#his ripped up shirts all seem to be torn in the same kind of v in the same place but it's always SO sloppy looking

[kitnita]

ty dellandrea talks about being flexible on his spot in the lineup — 03.04.24

[emily-chant]

Entry II - Chant

As you can imagine, things escalated from there. I spent a few minutes on the phone with the increasingly distressed administrative assistant at the front desk before uniformed police came thundering through the morgue’s double doors. I think they had shown up with the assumption that this was some kind of prank, but the exasperation - and color - drained from their faces as the sight of a naked millennial shivering in a plastic sheet. 

I won’t draw things out with all the details of their questioning, and the subsequent back-and-forth between the responding cops and the medical examiner upon the latter’s return from lunch. Suffice to say I had nothing to offer them by way of explanation, and the examiner was in very much the same boat. 

By all accounts, I was brought in with a vicious, gaping laceration down the center of my chest - every bit the lifeless corpse. After documenting my information and tagging my wrist, the examiner left to grab a burrito. I know, it’s not a satisfying answer for anyone involved. 

The cops dug up a spare set of scrubs, which I gratefully slid into, and brought me over to the station for further questioning. I could tell that the day’s events had weirded them out tremendously, and my total amnesia was a long way from putting them at ease. They answered most of the questions I had - where we were (American city on the East Coast), what day it was (Thursday, October 4th), was I under arrest (I wasn’t). The more actionable questions - notably among them “what is going to happen to me” - they assured would be addressed once we got to the precinct. 

Arriving at the station, they hustled me inside. Moving briskly past the curious glances of cops, concerned citizens, and criminals alike, they found the designated interrogation room and opened the door to let me in. It turned out that it wasn’t like the procedurals on TV where they keep the interviewee waiting. A detective was already waiting for me, with a steaming cup of coffee and a bottled water in front of the vacant chair opposite him. 

Still barefoot, I padded over to the metal seat and slid uncomfortably into it. Despite the responding cops’ awkward assurances, I still felt like I was in trouble. The rational part of my mind, clinging to logic like Odysseus to his mast, reminded me in vain that I had done nothing wrong, that the police were just as dumbfounded by my circumstances as I was. It had limited success. 

The detective, a veteran with intense eyes and significant beer gut, introduced himself as Lieutenant Hill and, again, assured me that I was not in trouble. 

“Understand kid, it’s not every day that a dead girl wakes up and scares the ME’s secretary half to death.” He began riffling through a folder containing several important looking documents before looking up again. “You hungry?”

I shook my head, a jerky, insectile motion. My stomach was in knots; I doubted I could keep anything more substantial than coffee down. Hill seemed to pick up on this. He pressed down on an intercom, installed in the wall to his right, and buzzed in. 

“Hey Ramirez, can you get the kid some soup?” He turned back to me, “You like chicken noodle?” I shrugged, and he buzzed into the intercom again. “Chicken noodle, if they have it.”

As it turned out, I like chicken noodle soup. I spooned the hot broth into my mouth, slowly at first, then faster, as Hill laid out all the documentation he had surrounding my untimely demise. 

The pictures were the worst. I hadn’t clearly seen my reflection since waking up, so the bloody, clinical photographs of my stricken corpse were my first reintroduction to my own appearance. One more thing to work out in therapy, I guess. 

My body was splayed out on the floor of an abandoned apartment building, Hill explained. My shirt had been torn down the center of its V-neck a good eleven inches or so, and the bloody mess that had been my sternum yawned from between the ripped fabric. The rest of my clothes were untouched. 

CSI had noted that there were ligatures on my neck and wrists, indicating bruising from some kind of restraint while my attacker mangled my upper torso, but otherwise no sign of a struggle. The ME hypothesized in his early remarks that I had died before I could bleed out.  Hill indicated that it “looked like some Temple of Doom shit,” a reference I definitely did not understand at the time.

I took in these details with an aberrant cocktail of shocked detachment and rabid curiosity. I couldn’t remember anything. Even the goriest of these facts I absorbed with gratitude - anything to help me frame my own existence. But if Hill thought that presenting them to me would help jog my memory, I was forced to disappoint him. These things would might as well have happened to someone else, for all the good it did my recollections. 

Ultimately, the detective slid over a thin black wallet, which turned out to be mine. Inside was an out-of-state driver’s license, about thirty bucks, a credit card, and - if you can believe it - an honest-to-god library card. All of it, the cash excepted, was labeled as belonging to “Emily Chant,” and the picture on the license matched the face of the corpse in the photographs - only slightly livelier. 

I just stared at the wallet’s contents for a minute, taking them in, as a well of emotion broke through the barrier of my traumatic shock. Confusion, fear, relief, anger, all of it flooded my senses and threatened to overwhelm me. I exist, I remember thinking, I’m a person, I’m alive. But what can’t I remember?

Hill watched me in thoughtful silence before speaking up, “Gonna be a bit of a pain, but we’ll reach out to the Jersey City Police and get you home. Once you’re back hopefully you’ll be able to -”

The detective was cut off by an abrupt buzz from the intercom. 

“Andy, we got someone here for your Jane Doe.”

Hill’s eyebrows arched up in surprise before furrowing in suspicion, but the intercom continued. 

“Says he’s her lawyer.” 

[hansensgirl]

i’m in the water.

summary. | He’s in the wind, and you’re in the water. Nobody’s son, nobody’s daughter.

warnings. | non/dubcon, smut, angst, protectiveness, kidnapping (implied), stockholm syndrome, obsessiveness, death/violence, dark themes, DDLG undertones, creampie kink, choking, piss kink (both pee), degradation, pet play undertones, p in v sex, Master kink, dacryphilia, crawling, slapping, hair pulling, face fucking, boot riding, orgasm denial, spitting, gagging, manhandling, praise, and more. 18+ MINORS DNI.

word count. | 8.5k

pairings. | Dark!Winter Soldier x Naive!Reader.

a/n. | please heed the warnings! i hope you enjoy, and please don’t forget to reblog! if you take ANY inspiration from my fics (and i’ll know, trust me) and you don’t give credit, you will be blocked and i’ll let others know. they’re both very hydrated! this takes place in the 90’s! thank you so much @asadmarveltrashbag and @mypoisonedvine for proof reading for me ilysm!!

From the day you were born, you always felt as though your legs are broken. Always needing crutches throughout your life to hold you up, always needing support. But you never really had these crutches, so you'd always drag your hands against the brick walls to support yourself. Vulnerable, breaking away at the edges, falling down. Nothing kind ever came, and it stays the same for a while.

So maybe that’s why you lean into his icy cold touch. So abrasive and yet so caring. His aspects are juxtaposed to each other, just like in those Magritte paintings your art teacher would show you. She was always a kind lady, but you don’t care enough about her to wonder where she is in life now. She was kind to you, though, so you hope that she isn’t suffering like you are.

Your goosebumps raise for the fifth time in this painfully slow hour.

“Are you cold, кролик?” he asks even though he knows the answer. You hum. You always do. Your voice doesn’t raise in an affirmation. It stays flat; he knows what that means. “Thinking again?” he gruffly presses, squeezes your bare arms. The thin, grey shirt with torn sleeves does nothing to protect your body. But why do you ask for protection against the man who has done everything for you?

“Why… Why do people believe that grey is a boring colour?” you ask him, looking around the dark cell that surrounds you. Soldat grunts, not knowing what to say. “I think it’s quite beautiful. All colours have different shades, yes, but there’s something about grey. Each shade comes with a different emotion. Don’t you think so?” you ask him, looking down to your lap.

A carrot toy sits there. It’s filled with cotton balls from the medical room, by his request. “Yes…” He bites the tip of his tongue, not sure what to say because the Soldat only has a few emotions and a few words. “Why can’t we get a different wall colour?” you question him, turning around to face the man.

“It’s not allowed,” he reminds you. You feel like you’re experiencing déjà-vu, but then again, the days have blurred together so well that you can’t tell if the tape is being put on rewind already. You have to assume that your celluloid scenes are fading away along with your sanity. It’s torn at the seams. Threads hanging that just need to be ripped or cut out.

“Beige would look lovely…” you point out solemnly. The Soldat doesn’t know what shade of beige you’re thinking of, but he believes it would be beautiful nonetheless. “I… have a mission,” he tells you after a while. You hum in that same monotonous tone again, so he squeezes your arm even tighter. “When, Master?” you curiously ask, only now taking in his words.

“Tonight. Approximately at twenty-one hours,” he informs you in that mechanic voice of his that you hate. It makes you feel more trapped and vulnerable, even though there’s quite literally a chip in the back of your neck. “How long?” you ask him softly, a frown already beginning to display itself on your face.

He doesn’t like it when you frown. He prefers the lines that your smile provides over the lines your frown forces. That innocent glint in your eyes shines a bit, flickering like a dull light on the verge of completely blowing. Though it’s not much, it’s still something. And when it goes away, his entire being is filled with darkness.

You’re the light of his life, the fire of his loins.

“Not sure. Extraction of information. Senators and mayors…” He begins to ramble, and you shake your head. “Sorry, кролик,” he apologizes as he notices how uncomfortable you’re starting to get. You hum again. He wonders if you were a bird in your past life, perhaps a hummingbird, to be more exact. Or maybe even a swan or a dove because you’re just as beautiful as they are, if not more.

“You know how to behave, right? Потому что ты мой хороший маленький кролик?” he asks, and you don’t understand the second question, but you understand the former. “I know, Master,” you breathe, an airy ending to your words. “You’ll be good, кролик?” he questions one more time, and you lazily nod. You’re tired. Your body moves at a drowsy pace, and you don’t like it.

You don’t want to sleep, though. Scared that if you shut your eyes for too long, the monsters will come back, and Soldat won’t be able to save you. He always saves you. You’re his damsel, constantly in distress, locked away in a gilded cage. But he tells you it’s not a gilded cage. It’s not a run-down cell built in the fifties. It’s your home, even though you haven’t known what home is like for a while.

“I’ll always be good for you, Master. Please don’t leave for long. I get lonely easily,” you express in small bits of sadness and distress. “I know, кролик, я знаю,” Soldat says as he hugs you closer. You tilt your head backwards and let it lull on his shoulder. “I’ll be back as soon as possible,” he promises, and you know it’s not true because he never fulfills it. “But my carrot can’t keep me company for all those hours… Please stay? Please?” you plead with tears welling in your eyes.

“Я могу составить ей хорошую компанию,” the soldier standing outside the cell mutters under his breath, earning a few snickers from his coworkers. I can keep her in good company, is what he said. And it’s truly unfortunate that the guards have forgotten that the Soldat — the Asset — has super-hearing. Their laughter dies down into sighs, and Winter’s chest begins to heave.

He puffs up like the big bad wolf he is, and he tosses you to the side like a rag doll. You watch him as he strides his way over to the guards. Each step carries the weight of the Winter Soldier, the one who’s ready to kill whoever is in his sight. Except for you. His bionic hand reaches through the metal bars that separate him from the outside world.

He wraps his fingers around the guard’s neck, and he squeezes his throat tightly. As Winter crushes the guard’s windpipe, you watch him behind slightly squinted eyelids. Tears blur your eyesight, and you remember that time when you were holding off the tears so well, you couldn't see the HYDRA van driving ahead of you.

Maybe if you could control your emotions a little better, you wouldn’t be here.

But then again, where would you be without the Soldat? Miserable, stuck in the worst parts of town without anyone. Having to drag your hands across those brick walls, again and again. Surviving on your own, teetering on the edge of death. Just like these men at the hands of the Soldat.

The crunching of bones and the screams of men are all blocked out for you. You focus on Soldat’s arm whirring in the most satisfying harmony you’ve heard in the past two years. Other than the orchestra you both have managed to make almost every day. But you still cup your hands over your ears.

Winter pulls a knife from the guard’s limp body. That very same knife ends up inside his heart, stopping it from pumping. The guards begin shooting at Winter, but he easily shields himself with the metal arm. It goes silent, but you keep your hands over your ears. Muffled talking steps in place of the silence, and you look up to see members of HYDRA staring at your Winter and you.

