#or when he handcuffed himself for justice

[moistotaltrashmammal]

Hi and Welcome to: My poorly formatted argument for L being an INTJ.

(No spoilers, also posted on Personality Database.)

Ni- While L may entertain multiple possibilities, his rational analysis usually leads him to a singular conclusion. Once he reaches a decision, he sinks his teeth in and never lets go. He concluded who Kira was from the beginning, and no amount of emotional arguing ever changes his mind. In fact, when it seemed like there was even a possibility of him being wrong, he claimed to be depressed and unmotivated. Even when it seems as though surface level-evidence proves one thing, he follows his intuition when the "proof" fails to convince him of anything else.

Te- L is blunt and borderline tactless. He states facts and rational with little to no regard for how he comes across to other people. He is also not above using emotional manipulation if it means reaching his goal. In fact, as stated, L is not one to be persuaded in his logic in the slightest until empirical evidence presented to him convinces him to do so. He tends to like people who are useful and not "irrational," AKA not Matsuda.

Fi- Despite all of this, L does follow an internal moral code. It is shown to be internal because he shows little regard for outside established morals and the law itself; he wasn't above using torture, which is frowned upon in most cases. L tends to also push boundaries quite a bit, making those around him uncomfortable to the point where they refuse to continue working with him. It is heavily implied that L has his own internal definition of justice and kindness (examples could be found in the novels.) He has very few people in his inner circle, such as Watari; he never truly lets anyone else in, if we're only talking about the anime. He's also not very expressive; L hardly ever talks about how he's feeling, and in general seems to be very stoic until he's caught off-guard. He also profiled Kira by comparing his own personality to that of Kira himself; very Fi.

Se- Despite how he appears, L is quite strong and athletic. He was once the British Junior Tennis Champion, a feat obviously requiring an above average athletic skill. He's also adept at martial arts, able to introduce his foot into someone's face while still being handcuffed to them. His diet consists of almost entirely sweet foods, and he indulges with little regard to decorum. He also cares little for his outer appearance; he wears worn clothes, sits in an odd position, has his hair uncut (or maybe he likes it like that idk), and for some reason doesn't wear shoes instead of just getting fucking sandals.

There are also a few incidental reasons such as:

1) His and Light's personalities are often compared to eachother, I find it hard to think of anything other than the similarities between ENTJ/INTJ.

2) Alessandro Juliani's (dub) performance has this cadence and smoothness I often see in fictional characters who could be categorized as INTJ (trait of Se...?)

3) INTP's are often seen as charming to those around them. While L is beloved by the audience, he is instead seen as off-putting by other characters around him. Those people are wrong; L is the most adorable thing to ever grace this planet with his presence and they should be THANKFUL—wait where was I going?

I'd like to thank @pennyblossom-meta for giving me the inspiration to write this post, her L analysis is to die for. I also credit @funkymbtifiction for basically being my source for personality analysis growing up.

Anyway thanks for coming to my Tedtalk BYYYE✨✨✨

[ridiasfangirlings]

I enjoy all the ask with Munakata cause he's kind of silly but how much of that is real and how much is an exaggeration? I've only seen the anime series (including the movies) and rarely the extra materials so it feels like I might be missing something.

While I will fully admit to exaggerating things as needed for the good of comedy Munakata is absolutely a silly, silly man, but most of it is indeed confined to the side materials. This is the man who forced some of his subordinates to play the King game with him, assigned them all random chores when he continually won, and then ended up wearing the nose glasses. The man who decided to go surfing in a tiny Speedo. The man who once showed up in the middle of the S4 bath to suggest they all play games like when they were kids, and then destroyed the entire alphabet squad in cards. The man who found a baby sitting in front of S4 and just immediately put the kid in a sling and brought the child into his office, and then made absolutely no explanation of why when his subordinates came in to deliver paperwork. The man who makes people do giant puzzles with him on weekends. The man who made Fushimi dress in a Santa outfit and deliver presents. The man who in the middle of an important mission finds time to troll Yata and invite everyone to have tea while sparkling. The man who once wore a sea anemone kigurumi. The man who found reason to wear one of those miner helmets with the headlight on it and continued to wear it even after he no longer needed to for no apparent reason other than “having gotten too attached to it to take it off.” Munakata is a splendid charismatic genius and also a complete and utter dork, and I love him so much for it.

[yourlocaljonghoe]

Dear Officer. || Bang Chan.

Summary: who would've thought that the man upholding justice himself secretly likes being handcuffed just like the criminals he catches everyday...

Pairing: police officer!bang chan x secretary!reader

Genre: smut (mdni)

Wordcount: 3.7k

Warnings: porn with very little plot, dom!reader x sub!chan, handcuffed chan, piv, unprotected sex (don't do that fellas), teasing, soft ending

A/N: is this my skz debut?! yes, yes it is. idk if ill ever post more of them tbh, i do have a few more ideas but am still a bit hesitant, but i wrote this impulsively at 4am after fantasizing about police officer chan for weeks so here it is lol. enjoy and maybe we'll see each other again in the future stays🤭 biggest thank you to @ja3hwa for beta reading this, ily🥺 & as always divider credits to @firefly-graphics!

Taglist: @ghstzzn, @kyukyustar, @hwapetals, @foxinnie8, @preciouswoozi, @aussiekpopginger, @kitten4sannie, @hanjisungs-bigtittyg0thgf

Available here on Ao3.

You loved working as a secretary at your town's police department. While you, of course, weren't directly involved in keeping the peace and catching criminals, it still felt like your work was a good deed to society. 

And, maybe, there was another reason as well.

Maybe.

You glanced up, scanning the bustling room, and there he was - Officer Bang. His uniform hugged his broad shoulders perfectly, and as he chatted with a colleague, that dimpled smile you couldn’t get enough of, made your heart skip a beat. You forced your gaze back to the screen, but your thoughts lingered on him.

What can you say? You were a simple woman, and this man may be another reason why you enjoyed your job here.

Every day, you caught yourself stealing glances, admiring the way he carried himself with such effortless confidence. He was kind to everyone, always lending a hand or offering a comforting word, but it was more than that. There was something about him - maybe it was the way his smile reached his eyes, or how his laugh sounded like a soothing melody - that made him this irresistible.

It had become routine, this quiet longing. You’d never dared to make a move, content with these innocent crushes that never seemed to go anywhere. 

A man like him, deeply respected by his colleagues and desired by many, would never be interested in you… right?

The day had dragged on, seemingly without ever wanting to end, but now the usual rhythm of the police department was slowing down as night fell. Most of the officers and other secretaries had already left, the station growing quieter with each passing hour. Unfortunately for you, you had to finish up some last-minute paperwork, and so, at almost midnight, you were the only one still in the building.

Or so you thought.

You stretched in your chair, glancing at the clock. It was late, and you considered calling it a night when a soft noise caught your attention. The sound came from down the hall, in the direction of Officer Bang's office. Curiosity tugged at you. He… hadn’t left yet?

You stood up, slowly moving towards the source of the sound. The closer you got, the louder and clearer it became - what you were hearing was a man's voice, letting out a low, throaty groan. You paused outside his door, your hand hovering over the handle, unsure of what to do next. The door was slightly ajar, and through the small crack, you could see him.

It was probably the prettiest thing you'd ever seen.

Chan was sitting at his desk, the room dimly lit by the small lamp on his desk. He was still in his uniform, but something was… different. 

His hands were cuffed together in front of him. 

The sight alone made your breath hitch, but what really took you by surprise was the state he was in. His head was thrown back, eyes closed, and his chest heaved with ragged breaths. You followed his gaze downward, your eyes widening as you noticed the strain in his pants, the hard outline of his erection clearly visible.

What the hell was going on, and why were you not running away from it?

You were completely frozen, every instinct telling you to turn around, to leave before you were caught, but your feet remained rooted to the spot. Your pulse quickened, heart thudding in your chest as you took in the scene. There was something raw and intoxicating about seeing him like this - so vulnerable, so unlike the composed and confident officer you and everyone else were used to.

He shifted slightly, another groan escaping his lips, and you felt a surge of heat rush through you. You shouldn't be watching this. Yet, you also couldn't look away. There was something about seeing him in those handcuffs - the very thing he used to capture countless criminals with - that sent a shiver down your spine. And then, almost as if sensing your presence, his eyes fluttered open, meeting yours through the crack in the door.

Time seemed to stop as your gazes locked. His eyes widened in surprise, but he didn't move, didn't say a single word. The room was completely silent, the air was thick with unspoken tension. You knew you should leave, but the way he was looking at you - with a mix of shock and something else, something darker - made it impossible to move.

Finally, he spoke, his voice low and rough, “What are you doing here?”

You swallowed hard, your mind scrambling for an answer, but all you could think about was the fact that you'd been caught - and how much you liked what you saw.

“I-I’m so, so sorry… I-I didn’t mean to-” Your voice faltered, catching in your throat as your eyes betrayed you, still lingering on the prominent bulge in his pants. You knew you shouldn’t be looking, but you couldn’t help it. 

The sight of him like this was overwhelming, and you gasped as you laid eyes on his crotch again. You couldn't even see him in his full glory, but holy fucking shit, what you saw made you clench your thighs, wetness pooling in between them.

Officer Christopher Bang had a long, thick cock, and it drove you insane.

Chan’s breath hitched, his gaze never leaving yours while you shamelessly ogled at him, and you saw something flicker in his eyes - desire. He shifted in his chair again, the movement making the handcuffs jingle softly, reminding you of the restraints that still bound his wrists. You swallowed hard, torn between your instincts to flee and the undeniable desire  to stay.

Your thoughts were full of him, and something else; your newfound need to dominate this man who was so helpless in front of you.

“You’re… not supposed to be here,” he said.

But instead of pulling away, you found yourself taking a tentative step closer. “I… I couldn’t help it,” you whispered, the words escaping before you could think them through. Your eyes flitted back up to his face, searching for any sign of discomfort, but all you saw was the same need and lust mirrored in his expression. The tension in the room crackled like electricity, drawing you closer until you were standing right in front of him.

His eyes darkened as they roamed over you, and you could feel the intensity of his gaze like a physical touch. “You shouldn’t be looking at me like that,” he murmured, but there was no conviction in his voice. His words hung in the air between you, a weak attempt to maintain control, but the way his breath quickened told you otherwise.

You were the one in control, and the man looking up at you knew that. And didn't seem to mind at all.

You hesitated for a second. But as your eyes dipped down to his lap, where his erection strained against the fabric of his pants, you lost your inner battle with your conscience. All you could think about was how badly you wanted to see him fully, to run your fingers along his length, to feel the weight of him in your hand…

To dominate the man who usually dominates everyone else.

“I-” you started hesitantly, but before you could finish, his handcuffed hands reached out, fingers curling gently around your wrist. The cool metal of the cuffs brushed against your skin, sending a shiver up your spine.

“If you stay,” Chan said, his voice low and husky, “there’s no going back. You have the chance to do everything you want to me now, or you can turn around and we pretend nothing ever happened.” 

His grip on your wrist tightened just enough to make your pulse race, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made it hard for you to breathe.

You knew what he was saying, and the weight of the decision hung heavy in the air. But the heat between you, the need that had been building ever since you first laid eyes on him, was too strong to ignore.

And as you slowly nodded, stepping even closer, you knew you were already lost.

Chan’s breath hitched, and you could see the way his pupils dilated, his dark eyes full of want and need. 

The sudden shift in power, the way your shy demeanour got more and more confident with each step you took, had him completely under your spell, and you revelled in the effect you were having on him.

“Such a big man with such a big cock, and yet he likes being dominated…” you mused, your voice dripping with teasing confidence. The smirk on your lips deepened as you ran a finger slowly down the length of his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your touch. “I’m learning something new about you every day, Officer. And I definitely like it.”

He let out a low, shaky breath, his muscles tensing as you continued to toy with him. His hands, still bound by the cuffs, flexed helplessly in his lap, a reminder of just how vulnerable he was in this very moment. You could see how much he was enjoying it, with his eyes rolling back and his mouth agape.

“Do you like it?” you asked, your voice dropping to a whisper as you leaned in closer, your lips hovering just above his. “Do you like the idea of being dominated by someone who knows exactly what you want? Someone who can take control and make you beg for more?”

He swallowed hard, his breath coming in shallow pants now, and you could feel the tension radiating off him in waves. “Y-yes…” he finally murmured, “I like it. L-like it so much.”

His admission made you feel o’ so powerful, your smirk steadily growing as you brushed your lips against his, teasing him with a taste of what he wanted so badly. “Good,” you purred, your voice laced with satisfaction. “Because I’m just getting started.”

A quiet, pathetic whimper left his plump, delicious lips. 

“You want to touch me, Officer?” You taunted, your voice dripping with mocking sweetness. “Too bad. You can’t.” Your laughter echoed softly in the quiet room, a sound that sent a shiver down his spine. The power dynamic between you was intoxicating, something entirely new to you. 

And you absolutely loved it. 

Your control over this man was absolute.

His erection visibly strained against his pants, and you could feel it twitch as you shifted in his lap, rubbing yourself against him with deliberate thrusts. His breath came in ragged gasps, the sensation clearly overwhelming him. You watched him, his eyes glazed with lust, and you could see the frustration building in him, the desperation to touch you, to take control, to do anything but sit there, helpless.

You just laughed at his fruitless attempts.

“But I can,” you continued, your tone darkening as you leaned in closer, your lips brushing against the shell of his ear, biting down harshly. “And I won’t be kind.”

Before he could respond, you shifted your weight and, with a swift, calculated movement, drove your knee straight into his crotch. The impact was hard, sudden, and precise. A strangled gasp left his lips, his body jerking beneath you as pain and pleasure collided in his expression. His hips bucked involuntarily, the shock of the blow mixing with the overwhelming arousal that had been building between the two of you.

Chan’s head fell back against the chair, a low groan escaping his lips as he tried to regain control of his breathing. His eyes were half-lidded, a mix of pain and raw desire flickering in them. The way he looked at you, even through the discomfort, was almost worshipful - completely at your mercy and loving every second of it, just like you.

“You like that, don’t you?” You whispered, your voice tinged with satisfaction as you watched him struggle to process the sensations. “Being completely helpless, unable to do anything but take what I give you… I bet you’ve never been treated like this before, have you, Officer?”

Chan shook his head, his breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps. “N-no,” he managed to rasp, his voice hoarse but laced with a dark, eager hunger. The way he looked at you, eyes filled with nothing but sheer, desperate desire, only fueled the fire within you.

