2723]

Supercorp

It was a precarious situation. Lena wondered how she always seems to find herself in the middle of those. Right now, Supergirl was tied to a wall, barely conscious due to the Kryptonite conveniently placed all around her; just the right amount to subdue her yet keep her aware of her surroundings.

Lena had just come to after being knocked unconscious by Eve in her office. She should have seen that coming, she thought to herself. Her head throbbed in sync to the beat of her pulse. She watched her brother pace back and forth in front of a screen, replaying what seemed like every interaction she ever had with Supergirl on a loop. Something wet and warm trickled down her forehead, and when she reached she found her fingers sticky with red, hot blood.

“Ah, finally! You’re awake. We’ve been waiting for you to wake up for 13 minutes Lena. You know it’s rude to keep people waiting, I taught you better than that. Sit up straight! Respect is built on the foundation of propriety and composure. Show your big brother some respect! Then again, it is not entirely your fault is it? Miss Teschmacher may have been a tad bit... overzealous in her execution.”

“What am I doing here Lex?” Lena bit out.

“Yes of course, straight to the point as usual. You see, I told you, Lena, to always mind the company you keep. And sure, I can disregard many things... you sending me to jail: sibling rivalry. Changing the company name: petulant yet expected. But, working together with that alien scum to take me down is a betrayal I wasn’t expecting from you!” Lex’ voice started out as mild taunting but by the end had been consumed by rage. He was living up to his reputation as a mad man; wildly gesticulating, spit flying everywhere. If he had had hair it would be sticking out in all directions. So much for composure.

Of course Lena knew what this was about. She’s known for three weeks, ever since Lex escaped from prison, that he was going to come after her. She wasn’t really worried about herself; she knew their confrontation was inevitable. Neither could live as long as the other survived. If only her life was as magical as these novels. Unlike Harry though, she was all alone. No dependents who would suffer from her proximity, no family to mourn her untimely and cruel death, and no friends who would miss her during random lunch dates or impromptu game nights. Well, one friend. Kara. Kara was her solace in an otherwise dreary existence. Kara who she had come to care for as more than the best friend she pretended to be. Kara who she should have cut ties with as soon as she received the first foreboding letter. The letter, sent anonymously by Lex, that seemingly was just fanmail by a devoted admirer, sweetly relaying his adulation through Ancient Greek song. Turns out she could have avoided a tragedy, but she was Icarus flying too close to the sun, incapable to resist. She will pay the price for this.

“Let her go. Please! It is me you want. Take me!” Supergirl feebly tried to fight off her restraints. Her voice barely audible, rough and scratchy from exhaustion. Lena admired her perseverance. Supergirl’s sense for justice never seemed selfrighteous, a feat her cousin couldn’t quite pull off. Despite their dissent Supergirl didn’t falter in trying to protect her; maybe in a promise to Kara? Wishful thinking.

“There won’t be much of you left to take, Kryptonian! Besides, you have no value to me, no. This is personal. This time I came here to quench my thirst for revenge. You see, most people think we Luthors don’t have emotions. And usually they would be right in their assessment, however limited it might be. Average brains produce average results. But nothing about us Luthors is average. We are eminent, exceptional, extraordinary. And so are our feelings. And you,” he turned his burning eyes to Lena, “hurt mine. It is not just that. It is a matter of respect, isn’t it. How dare you drag our name through the mud-”

“Me?! I wasn’t the one who went on a suicidal mission-”

“How DARE you use MY company, my brain, my knowledge, my tech for the empowerment of those roaches ?!  HOW DARE YOU. Everything you have is because of me. Everything you built, every business deal you closed, every prestigious award you got, the recognition, the applaud, the esteem. EVERYTHING you are, is because of me. Without me you are nothing. I made you who you are and you go against me.” He closed his eyes and exhaled sharply, seemingly gathering his composure. “How dare you betray me like that, sis?” He turned his back to her. Supergirl was stunned speechless, deliriously following Lex’ tirade. Lena used this opportunity to scan her surroundings. They were being held in what looked like some sort of cave. It was dark and moist, and the air smelled of sulfur. Against the confinements of the cavern Lex had constructed his head-quarters. The only exit was a tight tunnel, pitch-black and not very promising to aid them in their escape to daylight, it was also very inconveniently located on the opposite end of where Supergirl was tied up. And Lena was not leaving without her. Their future seemed dismal.

Lex took a deep inhale. “It is vile. What you did to me... I want you to feel it to. Before I kill you, I will see the same betrayal in your eyes and on your dying breath you will realise, that you were alone all along, just like me.” 

“She is not alone! And she will never be like you. Don’t listen to him Lena.” Lex laughed hysterically. “Oh, that’s rich coming from you, Supergirl. See, I realised some while ago that people with feelings tend to be more concerned about their loved ones. Indeed, they care more about those who are near and dear to them, completely disregarding their own self in the act, which turns out to be the grounds of their demise. And, unfortunately for you, Lena, you are as selfless and tempestuous as they come.” Lex paused for seemingly no other reason than dramatic effect. For a guy so aversed to theatrics he had a flair for ostentatious performance.