“Солдат, Что ты натворил?” One of the head agents asks. You believe his name is Vasily Karpov because that is what Winter has told you. “The… The guard said something about my кролик. He’s not supposed to,” Winter explains, looking to the ground. Karpov mutters a chain of curse words under his breath that you’re not too happy about. One of the other agents asks him to speak up, and he snaps.

“Just get him to the armoury! We need to prep him,” he shouts before stalking away from the scene. They all stick around a few more seconds before scurrying off like little mice. The dead bodies still lay on the floor, but nobody seems to really care. What’s happened has happened, and there’s no changing it.

“Привести с собой солдата!” A rough voice blasts through the intercoms, and suddenly, more guards show up at your cell. You curl up into a ball and rest your forehead against your knees. You can’t bear to watch them take him away. You wait until the cell door swings shut, and then men stomp away. But even then, you cannot look up.

Bring the Soldat.

He wears that mask of his. The last time you saw it, it was caked with dirt and blood. You can hear his hard breathing behind it, almost sounding as though he’s just run a marathon. He sits in the edge of the cot — the left corner, to be exact — and he watches you. The Soldat states as you look down at the array of snacks he’s provided you with.

“Kролик,” Winter gruffly calls, and you turn around. You hum and your voice raises at the end. You haven’t done that in a while, so it startles him a bit. “Which one?” he asks, stretching his neck out just a bit to see what snack you’ve chosen. “N… Not sure,” you shyly whisper, ducking your head down in fear.

“Green one,” he says after a while, and you place your hand on it. “I don’t know what it is?” you confusingly say. The Russian text on it confuses you, so you hand it to Winter. “ Sour Patch Kids…” Winter reads out loud, knitting his eyebrows together in confusion. “Oh, I like those!” you eagerly cheer, sitting up on your knees. You turn around and reach your hand out for him to give them to you.

They’ve wiped him. You know it, and you hate it. They’ve taken all emotion away from him, and now he’s just an empty shell of a man. His softness from just a few hours ago has now gone away, and you don’t know what to expect of himself. But then again, you never do.

Hesitatingly, he hands it over. “Don’t eat now. Sugar will keep you up,” he warns, and you nod. Your father would say the same thing when you were younger. The only difference is that your father had more love in his voice than Winter ever will. “We need to go over the rules,” he speaks up after a few seconds. You hum again, and he continues. “Do you remember your rules?” Winter asks, and you hum once more.

“Кролик,” he growls, and you look up. “Do you need me to repeat the rules?” Winter questions and you shake your head in objection. He doesn’t listen, though, because he knows you don’t remember them. You never seem to remember the big, important parts of the puzzle. Only the small corner pieces that don’t really matter. “I’ll tell you them anyway, and you’re going to listen to every word I say. Understood, кролик?” he raises his eyebrow, not leaving any room for protesting.

You gulp thickly and nod. “Don’t make any noises, don’t touch yourself, don’t talk to the guards, don’t let anyone touch you, don’t hurt yourself and don’t even think of escaping,” he lists, and the last one makes tears sting your eyes. “I won’t escape. ‘S not like I can even do anything in here,” you whisper under your breath, and he stands up. Metal fingers grip your chin tightly, and Winter slowly kneels down in front of you.

You’re watched like a pet. You always have been. Not even a pet, more like a possession. Seen as an object with no feelings and no emotions. As though you don’t have a heart that pumps crimson blood and lungs that expand with each breath you take. “Don’t ever speak like that again. I can easily stitch those pretty lips of yours shut, кролик,” he threatens, and you feel your tears beginning to leak.

No, no, no, no, no. Not now.

He laughs. He fucking laughs, and you want to cry even more because you need him. You need your support, but he doesn’t want to give it to you. You should’ve just kept your mouth shut. “You’re so fucking… precious. Especially when you shed those tears of yours,” he tells you with a hidden smile behind his mask. He squeezes your jaw even tighter, and you whimper out a small ‘thank you, Master’ to him.

“I wasn’t finished listing the rules, so keep your fly shut,” Winter sneers, and you nod your head slowly. “When I get back, which will be in around three hours, you have to finish drinking all those bottles of water,” he stays, snapping his fingers to grab your attention. Your eyes follow those very same fingers as they point at the four bottles of water sitting by the bed.

You never noticed them until just now. “Oh, and you can’t go to the bathroom until I say so,” he adds with a slight humorous chuckle to his voice. Your eyeballs nearly fall out of their sockets. “Don’t worry, кролик, I’ll be back so quickly, it’ll feel like a few minutes,” he promises, and you feel a wave of relief wash over you. It reminds you of when you were young, and your parents would take you to the beach.

Your parents would build sandcastles with you until they got tired. You would beg your father to piggyback you into the sea, and he would do exactly that. Your mother would carry her disposable camera with her just to take photos that would end up in the green photo album from the thrift store.

And when you got a bit older, you’d go by yourself—older in the sense that you have to start paying the bus fare of $3. You’d head to the beach after dinner and before your parents came home from work. The sky would either be a dark, dark grey or a lovely mix of pastels. The water would wash beneath your feet, pulling and loosening clumps of sand.

Taking it away the same manner Winter took your innocence.

“And remember, if you break any of these rules, I’ll know. And the outcome won’t be as pretty as your face or that pussy of yours, кролик,” Soldat warns, and you nod your head. “Yes, Master,” you shyly say to him. You want to look down at the concrete flooring so badly, but his iron-clad grip on you doesn’t loosen until a minute after your words. He looks down at you, and you look away. His strong gaze is just as powerful as the summer sun that would beat down on your skin.

“Прощай, кролик.”

You never realized how thirsty you were until just now. You’ve finished all four bottles in the span of two hours, and now you’re counting down the minutes until Soldat arrives. There are no guards standing outside your cell, so you’re all alone. Not even your intrusive thoughts have visited, and you wonder if the water was spiked.

You were never that good at telling time. It would always take you a few seconds to find the minute hand and the hour hand. But the digital clock that is on the wall across from your cell is quite helpful. It even has seconds on it, too. So you count down out loud, trying to ignore the full feeling in your stomach.

Stomping echoes down the hallways, and you don’t know if he’s close by or meters away from you. You never could tell. Russian words fall off the agents’ tongues, and sometimes you wish you could understand them. Maybe then you wouldn’t feel like such an outsider even though you’re trapped in their home. “Ты свободен, солдат,” one of the agents say, and you can hear Winter grunt.

You’re free to go, Soldat.

His big, heavy feet stomp down the hallway. The sounds bounce off the greyish-green walls, stained with different things such as blood and dirt. You can hear his metal arm whirring, and your heart jumps with fear. You’re not scared of him; you’re scared of what he’s capable of.

Oh, who are you kidding? You’re terrified of him.

The guards open up the cell door, and you look up, locking eyes with his. They’re dark and empty as they usually are. “Кролик,” he growls, and you whimper. You run up to him and hug him, feeling the water slosh inside of you. You slow your breathing down the same way your elementary school nurse told you to when you were younger and try your hardest not to throw up.

“Missed me, hm?” Winter questions and you nod meekly. Though you didn’t want to admit it two years ago, you do now. “Missed you lots, Master,” you tell him. The leather is cold against your warm skin. If you focus just a bit more, you could feel the creases of the fabric as well. But you’re too busy with him, so you ignore it. “W- Was the mission good, Master?” you nervously ask him, only out of curiosity and nothing more.

“As always. Were you good, кролик?” Soldat questions in return, rightfully so. You nod eagerly and fiddle with your fingers behind his back. He acts like he can’t feel it, just for you not to stop hugging him. “Good girl… You seem like you want something. Out with it,” he orders, and you gulp in fear.

“I… I was wondering if I could go to the bathroom,” you meekly tell Winter, looking down to the ground. His boots are shiny and polished. Cleaner than anything you’ve seen before, and it’s confusing. He usually comes in covered with dirt, sweat, tears and blood. “You need to go to the bathroom, кролик?” he asks as if he didn’t hear you beforehand.

You shyly nod and unwrap your arms from around his broad torso. You wonder if he left the mission unscathed or not. Winter chuckles. It’s breathy, airy, sly and dark. “Aw, кролик, you’re adorable, the cutest кролик of them all. It’s too bad I’m not going to let you,” he sneers in that faux fantasy tone of his. You furrow your eyebrows and so desperately want to beg him, but it’s out of line, and he never asked, so you stay quiet.

Winter grabs your hand and drags you to the cot, reminding you of the way you’d pull your parents to the shore so they can play in the water with you. They’d both laugh before your father would tackle you in the water, and your mother would push him down in retaliation. You’d always resubmerge from the water with a smile on your face and laughter bellowing throughout the beach.

You miss those times.

You let him guide you to the bed you wish wasn’t yours. “What did you do while I was gone, кролик?” Soldat questions, sitting down on the canvas of the bed. You’re placed on his lap, almost as though he’s forcing you to reclaim a throne you need. And it’s true; you need him. His hands fall to your waist, and Winter holds you in place. “I drank all the water as you asked, and I just sat here, Master,” you recount to him, leaving out the parts of the past three hours he doesn’t need to know.

He hums in the same manner as you. “That’s all?” he questions, and you slowly nod your head. “Good, I’d hate to have to punish you this late in the night,” he says, pinching the skin on your torso. You don’t whimper because you’re used to it. He calls it affection, and so do you. Winter’s hands move from your sides to the front of your stomach, caressing you with a bit of pressure being put on your bladder.

You whimper and try to play it off with a cough, but you know deep down he doesn’t buy it. Soldat continues to run his hand against your stomach the same way you’d run across the shore. Slow, wary, yet with care from the ground beneath you. You like to think of the simpler, more happier times. You know if Winter pushes a little harder, you may not be able to control yourself any longer.

The pressure in your bladder grows every few seconds, so you squirm around in his lap. Your weight shifts from his left thigh to his right thigh, over and over, and he knows exactly what’s wrong. “Кролик… Are you feeling all tingly?” he asks you. You nod your head, but you take in his words. Meanings and implications are always lost with you. They fly over your head the same way birds do, and you only see them with someone's direction.

“N- No, Master, I just have to pee really badly…” you clarify to him, and he nods his head in understanding. You smile as a spark of hope lights inside of your heart. “I don’t think you do, кролик, I already told you,” he assures, and you sigh. “I- I know, Master, I’m sorry,” you apologize and drop your head down. “I think you’re having those tingles, кролик, is your little cunt wet?” Soldat questions even though you don’t have to answer.

His hand travels between your legs and to your pussy, cupping it tightly. You whimper and involuntarily grind against his hand. “You’re absolutely soaked, кролик! Were you thinking of me?” he interrogates, and you just go with it. “Y- Yes, Master, was thinking of you all the time,” you whisper to him. He squeezes your cunt tighter and purrs in your ear. “Then why didn’t you tell me beforehand, кролик?” Winter presses, and you feel fear pump through your veins.

“I- I knew you were tired from the mission, so I didn’t want to bother you, Master. I’m sorry, please forgive me!” you plead, and he clicks his tongue in disapproval. Your heart sinks to your stomach with each sound he makes, and you want death to take you right here, right now. The Soldat pushes you to the ground, and you fall with a loud ‘thud!’. Your knees hit the concrete hard, and you can feel your old scars open up a bit.

One was from a poor fall at the beach. Your father carried you home, and your mother tried to soothe you. You were only six at the time, but it felt like your world was ending.

Winter’s metal hand grabs your hair and tugs on your locks painfully. You bite back a pained moan as he yanks your head back. It’s not the first time he has nearly given you whiplash. He changes moods faster than anyone you’ve ever met. The Soldat walks around you, and you follow him with your eyes. “It’s okay, кролик. I’m not mad at you. I’m gonna treat you so well; you’re gonna love me even more,” he promises with a dark glint in his eyes.

He wedges his boot between your legs and underneath your cunt. “Get comfy, шлюха,” he orders. You shift yourself a bit, trying to alleviate any aches you feel, but it seems as though he wants you to be uncomfortable. Your pussy rests on his foot, and you wonder what he’s up to. His hand tilts your head to look up at him. You want to look away, just like when you’d look at the bright sun on a hot summer day. It was always too much to look at, but the sight was so captivating you couldn’t turn away.