“Good,” you said, leaning in to press a searing kiss to his lips, feeling his body tremble beneath you. “Because this is only the beginning.”

Your kiss deepened, and you relished in the sensation of his soft lips against yours, his low moans vibrating through you. As your hands trailed down his body, finding their way under his uniform, you could feel the heat radiating off his skin and his muscles tensing beneath your touch. The power you had over him was driving you wild, and you yearned for him to finally be inside you.

As you continued to tease him, your fingers eventually found the buckle of his belt. With deliberate and slow movements, you finally undid it, enjoying the way his breath hitched in anticipation. His eyes were fully locked onto yours, his pupils blown wide with desire, his lips slightly parted as he watched you with an intensity that made your pulse race and your pussy clench.

You unzipped his pants, feeling the heat of his erection through the fabric of his boxers. Your hand slipped inside, brushing against him, and he let out a strangled moan, his hips jerking involuntarily toward your touch.

“Please,” he whispered, all whiny and desperate. For you.

His voice sent a shiver down your spine. 

You did this to him. You made this strong, gorgeous man who could overpower you anytime he wanted if he weren't handcuffed right now this hard, this needy. 

What an incredible fucking feeling that was.

You gave him a teasing squeeze, eliciting another whimper from him, before finally pulling him free of his pants.

You couldn't help but admire him for a moment, your hand wrapped around his thick length, feeling the weight of him. He was everything you had imagined and more. And the way he looked at you, like you held the world in your hands, only made you want him more.

Without another word, you pulled your skirt up and your underwear to the side so that he had a direct view of your wetness, and then, slowly, you lowered yourself onto him, taking him inch by agonising inch. The sensation of his big cock filling you was overwhelming; your breath catching in your throat as you had to adjust to him for a moment. And then you began to move. 

His heavy balls were slapping against your ass as you bounced up and down, again and again, while Chan was completely helpless beneath you, his hands still cuffed, his body straining with the effort to stay still. His eyes never left yours, watching every movement, every little expression on your face, as you rode him like your life depended on it. 

For the first time in your entire sex life, you were the one setting the pace, slow and teasing at first, moaning as his pelvis teased your clit with each thrust. But as the pleasure built within you, your movements became more frantic, driven by a need that matched his own.

The tension that had been building between you both reached its peak, and with one final, shuddering thrust, you both came undone. White, sticky cum filled you, mixing with your own juices, and you moaned at the sensation. The world seemed to stand still entirely, leaving only the two of you tangled together in the aftermath of your release.

You collapsed against him, both of you breathing heavily, your heart still racing from the intensity of it all. Chan's hands were still cuffed, but he managed to brush his lips against your forehead in a gentle, tender gesture that made your heart swell with something warm and unfamiliar.

As the haze of passion began to fade, reality started to sink in, and you suddenly felt a rush of embarrassment.

What the hell had just possessed you?!

You slowly untangled yourself from him, avoiding his gaze as you reached for the key to his cuffs that were lying on the desk. Your hands trembled slightly as you unlocked them, the click of the metal echoing in the now-quiet room.

When Chan's hands were free, you fully expected him to do something, anything, to take back the control he'd lost. But instead, he remained still, his eyes soft and full of something you couldn't quite place. He reached out, gently cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin in a soothing motion.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice tender and filled with concern.

The question caught you off guard, and you felt your cheeks flush. "I… I'm so embarrassed," you said, hiding your face behind your hands.

Chan smiled, that dimpled smile you loved so, so much, but there was something different about it now. It was warm, reassuring, and entirely genuine. “You were amazing. There's no need to feel shy now,” he murmured, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your lips. “You have no idea how much I enjoyed that.”

His words made your heart skip a beat, and you felt a wave of relief wash over you. But still, you hid your face in his neck, in the hope he wouldn't look at you again. “I just… I’ve never done anything like that before. I didn't.. I didn't even know I could do that, or would want to do that,” you confessed.

He wrapped his arms around you, holding you close against his chest. “You don’t have to be embarrassed,” he whispered into your hair, his voice laced with affection. “I loved every second of it. You have nothing to be self-conscious about.”

Once again, you buried your face in his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his embrace soothe your nerves. His arms around you were comforting, his touch gentle, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to simply enjoy the feeling of being close to him.

Until he shifted slightly underneath you, and you hissed as his pants moved roughly against your centre.

“Shit, are you okay? Are you hurt?” He immediately asked, his doe eyes looking down at you, full of worry.

“Y-yeah, I'm fine. Just… a bit sore. I didn't really… prep myself for you,” you mumbled shyly.

Chan's features softened into a warm smile as he brushed a strand of hair away from your face, his hands gently caressing your back as he pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head. “I’m sorry, I should’ve been more careful,” he said, his voice full of genuine remorse. “You didn’t have to push yourself so hard.”

You shook your head, lifting your gaze to meet his. “No, no… I wanted to. Every bit of it. You were perfect. I just… didn’t expect you to be so… big.” You flushed again, feeling heat creep up your neck.

He chuckled softly, the sound reverberating through his chest, but his expression was still tender. “We could’ve taken it slower. I’m not going anywhere, you know. There’s no rush.”

The sincerity in his voice made your heart swell, and you found yourself relaxing in his arms. The initial embarrassment began to melt away, replaced by a comforting warmth. “I guess I got a little carried away,” you admitted with a small smile.

Chan’s eyes sparkled with affection as he leaned in, brushing his lips against yours in a gentle, lingering kiss. “I’m glad you did,” he whispered against your lips, his breath warm and sweet. 

“You… you've always been the one thing I couldn’t get out of my head, you know? I’ve been trying so hard to be professional, to keep my feelings in check, but you... you make it so difficult.”

The idea that he’d been harbouring feelings for you all this time, just like you had for him, was so surreal to you, but it made your heart flutter nonetheless. “You’re really saying you’ve been interested in me too?” you asked, your voice tinged with disbelief.

Chan chuckled softly, shaking his head in amusement. “Interested is an understatement. I’ve been crazy about you since the day you walked into this department.” His thumb brushed gently against your cheek, his eyes filled with a gentleness that made you squirm in his lap. “But I didn’t want to cross any boundaries or make you uncomfortable.”

“I had no idea,” you whispered, your heart swelling with warmth. “I’ve felt the same way, but I never thought you’d be… interested in someone like me.”

Chan’s eyes widened in surprise. “How could I not be? You’re amazing. You’re smart, kind, and... absolutely beautiful. I've wanted you for a long, long time, Y/N. Just… promise me one thing, okay?”

“What is it?”

“Next time, we’ll take our time. I'll take care of you and make sure you're fully ready to take me, okay? I want to savour every moment with you. I don't want you to be in any pain afterwards.”

The mention of a “next time” made your heart flutter, and you couldn’t help but smile from ear to ear. “I’d like that,” you whispered back, your voice soft and sincere. “I'd like that a lot.”

You felt his strong arms tighten around you, pulling you even closer, as he rested his chin on top of your head. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat was soothing, and you allowed yourself to fully relax in his embrace, closing your eyes and listening to his breathing. 

After a long, comforting silence, you were the one breaking the silence this time. 

“Hey… uhm. Can I ask a favour from you, Chan?”

He hummed. “Whatever you want.”

“Can you… take care of me, like… right now?”

He laughed, a loud and deep sound shaking his entire body, and you hit him playfully as your whole face lit up in embarrassment. 

“God, you're irresistible,” he said, a smirk adorning his handsome face as he kissed you softly. 

“And horny,” you added.

“And horny,” he repeated, swooping you up in his arms and gently spinning you around, “But don't worry. Officer Bang is here to take care of you.”

“You truly are the people's friend and helper,” you chuckled. He shook his head, still smiling at you with nothing but fondness. 

“Nah. Fuck the people. M’ just here to take care of you right now.” 

[noroi1000]

Evil Queen

paring: Good King Gojo x Evil Queen reader

For @blvckryx

Words: 8,9k

Warnings: deaths, NSFW (Sub Gojo, dom reader, tied to a chair, begging, creampie, tied cock, oversensitive)

Summary: All your fiancés died because you didn't want them as husband. You didn't want that much. After your father died, you were forced into marriage. At your wedding, your hands were handcuffed. You wanted to kill your husband - Gojo Satoru. But you couldn't do it, he's not dying. He let you try it. He's not the same as the others... You don't want to kill him...

"(y/n), you can't keep killing your husbands…"

You looked at your father as you looked at the silver bracelet you got from your prospective husband.

"He was not my husband. And I didn't kill him." You said calmly, watching the white diamonds on the silver.

"Zenin is not someone to play with. Honey, understand that you must have a husband." He said as he sat in his chair across the table in front of you.

"How many times do I have to tell you I didn't do it? He killed himself…" you snapped as you threw the expensive jewelry on the table.

Your father was a little afraid of you. And you were perfectly aware of it.

He didn't have much time left in this world, so he tried to leave his kingdom in good hands. Of course he trusted you.

You were relentless. You were so smart. However, you had no mercy even for the smallest thieves.

The good citizens of your kingdom lived peacefully, avoiding poverty.

You didn't want them to want you dead.

You punished all criminals.

Execution, imprisonment, or simply confiscation of property. Or sometimes irreversible disability.

That's what your father used to do.

Thieves had their hands cut off so that they could no longer steal. Prison escapees or those who were fleeing from justice had their legs cut off.

Adulterers were castrated.

You didn't mind. You gave orders to your hired people and they did it.

You didn't mind seeing death.

Not after you saw your future husband, the son of a scholar who was believed to be a sorcerer, kill your friend who has served you since you were little.

As you entered his chamber, you saw a passage to another room below. And when you went in there, you saw Kenjaku cutting the top of the skull off from the rest, and he started looking for something in your friend's brain.

Were you ever going to marry a murderer like him?

You've seen your father convict someone many times.

Your mother accidentally killed your little brother. However, you know what the truth was. She just miscarried. Your father decided that she didn't want to give him any more children, and that she defied him. She was his wife from an arranged marriage. He had her killed as punishment.

You loved your mother more than your father.

And you were afraid you'd die like her because something your father didn't like.

You tried to obey everything he told you to do. You were the perfect princess. That's why you were supposed to be the future queen.

But you wanted your Father not to have the power over you that he has now.

This is why…

That's why you did everything to be cruel.

You had no mercy for anyone who was like him.

Until it finally became your nature.

You weren't nice. But you tried to be good to your subjects.

In other realms they thought of you as a monster. Even if you weren't that cruel.

You were like that to people you didn't like.

You didn't like your husband candidates, so you did everything you could to annul your wedding.

They were either dying or trying to get rid of you.

Kenjaku died because when you were teenagers he started saying something to you that scared you.

He was a little older than you, and he said he'd like to create the perfect baby with you to help him carry out his plan.

You never wanted to marry him.

He died because he fell under the table and the heaviest knife he ever used to split skulls fell on his forehead.

It was as if you murdered him.

Soon after, your second husband appeared…

Naoya Zenin who died during a fight you practically arranged.

Let's just say, a lot of people didn't like him, so finding a candidate wasn't difficult.

But you still had clean hands.

Your third candidate for a husband is a man almost twice your age who has a teenage son.

Well, your Father seeks power and wealth.

He has almost only power.

This man killed the previous ruler and seized the throne.

Fushiguro Toji ruled over a large army. But he wasn't that rich.

You hated him for being such a terrible womanizer. He had a son, two wives if not more.

You were supposed to be his next wife. Even at a meeting with him, there was a woman next to him!

A direct guy who was too brave.

You want someone direct, but not someone like him who shows he can have anyone and does it right away.

As soon as he started approaching you like it wasn't the first time you'd met, you wanted to do something to him.

You did not want to deprive the child of his father, but you even learned that his son does not live in his kingdom!

When he was too insistent, two months ago you gave him a wound running through his mouth. And now there was a scar in that place.

And it's not like he gave up.

You still had to be his wife…

And he was killed fighting a prince of another kingdom.

You were on your way home at the time. Fight and death have passed you by.

You brazenly led Toji out of the house so he couldn't hide. Even though he was strong, there was no way he could win with that power.

Or so you thought.

And you weren't wrong. You received news some time later that your fiancé, Fushiguro Toji, was killed during the fight between his kingdom and the kingdom ruled by Prince Gojo.

Gojo…

Did you know that name…

Didn't this happen to be on your father's lists once?

Soon after, the same man became a king instead of a prince.

His image was in your father's eyes because he didn't want to get in trouble with the strongest kingdom.

He was a good king. Smiling and cheerful. But also deadly.

You weren't that selfish, but without your father, you would have ruled better.

Could there have been no deaths?

Be that as it may, you are involved in all of them.

Your father's chief servants wanted to drag you by force to the next husband candidate, but they mysteriously disappeared.

And only you knew what happened to them.

You knocked them unconscious with an efficient blow to the head with a rock, and left them in the woods. Where it was most dangerous.

And they never came back.

You have blood on your hands.

Your father thinks you'll be the evil queen.

But you don't want to rule by fear.

You hated being ordered around.

Because you wanted to choose your own path.

You have often thought about killing your father.

To dispel his fear of you.

He was the most feared of all these people.

You planned his death.

You didn't want to get married. Not for someone he chose for you!

You were forcibly dragged to the next candidate by the guards.

Ryomen Sukuna… King - monster. Self-proclaimed king of "curses", because when he cursed a people, they died at his hands.

A man who rules over people with fear…

Was this thing supposed to be just for you?

One thing was for sure, you didn't want to be his wife.

A man who drinks blood mixed with wine because he likes it?

No thanks.

But you agreed to your father's game.

You could have shown him that you wouldn't be as nice as you've always been.

You'll be soulless.

You can kill a monster like him.

Someone who with his bare hands, for fun, rips off women their children, babies, and rips off their heads?

Sick bastard…

Even you winced at the sight.

You could have been a mother once.

But there's no way you're having a baby with that thing…

Out of the candidates you had, Kenjaku would be the quickest to pick… He at least tried to be nice somehow…

But it wasn't ideal anyway…

You could kill as you wanted.

You can even be the evil queen. But you won't be blind to what's going on around you.

You were supposed to stay with Sukuna for a month and then get married…

You were always on guard.

You were like a pet to him.

And when he saw you stabbed one of his servants when they were about to put a collar on you like a dog, he smiled instead of being angry.

"You should get used to it sometime. I have so many. So go ahead and have fun." He said and waved his hand. "My woman has to get used to what she will see in wars and everywhere."

You wanted to go up to him and slit his throat.

You were like a puppy to him.

For him to stroke. You were supposed to be just like them to others.

You don't want innocent people to think you're such a monster.