He side-eyed Supergirl surreptitiously. “Say, how is that reporter friend of yours? Kara Danvers?” Lex smirked mischievously. Supergirl began fidgeting frantically. Lena’s brain whirred to life. She started working through all the ways that this could play out at a highspeed. “What about her?” She chose nonchalance. She knew she had been putting Kara at risk by befriending her, but staying away seemed impossible. If anything happened to the bubbly reporter just because Lena wanted to indulge in a hopeless little crush, Lena would never forgive herself.

It might have even been more than a crush. Lena remembers the night vividly that she realised she was in too deep. They had known each other for a little over a year by then. Eventhough they were colleagues now (well, technically, she was her boss) the acquisition of Catco brought with it a shitload of paperwork, board meetings, and late-night phone calls that had to be dealt with, and Lena was stretched even thinner than usual. They hadn’t seen each other for a month after their reconciliation, and Lena was just happy to spend some quality time with her best friend who finally seemed to be over her ex. When Kara had initially invited her over Lena wanted to decline. Abstaining that long from Kara’s cheeriness had made her revert back to old customs. Lena had resigned herself to go back to being lonely, writing Kara off as a shooting star that briefly flew by to illuminate her firmament for a precious while, too good to last. But Kara had insisted and she couldn’t resist her pull. 

So she had made herself comfortable on Kara’s couch, dressed down in comfy clothes that no one was allowed to see her in except for Kara. She had ordered Chinese food, knowing Lena’s taste by heart, and while Lena was animatedly telling her about her childhood before she was adopted, Kara not so sneakily stole some chicken from her box. There was nothing new about that; Kara was known to be a voracious eater and often snuck some food in from foreign plates. What she did next, however, was unprecedented: she replaced the chicken with a potsticker from her own plate. She had spent enough time with the Danvers sisters to know that Kara sharing food had near-apocalyptic implications. But for her to do it so casually, while keenly and earnestly absorbing every word of Lena’s most treasured tales, that’s what made Lena’s heart simultaneously expand and implode at once. In the warmth of the fairy lights, lounging on the snuggly sofa, Lena lost her heart to riveting eyes and giddy laughter.

Now, she wished she would have closed her eyes and made a wish. Letting the shooting star take its destined course. Now, that star was gonna crash and burn, diminishing all hope in its wake, all because Lena could not stay away. Because Lena was selfish. “Don’t play dumb now, sis, inanity doesn’t suit you. We all know how you feel about that bimbo. Though I have to admit, you always had a keen eye for beauty. Unfortunately, you never bothered to look beyond what’s on the surface. Well, how do they say? ‘Love is blind.’ Isn’t it right, Supergirl?”

If they weren’t in a situation of life and death Lena would have been petrified. She was very careful to never show even an ounce of her overwhelming affection to anybody. Least of all people who she knew were connected to Kara and might tell her about Lena’s deplorable feelings causing Kara to finally abandon her, kindness be damned. Least of all people who had a unyielding sense of rectitude and might believe Kara had a right to know about what Lena was so desperately hiding. Least of all people like Supergirl.

Alas, she had more pressing matters to attend. “Don’t you dare touch her! You hear me, Lex, you go after her and you will regret the day you were born!” Lex’ grin turned from smug to wicked. “Oh, don’t worry little sis, I won’t even come near her. You see, it just happened to be the case that you, dearest Lena, embraced the provenance of your own demise. It just happens that delay is the deadliest form of denial. And you’ve been in denial for so long. We Luthors, we do feel emotions. Just not all of them, no, only the crucial ones. Avarice, pride, rage, and betrayal. Fuelling our power. And once you feel that betrayal, Lena, you will kill for me two birds with one stone. You will drive yourself to death in your quest for revenge and you will take that pathetic Supergirl with you. Feel the rage Lena. Feel the betrayal.”

Lex turned towards the screens mounted on the cave walls just as Supergirl tore free of her restraints in an anguished scream.                    

[veinsandknuckles]

It's a bad life if you don't weaken, pt 4 (Tallahassee/Reader)

A jolt of movement woke you up and your startled brain tried to compensate for its confusion by running through a few scattered facts that you could cling to. Like your name and age, and that you were alive, and that you weren’t sure if it was still worth the effort, and that you felt absolutely sick to your stomach. Unlike the rest of your new motley crew, you had a good reason to keep track of, if not dates, then at least the number of days crawling past, so you also knew you’d been traveling in their company for at least two weeks. But you didn’t know where you were and you couldn't remember why you'd been unconscious. When you tried to sit up to check whether you needed to run or fight, your head forced you back down by giving your brain a good, hard squeeze.

“Aahh!” You would have complained more but somehow you couldn’t muster up the strength to form words. Tallahassee came into view above you. Things were real bad when that was the most reassuring thing you could have hoped for.