“You said you wanted to go pee, right, маленькая потаскушка?” he questions, and you confusingly nod. “Then go ahead, do it,” he orders. You gasp, quite loudly, in fact. The reaction doesn’t please your Master, so he yanks on your hair a little tighter. “What’s wrong, сука? I thought that’s what you needed?” he interrogates, and you nod. “Yes, Master, but not like this,” you reason, and he growls. “I give you protection, I give you food, I give you my cum, I give you everything you need. What’s wrong now? Don’t you love me?” Winter asks.

Your heart quite literally breaks in two.

“I do, Master! I love you so much!” you promise, feeling those stupid tears of yours starting to well up. “Then why aren’t you listening to me, you dumb baby? Hm?” he presses, and panic begins to rise in your chest. The tears stream down your face the same way the waves would engulf you at the age of 7. “It’s just uncomfortable, Master, that’s all…” you reason with him. “Well, I don’t care. You’re gonna do it anyway, okay? I thought you were a good bunny for me…” Winter trails off as if he’s lost all hope and cause.

It makes you want to cry even harder.

Sniffling, you wipe your tears and try not to give up. “I am your good bunny, Master. Please don’t make me do this. I don’t want to!” you beg once again, and he grows weary of your patheticness. Winter bends down, and his flesh hand goes to the front of your flimsy shirt. Thin cotton rips away easily, with barely any strength coming from his behalf. The grey cloth is in two pieces, and he pushes them off your shoulders.

Your nipples harden as soon as the cool air brushes against them. Winter’s hand leaves your head, and you feel alone without his touch. “Seems like you forgot your place, кролик… You don’t get what you want; you get what you deserve. And what you deserve is to be put in your place,” he tells you, and your bones rattle with fear. The sound of a belt clinking and a zipping being pulled down grabs your attention, and you hold back a hearty sigh.

The Soldat stares you down as he throws his belt to the side just like he did you a few hours ago. “I can’t believe you, honestly. Думая, что ты так выше меня, пытаясь помешать мне делать то, что я хочу. After this, you’re going to regret ever talking back to me like that ever again,” he rants under his breath like the mad man he is. Your tears have dried up, but your bottom lip starts to wobble again. He huffs, tired of seeing you cry.

Winter halts his movements and goes to remove his mask, the one thing that’s been hiding that sinister smirk of his. The dark, matte material is clutched between the tips of his cut-up, bruised fingers. He carefully places the mask on your face, covering your mouth and nose. The action shuts you up, just like how he wants. You look up at him without blinking your tears away. You let them fall and soak the mask, staining it with your waterworks.

The Soldat pulls his big, thick cock out of his tactical pants. His cock is as hard as a rock, blooding pumping down to it, and his veins throb on the side of his shaft. Beads of precum drip down from his tip, rolling down his cock. He’s a raging red, desperate to be inside of you. His metal head returns to your head, and he brings you higher up in your knees. Your neck cranes at such a painful angle that the ache in your knees is ignored.

“You better fucking look at me while I teach you your lesson, шлюха,” he warns, and you listen to him easily. Through your haze of pained tears, you manage to look into his eyes. You’re not sure what he wants to do and what he’s going to do. You never do. The Soldat is unpredictable, and even in your two years of knowing him, you’ll never understand how the gears in his mind turn.

“Not so dumb after all, huh,” he chuckles before shaking his head. Winter sighs and smiles down at you. “One last chance, шлюха,” he tells you in a sing-song voice. You don’t say anything, and the Soldat clicks his tongue. Suddenly, instead of the delicious precum, he would usually make you lap up like a kitten, clear streams of warmth hit your chest. You gasp behind the mask, but it comes out as muffled nonsense to him.

“Stop!” you cry out to him, but your words are once again muffled. His pee soaks your chest as he relieves himself from the pressure in his bladder. Your hands bat at his stiff thighs, hitting them just so that he can stop humiliating you and treating you like you’re all but human. Winter growls, and his metal arm drops your head, and he slaps your hands away. His pee covers your tits and drips down your skin, staining you with disgust and humiliation.

The streams soon stop, and you’re sobbing even louder now. “Oh shut it, this isn’t even as bad of a punishment. I’m going easy on you, шлюха, I could easily do worse,” Soldat growls as the slightly tinted liquid drips from the tip and onto the ground. Your chest stutters with sobs, and you can barely breathe. You’re covered and coated like a freshly bought canvas, and Winter’s just ruined you. Almost in the same manner that you’d destroy your father’s canvas with your cheap, dollar store paint.

Winter bends down and grabs what was once your shirt and is now just a piece of cloth. Kind of like how your mother would give you any leftover scraps of fabric to make something for you. She’d never let anything go to waste. He uses it to wipe the drops of urine that still drip from his cock, and then he throws it at you like you mean nothing to him. You let it fall to the ground because there’s no possible way a piece of cloth that was once on your back can fix your honour.

But who are you kidding? You lost your honour the moment you gave into the Soldat, just like you always do.

You stretch your arms out to him, silently pleading for comfort from him. But he shakes his head with a sly smile on his face. “Aw, you want your Master to help you out, мой питомец?” Winter questions, and you eagerly nod your head. His metal hand goes to remove the mask, but he stops as soon as he touches it. “Say please,” he orders with faux sympathy in his voice. “Please, Master,” you beg to him, and he smiles.

Winter places his hand back on the mask and yanks it off of your face. The sides scratch your cheeks a bit, but that’s not what matters. “T- Thank you, Master. I love you so much,” you tell him before struggling to put a smile on your face. At the end of the day, no matter how brutal he is with you, you’ll always love him. ...Right? “You’re welcome, кролик,” he says as he throws the mask to where his belt lies.

Your cheeks are sticky and stained with tears, much like your chest. Winter’s flesh hand cups your left cheeky lightly, and he’s back to being the gentleman who has killed for you on numerous occasions. He wipes away the wetness on your cheek as his other hand goes to his cock, grabbing the base of it. “Say ‘ah,’ моя маленькая шлюшка,” he orders before you can even register his signature Cheshire smirk.

His cock is shoved inside your mouth without any warning. He always does that. No heads up, no preparation, nothing. Zip, zilch, nada. Winter wiggles his foot that’s underneath your cunt, and the sudden friction is startling. He calls you bunny because of this reason. You can get off on anything, and you’re always needy for him. “I can see how wet you are, шлюха. You’re soaking my boot with that little pussy of yours,” he coos.

You don’t realize how wet you are until he points it out. You’re absolutely soaking, and you’re not sure why. But for the utmost incomprehensible reason ever, you don’t care.

His cock slides down your throat until your nose nuzzles against his pubic bone. His balls touch your chin, and your saliva coats his cock thickly. Your throat and side of your kissable mouth both hurt horribly, but you ignore the pain just for him. “You’re my good little bunny, right?” he questions, and you nod while his cock rests on your tongue. “And good little bunnies like you always listen to their Masters, right?” Winter asks, and you nod again.

He smiles. His hand on your cheeks moves to the back of your head slowly, returning to its newfound home. “I bet you want to come, don’t you, кролик?” he interrogates, and he’s not wrong. You really do want to come, and you’re a bit ashamed of it. “Master will let you come, don’t worry. I’m gonna let you have cummies, кролик,” he promises, and you happily giggle around his cock.

“Go on, hump my boot like the little bunny you are,” he pushes, and your eyes nearly fall out of their sockets. You want to protest so badly, but the memories of what he just did to you freshly flood your mind like the memories from when you were younger. “Are you that stupid that I have to explain how to get yourself off? Or are you just not listening to me, кролик?” he asks in a tone that reminds you of subdued thunder.

You shake your hand and try to move your hips around a bit. Your soaking wet pussy grinds against the leather of Winter’s shoe, and your clit throbs at the feeling. Winter’s cock slides out of your mouth until the fat tip of it is all that’s left, and then he quickly shoves it back in. Your loud gags and his moans fill the room like music. Your loss of oxygen makes you see stars, and you can recall how much your father loved to paint the midnight skies until he couldn’t keep his eyes open.

Your old toothbrushes would serve as the home of the clouds of dust that the stars would be born from. His fingers would be covered in white paint that would fall off in the water and swirl down the sink. His black t-shirts would have white freckles on them, and your mother would always suggest for him to turn the cloth into a galaxy. He’d always tell her one day, and you’d always remind him of that day whenever you’d catch him painting.

“Fuck, you always do look even prettier with my cock in your mouth, кролик,” he swears, and you smile around his cock. Oh, well, you at least try to smile. You continue to rub yourself against his boot as he uses your throat as he pleases. Your hole drools with want, and your slick gives his shoe a shine that is unmatched by any other substance. The burning, fiery feeling on your clit spreads to your abdomen, and you can feel yourself being brought closer to the edge.

You’re moaning around his thick cock, sending sinful vibrations throughout him. “Fuck, are you gonna come, кролик?” he questions as he feels you hug his leg. You nod around his cock, and he begins to push your head back and forth of his cock, matching your desperate movements. He uses you like a fleshlight, and you’re used to it. “Well, too fucking bad, шлюха, you’re not allowed to come,” he spits, and your hips freeze in place.

“I didn’t say stop, did I? No, I didn’t, continue, шлюха,” he sneers, and you listen to the Soldat. You’re not sure how you’re going to stave off your orgasm, but you’ll do anything for him. You slowly begin to grind your hips back and forth on his boot again, trying to slow your breathing down, and Winter fucks your face sloppily. “Fuck, you want my cum, don’t you, кролик?” he questions, and you squeeze his leg tighter.

Winter pulls his cock out abruptly and pinches the base, staving off his release only for a few seconds. “I said, don’t you want my cum, шлюха?” he asks once again, and you nod. Saliva coats your mouth, and you can barely catch your breath. “I- I really want your cum, Master, please! Please give me your cum,” you plead to him with a ditzy look in your eyes. You wiggle your hips side to side just to give off the impression that you’re getting yourself off.

But you can’t fool the fooler. Nobody can.

“I’m going to give you all my cum, шлюха, and you’re going to take it all like a good girl,” he moans as he shoves his cock back into your mouth. Winter shoves himself deep inside your throat until you can’t take any more of his length. You swallow around his cock, and he moans loudly, swearing in Russian. The words roll off his tongue skillfully, and you feel yourself getting even wetter.

He grabs your head even tighter and bobs your skull up and down his cock a few more times before finally hitting his release. His balls tighten up, and a deep, throaty moan leaves his mouth in the best way ever. Hot, sticky ropes spurt down your throat before you can even register the way he throws his head back. Winter’s long hair spills on the sides of his head as his cum spills down your throat. You have no choice but to swallow, but it’s not like you want to spit his seed out anyways.

Winter lets out a deep moan that goes straight to your core, and his hand pats your head in a praising manner. “Good girl, such a good fucking girl,” he praises as he slowly pulls his sensitive cock out of your mouth. Your cunt flutters with sensitivity, and you want to come so badly, but you just can’t. The Soldat takes a few steps back, slipping his foot away from your aching pussy. You let out a whimper, and he smiles.

“I’m not done with you, маленький кролик,” he tells you, and your heart flutters. You’ve managed to ignore the building pressure in your bladder, but now it seems to come back stronger. “C- Can I go pee first, Master?” you politely ask him, still on your knees. Even that ache has returned, but it’s the least important thing as of now. He ignores your question as he works on the numerous straps on his battle uniform.

Skillful fingers take off the leather vest he wears, revealing a bulletproof protectant that saves him from certain dangers. “Get on the bed, кролик,” Winter orders as he continues to strip himself. You begin to stand up on your wobbly, scarred legs, but he tuts. “Uh uh, not like that,” he interjects, walking back to you. He pushes you back onto the floor, and you fall with a sob. “On your knees, because that’s what you deserve. Nothing more, шлюха,” he sneers, and you sniffle.