You've killed some people, but never someone who didn't do anything to you.

You spent a lot of your days throwing knives at the wall. You've learned to always hit with the tip.

When you were told to prepare meals for your "husband" (even if he wasn't that and never would have been…), you put old blood of sick animals into his "wine".

Hoping that pig would eventually die.

You threw a knife at him once, and he pulled it out and threw it at you like it was a ball.

You're okay, but you've had enough.

You won't be with a sick bastard like him!

People will hate you when you become his wife against your will.

He had many enemies.

And you were one of them.

You were angry enough to play with him now.

Pretending to seduce him, you locked him in your bedroom.

A fool sees no trick.

Or is he just a sadist who loves to splash in blood?

You don't like it.

But since you have no choice, you will murder anyone who orders you to do anything.

You will kill every candidate for your husband until the choice is finally over.

You will be king on your own.

Even if your past was covered in blood.

You killed your penultimate candidate in bed.

You never wanted him to touch you.

That's why before he thought you two could have sex, you stabbed him in the throat.

To wait for his red eyes to close.

To his subjects, you came out of there a hero who made their lives easier.

No more monthly human sacrifices.

There will be no annual virgin sacrifice.

Nothing will threaten them anymore.

The bloody city has been abandoned. And people came to your kingdom.

More people meant more money for your father. More workers.

However, when you told him that you were the cause of your fiancé's death, he froze.

You showed him your dress which was bright with huge blood stains.

Blood that belongs to the king - Ryomen Sukuna's.

You never regretted killing someone who was mean.

His people were terrified, but they regarded you as their savior.

You gave them freedom.

you helped them.

But your father didn't like it.

No wonder one time, during your frequent look at what you managed to do as a princess, you were pushed off the balcony by your father.

As someone who cannot rule without killing.

Your reflexes were quick.

You instinctively grabbed whatever you could.

At the bottom of the square stood people who watched what was happening there with screams.

The guards started running up the stairs nearby to help you.

You grabbed your father's collar making him lose his balance.

As you grabbed the balcony wall, you pulled him forward.

And you saw your Father slowly approaching down the square. Until he finally fell.

A pool of blood you've seen more than once.

Were you a regicide?

No…

Rather, it was your Father who tried to kill you.

Your closest servant and friend - Utahime, helped you return to safe land with fear.

The guards dragged your body up as fast as they could, then took you to the medic.

You were not found guilty of killing the king.

Because he wanted to kill you.

And the people, when asked if they wished to convict you, refused.

You were the evil queen.

But you weren't the one for them…

You were the new queen.

However, according to your father's death decree, you must have a husband to rule.

Old boor…

He did it specifically for you to have a problem…

You received your father's letters with someone from the Gojo kingdom…

Even their letters were rich…

What if you get married and then become a widow?

You don't want someone to rule over you…

You want to live the way you want, and provide what is good to everyone who believes in you.

You don't want to marry someone like he probably is…

But you have no choice…

You will become his wife, and you will kill him.

Or maybe you'll at least have a baby so you won't be lonely…

So that no one will accuse you of not having a descendant and successor…

You haven't met your future husband.

The advisers and nobles who were your father's faithful servants prepared you for the wedding.

Your dress was beautiful, as befits a royal wedding.

Your only wish was that it be fast.

They all knew that you killed the kings of other kingdoms.

You didn't look at the face of the tall man who was standing in front of you as the ceremony began.

Your hands were handcuffed in front of your body with white gold handcuffs. They didn't look bad and they also held you back.

You've been searched first.

It was hard for you to take your marriage vows with your hands cuffed.

But your prayers for a quick end have been heard by the gods.

Now just a kiss and it'll be over…

The fabric on your face was pulled back, and you looked up a little higher, still not meeting your now husband.

Now just a sealing kiss.

Feel the disgusting lips of someone you don't even want to know…

You stared at one point, over his shoulder as his finger lifted your chin slightly higher as he bent down lower.

He was really tall.

Your lips were slightly parted, and shiny under the influence of natural, glossy lipstick.

"I know you don't want this…"

You heard him say softly.

You widened your eyes and he placed his lips barely on the corner of yours.

Did he just…

Didn't he just make you do something?

Your kingdoms are now connected.

You have become queen and your husband is Gojo Satoru…

You should be happy like the people.

People were happy when they heard the news that your kingdom will be merged with Gojo's kingdom.

It is said that justice, security and prosperity reign at a very high level in that kingdom.

All thanks to the new king. "Son of the Gods".

According to the priests, he was a prophecy of greatness. And eyes like blue crystals, created by miracles in distant lands, showed wealth.

Apparently, no one was disappointed, because all this happened.

They were more powerful than your kingdom. So much…

Much richer.

Even though your country was also prosperous. There were no neighborhoods where people died every day.

But it was even better there.

You used to live in the capital.

The capital was a royal city in the territory of his kingdom.

His close friends will take care of the new lands because he doesn't have much time to go there.

While your people were delighted, the people of his country were not.

How does a wonder child, a wonder king marry an evil Queen?

A queen who killed the kings of other countries who were her betrothed…

You were their queen now.

You want to fulfill your plan.

You will kill him.

But…

"You want to kill me, don't you?" he asked as he lay on his stomach on your bed, lazily eating some dessert.

Your hands trembled.

He knew you could kill him anytime.

However, he didn't seem to care at all…

How?

"Go ahead. You can try. However, I have promised some people that I will not die so soon." He said calmly.

Is he serious?

You can't listen to him!

You must do it!

You will not listen to someone who will probably hurt you!

Suddenly he looked at you from behind his black glasses.

"Let's play your game. Try to kill me. I will not attack you. You attack me and I won't do anything about it. When you kill me, you win."

"Are you serious-"

He interrupted you.

"I'm serious. I want to prove something to someone. What my wife is like."

Before you could somehow embarrass yourself by his words, you decided to give him back.

It sounded weird when he referred to you as "wife".

He was handsome.

And you even liked him.

But…

But you don't want him to hurt you.

You are the Evil Queen. And everyone hates you…

He also…

He can't prove otherwise.

He married you because he had to.

You were the cruelest queen ever.

And you couldn't change it…

you were like that.

What was he trying to prove?

You walked over to him and smiled slightly.

"It's a shame a man with eyes like that has to cover them with those stupid glasses." You chuckled softly.

"I'll take that as a compliment." He said with a smile.

You sat next to him.

You've been married for a month…

He looked at you scanningly.

You had no desire to kill.

You placed your hand on his back, then ran your finger over his palpable muscles under his white shirt.

"What are you doing?" He asked.

"I spend time with my husband…?" You asked, wanting to ignore it.

"It's weird… You want to seduce me?" He smiled at you.

"Do you want it?" You gave him a mischievous smile.

"If I remember correctly what I heard, you killed Sukuna during sex. What if it happens to me?? This is not a clean game. That's not how I agreed. Only traps and fair attack." He turned to you, laying on his back.

"That's not true… I killed him before he could touch me."

"I thought evil queens used someone before they killed them. So maybe you're not the Evil Queen?"

"Shut up." You muttered, sitting on his stomach. "Just fair game. I don't have any weapons on me…"

"That's good. Because I'd love to be closer to my wife as long as I'm alive."

You leaned in to kiss him.

And for the first time you felt that his lips were soft. Not horrible and disgusting.

You didn't know what to do anymore.

Kill him?

Live with him?

You didn't want a husband. But the longer you're with him, the more you think you're okay with him.

He treats you so well…

He took your people and you too. The killer. Evil Queen…

And now he's telling you that you can try to kill him?

What's wrong with him?

For some moments you didn't want to kill him.

But you decided you'd do it before you changed your mind.

In order not to be hurt by him…

Was your relationship just sex?

You noticed that despite being so powerful, he could be a good boy and let you take control.

But never mind the sex…

You've already tried to kill him twice.

You gave him two poisonous plant decoctions to drink.

For the first time, it turned out that he does not drink wine.

The second time he sniffed his juice, and smelled it…

He just smiled at you and spilled it on the floor saying, "Failed try."

You were even able to pour something in his bath which, when poured over an object, burned the surface.

You're not sure what it is, but you hoped you wouldn't see him die.

The longer you're with him, the more you feel sorry for him…

When he dies, then you can cry.

The more you stick to it…

He got into another tub then…

And he directly told you later that he smelled sulfur in the bathhouse when he went in there.

Sulfuric acid in the water… Would that have any effect on him at all?

It failed with the poison, trying to kill him in the water.

The next time you tried to drown him when you offered to wash his back.

He knew something would happen.

You tried to push his head under the water, but you failed. You didn't even move it.

He just laughed.

Is this man really not afraid of death?

After all, you are the Evil Queen!

You really didn't want to see him die…

Did you notice that…

You don't want him to die in front of your eyes. Because you will feel sorry for him…

You tied the ax to the rope you had attached to the door.

The ax was heavy, but you managed to make the trap work.

When he opens the door, the ax will fall on him.

He entered the room, and then heavy weapons began to fly at him on a rope.

He jumped up, grabbing onto the rope, then landed on the metal embedded in the wall.

"Nice move, baby." He laughed.

"What the fuck…?!" his friend shouted.

"It's just our little game. Mine with my wife!"

Have you had enough of this…

You tried to push him down the stairs, but it came out like you were hugging him…

You're running out of ideas…

You felt worse and worse trying to kill him…

He kept smiling at you and letting you do it.

You have not been convicted of trying to kill the king not once…

There were no consequences for you.

You were lying in bed under the covers when he entered the room with a smile.

"Are you okay? You didn't leave today." He said as he closed the door.

You threw a knife at him.

He only tilted his head slightly as the knife pierced the door next to his head.

The incredible reflexes he had amazed you.

But he wasn't afraid of death at all…

"Leave me… Or else… What do you want, Satoru?" You asked turning away from him.

You felt worse and worse at the thought of killing him.

Was he the same as those?

He cared for you after all…

Is it worth killing him?

That's why you were in bed, sad.

"You know… I thought about our bath last night, and I got a little horny…" he murmured.

You looked at the bulge in his pants.

Admittedly, you've thought about it too, and you're sure you can take that big cock right away. After all, you must have gotten a little wet…

You pulled back the covers to signal him.

He walked over quickly, already pulling the length out of his pants.

You pulled up your nightgown and took off your panties, quickly wrapping your legs around his hips and letting him slide right into you.

You've had enough of this… You've failed…

The longer you look at that smile, your heart tells you that you love that look on his face…

Have you had enough of this…

The last time you try…

You will have blood on your hands…

His blood…

When he came into your bedroom in the evening, you kicked him in the back of his knees, causing him to lose his balance.

He knelt on the floor and looked at you.

Little tears flowed from your eyes.

You were supposed to kill those who hurt you…

And he…

And he never hurt you once…

But you'll kill him anyway…

And you'll probably regret it for the rest of your life.

You expected him to be furious.

But he looked at you with the same eyes as always.

And he smiled very slightly.

You held the knife tighter in your hand.

You were shaking a bit.

You've killed so many times.

He can't be your weakness…

He was supposed to be just like everyone else…

He was supposed to do what you don't want!

…But he didn't…

You walked over to him and tapped his shoulder with your foot.

He fell to the floor, lying on his back.

But he didn't even protest.

You put your foot on his chest and then sat on top of him, pointing the blade of the knife at his throat.

You breathed for the tears to disappear.

But looking at that scene below you, you couldn't stop crying.

The last light of the sun was reflecting off the knife today. It lightly illuminated the room.

You saw his gentle eyes and kind smile.

He didn't even move. Even if he could break free now and throw you off him, call the guards to take you to the dungeon.

But he doesn't…

"Why do you always have to smile like an idiot?!" you shouted. "Do you really want to die?!"

"You're beautiful even now." He said.

"Shut up! Why?!"

"From the beginning, I wanted to prove to you that you are not a cruel person. You don't want to get hurt. I wanted to show you that you can get love too."

You shivered as your heart pounded.

But with tears you brought the knife closer to his throat.

"Shut up! For everyone I'm just a queen that kills! I-"

"You're not an evil queen. You're the perfect queen who wants to take care of those she cares about. I know you may think differently of me than I do. If you think I'm like them, kill me. But I never meant to hurt you. What you do depends on you. I will accept what you give me. That's what you do out of love, right?"

"Y-You–!"

Your hands were shaking.

He still didn't move. He wasn't nervous at all.

"You won our game. Now I won't run away. I can't avoid it. I give you my life. I give it to my wife. Who is not an evil queen."

You squeezed your eyes shut.

Just one hand movement, and it's done.

You moved the blade.

You threw the knife on the floor, jumping off it.

You were kneeling on the floor, covering your face with your hands.

Two meters from him.

You can not do it…

You can't…

You felt something on your shoulder.

You looked over there.

"It's okay… Don't cry…" he said calmly and wrapped his arms around you very gently as he knelt behind you.

"I just wanted to kill you… so why are you now–"

"I love you. Isn't that reason enough? You are my wife. I swore allegiance to you. So I wanted to be true to what I said. I wanted to prove something to someone. What my wife is like. I wanted to prove to you that you have a good heart. If it wasn't, I would have been dead six months ago."

You moved.

He thought you would run away from him.

But you turned away, pressing your head against his chest.

He didn't do anything to you…

You couldn't kill him…

Because he was one of the few people who treated you differently.

Better.

Your husband was a good king…

You were supposed to be the evil queen…

You are not.

To him, you are the most wonderful woman.

He may have been against being with you at first, but he saw you walking around in dark dresses, making no secret of the fact that you were the cause of the deaths of so many important people.

You were nice. You cared about people.

And you didn't care what a cruel, bloody portrait you had in people's eyes.

Those who have listened to you believe that you are a good queen.

Those who don't know you think you're just a heartless murderer who out of selfishness and greed craves power.

However, you did not kill their wonderful king, who is not much different from this portrait.

His smile is on his face, but he has even more terrible scenes than you had.

Killing, torturing. Leaving to fate. Psychological and physical torture.

Cruel deaths.

He, the good king, hid this side from people.

But everyone knew the power in his hands.

You didn't hide the truth about yourself.

And the world shows you that sometimes a sweet lie is better than a bitter truth.

But what was supposed to connect you was never going to lie anymore.

It will be the sweet truth.

He promised you that people would recognize you.

And despite the fact that you have no heart and no mercy for criminals, you are actually a nice person.

As long as no one bothers you.

He got a chance from you. And you let him get as close as you've never been to anyone before.

You failed to kill him, and you no longer wanted to.

Not after everything he's done for you.

He himself could kill you and get rid of you.