“Don’t move,” he said, too late.

“What...”

“You took a pretty bad tumble. We’re safe for now, just holed up in here until the other two bring the car over.” He was sitting by your side with his gun resting by his chair, breathing hard, sweat glittering on his forehead. The movement you’d felt must have been him laying you down... where? By gingerly running your hands down your sides you found you were propped up on some old blankets on top of wooden crates. Tallahassee must have been stuck for choices because it was not a comfortable surface.

Now he got up again, secured the door and picked up a first aid kit on his way over to his seat.

Boxes and debris took up most of the small room and the only light came from two small, dingy windows high on the wall and a flash light pointed towards the ceiling - it looked like the back rooms of shops everywhere, which was strange because the last thing you could remember was... running from a horde and finding yourself trapped against a fence cutting off the alley.

The wire at the top of the fence had been torn. As soon as that image entered your head, the sharp, hot pain from your leg made itself known and you squealed and drew your knee up as if you could protect yourself against it by shielding the area.

“Was wondering when you’d notice that,” Tallahassee said unsympathetically and pushed you gently down onto your back, not before you’d seen the gash running up from your knee and the blood drying into your jeans. “Gimme a minute to recover and we’ll get you cleaned up. You’re heavier than you look.”

“Oh, fuck,” you whined and saw the light begin to fracture and spread from tears.

“Hey, hey, hey.” Tallahassee drew his chair closer and leaned towards you, squeezed your shoulder, put his knuckles to your jaw to make you look at him. “Shh. You’re gonna be alright, come on now. Need some water?”

You reached out to take the proffered bottle but you shook so violently that he sighed and very gently slipped a warm, wide hand under your neck and helped you sit up to drink. His expression had softened now and that made it even harder for you to keep it together. When you’d finished, he poured some of the water onto his hands to get the worst of the red off of them, pulled the first aid kit onto his lap and zipped it open.

“Alright then. This ain’t gonna be pretty.”

He picked up the flash light and turned it on your leg and you pushed yourself up onto your elbows to see what he saw. With all that dried blood and fabric it was hard to tell how bad it was, but Tallahassee didn’t seem worried. The pain was intense but after the moment of surprise, it was beginning to be manageable. Was that a good sign? Or were you going numb?

“It ain’t deep but you’ll definitely need stitches...” He put a hand on your leg to pull the cloth a little out of the way and no, you weren’t numb because his touch instantly made you tense and grow hot. Tallahassee must have taken your sharp breath as a complaint, because he shot you an apologetic look. “Sorry, darlin. I’m sure I’m the last person you’d pick to play doctor, but it has to be done.”

After rummaging, he got out a pair of scissors and now the heat was climbing up your chest towards your face. He spotted your discomfort.

“Promise I won’t look more’n I have to.” As careful as he was, it still hurt like hell when he pulled the fabric away from your skin and slipped in one of the blades to start cutting. You licked your lips. If he was going to have enough room to work, you’d end up wearing something very similar to daisy dukes on that one side.

“Oh, it’s fine... you deserve some perks for getting me out of there.”

“Sweetheart...” Tallahassee chuckled. “I was just lying about that to make you feel better.”

“Right. Silly of me to expect anything else.”

If he was trying to distract you from the pain, it was definitely working - now you could add BO, pose and choice of underwear to your list of urgent worries.

His work was awkward going, especially when you had to spread your legs to give him room and try to make it look casual, but he quickly had at least the front of the pants leg cut free and peeled off of you, careful not to worry the cut.

“Do you even know what you’re doing?”

Tallahassee looked miffed. “Course I do. You think I run crying to the nurse over every little scrape?”

How the hell should you know? He never talked about his life before all of this. Ten to one but he’d been an insecure office worker who’d seen the end of the world as the perfect opportunity to reinvent himself... but then that wouldn’t inspire much confidence in his surgical skills and no one else was queuing up behind him. Besides, you liked your romantic images of him, alligator wrestling, glassing bikers, chopping wood with his shirt off and whatever else it was that bad ass rednecks got up to.

You watched him as he did his best to wash his hands, pulled on some gloves, lined up his tools and patted his pockets for his flask. Before he could waste all of it on your leg you snatched it from him and took a swig. Vodka. He must be getting desperate.

“I’ll overlook that transgression, but only this once.”

With you sitting up and pointing the flash light as steadily as you could, Tallahassee cleaned the cut, first with more water, then with liquor and then, when you’d stopped complaining, with disinfectant from a nearly empty bottle. He must have noticed how you stopped squirming when he rested a hand on your bare leg and you could only guess at how he interpreted this. It was hot in here even though by now the blankets and the remains of your pants were soaking with water and sweat. When you shut your eyes you could still feel how near he was and the competing agonies of the pain and of wanting him even closer were neck and neck.

“There’s no dirt or fabric in there that I can see... better to stitch it up now and hope we can find some antibiotics than try to get it perfect later.”

“Is it going to scar?”

“Oh yeah.”