You slowly crawl to the bed. Each time your knees touch the ground, you burn up with both arousal and humiliation. And it’s not like the action is making your need to go to the bathroom any better. The abrupt movement makes the liquid slosh inside you, and you want to burst out in tears, begging Winter to just let you relieve yourself. Your hands have slight scars from your nails, and it reminds you of when your father would encourage you to do the monkey bars.

You’d always try to swing yourself to the end with all your might. But you never could do it. You’d fall down to the ground and leave the park wailing. The scars and blisters on your hand would make your parents so upset, but that never stopped you from wanting to go back and try again. Eventually, you got too old to try, and it would always upset you. Maybe one day you’ll be able to try again— one day.

You hear zippers unzipping and velcro cracking behind you as you get on the bed. The coolness of the sheets is so refreshing against your hot skin. It soothes you for a few seconds, but it eventually loses its worth. You turn around and face him with a sort of dumbfounded look on your face. He fucking loves it; Winter always does. He’s naked, fully naked, and even his signature tactical boots have been discarded.

If you squint, you could see the way your wetness shines on his boot. “Good girl, such as good little bunny,” he praises, and you can feel yourself get flustered. Winter climbs onto the bed, staring you dead in the eyes. He kneels in front of you with a wicked smirk, and he brings his flesh hand up to your throat. You let out a gasp as he squeezes your neck tightly before he leans in closer to you.

The Soldat’s face is just a mere few centimetres away from yours. You can feel each breath that he takes against your skin. His hard cock rests against your sticky chest, and he’s still hard as fuck. “Open your mouth, кролик,” he orders, and you instantly do so. You wait for his cock to be stuffed in your mouth once again, but it never comes. You watch as he puckers his lips up before spitting right by your mouth.

You choke in surprise as his saliva slowly drips into your mouth, landing on your sore tongue. You whimper at the feeling, and Winter has a proud smile on his face. He pulls his head away from yours, in the same manner your father would whenever he’d finish one of his masterpieces. “Swallow it all, кролик, I know you want to,” he orders in a sing-song voice.

You follow his demand obediently. You can’t lie; the sheer act of him spitting in your mouth and forcing you to swallow it makes you even wetter. You’d take anything he gives you. “You’re such a good girl, you know that right?” he questions, and your chest heaves. Winter’s cock twitches against you, and you so desperately want him inside you. But there’s nothing you want more than to go relieve yourself.

His metal hand comes up to your face, and you think he’s going to lovingly hold you. You absolutely adore it when he strokes your cheeks. The Soldat’s thumb touches the soft yet slightly sweaty skin of your face and moves back and forth. Chills run down your spine, and you smile into his touch. He suddenly pulls his hand away, and he strikes you roughly. You let out a cry as your skin stings and prickles from the hit.

He does it again and again until your tears soak his hand. Your cheek is practically numb from the pain. You can feel his cock leaking with cum, and you know that he’s going to fuck you, just like you want him to. “Did you forget your manners?” Winter harshly questions, and you quickly shake your head. “T- Thank you, Master,” you whisper to him, and he smiles.

“Master… Can I please go to the bathroom? Please, it hurts,” you beg to him, but he just shakes his head. “P- Please, Master? I’ll be a good girl, I promise!” you plead to him as your tears run down your face even quicker. He ignores your cries for relief, and he instead slams you onto the bed. Your mind is a mess as he combs on top of you, and the aches you have only get stronger.

The hand that was slapping some sense into you finds a new home on your stomach, right above your swollen bladder. He pushes down on your stomach slightly, and you kick your legs. “Shh, none of that, no, stop it,” he shushes, and you try your hardest to not let go right there and then. “Master knows what you need, okay? And right now, you need my cock, маленький кролик,” he tells you, and you sob.

The hand on your throat moves to his cock, and he grabs his thick base. The veins on the side throb with need, and in one thrust, he bottoms out inside you. You barely have the time to register what’s just happened. The painful stretch of his cock radiates throughout your core, and you dig your nails into the scarred skin of your palms. His tip nudges against your g-spot, and you coat his cock with your wetness.

Winter is buried inside you to the hilt, filling you up to the brim. His swollen, heavy balls rest against your ass, and you both try to get used to the connection. The painful stretch dulls down to an exquisite pleasure, and Winter loves the way your tight cunt gets used to his thick cock. He’s splitting you in two, but he simply does not care. His hand returns back to your throat, and this time, he squeezes the sides of your neck even tighter.

Winter pulls his cock out until his fat tip is the only thing resting inside of your pussy. He slams back into you roughly, and you let out a cry. Your jaw falls slack as the Soldat begins to fuck into your relentlessly. His balls slap against your ass, and your loud, short-lived moans fill the cell that you’ve grown to love. “Fucking hell, кролик, your pussy feels so good,” he growls, slamming into you even harder.

Your tits bounce with every movement he makes. The pleasure sears through your body as Winter hammers against your poor g-spot with each thrust he makes. “Master, please, I need to go really badly,” you beg to him as he continues to fuck you. He shakes his head in objection before pushing down on your stomach even harder. You let out a wail and try to squirm away, but you only worsen things for yourself.

“No, you don’t, кролик. The only thing you need is my cock,” the Soldat tells you, and you upsettingly toss your head back. “No, Master, please, I don’t wanna make a mess,” you reason with him, but he just doesn't seem to want to listen. “I know that, кролик, but you need to listen to me, okay? You don’t need to go; you just need me,” he growls lowly, and you can feel him pushing harder on your bladder.

“No- Wait, Master, please stop pushing on me,” you implore to him as a moan follows your words. Your silky, wet cunt hugs his cock as the tingly feeling in your bladder becomes stronger. You want to cross your legs and stop it from growing, but you can’t. Pressure builds up in your core, and you’re not sure if you’re going to come or if you’re going to make a mess and humiliate yourself.

“Let go, мой тупой ребенок, I know you want to so badly. You can make a mess, do it,” Winter urges, and you shake your head. “No, Master, please stop it,” you cry to him, but he only fucks you harder. One specific thrust hits your cervix, and you yell out in pain before even realizing what’s happened. Warmth trickles down your thighs and onto his cock. You let out a wail as humiliation blossoms from your soul.

Though there’s nobody else watching, you’re still embarrassed. And that wicked smirk on Winter’s face does nothing to help you out. The sound of it makes your back sweat, and you want the ground to open up and take you home. Your urine wets the sheets beneath you, and your tears wet your face. “God, look at you. You finally got what you wanted, and here you are, crying like a fucking brat. You’re so ungrateful. Do you even deserve my cum?” he questions with disgust on his tongue.

You struggle to nod, but you do it anyway. The last thing you need is to have your Master upset with you. “‘M sorry, Master, please forgive me,” you plead to him. You continue to relieve yourself, and he continues to fuck you despite the mess you’re making in his shaft. “Такой грязный, глупый малыш. Ты такой жалкий, ты же знаешь это, да?” he questions even though you only know one simple word of Russian. You moan loudly as you slowly stop making a mess and begin to feel your orgasm building up.

“Aw, are you gonna come, кролик?” Winter asks you in a condescending tone, one that makes you even wetter. The lewd sounds that come from your pussy as just as humiliating as what you’ve just done, but you don’t care. You’re too busy getting fucked stupid. “Fuck, I can’t wait to fill this pussy up with my cum; watch it leak out of you. You always do look prettier when you’re filled up with my cum,” he moans as his thrusts grow sloppy.

“Master, ‘m gonna c- come,” you whimper to him, laying in your own piss. “Go ahead, шлюха, come on my cock. You already made a mess on me twice, might as well do it for the third time,” Winter growls, moving the hand that lays on your stomach. He grabs your hips roughly and pulls you closer towards his cock. Hot flames lick at your abdomen as you hit your climax, seeing stars in your vision.

Your reality is warped as you can barely make out the look on Winter’s face. Darkness takes over your vision in the same manner as the clouds would take over the skies on those hot summer days. They would hide the pretty sun for a few minutes, and then they’d leave eventually. Your pussy clamps down on his cock tightly as you coat him with your juices, making him moan.

You wail loudly as you clench around him, making him groan. “Fuck, you like that, don’t you?” he asks without waiting for an answer. You nod as he fucks you through your orgasm, not even caring about how overstimulated you are. His cock slips in and out of you with ease and his thrusts begin to grow sloppy. “Tell me how much you want my cum,” he demands, fucking you even slower.

“I- I want your cum really badly, Master. I need it so badly; please fill me up with your cum!” you politely beg to you as you come down from your much-needed high. “Fuck, I’m gonna fill you up so nicely, кролик, you’re gonna beg me to fuck you again,” Winter husks as his balls tighten up. A string of Russian words leave his mouth, and you have to assume that it’s all foul language.

Warm, white ropes of cum paint your walls as he pushes deep inside your cunt while coming. Winter’s blue eyes squeeze shut, and you both moan at the feeling. He fills you up just like he promised, and you bite down on your lips. Everything has dried, and you feel disgusted, so you try to focus on the way his cum pumps inside you. His cock stays inside you, but he doesn’t soften at all, and you know what that means. Winter falls on top of your sticky chest with a sigh, and tears sting your eyes.

Though he says you need him, you wonder if that’s really true.

[spidergwenstefani]

Good Neighbors

This is for @winterhawkkisses​ because moving is v stressful and you asked for happy ending fic recs and I haven’t read enough fics lately to deliver on that so I just wrote one. Pls enjoy this no powers AU featuring two dumb boys pining uselessly.

“You don’t have to do this,” Clint says to the back of his new neighbor’s head. Or not head, exactly. He hasn’t been able to drag his eyes much further above his waist.

“Where does this box go?” the guy says instead, shouldering open the apartment door. He turns enough to give Clint an easy smile, and Clint’s own box goes tumbling out of his hands without his permission.

“Shit,” he says, because the tape has managed to burst open and now there’s silverware skidding noisily across the hallway tile. “Shit, hang on-”

Hot neighbor is at his side in an instant, tucking his hair behind his ears and giving Clint the kind of gentle smile that he’s just now realized has been absent from his life for too long. He sets the box back upright, gathering up a handful of forks and nestling them back in the bubble wrap.

“I’m Bucky, by the way.” Clint hadn’t even realized they had skipped over introductions. He scoops up an armful of utensils and dumps them back in the box with considerably less care.

“Clint,” he offers.

“Nice to meet you, Clint,” Bucky says, and he picks up the box, leaving Clint empty-handed. Bad call. Now Clint’s got nothing to do but run his mouth as Bucky crosses the threshold and officially becomes his first new houseguest.

“Are you on this floor?”

“Thirty-one B. Right across the hall.” There’s no furniture in the place yet, and Bucky does a full scan of the empty living room before setting the boxes down against the far wall.

“So we’ll see a lot of each other, then. Well, and you’ll see a lot of Lucky. I think you’d get along. Oh, and Kate. You’ll see her too.”

“Kate?” Bucky asks, taking a moment to plant his hands on his hips and catch his breath. Clint can’t help but drag his gaze across Bucky’s arms. Natasha keeps telling him that the torn-off sleeves look is out, but somehow he feels like Bucky, with his half bun and dark skinny jeans, could convert her with one look at his AC/DC shirt. Clint finds himself picking anxiously at the waistband of his moving day sweatpants.

“Yeah, Lucky’s ours. Together. He’s our dog.” The barest hint of a frown tugs at Bucky’s mouth for a moment, and then it’s gone. Aw, no. Clint really hopes Bucky doesn’t hate dogs.

“You have more boxes?”

“Um, yeah. And a mattress.”

Bucky’s back to friendly smiles that tug at Clint’s heartstrings.

“Let’s do this.”

>>==========>

Clint’s hand hovers a few inches over the shiny brass 31B. There are voices coming from inside. A lot of voices, like Bucky’s got a party going on. Clint should probably leave them to it. He should probably go back to figuring out how to hook up his DVR and just use google maps to figure out what his new address is. Bucky probably doesn’t have time to-

There’s the slide of the lock and then the door is swung open, both Clint and Bucky freezing in surprise at suddenly being face to face.

“Sorry-” Clint starts, at the same time Bucky says “I was just about to-”

They pause again, and then Bucky’s giving him his easy smile.

“You go first.”