But he didn't. He's not afraid that you might kill him in his sleep.

Because he trusts you.

Especially after you let him get so close to your body and heart that he'll never be able to leave again.

The first person you chose to be your husband, and you liked him, was him. Satoru.

Someone who thinks about you and not just about himself.

Even if he didn't want an arranged marriage, he somehow accepted you.

He liked the fact that you had emotions and your own opinion.

That you don't just live by what people think of you.

He only allowed you to try to kill him to prove to you that you are not what people tell you.

You're not cruel.

Even though you have no mercy, you are a loved one for those who are close to you.

Even though there aren't many people in your life who are so nice to you who love you, he was one of those people.

He deserved a place in your heart…

The only man you could love because he didn't see you as just killing anyone who was mean.

He was like that because he killed someone himself. That's the role of the king. Sentence to death, kill in combat.

He wasn't sure if he happened to be more murderous than you.

But your roles were made anyway.

Evil Queen and Good King.

Even if you're on a similar level at murder.

You will be Good, Beautiful Queen by his side.

And people can't say you'll be the same as you were.

Because you are his wife.

And what you decide, you do.

Because you are beautiful, strong and independent.

His great queen.

"It's okay if you still want to kill me." He said, stroking your head reassuringly. "I don't forbid you from trying your best. It was even fun…" he laughed.

You clenched your hands on his sides.

"You can still try to kill me–."

"I don't want to kill you…" you interrupted him, and suddenly you looked at him with a smile. "But don't think I'm going to be a gentle wife."

"And that's something I love." He smiled and placed his lips on your cheek.

"… I thought you didn't want to kill me anymore…" he moaned, feeling the ropes tighten on his body. "So what is it supposed to be?"

You wrapped a red rope around his chest.

He laughed as sweat slowly ran down his face.

He was trying so hard to be calm, but any human can start to panic the moment he can't move.

It was the same with him now.

If you wanted to kill him, you will surely succeed now.

You called him to your chamber. He came.

But then he realized it was quite dark there.

The windows are covered with thick curtains, and the lighting is provided by candles evenly distributed around the room.

There was a chair in the middle.

He called your name several times.

And he expected something perverted from you.

After all, when was it such a climate in the room? Warm light, alluring atmosphere. so good. So perfect for you.

As he walked over to the heavy chair, he wondered where you got it from.

It was definitely from here. Or did you have a carpenter do it?

It was tall and heavy.

Dimples on the legs, at the height of the ankles, and a specific shape of the back. Like it was perfectly made for his body.

It sure was comfortable.

And he could say it right away.

Besides, this height also showed that it was perfect for Him.

The red fabric covering in the middle and back contrasted with the dark wood.

Is this a gift for him from you?

If so, he'll be glad to lean you against the back of that chair and fuck you into oblivion.

But he knew it wasn't that kind of gift.

You are planning something.

As he ran his fingers along the smooth wood of the backrest, he felt someone pushing him.

When he turned around, he saw it was you. You stepped out from behind a large curtain, pushing him into a chair.

"(y/n)–."

"Don't move." You said grabbing his wrists tightly and pulling them back.

If he had tried to break free from your grip, he would have succeeded.

Because he is strong. But curiosity overcame him. He wanted to see what you would do to him.

But when he felt you wrap the string around his wrists, it was different.

He was curious what you would do to him. And there was also a dangerous excitement.

You've wrapped his big wrists many times as you've been training to keep him from breaking free.

His hands were tightly bound and the constriction in the lower part of the chair prevented him from getting up from the chair because his hands were behind his back and the chair was wider at the top of his back.

Even if he tried, his bound hands wouldn't let him get up.

It took some time to plan what this chair should look like…

And the king's carpenter agreed to do it.

As he leaned forward, you grabbed his head, catching his hair lightly, and pulled his head back, tugging on the white strands.

"No, my king. You can't move yet." You whispered in his ear.

As he listened to you with his pupils dilated to catch the light, you saw his ears blush…

You reached around him, passing the red rope from one hand to the other.

You wrapped his chest around it, leaving space where his tits were.

Something like this could be useful.

Later, you also bound his arms, making the bound hands immobile, and tied to the back of the chair.

You tied it with a strong knot, but you didn't tighten it on him so tight that it left marks. You don't want it to take away his blood supply.

"… I thought you didn't want to kill me anymore…" he moaned, feeling the ropes tighten on his body. "So what is it supposed to be?"

"I will not kill you, my king ~. You just said you wanted to play. Besides, I told you I wouldn't be a gentle queen." You laughed and knelt with him, spreading his legs, then tied his ankles to the legs of the chair. Rope fit perfectly into the cut narrowings.

So that's why it's there…

After you finished, he started to move a little. Struggling. But he couldn't move his body.

It wasn't like he was fighting to get out.

It's as if he's only looking at how powerful the ropes are.

And the sight of you in front of him in a dark red dress with lace was wonderful.

You were so different from other princesses and queens.

They all wore bright, clean dresses.

And you often wore darker colors.

Maybe it's also because the light ones get dirty very quickly?

Especially if the dress is long and touches the floor.

He almost completely calmed down.

Only his heart pounded in his chest.

His breathing was heavier.

You are his dangerous pleasure.

You did something unexpected.

And he liked it.

The dangerous excitement he felt now.

The direction of his blood was clearly directed to his crotch, and he slowly felt it begin to harden in his pants.

"A gentle queen would never do such a thing, huh… And my queen finally caught me, heh." He smiled conceitedly.

"That pretty smile won't be there when you beg me, baby." You said and quickly untied the back of your dress,

Taking it off as you tossed the expensive fabric aside onto the floor, leaving your red petticoat with stockings on you.

You were walking on a soft carpet with a heavy chair on it.

You wanted it to be so heavy that he couldn't knock it over very easily.

Two people brought it here, and it was really hard for them to do it, but they made it.

You also had other surprises for him today.

"Beg? What should I beg for, baby?" He asked with the same smile.

You stood up and grabbed his cheeks to make him look up.

"We both know you can moan and beg like a whore. So be a good boy 'cause I make you beg for touch." you kissed his lips before pulling away and knelt down again, resting your cheek against his inner thigh.

You reached your hand to his increasingly visible cock.

"You like it." You smiled harder.

"I like giving attention from my wife. Will you touch me?" His grin appeared.

At what he said you snapped your fingers at his increasing length, causing him to hiss softly.

"Such a big, nice dick… However, if you still think you're driving now, your dick will be in your pants all the time. So cramped and uncomfortable. Without anything to touch." You said. "So be a good boy. Agreement?"

He looked at you with a blush on his cheeks.

He liked it…

"… Yeah… My queen." he said with a small smile and blush.

"Good boy~."

Suddenly you took out a knife.

He looked at you questioningly.

"You didn't say you were going to cut me." He grunted dissatisfied.

"If I didn't say so, then I won't." You laughed and cut the threads holding the buttons on his shirt.

To finally pull both sides of his shirt hard, revealing his chest.

You wanted to laugh softly as his nipples hardened at the feeling of cold around him.

His pants were getting very uncomfortably tight…

Seeing his displeasure, you reached down to his crotch and unzipped his pants.

He lifted his hips slightly to help you take it off him.

And now his pants and underwear were at his ankles, further restricting his movements when he was bound.

Now he won't do anything. He won't run away.

His pink tip rested on his thigh.

His hands were moving because he wanted so much to start massaging his cock.

Seeing you in front of him just made his skin tingle.

But he couldn't do it.

Only you could touch him because his body was immobile.

You threw the knife to the floor with a loud clatter.

You took off your petticoat, leaving you in only stockings in front of him.

"Without underwear? Be brave, baby." He smiled at the sight of your perky nipples and sweet, soft pussy for him to look at now.

You placed your finger on his lips, silencing him.

"Shh… Do not say anything. If you're a good boy who listens, I'll give you a reward."

"What reward?" he smiled.

"If you don't listen, I won't touch you. And you won't be able to touch either."

"Hard Punishment…"

"I know. That's why you promise to be a good boy?" You stroked his cheek.

He nodded at you, looking away with a blush.

"Perfect." You patted his head. "Good boys always get rewards. And if you promise to be a good boy, why shouldn't I reward you?"

He looked at you curiously as you knelt in front of him, stepping between his spread legs.

Kneeling on his pants that gathered at his ankles.

That's the height you were after.

His cock was perfectly level with your tits.

You reached for his semi-hard cock, licking the tip lightly.

He sighed softly, wanting more…

You licked the bottom of his cock then pulled away.

He looked at you questioningly as you spat on your chest and then down his length, smearing your saliva all over him.

And you moved closer, placing his shaft between your breasts, smearing saliva on your skin.

And when it fit perfectly, you cupped your tits with your hands, making you rub his cock.

He made low grunts as the soft mounds brushed hard against him. Because it was so enjoyable.

You smiled as you watched his flushed cheeks as his flushed cock brushed the tip against your skin until his warm, an oblong and large piece of his body gave hot drops of precum onto your skin.

Much to his displeasure, your touch left his cock, leaving him standing at attention in your direction.

Before he could say anything, he stopped himself, remembering that when he's a good boy, you'll give him a reward.

He carefully watched your wet breasts and how you reached into your hair, untying the black ribbon that held your hair.

You kissed his head, and suddenly wrapped a thin ribbon around its base.

You wrapped the fabric strap around it, pulling it tighter before tying a bow over his balls.

You tweaked it a bit to get a nice view.

His cock, standing and shining, hard. A black bow over his balls. And on its base a tightened strip of material that oppresses it.

You sat on his lap, kissing his chest that wasn't covered with rope until you moved your mouth to his nipple, sucking lightly.

His muscles tensed as you bit down slightly.

Pinching his sensitive bumps with your fingers, you stood over his hips, rubbing your clit lightly against the tip of his, giving both you and him pleasure.

While you're kissing.

His tongue swirled in your mouth before you dominated the kiss, pushing your tongue into his mouth, causing him to purr.

But as his cock slid lower, touching your entrance, you pulled away from him completely.

You got off his lap and sat on the bed that was five feet in front of him.

"(y/n)~." he murmured. You could feel his plea for touch in his voice.

"You're such a good boy. But I have to punish you for breaking out in the beginning." You said with a winning smile.

You looked at his cock which turned from bright pink to red through the material that was tightened around it.

He looked so cute with that bow.

A big, pretty dick wrapped in a ribbon that swells and throbs.

He will moan so nicely when you sit on him~.

"When you don't complain, it will be faster for you ~."

You lay down suddenly on your back, dipping your fingers into your soft, wet folds.

Spreading out to show him your pussy.

You knew so well that his hungry eyes stared at your dripping folds.

You like the way he looks fucked up and flushed.

He will be very sensitive when you touch him.

With a small smile, you run your fingers over your clit quickly, widening your legs wide for him so he can watch and drool. What is he definitely doing.

It might be a little embarrassing to lie so open to someone, but it's worth your time. To see his fucked up face later when he wants to come.

To show him more, you inserted two fingers of your other hand into you, still moving quickly over your clit.

God, how he wanted to replace your fingers with his.

How he wanted to replace your fingers with his cock.

But he had to be a good boy because he won't get it at all.

Even if he tries to look away to stop feeling the throbbing in his swollen cock, your wet sounds and grunts will still make him stare at the beautiful scene before him.

Your pussy has always been so soft. He loved hiding inside of you so much. Hitting your soft body.

And now he also couldn't miss how your smaller hands are satisfying you.

He loved to dig his fingers and face into your pussy fat. Feeling soft. Feeling the taste. To feel your soft pussy sucking his hard cock inside.

If just looking could bring him to orgasm, he would have shot thick strings of cum long ago.

Not only was nothing touching him, but the bow on it would probably prevent him from coming. As befits a cock-clamping posture.

His breath quivered as your thighs trembled as well, and your fingers stopped as you came with a hollow groan.

He looked at his cock, red and begging for attention.

Drops of precum flowed from its tip, down its side.

If only he could somehow make anything touch his length…

He wanted so much to touch…

With a red face and hazy eyes, he looked at you as you sat on the mattress of the high bed, adjusting your stockings with labored breathing.

Seeing his almost teary eyes, you smiled slightly.

"what's wrong?"

You gave him a stronger smile.

He looked at you, then at his cock, then at you again.

A silent signal that he wants you to touch him.

"Sorry, I don't know what you mean."

"Come here…" he moaned.

"That's not how you should talk. A good boy doesn't talk like that." You waved your finger at him.

He sighed heavily.

He couldn't stand it…

Tears stung his eyes. He was so sensitive and the material on his penis wasn't helping.

"So? What should you say?" You walked over to him, sitting on his lap but being careful not to touch his cock.

His cock was crying with precum.

"Touch me." he murmured.

"I did not hear."

"Touch me." he said sharper.

"That's not how you should call me." You laughed. "I already told you that you would beg me. Show me your sweet face when you beg me."

Flushing, he watched as your hands massaged his thighs, close to his length, but you still hadn't touched him.

"So?"

"touch me please?"

"Better now. But say it louder."

Your fingers untied the bow, but instead of taking it off, you tightened the fabric a little tighter around his thickness.

He opened his mouth, letting out a trembling groan. His eyes released solitary tears as did his cock, which cried with more precum when squeezed.

"P-please…" he groaned, looking at you with glassy eyes.

Taking advantage of the drops of precum running down his cock, you tugged at the fabric, sliding it lightly over his cock. He hissed as he felt the pressure go higher up his length.

It pulsed. You've seen it so much.

His hips jumped as he tried to pull back, but he couldn't.

His legs moved, but he couldn't move them because of the ropes around his ankles.

"I can't hear you, honey~."

As you said, his smile disappeared from his face. And so red and desperate he looked so cute.

You felt your excitement run down your thigh at the mere sight.

"Please…"

"Say it louder and you'll get it." You ran your fingers across his chest.

"Fuck me… Touch me…"

"What are you saying?"

"Fuck me please!" he said out loud and you laughed.

You slowly removed the slightly wet ribbon from it, tossing it aside.

And to his relief, you grabbed his cock, smearing what was oozing from its tip down its impressive length.

So red and pulsating.

It's so begging to put it inside you, and feel all those veins on it.

When you petted him, he felt like he was about to explode.

He's coming really fast…

He doesn't care… He just wants to be in your pussy.

"Good boy."

You moved closer, aligning his weeping length below you, in straight line.

He was swollen. He was a little bigger than he would have been if you hadn't put that ribbon on him.

Which also makes him very sensitive.

He moaned loudly almost immediately as your entrance widened to accommodate the top of him.

After such torture, he finally got around to receiving your attention.