“Good.”

Tallahassee peered up from threading the needle, questioning this. You licked your lips and pressed on, determined to have anything else to think about apart from what was about to happen. “I mean, it’s officially the post apocalypse. I was starting to worry I wouldn’t blend in without some scars.”

“Quit talking like a damned geek. You sound like Columbus.”

“Well, he doesn’t exactly look the part, either.”

“He looks like an accountant fucked a ball of yarn.”

You laughed and Tallahassee held onto your leg tighter and pushed the needle in. You’d been gearing up for this. All you did was tense and hiss and keep your curses to yourself. The impressed-despite-himself look he shot you was all the reward you needed and that strengthened your resolve when he pressed on.

“That’s too mean,” you replied once you were sure your voice would come out steady-ish.

“By all means, chalk it up to jealousy of his youthful good looks if it makes you feel better.”

“Why would you be jealous of that?” You were trembling. Because of blood loss and shock and pain. “You’ve got your own.” No other reason.

Now it was his turn to laugh and he looked smug and preening, if not convinced. Preening suited him. “What can I say? Clean living and a clean conscience.”

“Fine then, keep your secrets.”

Silence crept back in and he focused on his task. The prick of the needle hurt, but it was the sickening feel and sound of the flesh being basically skewered onto it and then tugged along weirdly by the thread that was really unsettling. The mood in the room was heavy and tense and Tallahassee frowned even deeper each time he had to inch his hands a little higher.

“You know,” you said at last because saying anything, no matter how awful, was better than nothing. “When I pictured you poking around in my gash, this wasn’t what I had in mind.”

Tallahassee turned a dumbfounded look on you and you practically giggled with nerves. He snorted, shook his head, grinning as if he couldn’t believe what his ears had passed on from you. “Terrible. You’re starting to get worse than me.”

“It had to be said,” you lied.

“Well.” Tallahassee took this opportunity to get liberal with the disinfectant, maybe in the hopes that the stinging would shut you up. “Guess that goes to show you should be careful what you wish for.”

He thought you were joking, not just because you were joking but because for the first time you were actually straight up hitting on him instead of stealing glances here and there and hoping he’d press the issue himself. Of course, he had reason not to believe you - you were delirious and lost and trying not to think about how close you’d come to dying.

Those excuses made excellent shields for you to tell him what you thought and still play it all off as nonsense springing from the heat of the moment. Still, the tension built and now the awkward question wasn’t something only you had to wrestle with. He looked at you less but when he did, his eyes were quick and sharp with meaning and uncertainty.

You had run out things to say because the stitches climbed with agonising slowness and the first manic rush of adrenaline was fading fast. If he wanted to break the silence, it was definitely his turn and a few sly glances from him finally convinced him that the ball was in his court. “By rights, it really ought to be the other way around.”

“You lying on your back?”

“Well, yeah. With my shirt off, all heroic-like, and you fussing over me.”

“Oh, you’d love that.”

“Seems more in keeping with your feminine nature.”

That was bait, and you ignored it. “Are you saying I’d have to injure you to get your shirt off? Because I might.”

Perhaps Tallahassee hadn’t picked this topic as an invitation for you to keep flirting, but he didn’t look at all as if he minded. This time his smile bordered on predatory. “Darlin’, all you have to do is ask.” When his voice dropped low like that it became a low, rich rumble, difficult to handle even when you were at your best.

Now you felt faint, and you sighed and shook so hard that he could see it. Whatever reaction he’d expected, that hadn’t been it. Tallahassee’s grin faded, slowly replaced by something dark and hungry, his body held still in a way that suggested it took some considerable willpower for him to keep himself in check. But the uncertainty hadn’t left. He broke eye contact, just a moment too late to leave any doubt of what he’d been thinking, swallowed and brought his shield back up. You had pushed him as far as you dared. Whatever held him back was beyond you, especially now, and everything else was crashing.

Tallahassee dispelled the mood in the room with casual body language and all business attitude. He kept working, ignored your shallow, quick breathing and your fingernails digging into his shoulder for support and finished sewing after what felt like a life time.

The rest was easy. He cleaned the cut one last time, neatly covered it with squares of compress and lifted up your knee so he could wrap it all in a tight bandage. By now you shook uncontrollably, your limbs felt cold and your skin clammy and blocked. He drew you close to help you test your leg and you almost wished you hadn’t teased him so that he could hold you as a friend and think nothing of it. He’d held you before. His gruff manners now suggested he wouldn’t do that again.

You were so tired now, your head spun when you moved, the pain was hot and crawling, less urgent but more difficult to ignore. It had all gone wrong. Familiar voices drew near beyond the door and Tallahassee wouldn’t risk tenderness with an audience; he looked down at you with an impersonal, encouraging smile, took some of your weight and steadied you with his arm around you without it ever feeling as if he’d come any closer.