“I- I was just going to order pizza, and I couldn’t remember the address for the building.” Clint finally remembers to drop his hand from where it was poised ready to knock. He clutches the take-out menu in both hands, his daydream of Bucky joining him for an empty apartment floor pizza picnic now long abandoned. He even showered before coming over, just in case his dreams played out for once. He put on jeans.

“Well, I can give you the address if you want, but I was about to ask you if you wanted to get in on the pizza happening on this side of the hall. My buddy Steve watches TV like a geriatric, so we’re making him marathon Dog Cops and-”

“Yes,” Clint says a little too fast. “I love Dog Cops. I love pizza, too.” Bucky smiles wider and steps back from the doorway, waving Clint inside.

“Great. I’ll introduce you to the guys.”

Bucky’s apartment is the mirror image of Clint’s, which he should’ve expected. There’s furniture in this one, though. And more than just a camping lantern to light the living room.

“This is Steve, the dinosaur,” Bucky says, gesturing to an absolute beefcake of a man perched somehow delicately on the arm of Bucky’s overstuffed couch. “That’s Tony next to him, and Sam’s in the kitchen.” Tony seems to be using one of Steve’s massive thighs as a pillow instead of the perfectly good couch cushion, which Clint wouldn’t dream of blaming him for. He offers a jaunty wave, and Clint’s eyes catch on his t-shirt. It’s the same AC/DC one Bucky was wearing earlier in the week. He’s got a blazer thrown on over it like it’s 2005, so the ripped off sleeves aren’t as noticeable, but it’s definitely the same one.

“So you’re the neighbor with the dog,” somebody says, and Clint manages to swallow his sudden disappointment down and turn to meet Sam.

“No dog yet,” Clint says, shoving his hands in his pockets and saying a silent prayer to whatever deity of wishful thinking drove him to actually shower today. Bucky and company are a freakishly attractive group. “But, yeah. That’s me.”

>>==========>

“Clinton Francis,” Kate says sternly, giving him a look over the rim of her sunglasses. “Putting out a dog bed, a mattress, and a coffee machine does not count as moving in.”

“I’m working on it,” Clint says, swinging his legs over the roof ledge and reaching back to give Lucky’s ears a scratch. “There’s a fridge-”

“Which was there when you moved in,” Kate points out. Clint ignores her.

“I made friends. Like, three of them. Three and a half.” He’s not sure if he’d count Tony as a friend. He seems nice, if a little overwhelming. Clint just can’t quite get himself to befriend the guy who’s almost certainly dating Bucky. He had to spend half his conversations with Tony just willing himself not to stare at the damn shirt.

“That’s pretty good,” Kate concedes, pushing her sunglasses back up. “You need to go find some furniture, though. You can’t just live out of boxes for the foreseeable future.”

“I know.” Clint swings himself around on the roof ledge so he’s facing in, taking Lucky’s face in his hands so he can do something other than look at Kate. Lucky drools happily on his arm. “I’m going to Salvation Army tomorrow. I could just live up here like a hermit instead, though. I mean, check out that view.”

“Check out that view,” Kate says, and Clint looks up from smushing Lucky’s face around to see Bucky standing hesitantly in the roof access doorway, carrying a propane tank and sporting a Metallica t-shirt with notably absent sleeves.

“Hi,” Bucky says, floundering for another moment in the doorway before finally starting across the roof. He sets the tank down next to the grill, sliding it under the rain cover. Clint has to look away as Bucky squats down, thighs straining against his skinny jeans.

“Your new neighbor is sex on legs,” Kate hisses, and Clint can pick it up easily enough so he figures she’s barely managing below a stage whisper.

“I bet his boyfriend thinks so too,” Clint breathes. Kate arches an eyebrow at him over her sunglasses, but Bucky’s finished whatever he was doing with the grill so Clint doesn’t dare risk an explanation. He goes for introductions instead.

“Kate, Bucky. Bucky, Kate.” Bucky wipes his hands on his jeans, giving Kate a half wave. He’s still a few yards away and seems reluctant to come any closer. Maybe because Lucky’s panting hopefully at him. Wow. The poor guy must really hate dogs.

“Nice to meet you,” Kate says, sliding her sunglasses up onto her head so she can give Bucky the whole batted eyelashes and sparkling eyes song and dance. Clint puts his full focus into rubbing Lucky’s ears. “I’ll probably be around here a lot. Maybe we’ll see more of each other?”

“Um, yeah.” Bucky’s eyes stay on Lucky and Clint. He doesn’t seem too enthused. “Yeah, maybe.”

>>==========>

Clint took his aids out hours ago as an easy way to block out the hammer-induced headache. If Kate hadn’t insisted on dragging him all the way to Ikea to supplement his Salvation Army finds, he wouldn’t even have the cheesy art prints to hang up in the first place. They do kind of brighten the place up, in a way. The wall clock is helpful, at least, and the dog on one of the prints might not have a smile as sweet as Lucky’s, but Clint decides he’s growing on him.

Lucky still holds the title of Best Dog, though. The puppy in the painting doesn’t do shit to let Clint know when somebody’s at the door.

“Coming,” Clint calls out, setting his screwdriver and Ikea manual aside to answer the door. Lucky settles back down on the dog bed he’s dragged out from the bedroom. Best Dog. “Hang on, I just-” The door swings open to show Bucky, his hands stuffed in his pockets and a sheepish look on his face.

“Hi,” Bucky says. “Sorry, I-” He’s talking fast, and Clint loses track of his words pretty quickly. He trails off anyways as he notices Clint watching his lips. “Um.”

“Hang on, let me get my ears in.” Bucky looks a little confused at that, but he steps into what is gradually becoming an actual apartment as Clint finds his aids on the newly salvaged coffee table. He hooks them back in, switching them on as Bucky stands awkwardly in the middle of the room, wringing his hands. “Okay, go ahead.”

“I was just coming over to see if you needed help. I could hear the hammering earlier, and, uh, then the swearing. I know the sound of a Grönlid when I hear one.”

“It’s an Ektorp, actually,” Clint says, and Bucky smiles even as he wrinkles his nose.

“Really? Gross.”

“Yeah, Kate said the same thing. I could use a hand, actually.” Bucky’s got a half frown on again, and Clint follows his gaze over to Lucky, curled up on his bed. “Um. Kate left Lucky with me for the week. I hope you don’t mind.”

Bucky crosses the half-assembled living room to crouch down in front of Lucky, who thumps his tail at him.

“You don’t happen to know Swedish, do you?” Bucky asks, scratching his fingers gently over Lucky’s head. His tongue lolls out and Clint feels a little like he’s melting.

>>==========>

There’s a wildly unexpected amount of World War Two books on Bucky’s shelf, and Clint finds himself running his fingers over the spines, sort of wishing he could glean deep knowledge about Bucky just by touching his possessions.

“So, you got a hard-on for Churchill or something?” It’s absolutely not any of the things Clint wanted to say, but he can’t exactly take the question back. He slides a book out at random, pretending like he gives a shit about trench warfare just so he doesn’t have to meet Bucky’s eyes.

“Oh, yeah. That top hat? Are you kidding me? Absolutely dreamy.” Bucky sidles up beside him and their shoulders knock together. Clint turns in time to see Bucky take a drink of his beer, and he can feel his cheeks burning as his eyes slide over the graceful lines of Bucky’s throat. He’s unfairly beautiful at any given moment, but seeing Bucky alone in his apartment, in his natural habitat, brings out a sort of softness in him that Clint’s pretty sure is quickly ruining him forever. “No,” Bucky says after a moment. “Those books are mostly recommendations from Steve. He’s the real war buff. World War Two is kind of his thing.”

“And here I was thinking Steve was just regular buff.” Bucky bumps their shoulders together again as he laughs, and Clint kind of wants to just knock his head against the bookshelf. “So what’s your thing, then?”

“The Cold War,” Bucky answers, ducking a little lower to show Clint the bottom few shelves. Clint follows him down and ends up face to face with a picture frame. “That was my focus in college. There’s just something about the drama of it all, you know? The spies, the intrigue. It’s kind of romantic in a tragic sort of way.” The picture in front of Clint has Bucky, Steve, and Tony in it. They’re standing together in the sunshine like somebody asked them to pose, but clearly Tony’s just said something funny because Bucky’s broken eye contact with the camera and Steve is actually falling over, clutching at a Metallica t-shirt that looks painfully familiar, although it still has it’s sleeves.

“Romantic?” Clint drags his eyes away from the picture frame to see Bucky looking pensive, running his thumb over a bookmark sticking out of one of his books.

“Maybe that’s not the right word,” he says, and then he turns back to Clint with one of his easy smiles. “C’mon, then. Are we watching Dog Cops or not?”

>>==========>

“This place is really coming together,” Bucky says, and Clint smiles at him as he hears Sal’s pick up on the other end of the line.

Thank you, he signs, because he’s taught Bucky that much. He starts putting in his pizza order from memory, keeping half an eye on Bucky as he wanders around the apartment. He has the living room all set now, and his sturdy little table from Goodwill might be a little small for the dining room, but at least it’s something. He even has a bed frame now, although he hasn’t put it together yet. Bucky busies himself with examining the dining room chairs, the ones Clint mentioned his repair plans for in passing. He seems to deem them sturdy enough, because next, he joins Clint in the kitchen.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen this many take-out menus in one place,” Bucky says, jerking his chin at the collage on Clint’s fridge. “I didn’t even know half these places existed.”

“Yeah. Kate says I’m going to have a heart attack by the time I’m forty.” Bucky just hums in response, frowning a little at the menu for Joy Garden. “I mean, I won’t. I exercise. I eat fruits and stuff.”

“Yeah, obviously,” Bucky snorts. “I still can’t figure out how your shoulders can be that amazing without you skipping leg day every day.” Clint hip checks Bucky out of the way so he can stick the Sal’s menu back up in its proper spot on the fridge.

“I do archery, actually. I work in the range most days. My favorite bow has a draw weight of about two fifty, so that takes care of most of my workouts.”

“Jesus,” Bucky says, actually looking a little pink “Two fifty? That’s- That’s more than I weigh.” Clint shrugs, knocking their shoulders together in a poor attempt to get the shell-shocked look off Bucky’s face.

“Well, you’re tiny so that’s not saying much.”

It breaks whatever spell he was under, and the look on Bucky’s face tells Clint he’s about to get a vicious elbow jab before Bucky freezes again.

“Does Kate ever visit you at the range?” He sounds almost sad when he says it, turning his head away and tucking his hair behind his ears.

“She works there too, so she doesn’t have to.” Bucky’s gotten a little too quiet all of a sudden, and Clint’s not sure exactly how to fix it. “You should come visit us, sometimes. Give her a chance to show me up.”

“I’d believe that when I see it,” Bucky says, and Clint blinks at him.

“What?”

Bucky frowns fully, like he’s thrown by Clint’s confusion.

“You’re pretty amazing. If you do archery that often, I bet you’re great at it. And Kate doesn’t exactly have the shoulder mass to be much competition.” Clint’s mouth might actually be hanging open at this point.

“You really think I’d be better than Kate?”

“Well, yeah.” Bucky’s still frowning at him, and Clint kind of wants to kiss him.

“You so have to watch me shoot. Kate will be so pissed that I finally get to have someone cheering me on for a change.”

>>==========>

“Okay. Okay, Clint- Clint, wait.”

“I’m waiting,” Clint says, doing a piss poor job of keeping the laughter from his voice as Bucky follows him down the street. He reaches out a hand and Clint slows enough to catch it.

“Wait.”

“I’m waiting.” Bucky twines their fingers together, misjudging his distance a bit and ending up leaning heavily on Clint’s shoulder. He pauses for a moment, then laughs too, burying the sound in the sleeve of Clint’s t-shirt.

“You should come out with us all the time,” Bucky says, and Clint shivers just a little at the feeling of his lips moving through the fabric.

“Maybe I will,” Clint says. Bucky is probably the touchiest drunk he’s ever met, and the novelty of having a new member in his usually karaoke night gang was likely what made Clint the target of all his affection. He’s spent the night being hugged, leaned on, poked, and petted, and now that he’s walking Bucky home, they’re actually holding hands. Clint knows he should feel guilty about it. Well, he thinks he should feel guilty about it. He’s not exactly sure why at the moment.