And it was such a great feeling. Almost overwhelming.

His eyes were still glassy and watery.

In one motion, you pushed it all the way in, waiting for you to get used to it.

But for him, the inside of your pussy was too good…

He had his hands on the ropes.

His eyebrows furrowed.

You wiggled your hips a bit, feeling swollen cock dilate you so much.

You looked at his face and smiled.

His arms were shaking. You felt him pulsating inside you.

It felt so good to have him inside.

So big…

You smiled as you sat motionless on his cock.

You kissed his neck.

"You can come. I know you're sensitive."

You jumped on his thighs, making your tight walls stroke him. he was moaning.

"I'm letting you come. Then do it, my king." You pulled his hair up slightly. "I want your sperm."

At your dirty words, he shuddered.

"Use my permission while you can. You don't want me to stop touching you again, do you?" You kissed his jaw to kiss him later.

You move your hips back and forth.

After no more than a moment, he moaned into your mouth, and you felt large amounts of cum filling you intensely.

You pulled it half way out and then sat on it again. Letting him end up completely inside you.

The feeling of his hot cum filling you inside was very pleasant.

Placing your hands on his lap, you arched your back back, watching as his cum flowed out of you with your movement. Even though his softening length acts like a plug for you to keep his seed from flowing out.

He was sensitive to the heat inside you.

But he knew it would make him hard again.

And ready to let your pussy milk him to the last drop again.

"Why are you still throwing a knife at me?" He asked as he tilted his head to the side as a knife landed next to his head.

"Habit… I'm just more irritable…" you said sitting on the bed.

"The blade never hits, so I know you're not trying to kill me." He laughed.

He walked closer to you and offered you his hand.

"People are waiting. Do you have the strength to get up?" He asked protectively. "Would you like to go there?"

"If the people want it, as their queen, I guess I must." You grabbed his hand and stood next to him. "Maybe they finally want to burn me at the stake as a witch."

"Don't joke like that. They would never want to do that to you."

"That's right. I didn't do anything wrong to them."

"You are a great queen to them. Besides, we have to share this information with them sometime."

"You're right… I'm just not used to that kind of thing. But I wouldn't be surprised if they still hate me."

"It's been so long. After all, everything is so perfect. Nobody's going to want to do that to you." He smiled, placing his hand on your lower back. "Besides, in audiences people asked if you were well, because they hadn't seen you outside for a long time."

"Really?"

"You are a great queen to them. How could it be otherwise. Besides, there are lots of people waiting to see us. Did you know that the ill health of a king or queen makes people sad? When they feel devoted to the ruler like those here, they don't play or anything until the ruler recovers. So everyone wants to know what's going on with you. So many times they asked Shoko when she went to visit you what was going on."

"Even as a medic, she didn't tell anyone?" You asked, grabbing his hand as you walked beside him.

"A secret is a secret. But it's best to finally talk about it." He chuckled softly. "If they ever find out anyway, better sooner than later. To avoid controversy among people. After all, not everyone can accept a secret that is still hidden."

"You won…" You smiled at him.

Your dark blue dress was picked up by him as you walk down the stairs next to him.

"Or maybe they want to burn me at the stake?" You asked laughing as you heard people clapping and shouting as the man said you were leaving.

"Does it sound like they want to do this? I hope you'll eventually get used to this kind of love people show."

You went out with him to the low terrace in front of the courtyard where the people had gathered.

When they saw you, they cheered.

Especially when your husband stood behind you, placing his hands on your belly visible under the dress.

[nezz-cringe-crib]

headcannon that before the yotsuba arc (and before meeting light in general) L always hated sleeping in his bed because it'd remind him of how completely big and alone he is in his bedroom. like it makes him realize how disconnected he feels from the world he's dedicated his life to serving justice for and that's why he chooses to sleep in work chairs or couches or even the floor sometimes. anywhere he's left at he'll sleep in because he can't be bothered to bring himself to bed.

but then when the yotsuba arc starts and light forces L to let him sleep in a bedroom (i think we can all agree there's no way light would agree to sleeping on the floor), it's the first time L doesn't entirely hate being in bed. just light's presence is enough to make him feel like maybe part of him is still human. like his bed isn't just a pre-made grave.

but then all of that gets taken away when they're de-handcuffed. and now it's even harder for L to go to bed.

not only is he an empty bed again, but there's a dent in it where a friend used to lay.

[archivequinn]

MADNESS (Eddie Munson × AHS Asylum) Part I

Summary: Three years after his disappearance, Eddie Munson is arrested for the murder of Chrissy Cunningham, Fred Benson, Patrick McKinney and others, but the truth is very different. When he can't convince people that Vecna exists and that he is innocent, he is committed to a mental hospital. But the only way out is to prove to the psychiatrist that he is not crazy. If he cannot convince the psychiatrist, he will be executed as a murderer. And he must hurry to do so because Vecna has come to finish the job he left unfinished. As Eddie fights for his life, what is the most his psychiatrist can do to save him when she learns he is innocent? Perhaps the only reason his psychiatrist wants to save him is not because Eddie is innocent, but because the two of them have developed feelings for each other over time.

Warnings: It's inspired by the horror series American Horror Story, so it has a lot of horror elements. Mention of blood, hospital, electric chair, execution, injury, sex, nudity, (+18 please, MDNI) extremely depressive thoughts, depression, drugs, self-harm, suicidal thoughts and attempts, violence, smut, claustrophobic, dark moods. (please tell me if I have forgotten anything.) please DO NOT READ if at least one of these is a trigger for you.

1989, Eddie Munson's Perspective.

The police officer punched me once more in the face. I swallowed the blood that filled my mouth. My eyes were so swollen that I could only squint. The police officer took a handkerchief out of his pocket and started walking around the room. He wiped the blood off his hands in disgust. But it was my blood, not his.

"Do you hear that sound, Munson?" he said through clenched teeth. Then he continued, "That's the voice of the Hawkins people who would destroy you in two minutes if I gave you to them. They want justice. We will give them the justice they want.''

I swallowed the blood that filled my mouth again. "I didn't do anything," I said, barely breathing. He walked quickly towards me and kicked the chair I was sitting on. I groaned in pain as I hit the floor, the sound of the iron chair hitting the floor echoed around the room, like a banshee screaming. My hands and feet were handcuffed. That's why I couldn't move, the police officer was already kicking me from where I was lying. I heard the door creak open and a familiar voice came running towards us.

Hopper: "Stop it! For God's sake stop! What are you gonna do?! Are you going to kill him?! He's just a child!''

The police officer who stopped kicking me spat on me. He was pointing at me. "He's not a child. He's the devil himself.''

Hopper grabbed the police officer by the collar and threw him out. Then he helped me up off the floor. When he uncuffed me, I looked at my wrists, bruised. I could no longer figure out where it hurt the most.

I could hear chants and shouts from outside, "Die, Munson! You murderer! Give us the murderer! His punishment should be execution!"

Hopper: We're getting you out of here. In an hour.

I didn't look up. "Who reported me? Who told them where I was? God, how can they find me after all these years?''

Hopper shook his head in a negative way. "I don't know. This is beyond Hawkins now. The FBI is on the case. You're all over the national news. Newspaper stories are being printed about you from all over the world. There's a caravan of reporters and news stations outside the front door. You're going on trial for killing four people and putting one in a coma.''

I said loudly, "Four?! Jesus Christ! Vecna only killed three people and put Max in a coma. Who's the fourth?''

Hopper didn't seem to know what to do. He was as bewildered as I was. He rubbed his forehead with his hand. "Jason. They say it was you who killed him.''

I punched the table. "What the hell is that supposed to mean? All the deaths in this town are blamed on me?''

Hopper: They're looking for someone to pin it on so they can get rid of the backlog of cases they can't explain. There's no one to defend you right now. The lawyers are dropping the case. And that suits these filthy pigs.

I asked the question that had been on my mind all along, afraid of his response. "So what's going to happen to me now?

Hopper looked at the clock on his wrist and headed for the door. When he opened it, I was relieved to see it was Dustin, Steve, and Robin. For a second I thought it was that asshole again. My bones ached when Dustin ran up and hugged me. I probably had more than one fracture.

Dustin: Dude… They're sending you away. They're sending you to Bloomfield.

Eddie: Bloomfield? What, I'm going to Michigan? Do you guys know how far that is?!

Steve sat down at the table in front of me.

Steve: If you stay here, they'll kill you. Prosecutor Robert wants to execute you on this case and become a national hero. That's why he won't let the crowd kill you. You're going to a safe place.

I laughed sarcastically. "When I get to the prison there, they're going to put me in the electric chair and make me Eddie double cheese toast anyway.''

Robin smiled nervously, biting her lips. I knew that smile.

Robin: Yeah, about that… You're not going to prison.

I raised one eyebrow and looked at her to continue, but it was Steve who spoke.

Steve: You're going to a mental hospital, man. You're going to Chassell mental hospital.

I grabbed my face with both hands, i was laughing hysterically.

Hopper: We somehow convinced them that you committed these murders, but that you were mentally unstable. We told them that you kept saying it was some creature you made up in your head.

Eddie: Well, that's already true!

Hopper: Of course it's true, you shithead, but they don't know that, and when they do, that's what they'll tell you! We're saving your life! If they are not convinced you are crazy, they will execute you.

Again I asked a question I was afraid of the response, "What if they are convinced I'm crazy? Then what happens next?''

Everyone looked at each other.

Hopper: This time there will be a discussion about you staying there for life. They will appoint a highly skilled and experienced doctor to determine that. Don't make a mistake. Prove to the court that you are crazy. After the court receives the psychiatrist's report and orders you to stay in the hospital for life, we will come to get you. We will also find the asshole who reported you.

There was silence for a while.

Eddie: What about Vecna?

Robin: Nothing's happened in three years. I don't think it will happen after this time, but if it does, we'll be prepared.

Steve took something out of his pocket. It was a walkman. I took the tape out and looked at it and I saw the name Eddie Mix on it. Steve explained it before I asked.

Steve: I put your favorite metal songs on it, you know you might need it. You should guard this better than your life and keep it safe. Your life may depend on it. So if he comes hunting you…

Silence again. When I stood up, everyone straightened up.

Eddie: Okay, one last question. How do I pretend to be crazy when I'm not?

Hopper shrugged. I felt like I had just asked the easiest question in the world and I didn't even know it.

Hopper: Just tell them the truth. No need to lie.

I nodded my head in agreement. I handed my hands to Hopper to cuff them. That's what the people wanted. They wanted to see the murderer caught.

The camera flashes...

Chains wrapped around my feet...

The people booing and throwing things...

I got into the police car amid curses I didn't know which one to listen to. A long journey awaited me. I never thought that one day I would leave this town where I was born and raised like this. But one day I would come back here, exonerated, they would come to get me. I knew it.

I walked through the door of the hospital, whose gloomy atmosphere could be seen for miles around. The hospital was old and decrepit, with peeling paint and flickering fluorescent lights that cast an eerie glow on everything. The air smelled of antiseptic and decay, like something had died there a long time ago but never been properly disposed of. And in the distance, I could hear faint whispers and moans from the patients who were trapped inside.

It smelled disgusting inside. It was black and white, maybe gray. It was as if they were living in a movie from the fifties. There was no sign of life in their eyes, if there was a smell of despair, it would smell like this place. I wondered what to do in such a dull and boring place.

The people in blue clothes were patients. I could tell right away. The ones in white were nurses and the ones in white coats were doctors. I had been to enough churches to know that those in black were nuns. Of course, that was a long time ago. And then there were the guards. I noticed that they all had tasers in their pockets. None of them carried real guns.

The big hall was a vast, cavernous space with high ceilings and also peeling wallpaper. There were rows of metal chairs bolted to the floor, like something out of an old-fashioned movie theater. And in the center of the room stood a massive statue of some long-dead saint or martyr, its face twisted into an expression of agony.

A male nurse was accompanying me as I walked towards the guards. Since I was the only one dressed differently, even the patients noticed me. One of them pointed a pointing finger at me and laughed. You turn around and laugh at yourself, you jerk.

For a moment it occurred to me that if I stayed here I might actually go crazy. I turned to the nurse next to me.

Eddie. Eddie: Where are we going?

The corridors… well, they were narrow and dimly lit, with flickering fluorescent lights that cast strange shadows on the walls. I could hear footsteps echoing down them at odd hours - sometimes from other patients shuffling along in their slippers, but other times from things that didn't quite seem human.

Nurse: To get you a ward to sleep in and to get your patient clothes.

I laughed like I was teasing.

Eddie: Will I have a roommate?

The nurse gave a laugh that made it clear he was mocking me.

Nurse: Satan-worshipping assholes like you should be left alone.

As I walked through the dirty and narrow corridors, I wondered which doctor was my doctor. Meanwhile, the nurse continued to complain.

Nurse: I don't understand why they put you in ward A. You assholes belong in C ward.

I hadn't lost my cynical smile. "They must love me very much. They didn't want me to die.''

There were guards bringing a stretcher from across the hall. A white sheet was draped over the person lying on the stretcher. They carried the dying patient past me, emotionless and sullen.

The smile on my face was gone and the nurse was enjoying it.

Nurse: See, Munson? This is your only way out of here once you're in here.

We went into a big laundry room and there were big baskets of the same color blue clothes. Blue dresses for women and blue suits for men. They looked like pajamas. An orderly woman was sitting in front of the door, chewing gum and flipping through magazines.

I noticed that it hadn't stopped raining since the moment I arrived here. All the windows were barred. I wasn't supposed to be in jail, for fuck's sake.

The male nurse left me there. I went over to the person at the door.

Eddie: I was wondering if I could get a L size, I'd like to wear a little looser.

She didn't even look up. "Do you want a personal chauffeur or a cook? Go and get one of those clean ones over there that fits you. Don't bother me.''

I rolled my eyes.

Eddie: Is there a bag or a closet or something I can put my stuff in?

The woman looked at me and lowered her pointy secretary glasses down to the tip of her nose.

"You think this is a hotel, son? The only thing you take with you when you come in here is your body. We even take the wedding rings of the married people who stay here. Because even with that, they somehow find a way to commit suicide or kill someone else.''

I frowned, "How is this allowed? Don't the police do anything?"

The woman thought I was joking and laughed, but when she realized I was serious, she nodded carelessly.

"Most of the people who sleep here have no family or acquaintances. No one comes after them. We are happy to have another empty bed because there are too many patients and too few employees. Now a new psychiatrist will come for you. As if it wasn't enough that we took you."

She was waving a pen in my direction.