“In here,” he called out and helped you hop and shuffle your way towards freedom. Whatever this moment had been, it was over and when the door swung open and Columbus stretched out his arms to catch you, Tallahassee killed it for good by pressing the back of his hand to your forehead and looking grim and satisfied to find you had a temperature.

The light and noise past that left you delirious. By the time you reached the truck they’d parked right outside the shop’s front doors you’d cried yourself to sleep without a sound.

[blankdblank]

Mermaid

… @theincaprincess​ don’t tell me why this is what my brain came up with

. bit more towards hypothermia than a cold but it fits still :D ..

Setting: *Getting a cold and having a red nose from using hundreds of tissues.*

Prompt: “You can’t eat solids, only liquids until Thursday.”

…

It really was an accident, if you take a branch to the face in a try for bringing down an orc that missed and whacked the King in the face sending him into the frozen lake below form the back of his orc. You were exhausted and had been on the run for weeks after escaping from Mordor, gasping loudly you jumped down from your branch and rushed to the river and leapt through the surface of the river. Swimming as hard as you could you caught up to the King. Although it wasn’t hard when his cape was stuck on the branches below the frigid water, rising to the surface you inhaled sharply and then dove again.

A cup of the cheeks of the unconscious Elf had his lips parting and bubbles escaping, planting you lips on his a hard breath filled his lungs and you closed his mouth again to rise back up for another breath to dive and plant your feet on the rocky ground to grip his cape and give it a hard tug. Freed from his snag his body draped over your back in the swim to the surface where you held his head up and swam to the edge dragging him closer to his Elk. A reach under his chest plate helped to make him cough up any water, a roll of his eyes left his moment of consciousness fleeting. Shuddering in the cold slap of a breeze passing you by you lifted him onto the antlers of his Elk, who refused to leave without you as well. Rolling your eyes you found your bag again and climbed up on his back and let him lead the charge off to the Palace with the screeching orcs in the distance growing closer by the minute.

Curious Elves from above on patrols eyed you and their unconscious bleeding King before their arrows rained down on the orcs behind you. Up to the opening gates you coughed as your body tried to warm itself again, though in the warm gust of air inside your eyes rolled back and your body slumped rather ungraciously to the floor while the Elk continued on coming to a skidding stop glancing back at you with a worried bellow.

Concerned a servant from behind you dropped their basket of sheets to rush over to you rolling you onto your back to find where the bloody pool had come from to press a cloth to in their race to get you to the healers behind their King. Hours you had been washed, your wounds cleaned up and bandaged with new warm clothes covering you, still with how frail you looked they didn’t expect you to survive if you didn’t warm up. A herd of wolves hearing the panic hurried at the request of healers to lay around you warming you under thick pelts between liquids as your cough worsened.

*

Slits of light through his curtains was the first thing the King saw, jolting upright in his bed a loud groan left him in cupping his stinging ribs with his hand and his head where a thick layer of bandages were wrapped around half his face. Panting through the pain he inspected the room only to see Legolas enter saying, “No! No! You lay back down! I have your soup your ribs need another day at least before you can walk anywhere.”

Laying back against his pillows he said, “Where is Turo? I was out riding, then, this branch just came out of nowhere…”

Legolas sat beside him setting the tray on his lap, “Turo is safe in the pastures, as to how you ended up unconscious we aren’t certain. However the woman you were with-,”

Thranduil shook his head, “What woman?”

Legolas looked him over, “The woman who brought you back. She fell off Turo inside the gates. Still fighting a fever, looks practically starved, you were both soaked, we thought you might have found her in the river and Turo brought you both back.”

Thranduil, “Has she said anything?”

Legolas shook his head, “She’s been mostly unconscious for a week now, same as you. Now eat and tomorrow you can check on her yourself, it might knock something loose.”

.

He did make it through to the next day and was glad to see that under the massive glob of bandages around his head was just a shallow set of scrapes they wanted to keep his hair free from now healed leaving an olive colored bruise and straight to your bedside he went. A halfway delirious grumble came from you at the Elleth who had been feeding you another helping of broth barely doing anything to fill your belly. Softly she replied, “You can’t eat solids, only liquids until Thursday.” Another grumble was her answer in her rise, in turning around her lips parted in a soft gasp seeing the robe clad King and Prince behind her making her drop into a quick curtsy then step aside.

Crouched down beside you he eyed your red nose from their constant wiping of its dripping away and his hand outstretched to feel your forehead making you grumble again. Softly he asked feeling you coming off the edge of a bad fever, “How are you feeling?”

The ungraceful flop of your head to the side brought a familiar glint of purple eyes under your silvery curls parting his lips in seeing the face of the mermaid in his dream, “You, Elk man,” his brow inched up, “I thought you were an orc.”

“I don’t understand.”

“The branch, I pulled it, and your face caught it,” His lips parted at the slur in your words signaling you were going to pass out again, “Then, splash, and that cape,” you sighed dreamily, “And your Elk wouldn’t let me go…He has to let me go…they’ll find me…”

“Who is hunting you?”

“The Half-Man.”