“We’ll make Tony come next time, too. He’s wild.” Bucky’s holding Clint’s hand in both of his now, but the warmth of him doesn’t hold up much against the guilt that washes over Clint like a bucket of ice water.

“Yeah, you probably should.” Clint extricates himself gently from Bucky’s hands, earning a whine for his troubles. He pats him a little on the shoulder, which seems to soothe him enough to keep him walking toward the apartment. “I bet you like having Tony at karaoke night the best anyways, right?”

“No, you’re my favorite now.” And that’s all kinds of guilt right there. Clint shakes Bucky off just a little more, putting a respectable distance between them while still giving him a shoulder to lean on. All his floaty fuzziness from before has dropped right down through his stomach like a one-ton weight. “Tony only sings boring dad rock. You pick fun songs. Billy Joel is way better than Metallica.”

“I thought you liked Metallica,” Clint says. Bucky leans his head on his shoulder, and he decides to allow that, at least. He shakes his head against Clint’s sleeve.

“No. I just wear the shirts because they’re Tony’s.”

“Yeah,” Clint says. “Yeah, I figured.

>>==========>

Clint’s always found something about summer storms kind of lovely. Maybe it’s how the air hits the perfect temperature for opening all the windows and perching on the fire escape. Maybe it’s how the city simmers down to a calm sort of happiness while the rain drums away outside. Maybe it’s just the way New York doesn’t reek for once.

The city lights have bled into a hazy glow with the drizzle, and Clint takes a cold beer with him to sit outside and listen to the white noise of the city. Lucky curls up on the rug beneath the window, not as interested in figuring out how to walk across the grate with his paws.

“You alright?”

Clint almost jumps a mile at Bucky’s voice, his hands slipping on wet metal as he tries to turn back to the window. He manages to spill about half his drink on himself before finally turning around to face Bucky.

“Sorry,” Bucky says sheepishly, waving a hand full of envelopes and a small package. “I ended up with some of your mail, and- I guess I could have left it outside, but Mark over in twenty-one A said that somebody’s been taking his shit so I thought I’d bring it over. And then you didn’t answer, and the door was unlocked, and you’re just sitting out here in the rain, so…” Bucky trails off, glancing down at Lucky a little desperate as if he can offer any kind of help. Clint kind of feels like somebody’s got a vice grip around his heart.

“It’s nice out here,” he says. “You can join me, if you want. Unless you think you’ll melt.”

“Only one way to find out, I guess,” Bucky says, although there’s still something kind of shaky in his smile. He sets Clint’s mail down on the floor, giving Lucky a pat like he needs him to stay on guard, and then Clint’s scooting over so Bucky can climb over him and settle down in a dry enough spot. He nestles in right next to Clint, pressing them together from shoulder to ankle.

They sit in silence for a while, watching the cars go by and people walk past below. It’s still peaceful with Bucky next to him, but Clint feels a little like there’s an electric current running through every part of them that’s touching.

Bucky shifts for a moment, to get more comfortable, or maybe he’s just about to leave. Either way, he slides his arm out from between them, and Clint finds himself sucking in a breath at the contact.

Bucky freezes, his eyes locking on Clint’s, and the white noise of the city suddenly feels deafening, pounding in Clint’s ears like a stampede. Or maybe that’s his heartbeat.

He swallows, and Bucky’s eyes drop down to Clint’s mouth. He licks his lips automatically, the moment pressing too hard against his chest for him to find any breath.

Bucky leans in then, not fast at all, but Clint still can’t find the time to think before their lips are pressed together. There’s nothing rough about it, no clashing of teeth or biting of lips, but the urgency of Bucky’s lips sliding against his feels far from gentle.

Clint kisses back, letting Bucky’s sighs against his lips fall into rhythm with the drum of the rain and the thud of his heartbeat. He doesn’t think about it. There’s a ghost of a thought. Maybe he thinks about not thinking about it, but it’s not until Bucky groans against his mouth and gets a fist in his shirt that Clint pulls back.

“Fuck,” he says, and he hates how rough his voice sounds. “Bucky, we can’t-”

“I know,” Bucky says, and Clint hates how cold his chest feels when Bucky’s pulled his hands away. He hates how he plays with the hem of his own shirt, the Def Leppard one that Clint’s seen Tony wear at least five times by now. “I know, I’m sorry. I just- fuck.” Bucky hides his face in his hands, and Clint flounders, not sure if he should comfort him or not. “I’m sorry,” Bucky says again, his voice muffled. “I didn’t want to- God. I know you and Kate are happy together, I just-”

“Kate?” Clint almost shouts, because Kate is the last person on his mind right now. “Why do you care about Kate? What about you and Tony?”

“Tony?” Bucky drops his hands to look at Clint in shock. “What about me and Tony?”

“What about you? You’re dating.”

“I’m not dating Tony.” Bucky really is shouting now.

“You have pictures together! You wear his shirts!”

“To piss him off! He hates when I rip the sleeves off, and I only do it because it drives Steve crazy too, and they’re this close to realizing how in love with each other they are and- why am I talking about Steve and Tony? You’re dating Kate!”

“I would never,” Clint splutters, and it’s his turn to shout. “No, gross. She’s like my sister!”

Bucky’s face has about twenty emotions in it at once, and Clint can’t tell what any of them are. Bucky opens his mouth and Clint feels like he’s about to get yelled at again.

“You’re not dating Kate.” Bucky’s voice is suddenly much quieter, and he talks slowly. “And- and I’m not dating Tony.”

“So,” Clint says, because it seems like the right word to prompt him forward. Bucky frowns at him, his brow furrowing with genuine confusion.

“So why the hell aren’t we kissing?”

Clint blinks at him. He raises his eyebrows, opens his mouth to answer, and then closes it again. It’s been… Christ, it’s been nearly a year since he and Bucky met, and all this time Clint thought he was with Tony. He can almost feel the gears turning in his own head, clicking new things into place. Clint looks at Bucky, his hair damp with soft summer rain and his eyes boring into Clint in the fading evening light.

“I don’t know,” Clint says. He leans forward, pinning Bucky against the metal of the fire escape and tangling his fingers in his hair. “Why the hell haven’t we been kissing for almost an entire year?”

“Shut up,” Bucky says, but it sounds like a plea, and Clint is happy to oblige.

[leroiloup]

Ravenous

⚜ Inspired by the song Barton Hollow by The Civil Wars       ➥ Takes place in 1920 (After the fire in New Orleans, before Chicago)      ◈ Characters: Klaus + Rebekah       ✥ Trigger Warnings: KKK Members (no racial slurs)  |  Violence/gore

              It was a hot and sticky August day in South Carolina. The year was 1920. The heat was almost visible as it rose up from the dirt road and graveled train track and the breeze that blew in the big oak trees did nothing to alleviate it. It didn't have much of an effect on the two vampires who made their way on foot down the railroad tracks, though.

             The brother and sister looked out of place as they made their way towards the next town. They carried nothing with them except for the clothes on their backs which were stolen from their last meal. Klaus wore tan trousers, with black suspenders and black shoes and a billowy white cotton shirt. He had the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Rebekah sported a plain white cotton dress, her hair down around her shoulders and her feet bare, dirty from the dusty roads. They looked like the usual impoverished ruffian types that would hitch rides on train cars to get where they're going.

             It was all an attempt to lay low and blend while they sought out refuge from their father. The last time they saw him was a handful of months ago in New Orleans. Now, they made their way to Chicago, a land that promised many dark shadows in which to hide. As Klaus's worn shoes crunched over the gravel of the train track, Rebekah balanced herself on the steel tie, looking graceful as she almost danced along it, her dress moving in the breeze. They looked like children, innocent in the summer day. ❝ What do you think Elijah is up to right now? ❞ she asked her older brother.

             Klaus shrugged and shook his head. ❝ Living in luxury, wearing a most expensive tailored suit, ❞ he answered in annoyance. Just ahead, he spotted a couple of small wooden buildings, most likely a general store and bar. ❝ This way, sister, ❞ he told her, leading her away from the train track and towards the very tiny southern town.

             Rebekah spotted a woman carrying a basket of produce and she looked longingly. ❝ Nik, I'm hungry, ❞ she complained. It had been far too long since their last meal.

             The woman, overhearing that, turned to see the pair who certainly looked in need of food. ❝ There's a diner just there, ❞ she said politely, pointing to the far building. ❝ They got food. ❞ Her eyes took in the strangers down to Rebekah's bare feet. ❝ But it sounds like you's from outta town an' I warn you, if you ain't from 'round here, you might wanna wait until the next town over, jus' fifteen miles along the tracks. ❞

             Interest piqued, Klaus stepped forward, eyeing the stranger. ❝ And why would that be, love? ❞

             Nervous eyes glanced at the diner, then back to the seemingly nice looking siblings. ❝ Folks 'round here know that's a favorite meetin' spot for Clan's Men. ❞

             Klaus's eyes went wide at their sudden bought of luck. He looked to his sister who seemed to have the same epiphany. ❝ How hungry did you say you were, dear sister? ❞ he asked her with a smirk.

             The pretty blonde smiled and replied:                                                                                    ❝ R a v e n o u s. ❞

            Leaving the kind woman alone unharmed, they headed towards the diner, looking almost giddy at what awaited them. ❝ I bet I can best you, sister, ❞ Klaus challenged.

             Rebekah scoffed. ❝ As hungry as I am? I doubt it. ❞

             The pair grinned and they walked up the front wooden steps and headed inside.

             The diner was small and seemed almost crowded with only eleven people inside it, including the cook in the back and the woman behind the counter. Conversations stopped and the white men all turned to eye the newcomers, not sure what to make of them.

             Rebekah walked to the counter and looked at the woman, eyeing the pretty red ribbon she wore in her hair. ❝ I'm very thirsty, ❞ she said with her best puppy dog eyes.

             Before the server could reply, one of the bigger men moved to lean against the counter next to the blonde, eyeing her predatorily. ❝ Your boyfriend can't even provide enough to get you some shoes, huh? ❞

             Both of the siblings scoffed loudly and then Rebekah replied sweetly, ❝ That's my brother. ❞

             Hearing her accent, the man cocked his head to the side, then brushed her hair back from her shoulders. ❝ Well then sweetheart, maybe there's something I can do. ❞

             Klaus's eyebrows shot up as he saw his sister go rigid. ❝ She doesn't like to be touched, ❞ he warned, though his tone was light.

              ❝ It's alright, brother, ❞ she replied, her eyes still on her future meal. ❝ I'm not the sort woman he'd want to touch anyway. ❞ Though her focus didn't change, it was clear she started talking to the man in her personal space. ❝ I'm sure you'd want to take your hand back if I told you that the greatest love of my life was a proud, beautiful and powerful colored man. ❞

             There was a scuffle and the men in the restaurant all stood up, taking it as a threat of sorts. Klaus looked delighted. It was the best way to determine who among the crowd were the true scum. Turns out, it looked to be all of them. Even the woman behind the counter looked disgusted. He noted that the only one who didn't react the same was the cook. That man merely looked frightened for whatever violence seemed inevitable.

             The wasted excuse of a man next to Rebekah suddenly looked less hospitable. ❝ You sullied yourself with one of them, girl? ❞ he asked as his hand grabbed her shoulder, pinning her in place.

             Rebekah looked down at the grimy appendage with filthy fingernails, then raised her eyes to meet his. Only now, hers had turned a dark red and the veins around her them bulged with hunger. ❝ He said, ❞ she told him, showing off a pair of razor fangs that extended slowly. ❝ I don't like to be touched. ❞ She grabbed the hand on her shoulder and yanked it, pulling him towards her where she could easily bite his neck with a ferocity that caused blood to splatter. He screamed, then fell down dead. 

             Stunned, the rest of the men turned to look at Klaus, whose eyes now matched his sister’s. Before any of them could move, he reached for the man closest to him and in a show of strength and speed, ripped the man's head entirely from his body. Blood splashed up on Klaus's face, the surprise of it causing him to look amused at his sister. She giggled, then all chaos broke loose.