I put on the blue hospital gown and put my hair up.

The cell was small and cramped, a musty smell that made my nose wrinkle. There was a single metal bed frame in one corner of the room, with a thin mattress covered in stains and tears. A rusted toilet sat against one wall, barely functional and caked with grime. And next to it was a sink - more like a metal basin than an actual sink - where patients could wash their hands if they were lucky enough to have access to water.

The whole place felt suffocatingly claustrophobic, like there wasn't enough air to breathe properly. And when i looked closely at the walls or floorboards, i could see faint scratches or gouges from previous patients who had tried desperately to escape.

I lay down on the bed and looked out of the window with the bars. Then I stood up quickly. I made a few laps around the room, which was already three steps long. They had taken everything. They had taken my walkman too.

I heard the guard shouting from outside.

"It's almost nine o'clock! Lights out soon!''

anyone who wants a tag list for part 2 please let me know 🩶

my first language is not English so I apologize if I made any translation mistakes, please share with me my mistakes and your thoughts about the fic, I would be very happy. 🫶🏻

[vindicated-truth]

(Originally written in response to this beautiful post)

What this has made me realize is that all the moments Dongsik has ever felt Joowon physically close had been cold and wet.

When Joowon held him tight after Nam Sangbae's passing, Joowon was cold and shivering from just having jumped into the sea to retrieve Sangbae's body.

When Joowon held him tight as he kneeled before him in repentance, vowing to go to hell for him, it was raining.

When Joowon held him tight as he bowed and pressed his head to Dongsik's handcuffed hands, Joowon was crying.

So much of Beyond Evil is poetic with layers upon layers of metaphor, and it shows even in this:

The one moment Dongsik has ever felt Joowon as close as possible where he had been warm, was when it was all over.

When Dongsik has finally been granted the justice and peace he fought all his life for—what he had once already lost hope for in ever achieving in his lifetime.

There's something meaningful with the way, despite the welcoming love and support from their Manyang family, they just had to have that moment alone in the sunshine, just the two of them, savoring a moment shared that isn't drenched and cold.

Something to be said with the way both their hands are carefully shoved in their pockets, even as they're walking ever so close, not knowing if reaching out is still welcome but not wanting to be so far apart, ever again.

A tentative moment of starting over—reborn in light and warmth.

It's in the way, even as Joowon is drawn away by the work Dongsik himself made him vow to continue, Dongsik calls back: letting him know, as they have always had, that this isn't over.

And for the first time, it's not a bad thing.

Because somehow, that takes on a new meaning this time, with the truest smile that has finally been able to be given, and granted.

The happiness they can finally have—it's only just beginning.

[sterekchub]

A03 is still down and I'm going crazy and craving some Hale family angst so: Some Peter/Stiles. BUT IT GOT OUT OF HAND and is 99% plot and 1% kink. Really, I just wanted Peter Hale a little gassy with a beer gut and stretchmarks and Stiles is very, very into it. And a little h/c because werewolves shouldn't GET stretchmarks but...Peter still has scars that haven't healed, so his stretchmarks don't either. Soulmate AU - less relevant about soulmates and more for kink and plot. Also ….a restaurant AU because I have a problem. And the timeline has changed a little bit to adjust the ages so - Peter gets a lonnng coma. Stiles like 25, Peter around 40, so fire happened when Stiles was 14, Derek was 16, and Peter was around 30? IDK

Stiles is born with his soulmark so- he has no idea if his soulmate is around his age or older. But obviously Peter's shows up only when Stiles is born so, he knows he's got almost 15+ years on his soulmate, making him about the same age as his niece and nephew. It's not the most reassuring and Peter sort of resigns himself to a very lonely future until his soulmate is of age, and even then, the age gap doesn't reassure him they'll be a good match

And then the fire happens. The Sheriff pulls Peter Hale out of the fire and sees his son's name written on arm, and knows his son has Peter written in the same spot on his. It's a tough conversation with Stiles when he's old enough to know. It's years of therapy, of the Sheriff and therapists telling Stiles he can't sit in a hospital room waiting for someone who won't wake up. So - Stiles moves on. Dates other people who have lost their soulmates. Stops visiting Peter daily and only comes every other month. The best thing he can tell himself is - at least he knows who is soulmate is.

Stiles' graduates decides he's had enough of the violence and changes his major from criminal justice to culinary. Opens the Full Moon diner in Beacon Hills - a safe haven for the supernatural, starts a foodbank and soup kitchen a few doors down.

Peter wakes up almost 10 years later - and nearly kills a nurse because he asked about his family and she immediately dropped on him how many years have past, most the Hales are dead, the house is gone…Peter has nothing left. They sedate him - and Peter has the last fleeting fear they must know he's a werewolf, why else would the sedative work? And then nothing.

He wakes up handcuffed to the bed with the Sheriff sitting next to his bed. And Peter is a total ass and threatens to burn down Beacon Hills until his anger burns away to be completely lost and replaced with total hopelessness.

The Sheriff tells him a family friend has kept everything in order for him. Gives him an address and an apartment key. All his bank accounts and license are still kept active and waiting there. Basic clothes and necessities. The file on the fire. The death of Kate Argent, pictures and some postcards from Cora and notes from Derek. The obituaries of the Hales. The location of the burial plots. Whatever was left from the Hale house and vault.

Also tells Peter to head to the Full Moon diner a block away, ask for Stiles and get a warm meal.

He expects a cold sandwich at most, when he quietly tells his waiter to ask for Stiles and says he has no wallet on him. "Stiles" looks barely into his 20s, and when he asks Peter what he wants and he can't bring himself to care or expect much. Just asks for a water.

Stiles brings him a hot sandwich, soup, a coffee, a soda, water a slice of pie…tells Peter no worrying about deciding. He can try it all. *****************

And then some plot (a lot of plot) Sheriff and Stiles have gone through all the same supernatural stuff, know most of the Hales are werewolves from what Derek's told them. Stiles' dad doesn't tell Peter his son is his soulmate. And warns Stiles to not immediately drop that on him. Besides him already processing a lot - coming out of a coma just like that is….there's no guarantee he'll mentally come back from it.

Peter keeps coming back to the diner - on his good days. Most days, he can't bring himself to leave. He'll sit on his bed and stare blankly for hours. Spends days awake when he's afraid he'll go to sleep and wake up and find he's back in the coma. Other days he goes into such a rage he claws at the walls of his apartment and punches the concrete until his hands are raw and bloody. On the bad days. Stiles drops off a week's worth of nicely packaged meals with little notes on them. Sometimes it's only a smiley face, other time it's movie recommendations, sometimes it's important cultural events he's missed. One day it's a therapists business card. Another time it's a little wolf plushie. Peter goes to therapy. Turns to using food to cope, because there's something that feels safe and warm and caring to him about Stiles making sure he's at least eating. He starts leaving notes back to Stiles, telling himself he'll say thank you in person when he feels healed enough. Even if he's not sure when that will be. After inhaling so much wolfsbane in his lungs, Peter doesn't heal right. He heals faster than a human, but not what a wolf should. The scars stay. He grows a beard to hide them. As he puts weight back on from the coma, and then piles on a bit extra with Stiles' constant catering, he notices light stretchmarks showing up across his middle. He isn't sure how to feel about it. ****************** And then romance happens...somehow. Peter goes into the diner more often to see Stiles. Thanks him for the care packages. Stiles fills Peter table with food, seemingly unsure how else to help him, but looks immensely pleased when Peter eats most of it. Peter starts coming daily for months. Then one day he doesn't show for a week. Comes back and apologizes to Stiles that it was the birthday for one of his nieces. Stiles tells him it's okay, it's fine, he can't imagine what Peter went through, and he's...here for whatever Peter needs. Admits Peter is his soulmate and Peter tells Stiles he knew. Polish first name was the first clue- but there's no one else in the town who cared about Peter that much, he knew there had to be a reason. He's sorry Stiles had to wait that long. ********* AND FINALLY KINK:

Peter gets therapy. Stiles spends months reassuring Peter that he doesn't care about the age- admits he's got a bit of a daddy kink and now that Peter has the *daddy* vibes and a hairy, hefty stretchmark ridden belly to match? Stiles is INTO it. He's a little proud and for sure a little smug when Peter blames those stretchmarks on Stiles and his cooking. Or Peter when he eats his feelings and gorges on Stiles' food until his stomach is rumbling and protesting and gassy? Stiles hands him another plate and promises to get him off if he finishes all of it.... They properly date. Peter uses food as his therapy- less nightmares about being in a coma when his gut is stuffed and stretched and feels like he's going to burst. It's a good sort of pain - that reminds him he's awake and alive and he has a mate who is very enthusiastically feeding him more.... And Peter eventually goes back to his cocky self. Snarking at Stiles to bring him more food. Or "try not to pop me, I have enough stretch marks as in" even though Stiles knows Peter LOVES it. The bigger, the better.

[egmo614]

Batman Kidnapped. Chapter 3

Little by little Batman began to regain consciousness. When he was able to discern his situation a little, he realized two things. He was handcuffed and on the floor of an extremely luxurious place, probably a mansion

-Wake up sleepyhead - said a sensual voice coming from behind. Footsteps slowly approached. When they stood in front of each other Batman found himself facing a young man he had never seen before. A very beautiful man, he thought to himself.

-Where… where… am I? - He asked, struggling uselessly with the handcuffs that held him.

-Oh Batman. Don't worry about that. You're not even in your country. So you better relax.

-What is all this? I must… I must return to Gotham…

-I'm afraid that's not going to be possible for now, Batman. I guess you want to know what all this is. I think it's only fair that you know.

The beautiful young man walked away from him and approached the window that overlooked a garden that Batman couldn't see.

-You're mine now Batman. I know who you are, I know your secret identity, but I'm not going to divulge it. Don't worry about that. I've been in love with you for years. I became obsessed with you a long time ago. Your perfect body, that sensual suit. Your beautiful buttocks. All. So I started investigating you. And finally I could see how you acted, what clues you followed, how you caught your enemies, who you were behind that mask. Bruce Wayne. Who was going to say it? A playboy millionaire channels his sense of justice dressed as a bat at night catching villains. We have the same age. 32 years. And my parents are dead too. But nobody cares.

-Let go! L..let me go please!

-You're going to be mine for a week Batman. You are going to be my property for that period. You will be at my entire disposal. We're going to have sex as many times as I want, in the way I want. When we're not doing that you're going to be here. You are going to eat top quality food and my butler is going to come and clean you every day. The entire house is surrounded by snipers. I left your utility belt but I took out all the contents. I just added a device that will give you a 300 Volt shock if you make a wrong step. I also have Robin and Alfred captured. Any wrong step on your part and they die. If you try to make contact with someone asking for help Robin and Alfred die. If you don't agree to my every whim, Robin and Alfred die. I just have to press a button. Do you understand, Batman?

-You're mad.

-Yeah. It's true Batman. Madly in love with you. You're the only man I'm attracted to. I'm tired of being surrounded by people who kneel when I enter a room. All that obsequential people! But not you.  You are the only one who never kneels for anyone. So I ask you one more time, Batman. You have understood?

-The only thing I understand is that you are a disgusting ruffian.

-That outburst only indicates one thing. You haven't rested well. You must continue sleeping. But first let's test the device on your belt.

The prince said the order "discharge" and then two electrodes stuck into Batman's skin, sending an electric shock throughout his body. The hero screamed in pain as he arched his body. Immediately afterwards he was dejected, sweating, but did not lose consciousness. However, the prince knelt beside him with a handkerchief soaked in chloroform that he pressed to his handsome face. Batman could only resist slightly and after blinking for a few seconds everything was darkness again.

[christinebloodwrittings]

Something exactly like this

Pairing: Hobie Brown x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Violence, abuse, police brutality, hints of ptsd, cursing.

Words: 1957

Chapter four: If only we weren't strangers.

Taglist: @xoxobabe @lavndrluv @whatamidoing89 @theboyrisingfromstardust

There are moments in life that simply cannot be forgotten. When you least expect them, they repeat in your head like a catchy tune. Or at least, that's what good times sound like, like a day with your parents at the park, eating ice cream, laughing and playing, having the sun warm up your skin nicely.

But in moments of peace, my mind wanders over my decisions, entwined in infinite designs of a pattern that forms an image. It's blurry and incomplete, but each thread glows brightly, almost alive.

God knows I made bad decisions, some worse than others, like sneaking out to a party and getting my stubborn ass dragged to the police station was one of the worst, but for the sake of just going. I shouldn't have done it, I shouldn't have drunk, or let myself be carried away by the music, much less let one of the guys make me take a walk to get some air.

Because they didn't process me as a teenager, but as an adult.

An adult who had drunk like never before in her life, a minor, defenseless, with zero reasoning power.

The policeman who handcuffed me didn't read my rights, he just pushed my head into the car and drove to the station. He was suspiciously heavily armed, I must say.

He didn't put me in a cell, it was more of a room with a desk and pictures of a bald white guy with a loving family. I remember that desk well, especially the smooth, cold surface.

The officer just told me to wait quietly, that if I made a single sound he would break my knees, or so I think, I just remember laughing.

The rest is history... medical history.

It's funny how much you can miss after a few drinks, but at least they kept me from remembering what was important. My body and the photographs that the detectives took spoke for themselves.

During my time in the hospital room, a doctor came to me with news, supposedly to improve my mood, he told me that two policemen had entered the hospital with me, one of them blind in one eye and the other with a piece of his ear missing.

He was the typical adult who thought himself young and cool, trying to ease my pain with more or less happy news, something like "You look like crap, but you should see the others, champ!", but I doubt they were starring in their own version of the mummy.

Although of course, it was curious that when I woke up, I was missing several of my acrylic nails. Back then I did what it took to fit in, we've all been there.

My case was left unfinished, for a change. The policemen had no legal repercussions and remained intact in their jobs. It was never made public since I lived in a town in the middle of nowhere, and the detective in charge just gave me a taser in case it happens again.

I fucking hate the system.

My dad went crazy for it, who wouldn't be? That led him to call an old friend who had recently made a name for himself in the big city, in a political position.

I thought that justice would be done through human means and that the system would finally work, but unfortunately that dinner was the beginning of a terrible decision.

It was also the last time that Norman Osborn sat at our table looking completely human.

From that experience I was left with an omen, a voice, that screamed heartbreaking pleas for me to get away from the police, especially if it was V.E.N.O.M.

It has me sweating cold most of my nights.

That night I listened to it again and like an instinct I jumped out of my seat and started running. I spotted the emergency exit, I didn't think twice, I kicked it and ran in the opposite direction of the blue and red glow.