Lowly Legolas repeated, “Half-Man?”

Again you repeated, “They’ll find me…They always find me…”

Off you dropped into sleep and the King turned to the Healers asking, “Was she found with anything?”

They nodded pointing to the bags behind him on the table along the wall he opened the first of, clothes, toiletries bag, a spare pair of boots, belts and a blanket worn pitifully thin were on a set of journals in an old form of Elvish he couldn’t place marked with symbols from Teleri and Vanyar lands. The second bag held a series of weapons with runes marking them as a set above a set of wrapped mithril armor around a set of pouches. Inside the pouches various oddly shimmering stones in one he secured and set aside. The second he opened revealing an odd collection of rings from all the fallen Elf Kings of the past and Nauglamir in a separate pouch. Lowly he asked, “How could she have these?”

A call from the doorway had him turning around to the messenger who approached him with note extended, glancing down at the note he broke the seal on it mumbling at the crest, “What could Gondor need?” Wetting his lips he read the letter saying, “Mordor has fallen into a crater…orcs fleeing, mind your borders…no sign of the ones responsible, Elven prisoners of Mordor spotted fleeing…” He looked to you again as it shared the names of those they had found they would send to Rivendell as well for any relatives, “What were you doing in Mordor?” He asked more to himself than to you wondering the answer. Whatever it was he would have to wait, and hope that this Half-Man would not ever arrive to grant you rest to heal and recover.

Again he looked to the bag and drew out a series of letters he brought out returning the ring pouch to its bag, each letter addressed to the same ‘Lady Pear’ with each one sent from the Kings whose rings you had possession of with indents of the rings folded inside. Curiously his brows furrowed until he found another letter with diagrams of an old fortress outside Moria where each ring would fit, keeping hold of the letters he went off to his library with his son trailing after him. The images looked so familiar and he knew the one place that might have the answers was an old chest his father had told him only to open under the direst of circumstances. He supposed this was reason enough, and he hoped that it would hold all the answers he would need to protect you and his people from who might just be chasing you.

All –

@himoverflowers​, @theincaprincess, @aspiringtranslator​, @sweeticedtea​, @ggbbhehe4455​, @thegreyberet​, @patanghill17​, @jesgisborne​, @curvestrology​, @alishlieb​, @jogregor​, @armitageadoration​, @fizzyxcustard​, @here2have-fun​, @lilith15000​, @marvels-ghost​, @catthefearless​, @imjusthereforthereads​, @c-s-stars​

Hobbit/LotR – @abiwim​, @jotink78​, @pastelhexmaniac​

X Thranduil - @evyiione​, @sweetlytenacious25​, @tigereyesf​, @pastelhexmaniac

[marvel-lucy]

Kidnapping 101

A case of mistaken identity by some poorly trained Hydra agents 

I don’t think I ever posted this on here, only on AO3.  But I’m re-reading my old fics and feeling needy for validation so I’m going to repost it anyway, even though it’s two years old :)

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You weren’t supposed to be here. This was not in your calendar for today and you hated unscheduled meetings. You were pretty sure this kind of work wasn’t mentioned in your job description from Stark Industries either. And you had no idea if you could claim expenses for this – how would you code ‘damaged by Hydra during torture’ on the finance system...?

It was possible you were getting a little delirious

Earlier

You were the third person to find out that Pepper was pregnant, after her doctor and Tony. You weren't technically supposed to know, but after the second time you'd gone to look for her when she was late for a meeting, only to find her throwing up in her office's private bathroom, she took you into her confidence.

You'd been working with her for over a year now and right up until this moment you'd have said you were confident in your abilities. You had a law degree, you had a Masters in Business Administration, you had experience, but right now you felt as if you were the lowliest work experience kid, dressed in your Mom's too-big clothes and about to cry.

Pepper was due in a big meeting, right now, and instead she was lying on her bathroom floor, a mess. You'd accompanied her to all the previous meetings and knew the situation inside out but now she'd asked you to go cover for her. Alone.

It should be simple, right? It was a meeting about some new tech that another organisation wanted to link up with Stark on. Most of the details had been thrashed out, this was mostly just a show-around, glad-handing type, with a little bit of legal wrangling over croissants and fake smiles. You’d have a couple of legal assistants with you, you just had to not promise anything while sounding as if you were agreeing to all they said.

So, you grabbed documents, iPad, pen, paper. Straightened your skirt, brushed your hair off your face, plastered on a smile of fake confidence and hoped you didn’t make a deal that ended up bringing down the firm.

Of course, as it turned out, that might have been preferable. You’d entered the room, shaking hands and smiling and thanking them for coming, surprised rather at the amount of muscle in the room – you were used to the Avengers and their multitude of biceps and abs, but you didn’t usually see it in business meetings. Still, healthy lifestyles were obviously catching on. You offered coffee but head Muscleman (shit, you hadn’t caught his name. In fact, you hadn’t even introduced yourself. Too late now, nod and smile nod and smile) wanted to look around, his Muscleminions nodding in agreement. So you set off, chatting inanely, leaving the assistants to set up the paperwork. 