             Men ran for the door, only to be stopped by either one of the vampires with preternatural speed. A couple of others tried to fight back, only to be torn limb from limb. Screams echoed in the small space and blood sprayed up on the windows and walls.

             Rebekah walked around the counter to see the woman cowering there, crying in fear. There was no pity or remorse in creature-esque vampire eyes. ❝ I like your hair ribbon. I do say, it would match my dress quite lovely, don’t you think? ❞

             With a shaky hand, the woman untied it and held it out. Rebekah smiled, then pounced on her. The shrill scream could be heard down the street.

                                     ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

             The kind stranger who had been buying groceries walked out of the general store just in time to hear the end of that scream. She looked curiously at the diner and watched as the cook ran out the back door, going at top speed into the woods and never looking back.

             Then there was silence, nothing but cicadas in the trees making a sound. The door of the diner flung open and Rebekah stepped out into the sunshine, tying the red ribbon at the end of a newly made braid. Her white dress was stained with still-wet crimson, matching the blood that ran down her lips and chin. Black boots were now on her feet as she walked the dirt road. 

             A moment later, her big brother joined her, blood painting his face and much of his clothing. ❝ That was five for me, ❞ he told her proudly. ❝ And since the cook got away, only four for you. ❞

             Rebekah looked over at him, smiling like something from a horror movie. ❝ You forgot about the woman behind that counter. That's five. We tied. ❞

              ❝ So we did," he agreed with a grin. ❝ Good show, my dear sister. ❞

             Rebekah smiled and turned to see the stranger from earlier down the dirt road. The woman dropped her basket, fruit spilling on the ground as her mouth hung open in a silent scream at the sight before her. Rebekah merely put a finger in front of her lips in a sign of 'shh', then the siblings carried on, following the dirt road that ran along the train tacks.

[itsanerdlife]

Dealers Choice 8

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings: Swearing. Fifty Shades of Grey jokes. Mentions of murder. Mentions of parental abuse. Mentions of drug use and hookers.

Your father had always been into bad shit, it’s what got your mother killed when you were five and your brother in an out of jail, doing his dealings. When the new King of the streets, Steve Rogers, takes over he threatens the lively hood your father is dependent on. When he finds your father’s in deep with his one weakness, gambling, Steve comes to play for keeps. Looking to walk away clean, your father bets something big, the only thing he has left. You. And he fucking loses. Now you belong to a Crime Lord. Things can’t get much worse, I mean it’s not like you’ll fall in love with him, right?

Buck laughs, it echoes around the boat, before he launches Nat into the pretty blue water with a loud splash and a gasp from her resurfacing.

“Guess you aren’t the only one who keeps his threats.” Y/N drops down on the built in seating, her hands towel drying her hair, the water droplets sparkling in the sun on her skin.

“Buck is worse than I am.” He chuckles, watching her behind his sunglasses.

“So that threat.” She pauses, looking down at the towel in her hands. “The one you made my father, the night of the poker game.” She looks up at him, her eyes shielded by her black sunglasses.

“I meant it.” He nods. She nods, looking away from him, she lands somewhere out on the water. “You didn’t appear to have any marks when you arrived, he left you alone, right?” He leans forward looking at her.

“He did.” She nods. “Just processing.” She glances back at him, a small forced smile on her lips.

“Processing what?” He asks.

“This reality I now call life.” She shrugs. “I feel like this is some fucked up dream I’m having. I should be waking up any moment, kind of thing.” She laughs softly.

“Do you want to go back?” He wonders out loud.

“No.” She replies quickly. “I just I’m just curious.” She pulls her wet hair over her shoulder turning to face him.

“Tell me.” He smiles.

“You own me. What happens when you want to start dating?” She shrugs. “I doubt another woman is going to be okay with this arrangement.” She laughs, reaching for the plate on the table, she pushes a grape into her mouth.

“Who says I want to date?” He tips his head watching her.

“So what you don’t want to get married? Have kids?” She chews slowly.

“I do. I want those things. I should rephrase my question.” He chuckles as her brow connects. “Who says I want to date other woman?” He smirks at her surprise.

“Sir?” Mac appears off to the side of them. “Shall we head back?” He asks.

“Yes, I’ll tell them to board up again.” He chuckles.

“Why are we heading back?” She looks up at him confused.

“Your birthday isn’t over yet. There’s more to this day.” He grins, standing up and walking away from her and shocked look on her face.

“So you sure he said that?” Nat steps out of your bathroom looking at you.

“I swear to God. I thought I imagined it.” You sigh, as Wanda places made waves in your hair.

“Would you? Like date him?” Wanda looks at you in the mirror of your vanity.

“Do you remember what you said the day my daddy bet me? About Steve?” You smirk.

“He’s an orgasm in a suit.” Wanda grins.

“Amen.” Nat calls from the bathroom.

“He’s a walking, talking, sex dream.” You laugh. “He talks, and I have to tell myself to not stare at him fucking mouth.” You groan.

“Those blue eyes are a wet dream themselves.” Nat laughs.

“I like his arms, and his chest.” Your lips curl up as you hate yourself for a moment.

“You’re hot for your owner.” Wanda laughs.

“Could you not make it sound like some dirty BDSM, Christian Grey, situation.” You laugh.

“Alright. Done.” Wanda shakes out the waves she put in your hair with her fingers. From root to end, your hair falls in waves, giving it volume and body.

“Put it on.” Nat grins.

“One of you is going to have to do the back of this thing.” You roll your eyes, standing up you head for the closet.

You return with your arm over your chest holding up the open corset. Nat is quick to hook the back of it together for you, before she moved to the front to pull the laces tight. The white corset top, hooked in the back, the front laced all the way down. Nat pulled the bottom tighter, working up, the opening creating a V when she was finished. Your skinny jeans were distressed and torn, there was a gap between your jeans and the bottom of your corset. Your simple pumps gave you height, but nothing on what Steve had on you.

“Pink.” Wanda hands you a lipstick as she finishes applying her own darker lipstick.

“Nat?” You call.

“Ready.” She wore dark jeans, a black cropped Pink Floyd T-shirt, a deep V was cut into it and black heels. Her make up edgy and perfect.

“Same.” Wanda stands up, she wore ripped jeans, strappy heels and a deep purple off the shoulder crop top. Her hair pulled up into a long pretty ponytail, that hung over her shoulder.

“Mr. Stark.” Y/N smiles as she comes down the steps, making Steve and Tony look up. Pausing, taking in the outfit she had chosen for her birthday.

“Y/N. Looking rather wonderful tonight.” Tony grins at her.

“It’s my birthday.” She grins.

“I’ve heard. Happy birthday dear.” He nods.

“Steve won’t tell me where we are going.” She pouts pink lips, and his eyes can’t pull away from her face.

“Birthday surprises are the best ones.” Tony chuckles.

“I’m going to the kitchen, either of you need anything?” She offers with a smile, and a twitch in her brow as she looks at him.

“No we’re fine.” Tony smiles, when Y/N turns away, he swats Steve in the chest. “Your mouths open.” He laughs. “She looks like she’s settling in here.” He smirks.

“It would seem so.” Steve nods.

“Where are you going tonight?” Tony smiles, watching him.

“Clint’s new place.” He nods. “Join us?” He asks.

“Perhaps.” Tony grins at him as Y/N returns from the kitchen, her heels clicking on the wood floor. She’s holding an unopened can of Red Bull in her hand as she looks up the stairs.

“If you fucking hookers don’t hurry up,” she pauses thinking about that. “there isn’t much I do about it. But it is my birthday and I will cry about it.” She laughs.

“Another one of those?” He eyes the can in her hand.

“I’m tired.” She looks at the can to him. “Spending all day in the sun, day drinking, does that too a girl. Than you brought me home and told me no nap, that I should get all done up.” She waves her hand over herself. “I’m done up and it took a lot of energy.” She grins.

“She has a point.” Tony takes her side.

“You sat in the chair while Wanda did your hair and makeup, shut up.” Nat laughs coming down the stairs with Wanda behind her.

“Nat knot these things again.” Y/N looks down at her chest, and the strings knotted at the holes they were laced through at the top.

“Why coming undone?” Nat picks up on of the strings.

“No it feels like it’s going to fall down when I take a deep breathe.” She sasses back at her friend. Wanda opens the can in Y/N’s hand before taking it for a drink.

“Well it’s your birthday, who says you have to keep your clothes on?” Nat laughs knotting each string tighter. Buck chokes on his water, from the place he sat on the couch, Tony grins wickedly up at Steve. He sighs, nodding trying to not stare.

“It’s a rule, the goods stay covered.” Y/N replies sweetly.

“Rule?” Nat looks from Y/N to him. “You have rules.” She nods, grinning smugly. “How fifty of you.” She giggles at Y/N, who sighs rolling her eyes, she drinks from her can, before walking away from her friend.

“Fifty?” Tony looks at Steve, who looks at Buck all three of them shrugging.

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[khrsecretvalentine]

this is for basketmaniac and i made it a horror story because…its halloween so there is some descriptin of gore but hopefully not…enough to make it uncomfortable :0

i hope u like it omg its…long sorry about that heaknfagf

—-

This shouldn’t have happened. This was wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong.

It was supposed to be simple he was going to join with the other Arcobaleno at a maze. They were going to map out the maze for the family and plant traps and do whatever they could to make it hazardous. None of them should have been gone for more than a few minutes.

Reborn was the last to go down of course. It was rumoured that he was the strongest of the seven. It was almost unspoken that he could clear the maze himself. But….soon Skull wasn’t heard from anymore. He had stopped answering Mammon’s calls and Colonnello soon found out why.

He was chained, lying in a pool of vomit, blood, and saliva. His eyes moving rapidly underneath his eyelids assuring he was alive but his breathing was shallow. He was taking shallow  and fast breaths but then stop only to start again. His arms and legs shook and jerk as he laid there and soon his head fell back, leaving the various gashes obvious to everyone. He was bleeding out slowly but surely and there was nothing Colonnello could do.

It was almost a relief to be able to say that Skull was dying. He wasn’t mafia. He was a stunt man. He knew the ropes of how to do shows and jump enormous gaps but not how to be stealthy or to be a good henchman. It was hard to watch the man stumble around this new world he wasn’t meant to be exposed to. It was a reason Reborn hated him so much. He was something to take care of and make sure he didn’t die so they could get paid and move on until the next job. Reborn is the number one hitman. He wouldn’t wait around for anyone  to do their job.

He was the first one to celebrate with a sharp, “Fucking finally. It shouldn’t take us long now, we’re almost done.”

Colonnello made a sound but didn’t retaliate. It wasn’t the time for a fight like that.

So he moved on. He walked away and down the hall to the next part. The maze was set up in different sections. The first one was where Skull was found. The second section was harder to get to but Colonello would help Lal finish what she was doing. She was military and brought the weapons to prove it. He had been sent to check on Skull.

“Make sure he’s not slacking off”, as she put it. He was happy to comply with his commanding officer and raced off.

But as he climbed through the grate opening, he was hit with an intense stench of…unpleasantries . He wasn’t sure what. But the smell made him start to gag the closer he came and soon he was dizzy, swaying to the side and fighting to find where he was going. He had studied the path on a map with Lal so he wouldn’t get lost. But soon he was sprawled on the ground, the room going in and out of focus, his insides squirming. Faintly, he heard something crawling towards him and felt a hand on his chest.

It must’ve been Lal. Relief flowed through him because she was better at chemical warfare, she had been in it before, but when he moved his head to focus on her, he realized that this was not Lal. This was not who he had come to love.

It was grotesque with hoarse, clicking breaths.  Its breathing made him dizzier and he could feel his head swim even more. It was the same smell he had encountered entering the chamber but intensified.

He felt the thing crawl onto him, weighing onto his hips and pushing his head back as he tried to struggle. His head bounced off the floor as he tried to strain against the body. Something slithered up his shirt. He felt nails digging into his flesh, dragging down his chest but stopping and restarting in the same path. His chest heaved in an effort to throw the thing off and soon he focused his eyes onto a lump of bloodstained clothes that looked like Lal’s. They were torn with…..with bones sticking out and there was blood….there was so much blood.