But it was as if it was getting louder, ferocious voices were yelling at me to stop, that I was under arrest, I was not going to let them take me away again, ever, over my corpse.

The burning tires, the smell of gasoline, everything led me to that night. I felt my heart in my ears, from the tears I could hardly see where I was going, and I only knew that I was moving through the cold air hitting my face, I could no longer feel my legs or my body in general. I just needed to run away.

The only time I stopped was when something grabbed me by the waist and stuck my back to his chest, looking up I realized it was Spider-punk. He lifted his finger to where I figured his mouth was, signaling for me to be quiet, but between my agitated hyperventilation, I just couldn't.

"I'm here, I won't let 'em take you" he whispered, getting a tigher hold of my body. A warm feeling grounded me a little when he hugged me, the rest of my body was so cold, I yearned for more warmth.

A loud bang resonated though the air, before the police sirens started to fade in the distance. We stayed a few minutes like that, even long after the silence settled among city's normal noise.

"They're gone now" he patted my head slightly, reassuring me. It felt nice to be held again, to feel safe for a minute.

"Looks like I owe you that kiss, huh?" I rolled my eyes, it's true that the danger was far away now, but it wasn't the right time to joke around.

"For all wrong reasons" I wanted to move, but I guess I took it too far with the escape run, it felt as if my feet were asleep. It was like the cold air built stalactites on the insides of my lungs, every breath brought a painful pang on my side.

"I don't mind settling that, but maybe I should leave you an excuse" he smiled, using my own words, "Perhaps you should".

Stepping a few times seemed to make the trick, I could feel my feet again, but the burning sensation in my chest remained, so I just walked at an old lady's speed.

"I get it, you were scared, the adrenaline is wearin' off, but you don't have to be so cold" he kept himself close, no quite beside me, but close.

I didn't respond to any of his callings, honestly I was far too tired and fed up with myself to handle anything external, except than silence, which was the last thing following me.

"Hey, 's goin on?" He stopped me by grabbing my arm, not making any pressure on it, he just hooked his hand on my elbow and stopped walking, making me almost lose my balance and curse under my breath.

"Fuck sake, why are you so fixated on the kiss thing? It was a joke, I thought I would never see you again, so it didn't mattered what I said", janking away from his hand, I managed to regain my posture and my walk.

"Well, it did to me" he muttered.

"I'm sorry, picture this for a fucking second. Normal female citizen about to be beaten up by a corrupt cop gets saved by a random dude with superpowers, among them abnormal strength. Then gets dropped off at her apartment, and the creep expects a kiss, so she jokes as to not make the mutant mad, and he keeps being flirty and pushy about the damn thing!" I lost my breath at the last sentence, and it broke me to realize how much it really hit me.

Perhaps I was being too hard on him, but pushing the issue in the first place, and in a situation of extreme stress was kind of the last drop.

"Now I was chased by cops, my heart is in the back of my mouth as well as the pie and my lunch, I'm tired, it's been a long fucking day, and guess what, the stranger keeps being pushy about a fucking kiss" then I went silent, having almost nothing else on my chest to vomit at all. Perhaps it wasn't how I wanted to say it, but I had a limit, and I couldn't find another way to draw it.

He backed up a little, raising his open palms to his chest level, "Hey, 'm sorry, I was just joking around" His voice was low and apologetic, it was like his presence shrunk from the tall and intimidating Spider-Punk, to just a guy that realized he fucked up.

I took a big breath, the burning sensation calming down a little, "Look I'm sorry, I have a bad history with cops, and men in general, the stress is all over me...I should've minded my words" down the weather was an understatement of my mood.

He hesitated, but in a slow motion, very carefully, he brushed a strand of lose hair off my face, brushing my cheek sweetly along the way.

"Forgive me luv, I pushed it" I nodded, his hand lingered on my cheek for a couple more seconds before withdrawing his touch, leaving me with a fluttery sensation.

He patted his jacket for a second before pulling a wrinkled piece of paper, which he handed to me, "Y'know, you can call this number, he's always around, 's a good pal o' mine, he'll help you if you need it" it had a phone number and a name that seemed to be a joke by now.

"Hobie Brown, the guitarrist? Met him already" he turned around to see me, "Really?" It was as if I could see his eyebrows rising.

"He pulled me out of the crowd mid anxiety attack, we didn't spoke much, but I apreciated it" he was so considerate for that, and I don't think I ever thank him for it.

"Intrestin', what do you think of him? First impresions only" I was taken aback by his question, but I didn't minded much, "He seemed nice, intimidating and surreal, but nice. My friend and her boyfriend supposedly set us up in order to date, but I don't see it happening" more like a failed ambush by cupid.

"Why's that?"

"I don't know, I guess...I guess we're too different, we don't even like the same music, and he's so..." so handsome but too much at this moment,

"So?"

"Rebel, he seems like trouble"

"What's life without a lil' trouble?"

"Are you also trying to set me up with that friend of yours? He can't be that dreamy, besides I don't know if I'm ready to jump in a relationship just yet"

"I understand"

He opened his arm to me, I thought he was going to swing us back to my place. Instead, he hugged me, his arm circulated my waist, and the other caressed my hair, "May I?" I looked up, his face was only inches from mine, "Fine, just do it" He chucked while using a finger to make me face the alley, then I felt his lips on my cheek.

When I turned to face him, his mask was fully covering his face, got to say I was a little disappointed. "We're settled then?" He chuckled again, "On my end only, can't wait for your kiss" this dude was making me crazy, "You're insufferable" this time he did wrap me with his arms and took off, "Indeed darling" was the last thing he did before dropping me off back at my place and then leaving again.

Funny, I found the crisps he promised right on my bed when I came back.

[samgirl98]

Cain and Abel Wept 2/?

Prev | Next

When Danny’s parents had recommended they hide out in Gotham for a while, the protest had been on the tip of his tongue. Gotham was Batman’s territory. Danny didn’t want to risk it.

“Batman doesn’t allow metas,” Danny had said instead of what he should’ve.

“But honey, you won’t be using your powers. Besides, there’s so much ambient ectoplasm that it would be hard for the GIW to hunt you down even if you accidentally use your powers for a short period,” his mother explained.

“Yeah, Dann-o, you need a place with rich ectoplasm, and Gotham city has the second highest amount of it aside from Amity.”

“But Batman is part of the Justice League. If they ignored us before, it’s because they’re fine with what the government is doing.”

Both his parents looked at each other, “We know, sweetie, but it’ll only be for a few weeks. Just enough time for you to recharge.”

For use to recharge, went unsaid.

So, Danny had given in.

Seeing his birth father in his full Batman suit, he regretted not telling his parents the truth. All of this could’ve been avoided if Danny hadn’t been a coward.

The only reason they could be here was that they knew of Danny’s half-ghost status and were going to hand him over to the proper authorities. His slow heartbeat almost reached an average person’s level out of fear.

Danny watched silently as his little family prepared to fight the Bat clan. All to defend him.

Behind Batman’s shadow, a small figure dressed in muted reds, greens, and yellows came out. Damian.

Danny felt the stab wound that had long since healed and disappeared throb on his back.

“Jack, you take Nightwing and Red Hood from afar with the ectoblasters. I’ll take on Batman and Black Bat. Kids, you guys support us in the GAV however you can. Do not leave this vehicle, understood?”

Danny studied all their determined faces. His mom could’ve been back at Fenton Works pouring over data and writing papers. His dad could’ve been inventing new ghost gadgets and fishing for ghosts through the ghost portal while eating fudge. Jazz should’ve been in college.

They gave up their lives for a boy who wasn’t related to them by blood.

Danny took the keys to the GAV and phased through it. He locked his family in and ignored their cries of alarm.

He refused to put them in further danger.

Danny walked up to Batman and Robin, his shoulder straight, “I surrender but leave my family out of this. Call the GIW and any other hunter you need to, and I’ll go quietly.”

Behind him, Danny heard his family scream out in outrage and horror at his words. He ignored them. Looking at Batman straight in his white-out eyes, Danny put his hands up so he could be led away.

____

Bruce had no idea what he would find when he came for his previously unknown son. Whatever it was, this wasn’t it.

Danyal was holding his hands out as if ready for them to be handcuffed, and the Fentons were kicking and screaming in the RV (at least, Bruce was pretty sure it was an RV).

He looked around the scene and figured that having his whole family suited up and ambushing the small family was probably not a good idea. He was better than this. Why hadn’t he noticed earlier that it was a bad idea?

He should’ve just come with Damian and maybe knocked on their door instead of scaring the shit out of them.

They had been ready to leave, he justified it to himself.

You could’ve put a tracker on the vehicle, the logical part of his mind told him.

Bruce didn’t voice any of this or let it show on his face.

“Danyal,” the boy flinched.

“It’s Danny,” he said with anger in his voice.

“Danny, we didn’t come here to fight or…arrest you.” Bruce would later figure out why Danny thought that “We just want to talk.”

Danny looked at him in disbelief before eying Damian and the rest of the family. Everyone else started fidgeting, looking uncomfortable. Bruce knew they were coming to the same conclusion Bruce had.

They had been too hasty and let their emotions rule them.

“So, you’re not here to arrest me.”

“No, why would you think that?”

Danny’s face shut down of any emotion.

“No reason,” the boy answered.

“If this is about your meta powers, I know it seems like I hate metas, but I don’t. I don’t want them here because they would be in danger from my rogues.”

Danny stayed silent. He looked back at the Fentons; they were still trying to get out of the vehicle while spewing threats at Batman and his family.

Danny did a hand signal, and they calmed down a little though they were still tense and finding ways to get out.

Danny sighed.

“Akhi, I’m sorry.”

Danny froze; it looked as if he wasn’t breathing.

“I’m so, so sorry. I should’ve come with you. I shouldn’t have…I’m a horrible brother and a worse person.”

“Dami,” Danny whispered.

Damian started crying. Big fat tears fell from his cheeks (cheeks that still held baby fat to them). Bruce watched in horror as his youngest fell to his knees. Damian had always been the least emotional of all his children, so when he broke down crying, almost none of them knew what to do.

Danny stepped forward before stopping, “Oh, Dami.”

Danny didn’t make any other move. A part of him wanted to comfort his younger brother as he used, but he still remembered the feel of cold metal going through his back. He still remembered the feeling of betrayal as his baby brother left him a growing pool of his blood.

So, he did nothing. Danny stood there as his younger brother held himself and cried out his regret.

Danny couldn’t find it in himself to forgive his younger brother.

He knew Damian had been brainwashed (he had been six!), but Danny had been a child, too. He had sacrificed so much for Damian, and his brother betrayed him. It was hard to forgive even when, logically, he knew it wasn’t Damian’s fault.

(It was Talia’s, Ra’s; not Damian’s)

But emotions weren’t logical, now, were they?

Emotions are useless, Ra’s’ voice rang through Danny’s head.

Shut up.

“What now,” Danny asked as Damian calmed down.

Batman looked at him and then at his family behind them.

“Now, we talk.”

@spectralstardustandphantomnights @avelnfear @idfk-man10 @blackroserelina @candeartist422 @luer-mirin @mur-ururu @insufferablecrab @skulld3mort-1fan @meira-3919 @aethernorwood @mimilikey @marshmelloe @latheevening226 @ahyesanerd @lexdamo

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"Blood Moon Rising"

Rated: Explicit

Pairing: Bucky x Steve

Tags: shrinkyclinks, werewolf au, omega Steve, Alpha Bucky, prison au, dub-con, non-con, werewolf sex, knotting, oral (m!rec), hand jobs, held hostage, age gap (40/26), mating, violence, bonding, Dom/sub elements, oral knotting

Summary: Bucky claims Steve in front of the pack. The wolves affect justice for the captive prison guards.

Part 2 - Claimed by the Alpha

Wait! I haven't read a previous chapter! Fic Masterlist

When Steve woke, Bucky was there in the cell with him. Steve inhaled and sat up so fast, he nearly toppled himself off the bed. He scrambled to compose himself, though it was a little late for dignity at that point, he supposed. The crappy little mattress pad slid on the concrete bench, and he hit the wall unpleasantly as he threw himself back to overcompensate. “Ow.”

Bucky, who was sitting on the cell’s desk stool, stayed seated and smirked until Steve righted himself. “Have a nice nap?” he asked.

“Worst of my life, actually.” Steve twisted his back to get his spine to pop. “You really have to sleep on these ‘beds’ every night?”

Bucky nodded. “Among other things.”

The solemnity in his voice caught Steve’s attention. There was a world of indignity in him, just barely peeking out. Whatever his crimes were, it was clear that a lot had happened to the alpha werewolf during his incarceration. Even though Bucky hadn’t given him many details, Steve could still see that much. He licked his lips and dared to ask again, “How long’ve you been in here? Really?” This time, he got a straightforward answer.

“Mmn. Just about twenty-six months, now.”

Jesus. “What for?”

“Assault with a deadly weapon.” Bucky paused, seemed to think about it, then added, “And indecent exposure.”

“And no trial?”

Bucky sneered. “Oh, I knew I wouldn’t get a trial. That part came as no surprise. No matter. I just needed a way in.”

Steve squinted. “What?”

“I. needed. in,” Bucky repeated, like Steve was stupid. “I got put in to be able to get my men out.”

Steve just sat there and stared, but then he realized that Bucky was being dead serious. “You … you’re telling me that you got yourself put in prison?” he asked dubiously. “On purpose?”

“I arranged it, yes.”

“How did you manage that?”

Bucky was relaxed where he sat, not overly eager to prove anything to Steve. He almost looked like he was suppressing a smirk at Steve’s expense. “Well, the assault was …” His eyes slid to the side as he considered his wording. “Let’s just say: I was dealing with a ‘pack problem’, and I made sure to do it in front of a local police precinct. Kill two birds with one stone, so to speak.”

“What was the ‘pack problem’?” Steve asked, oddly intrigued at the mental image of Bucky as a vicious werewolf, attacking someone … at the thought of him being shoved to the ground and arrested, his big arms roughly handcuffed behind his back, being hauled away, probably laughing the whole time like the puffed up bad guy that he was. Steve bit his lip. Bucky might've been a criminal, but he sure did make it look good.

“One of my betas broke pack policy. I had to teach him a lesson. I dominated him and made sure the cops saw me doing it.” Bucky bared his teeth in a wolfish smile, and Steve frowned when he realized that he was getting kind of turned on by the thought of Bucky "dominating" someone. “What’re you thinkin’ about there, Honey?” Bucky asked quietly. He gave a pointed inhale, letting Steve know that his reactions were noticeable. “Oh. You got a werewolf kink?”