Mr Muscle asked to start the tour at the top, saying he’d heard the view from the top of Stark Tower was amazing, so you all squeezed into an elevator and headed up. You tried making small talk with one of the minions, a woman standing next to you but she looked at you pretty blankly and you decided that most of these suits were obviously here to make up the numbers, to impress Pepper.

“So, we’re as high as we can go now, as you can see New York does look pretty good from up here! As new business partners, you will of course be invited to Mr. Stark’s regular parties up…. HEY, what the…. Mmmmmffffff!”

Ms Muscleminion had grabbed you from behind and now had her hand clamped over your mouth. You kicked and struggled but there were far more of them than you, and suddenly one of the others was approaching, needle in hand.“Hail Hydra” he said, as he stabbed the needle into your thigh. You heard the sound of a helicopter approaching and everything went dark.

--

Next thing you knew, you were in a stereotypical evildoers’ lair. Honestly, you’d think Hydra could afford something other than underground-car-park chic or the abandoned-warehouse-aesthetic. Hysteria was setting in apparently. 

You were tied to a chair and had a feeling that bad things were going to happen. Yeah, this was definitely not on your ‘to do’ list for today.You were starting to feel uncomfortable. Your head ached from whatever drug they’d given you, your arms and legs were hurting from being held in one position, you were thirsty and you were seriously pissed off. There was a reason that you were called SheHulk on occasion; you were known for your temper.

The door opened and the man from the business meeting entered again. He pulled up a chair near you, scraping the metal across the floor. Presumably this was supposed to menace you but you rolled your eyes at the cliché.“So, Ms Potts, I assume you’re intelligent to understand you are now our hostage. Mr Stark will, I’m sure, provide us with whatever we desire, to ensure your safe return.” He grinned at you, and you couldn’t help but grin back. Oh god, they thought you were Pepper, this was hysterical (OK, maybe it wasn’t, but you weren’t thinking straight). You remembered realising you’d forgotten to introduce yourself in your nerves about the meeting. And they weren’t the first to make the mistake – even Tony had groped you by accident from behind at a party once, you and Pepper had identical hair after all. And they had been expecting Pepper… You opened your mouth to correct him then gulped and shut it hurriedly. They were not going to keep some assistant alive and healthy when they realised their mistake. You were going to need to play along.

“Tony doesn’t bargain with Hydra.” You eyed the man as your aching brain tried to think about what Pepper would do, what you should do, what they’d do…“Oh I think he will when he sees what we’re capable of, Ms Potts.” He grinned again and suddenly you weren’t feeling like grinning again.

A couple of his goons set up a laptop, its webcam aimed at you. That little part of your brain that was in hysterical mode wanted to ask what the wi-fi reception was like under all this concrete but luckily the rest of your brain was too busy panicking to listen.

All turned on and set up, you could see yourself on the laptop screen. You didn’t look great to be honest, they obviously hadn’t been too gentle carrying your unconscious body; there were scrapes across your face, dirty marks on your suit and your hair – Pepper’s hair – was every which way.

“Mr Stark, as you can see, we have Ms Potts. She is well… for now. That can change. You will find a list of our requirements at the end of this broadcast, along with details for how to contact us. You have one hour.”

You knew you needed to get Tony to play along when he saw this, not let on that you weren’t Pepper, so before they turned off the recording, you quickly spoke.

“Tony, it’s Pep here. Who knew Hydra would want to kidnap Pepper Potts, right…?” 

That was all you had time for before a resounding slap around the side of your head silenced you. You bit your tongue as your head snapped sideways and the real fear started.The three Hydra agents picked up the laptop and moved away from you, talking. You listened as hard as you could to their conversation.

“So what do we do? Email it?”

“No, he can trace the signal. Put it on a DVD?”

“What and post it?”

“No, idiot, that’ll take forever. Get a messenger. You do know how to burn a DVD?”

“I can google it…”

Oh. My. God. Apparently you’d been kidnapped by the least competent bad guys ever. Were they… trainees?! How humiliating!

“Look, we have to get this right, go get the DVD sorted, we have to be quick.”

“Yeah, does the one-hour deadline start from when we stopped recording or when he sees it? I mean, what if he doesn’t watch the DVD!?”

Great. Were you going to have to give them Kidnapping 101 just so they could get this right?!

“We’ve got to get that tech before the weekend. Once the General is back, we have to have something to show him or else he’s going to skin us!”

You are kidding, right. This wasn’t just a Kidnapping by Kids, it was unauthorised? What, they were trying to get extra credit on their Hydra Degrees by being proactive? You let out a groan and let your head drop, drawing their attention to you. They shifted and all headed out of the room, presumably to choose their favourite fonts for the ransom note. Jeez, I bet they wrote it in Comic Sans.