He tried not to think about it. He couldn’t think about it now. All he had to do was get out of this thing’s grasp so he could escape to get help and warn people. This maze was something else. There was more to it then just the group setting traps.

But the thing pulled away, sitting up and pinning his legs in a vise grip. It stabbed its hand into his chest repeatedly, different spots each time. It was hitting his abdomen, his chest, his ribs. He coughed, spitting at the thing, but it didn’t care.

Someone was calling out to him but he couldn’t hear who. He couldn’t see. He wouldn’t hurt anymore if he just….closed his eyes for a second.

Something tore into his chest and his eyes flew wide open in fear because god that one hurt so much more.

Colonnello was the second one down. He had struggled much more than the others. The gas in the air was his downfall though. There was no struggling against airborne belladonna. It was lovely to watch them all slowly, but surely, succumb to their environment.

The Arcobaleno were a plague, they thought. Yes….it’d be better to have them down and out now. Before they caused too much havoc in the world.

Who would be the next to go was the question. Reborn was more than powerful enough to escape if he was left with someone like Fon to fight with. Fon knew how to work  the entire group compatibly enough to accomplish anything. He was the calm before the storm. Yet…He wouldn’t be the most fun to watch, Reborn would. He’d be the finale.

Next would be Viper….They were a special case. They were greedy but with enough self preservation to leave the minute it was too risky. Greed was the only thing keeping them there as they were the one being paid the most. In secret of course. The rest of the team would object heavily to seeing Viper paid so much more. They wouldn’t work with each other until they’d gotten the same amount. It was an irritating cycle so it was an unspoken agreement that Viper be paid more but they never bragged about it.

Viper was in the next spot now in the maze. They  were  in perfect position to be attacked. But…there was a time for everything. Viper wasn’t done setting up their traps. They were making their illusions with grandiose and a sense of style. Multiple spots where you would see bodies, dead and rotting, trying to claw at you. Blood thick in the air and all over the four walls. In other spots there was big emphasis on your own personal fears. If you were disgusted in the least by insects of all kinds, you’d see them coming out of the walls, straight at you, crawling up your leg. Soon you’d be buried under the immense weight of insects with no reprieve. Or maybe you were scared of water. It would break down the wall, flooding the cavern until you were barely able to breathe, clawing and gasping at the walls to stay above as more water pours in through a hole you can’t see. There was something for everybody that would be going through this maze.

Viper was on the list. Disguised under another name so they’d implant their own fears into the room without knowing it.

“This isn’t happening, this isn’t right.” Viper screamed at nothing.

There was blood….so much blood. They couldn’t breathe the air was so thick and soon they were on their knees, gagging onto the ground.

Behind them, there was the clicking sound. A click-click-click with every breath it took in and rattling as it breathed out. It watched the pain Viper went through. They hated blood. It smelled terrible and disgusting. Yet they had made such an intense, mind-breaking illusion.

Viper scraped towards the exit, their body straining and their fingernails breaking. But the door knob wouldn’t turn. No matter how much they yanked and slammed their shoulder into the door, it was no use. They slid down against the door, barely able to breathe anymore.

That was when it struck. There’d be no struggling now. Viper was half dead and had nothing left in them. It pounced and ripped into their leg first. There was a scream and soon it was flying across the room, Viper formed illusions to fend it off. But there was nothing it feared .

It was an unfeeling thing that didn’t feel pain. Viper sucked in a breath and it hitched. Even after they had used a powerful illusion….one that was powerful enough to knock Reborn up a little…it didn’t even flinch. It lurched back from Viper kicking at it but started crawling forwards again. It scuttled, its mouth clicking harder than ever.

It was excited.

They were suffocating. It was whatever was in the air. It filled their lungs and made their head swim as they tried to regroup, just think of something they could do.

It was on top of Viper now. It scuttled onto their chest, breathing into their neck as if it was surveying how close they were to dying. In almost no time, it had lashed out and bit into Viper’s neck, sucking and gurgling like a toddler.

‘Hmm…Viper lasted longer…’, they thought. They stared at the monitor idly, scratching at their face. Verde should be next then. Keep up with the V names.

He wasn’t in the maze though. Verde was providing support from outside. He was in his own little bubble, reading off the screen like lightning. He was trying to reconnect to Skull, Colonnello, Lal, and now Viper. All of them wouldn’t answer. There was only static. The only thing to be heard was the growling, clicking sound of the thing breathing that attacked them all.

He was tapping away on his laptop, eyes glued to the code darting around on the screen. He was attempting to find any frequency that the devices were connected to, even the faintest radio transmission.

Verde didn’t see it coming. He was too focused and he wasn’t a strong fighter in the least. Soon, he was caught by the torso, pinned by another person.

“Who the-”, he tried to say . He kicked and squirmed but before long he was dead too. That silencer did the job as the person stood up.

They would have to get their hands dirty if the plan were to work, it seemed. Verde was now the last shred of contact for Reborn and Fon.

It was a pity because those two were going to be the most fun. They had met up though. After the others had failed to answer, they knew something was wrong and abandoned their jobs. There really should be a penalty for doing that…they’ll make sure there is for next time.

“The exit changed with Viper’s fucking illusions.” Reborn growled.

The two were crouched in a small alcove within the maze. Their backs together with the two watching either ends.

“Verde is gone as well. We have no more support from outside.” Fon added.

“The basic layout is the same. I left casings the path I took from the entrance but if we head back the same way….who knows what’ll be in store for us.” Reborn rubbed at his neck, staring straight ahead at the path. “If you can make it to the top of the walls, there might be a chance we can make our way through.”

“It’s better if that were a last resort. There could be a number of things waiting for whoever climbs to the top.”

Reborn grunted in agreement before he hauled himself to his feet. They were both exhausted from sprinting around the maze, trying to find out if there was an exit. The entire thing was rough clay. The only light coming from incandescent lights hanging from a chain. It only added to the atmosphere . It was dead silent in the maze now. Before, there had been distant talk between Lal and ColonelloColonnello. You could hear them bickering miles away. When that disappeared, it was idle chatter with Verde about where to advance in the maze. Out of the blue, they had been assigned new parts of the maze to do and needed to be told how to get to them.

It was dead silent now. You could hear their breaths echo around the room.

They stomped towards another part of the maze. As far as they could tell, nobody had been there yet so it might be safe to use as a spot to regroup. Both of them had phones they could use to call in favours from other families.

Reborn pulled his phone out, feeling his chest constricting more and more as he breathed. There wasn’t any service, as he thought. There was no way he could call authorities. He was wanted on three different ‘most wanted’ lists.

There were numerous families he could call on but he wasn’t sure how close they were. They weren’t allowed to see where they were going. It wasn’t that odd as most mafia families make it a bit hard to find most of their bases. The easiest to call would be Vongola first. This was one of their allied families and if the family found out one of their military officers was down there enduring torture, it would prompt them to arrive quickly

“How much you want to bet there’s wi-fi here.” Reborn joked.

“Any money I bet, I will win.”

“Jokes on you, it’s free and open. Verde made my phone virus proof too so suck it.”

He called Vongola the Ninth. There was no beating around the bush with Iemitsu. He needed his phone traced before they could keep going. Fon was on his phone, speaking in rapid fire mandarin to his boss, from the sound of it.

The phone was answered within three rings and he was greeted by a cheery, “Hello there, Reborn!”

“Trace my phone.” He said snappishly, skipping pleasantries. “A job went bad. Find me and help me.”

“We’ll get right on that. Are all the arcobaleno there?”

“Fon and I are all that’s left.”

There was a stunned moment of silence on the other end before Nono shifted in his chair. “I see”, he said. “Very well then, this is extremely serious. Please keep us updated on anything major.”

“I will, thank you.”

There was a clicking in the shadows that caught Fon’s attention. They had both been watching the entrance but Reborn didn’t seem bothered by it. He continued checking his phone. Fon squinted his eyes, trying to make out what it could be.

It crawled along the floor, hissing and spitting with that same ticking sound. Every time it breathed in, it clicked like a card inside a bike wheel. Fon had no clue what it was. The light was too dim to make anything out.

“What are you looking at”, Reborn demanded.

“Do you not see it?”

“The thing on the floor? It’s an illusion. Viper was making all kinds to go throughout the maze, not just their room.”

“It doesn’t….look like an illusion, Reborn. There’s something….about it. It’s alive.”

“I’ll believe it if it manages to hurt you.”

It was almost as if Reborn’s words were taken as a challenge. . It launched itself towards Fon, aiming for his throat. Fon dodged, sliding his foot back to steady his stance. When it lunged again, Fon went for pressure points, locking the joints in place. It wasn’t affected as it attempted to snap at Fon’s hands that were closest to its mouth.

“A little help would be appreciated!” Fon said through clenched teeth.

Reborn sighed before pulling out a handgun. Barely even glancing , he shot the thing right between its eyes. It fell back, growling and twitching before it rolled back onto its feet, the bullet wound had disappeared . Reborn narrowed his eyes, aiming again at the joints. It was barely fazed as it returned to its feet in no time.

“How should we,” Reborn exclaimed, “approach this!”

“It’s like Skull’s regeneration. How did you get around it fighting him?”

“It was slower than this.”

“Could somebody have been able to recreate it?”

Reborn didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure. But if they could, they would have to experiment on humans.  It was an unwritten rule most mafia families not to do inhumane experimentation. This one definitely met the criteria.

The two fended the thing off for what felt like hours. Every time said thing was hit, it would get right back up as if nothing had happened thirty seconds earlier .

Fon was down and out. He had been for a while, was barely going by the time Reborn fell. The thing was inhuman. No matter what they did to lure it into a trap, it got right back up. They were close to the room Reborn set up. He had a duffle bag full of weapons and ammunition he had set up as traps with wires as well as motion sensors.

One of the traps misfired and hit Fon as he was trying to get out of the way so there was a clear shot but ended up hitting his leg. He had a high pain tolerance but as he staggered and fell. It became a perfect shot for the thing to attack Fon. It was clawing his torso before Reborn could shoot it.

He let his guard down. He was trying to get that thing off of Fon, to give him some chance at survival . He shot it towards a motion sensor trap but his shot missed. The failed one in a million shot allowed the thing to come crashing into him, knocking him to the ground.

He was being scratched at and bit, tossed around in his daze. When he was able to regain his breath, he slammed his forearm into the things mouth, forcing it off him. He used the leverage from his arm to bash the thing against the wall. Head wounds took the longest to regenerate. If it was destroyed he’d have some time to at least escape . He’d have to leave Fon to his own devices. He just hoped the thing wouldn’t pounce on him if he moved. The situation was do or die at this point.

Faintly , he heard multiple sets of feet sprinting near the far west end of the maze. Somebody was there to help or harm. He didn’t know which one it was going to be.

He stumbled away from the mess he made. Hoping the thing wouldn’t regenerate at all. For good measure, he stomped along its limbs and chest, buying whatever time he could get. He was going to bleed out at this rate. The maze was large but there were also the trap rooms that the seven had set up.

He was trying his hardest to remain standing. He needed to put distance between that thing and himself so he could even have a chance at surviving. If his phone could be traced to where he was in the maze that was  even better. He wasn’t counting on any branch family to think like that though. So he needed to find a safer spot to stay hidden and hope they could find him.

It wasn’t much use planning. Reborn fell in a crumpled heap, coughing and gagging, minutes later. He couldn’t breathe. His limbs felt like lead. His head swam as the light above him flickered in and out. The thing could very well have poison in its nails. All he could do was position his arm above his heart to prevent it from bleeding out.

He was fading fast. God, there was too much happening. What was that thing. It wasn’t an illusion. It felt different and he could tell when they were illusions. It had to be experimentation. There wasn’t any way around it. Those things …they weren’t natural.

Dimly, he heard yelling and felt hands on his chest, legs, arms. He tried to say not to touch him but instead released a garbled, wet cough.

There was something warm on his chest now. Though he could barely feel it. Everything else was far too cold. Nothing would make a difference.

from @transreborn to @basketmaniac