Once they’d gone, you were still in the same position. Tied up, uncomfortable, ear ringing still from the slap and the iron taste of blood in your mouth. To be honest, you also needed to use the bathroom, which did not put you in a better frame of mind.

They left you there for what felt like hours, while you wriggled your arms and legs inside their bonds in an attempt to get free. You could feel the bonds loosening – presumably they’d never got their ‘knot tying’ girl scout badge – but when the door opened again you felt yourself tensing up.

“He hasn’t responded. Why hasn’t he responded?!” The larger man put his face close to yours as he shouted and you could see the anger and anxiety in his face. A dangerous combination, he had a lot to prove it seemed and you were the material he had to prove himself on.

The laptop was set up again and the man stood behind you, grabbing your hair tight in his fist and yanking your head back. You let out a gasp of pain.

“Mr Stark. Do you really value your fiancée’s life so little? Would you like her returned piece by piece? You have the phone number you need, ring us within an hour of receiving this, unless you enjoy seeing your Ms Potts suffer”

At that, things took a turn for the serious, as the woman from the lift stepped forward and punched you in the stomach. You jerked forward involuntarily, but yelled out as the grip on your hair tightened. Unable to lean forward to relieve the pain, you gasped, winded. The SheHulk was released however and you started shouting.

“You piece of shit, you fuckers, Tony, blow this whole place up I don’t care!” You shook side to side in your chair, trying to loosen your bonds further, but another blow to your stomach left you unable to breathe again and dizzy from pain.The Hydra agents gathered up their things and left again.

The next time they appeared, after another agonising wait, you had regained your breath but not your temper. Your stomach ached and you were running on adrenaline. You’d managed to work all bar one of your bonds loose and were just working on the last when they reappeared.

“Mr Stark wants more proof that you are alive”. A phone was pressed against your ear.

“‘Pepper’, that you? Can you keep talking for a bit…?”

“Tony darling, I’m cold and sore in this damn underground bunker and I am going to claim so much damn overtime…”

“Enough.” The phone was taken away from your ear. That probably wasn’t enough to trace a call but it depended on how long Tony had been talking to the Hydra idiot before you and how long they talked now.

“You have our list Mr Stark, and the location for the drop… I don’t care if you don’t have all the components, you have to find them… Well I said one hour! Ok fine, two. OK FINE, THREE. You have three hours that should be more than sufficient to gather things from your other base. No you can’t talk to her again. No. Just shut up! OK fine!”

The phone was held up against your ear again.“You doing OK kid? This’ll all be over soon. Sooner than they may expect. Just don’t do anything stupid OK?”

“How can I, they’ve got all the stupid here” You grinned. ‘Sooner than they may expect’ made you think they were on their way.

The phone call was cut off and the man backhanded you across the face, probably for your rudeness. You spat out blood at him and he saw red. Perhaps he could sense this slipping away from him – kidnappers generally didn’t end up conceding so much to their victims, but Tony was good at that.

He went to punch you again but at that point, you really did hulk out. You pulled your arms and legs free from the loosened bonds just as he lunged forwards, and threw yourself sideways. Your legs nearly gave way after being tied up for so long, so you grabbed at the chair for support, then when he came at you with a roar, threw it at his face, stamping your feet and shaking your arms to get the feeling back, and regretting it as the pins and needles started. That just threw you into an even worse mood.

“I. Fucking. Hate. Pins and Needles. You bastard!”. As heroic lines go, it probably needed work, but your adrenaline was racing and your heart was pounding and you were furious. You threw yourself down as he ran at you again, knocking his legs out from under him, then pummelling his face before rolling him over and yanking his arms up behind him.

“Did you really think anyone working with Stark didn’t get to train with the Avengers, you MORON?”

You grabbed at the rope that had tied you to the chair and had him hog-tied within seconds, just in time as the other two came in the door and saw what you were doing. Your blood was up and your legs were working now and it was no great effort to take down two poorly trained and obviously low level Hydra fools, not when you had compulsory training with Captain America and Black Widow three times a week.

“THIS WASN’T ON MY SCHEDULE!!” You shouted as your arms blurred with the speed of your punches. Even with the two of them attacking you, it was no great effort and within a few minutes both were lying on the ground groaning. You panted hard, then looked up at the sound of applause.

Tony Stark, Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson were all leaning against the wall near the door, watching you and clapping.

“You bastards!” You panted, hands on knees. “You couldn’t have joined in?”

“Oh you looked like you were having way too much fun, ‘Pepper’. I know you hate it when I interfere in your business meetings.” 

The men walked towards you as Stark spoke, Rogers reaching you first and holding you up. Despite the sarcasm, you could see the concern on their faces at what you might have been through.You leant on Tony heavily as you left the room, leaving Sam and Steve to gather up – and laugh at – the Hydra idiots, kidnapping the wrong person and then getting taken down three against one.

Tony hugged you to him and whispered thanks against your hair.

“You owe me Stark. Overtime, a corner office, and…”

“Some more time off?”

“No, you can call the damn baby after me”

-----

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