Steve scowled. “So you what,” he deflected, “you shot someone?”

Bucky really did smile then, a sly and menacing grin growing on his face at Steve’s obvious interest. He sat forward and rested his elbows on his knees, shoulders and arms flexing purposefully. “Shot?” he repeated, amused. “Oh no, Steve. This was pack business. When I put someone in my pack in their place, I do it the old fashioned way.” He cracked his tattooed knuckles, forearms flexing. “You seem like a very optimistic, civic-minded kinda guy. A good student, earnest, squeaky clean. Want to go work for the FBI, be a superstar agent bringing down the bad guys.” He hummed in satisfaction as he saw Steve’s face flush with added embarrassment. “Hmm, yeah. Thought so. You’re a real goody two shoes, aren'tcha? Still believe in the system.” Steve’s lips pressed together tightly, and Bucky laughed at him. “That’s alright, boy. I won’t hold it against you."

"I'm not a boy."

"How old did you say you were?”

Steve resisted answering, but Bucky’s unwavering stare wore him down. “Twenty-six,” he muttered, flushing even worse when the older man chuckled at his age, like it compounded the joke that he already thought Steve was.

“Twenty-six, right.” His eyes locked on Steve’s and he tilted his head. “So you probably don’t know this, big boy, but that bitch they call the ‘criminal justice system’? She just loves to exercise her full and prejudicial might on my kind. Can always be depended on to steamroll us with trumped up charges, no matter how petty the actual crime.”

Steve scowled and firmed his shoulders. “So what? You’re trying to tell me you’re totally innocent? Is that it?”

For a split second, Bucky’s eyes flashed yellow, his expression darkening. “The ‘deadly weapon’? That was my teeth. And the ‘indecent exposure’ was my shift back to skin, in public. Didn’t exactly have a choice, what with the handful of panicked cops pointing their guns straight at me, screamin’ and threatening to shoot, ya know?” He huffed and shook his head. “Anyway, it worked. Got me right where I needed to be.” He patted the side of the concrete stool where he was sitting, the sound echoing flatly in the tiny cell.

Steve squinted at the guy, wondering if he actually had a few screws loose or something. “You knew it then. Knew you’d be getting out eventually.”

Bucky nodded.

“You knew it might take years? And you still threw yourself in?”

Another nod.

Steve scoffed. “That is so dumb.”

“You don’t know what I’d do for my people, Steve,” Bucky spat, venomous, and Steve was reminded that the man was a dangerous gangster who shouldn’t be fucked with. “We’re persecuted at every turn, and if I had to give up a couple years of my life to get them their freedom, then so be it. We have ways of doing things. Loyalty actually means something to Haită."

Steve still didn’t see how being in prison could be any more effective than being out of prison, but he knew he needed to stop asking so many questions. He needed to make himself as unobtrusive and inoffensive as possible. “Why are you here?” he asked, suddenly remembering the Warden in the next cell over. He glanced over his shoulder at the cinderblock wall separating the cells.

“He’s not there,” Bucky said, and Steve turned back around. “He’s been taken away. With the others.”

Steve gulped. That might be a good thing for him, but it certainly couldn’t mean good news for the Warden. “Did you kill him?” he asked. “He has a family, you know. A daughter in middle school. He told me.”

“Well then perhaps he should’ve considered his values better when he was making career choices.”

“Prisons need wardens, Bucky.”

“He didn’t have to treat us the way he did, Steve. Nobody did.” Bucky pointed at his own neck. “You see this?”

At first, Steve thought he was pointing at his tattoos, the winding tails of the oskals that came up onto his neck, but then he followed the direction of Bucky’s finger more closely and saw what he was really pointing at. There was a ring of what looked like old scar tissue all around the Alpha's neck, white and mottled against the natural tan of his skin.

“The shock collars they put on us,” he said nastily. “You’ve seen those?”

Steve nodded, feeling sick. “Th-they’re a failsafe,” he said, weakly echoing the words of the Warden from earlier. “They have to, cause you guys are so strong.”

“Doesn’t mean they have to use silver, now does it?”

Steve’s stomach did something very unpleasant. “What?” His eyes flicked back to Bucky’s neck. “Silver?” he breathed, grossed out at the thought of how inhumane that would be. He knew as well as anyone else did that werewolves were allergic to the stuff. “No,” he said. “N-no, I’ve seen them. They’re iron.”

“Iron-silver alloy,” Bucky growled, face ugly from his rage. “Not enough to make us sick, mind you. Just enough to burn twenty four-seven, tipped just past the threshold of what our bodies can keep up with, so that the skin stays raw.” He sneered when he saw Steve’s wan expression. “That’s right. My neck healed into this within an hour of having it off. Look at the others. You’ll see the same.”

Steve kept his mouth shut, mostly because Bucky was so mad that his eyes were back to flashing yellow. Steve had never seen a werewolf transform and he really didn’t want today to be that day. “Are you going to kill me?” he asked instead, sticking his chin out so that Bucky wouldn’t think he was afraid (he was, but the not-knowing was worse than anything else). Steve wondered how long he’d been asleep for, in the cell. He wondered if anyone had tried to contact the prison yet and realized it was shut down. Help might be close, or it might be far, far away. “Well? What are you gonna do?”

Bucky stood from the stool, looking frustrated. Steve shrank back on instinct, unable to fake bravery as well when the massive man was looming right there in front of him, tattooed arms crossed over his chest. “I have to make an example of you,” he said. “But how that goes depends entirely on you.” He stepped closer, reaching out to brush a strand of Steve’s bangs away from his forehead. Steve flinched and Bucky’s mouth twitched up at the corner. “I spoke with Batroc, you know. He told me how you were ready to fight to the death, armed with nothin’ but a little stubby pencil. That’s cute.” Steve scowled and jerked away, and Bucky let his hand drop with a sigh. “Look, I appreciate your fire, Steve. I do. I wish I’d met you somewhere else. This wasn’t the place to go copping an attitude with people.”

“Excuse me for not wanting to die.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Oh please. You’re not going to die. I’m hoping not to have to hurt you very much at all. But like I said: that’s gonna depend on you.”

“‘Much at all’? What the fuck does that mean?!”

Bucky gave him a long look, his eyes dragging up and down his body not once, but twice. Steve flushed as he saw the alpha’s gaze lingering on the stain at the front of his pants, eyes dark. “You being omega complicates things,” he said. “The men all know, now. I’ll be expected to do something about it.”

“What?” Steve growled. “I thought you were their leader. Why d’you have to do anything?!”

Bucky’s lip curled meanly. “You’re the one who had to go opening your big mouth, telling them you’re here to study them, that you want to be a fed, talking down to them. What did you think was going to happen? Now I have to put you in your place. I have to. You understand?”

Steve didn’t know what that meant, but he was sure he wasn’t going to like it. “What are you gonna do?” he asked again, voice coming out weaker than before.

“I’ll claim you,” Bucky grunted. “So that no one else will.”

Steve felt his face go red. “You mean rape me,” he hissed.

“I mean claim you,” Bucky growled, taking a threatening step forward but stopping when he could see that it scared Steve. He huffed, turning and running his hands through his hair in frustration. “There’s things about our kind, things you don’t understand. It’s—” he cut himself off, jaw ticking in displeasure. “I’m sorry, kid. You won’t like it, but if I don’t do it, then you’re free game for the others. And they won’t hesitate.”

“I thought they had to listen to you,” Steve snapped. “You’re their Alpha. Their fuckin’ Lupului. Why can’t you just—”

“Don’t throw around words you don’t understand, boy,” Bucky grit out. “I’m their Alpha, yes, but if I don’t have a claim then I have no right to stop them.” He looked Steve in the eye. “Power is earned in a pack, not absolute. We respect each other. We follow the rules and traditions of our people. I can’t go breaking them for you.”

Steve was quiet, feeling smaller and more helpless than he had in a long time. He hated it. “Well … … what would they do?” he asked. “To me? If you didn’t?”

Bucky ‘tsked’ and looked away. He wouldn’t meet Steve’s eyes, which in itself was a horrible answer. Eventually, he quietly admitted, “We don’t kill omegas, Steve. You understand? It’s a combination of chivalry and … other things.”

“What other things?”

He sighed. “You’re near non-existent in the human population and dwindling in ours. With pack, it’s ‘waste not, want not’.”

Steve went stock still. Ohfuck. Ohhhfuckfuckfuck. “Well I’m not in your pack,” he said, even more scared than he was before. “Bucky. I’m not in your pack!”

Bucky met his eyes, and Steve did not like what he saw there: challenge, mixed with a tiny bit of sorrow. “Yeah,” he said. “You’re just human.”

“What are you gonna do?” Steve hissed, scooting forward to the edge of the bed when Bucky made to leave the cell. “Hey!”

Bucky turned back at the doorway, a warning look on his face. “It’s like I said, Steve. We have ways of doing things. I don’t get to choose them and neither do you. Just,” he looked down, regretful, “just do what I tell you and you’ll be fine.” He sounded sorry for Steve, and that, more than anything, scared the shit out of him. Bucky slid the cell door closed with a loud clang and turned away.

“Hey, wait! Hang on a sec. Bucky. Bucky!” Bucky walked away, and Steve’s calls went unanswered.

They came to get him what felt like hours later, but Steve had no way of telling time in there. It was Dum Dum and one other guy who opened the door and told him to get up. Neither one of them said much, just escorted him brusquely down the hallways and out to a big room in gen pop. They’d made their way over to C block, Steve thought, his heart sinking as he realized what this meant.

The werewolves had gained control of the entire prison.

There were pack members all around the edges of the room’s large common area, Bucky once again sitting in a chair like it was some sort of throne. C-block’s usual human prisoners were nowhere to be seen. This part of the complex was the lower security area, its inmates allowed to roam the large dayroom freely. Bucky was sitting facing the room of assembled people. Steve’s eyes flicked about, hastily scanning the room and taking in the scene that awaited him. The captured prison guards were all there, and while it was a relief to see that so many of them were still breathing, their present condition didn’t do much to bolster Steve’s hopes for escape.

They’d been stripped to their skivvies and made to sit in the center of the common space, facing Bucky and his throne. They all wore the werewolves’ shock collars around their necks, with handcuffs looped over the collars in front so that they couldn’t lower their arms. Steve caught sight of two werewolf inmates off to one side who were busy going through the guards’ confiscated clothes, sorting everything into piles. Oddly enough, though, Steve noticed that the officers had all kept their work badges—they’d been clipped to their undershirts (or bra straps; there were several female officers present). Some of the wolves stood nearby holding guns and other weapons at the ready, but many of the pack seemed relaxed. Eager for a show, perhaps, as they stood in groups, smoking and murmuring excitedly amongst themselves.

Things quieted down once Steve was brought in. It was eerie, like they’d all been waiting for him. A collar was quickly produced and locked around his neck, though his hands were left uncuffed. And nobody made a move to strip him of his mortifyingly-soiled clothing. How fucking lenient, he thought bitterly. The collar was heavy and uncomfortable—though not as uncomfortable as it’d apparently been for the wolves. A few surreptitious glances around, and Steve could see the proof of what Bucky had claimed: All of the werewolves had that same ring of scar tissue around their necks, the skin pale and thickened, mottled from years of having the inescapable burn of silver against their bodies. Steve gulped and looked ahead to where Bucky sat, wondering if he really intended to use the collars on them; shock them to give them all a taste of their own medicine.

The Alpha hardly spared Steve a glance as he was walked over to the group. Dumdum pulled him to a stop and pressed down roughly on his shoulder, forcing his knees to buckle and his ass to hit the floor hard. Steve grunted and folded his legs in, glancing self-consciously around at the other captives. A few people’s eyes flicked his way, but anybody who looked over quickly returned their attention to Bucky, who sat ahead of them with an unmistakable air of authority.

Steve was struck by the inappropriate urge to laugh at the bizarre picture they all made: sitting cross-legged and meek in a circle on the floor in front of Bucky, like the world’s most fucked up class of Kindergarteners in front of their teacher. He quickly shut down the panicked bubble of humor in his gut, somehow knowing that if he dared to laugh right now, he might not be able to stop. He might cry. And doing either of those things couldn’t achieve much besides making things worse for himself.

He held onto Bucky’s promise that he wouldn’t be killed, though he also knew he shouldn’t put so much stock in a criminal’s word. Even if it was true, Steve still wasn’t looking forward to watching other people’s brains get splattered over the jailhouse floor. He’d never seen a man die before, had never even seen a person get shot in real life.

Since his hands were free, he wrang them anxiously in his lap, twisting his fingers over and over again to try and ground himself and stay calm. He could at least be grateful that he wasn’t cuffed and stripped like the others, could at least take comfort in the fact that he’d been plopped down towards the back of the group. And Bucky’s attention was on the officers, first and foremost.

“Judgment day, fellas,” he said from up front, his tone chipper. Some of the guards scowled, but most of them just looked scared shitless. Not one of them said a word. Steve spotted the Warden sitting off to one side and tried to catch his eye, but he had no success as Bucky kept on talking. “Now, I know most of you fine officers possess the sort of intellect rivaled only by garden tools, but I’m sure it doesn’t need explaining why you’re sitting here in front of me.” He gestured around the room, to all of the other wolves present. “We’re going to have a little sharing session. Don’t worry, everybody gets a turn. You see, I’m affording you something which you’ve long-denied us: the right to a speedy trial.”

Several of the guards visibly reacted, the metal links of their cuffs clinking against the collars as they shifted in place nervously.

“You’ll each come up, one by one, plead your case, and then I’ll open the floor to any of my men who might have something to say about you. And then at the end of all that, I’ll pass judgement. Sentencing will be carried out immediately. But before we jump into that, a quick demonstration." He held up a large remote control of some sort. Steve didn’t recognize it, but the guards definitely did. They all started reacting fearfully. Steve found out why when Bucky pressed the buttons on the remote.

Everyone shouted and convulsed, hands rattling in their cuffs, grappling at the collars as if they could pry them off. A majority of them even collapsed from the pain as they screamed and shook. Steve just sat there watching as it dragged out for several long seconds. His eyes met Bucky’s from across the room, shocked.

Bucky’s expression was stoic, but his eyes gleamed. See, they said. I told you I wouldn’t hurt you.

Steve gulped, the extent of that promise had yet to be proven, but he was sure as shit glad that his collar wasn’t one of the ones activated. Bucky had only put it on him for appearances, he realized. This helped to quell his fear just a little bit. The prisoners stopped seizing when Bucky pressed the remote again. Slowly, one by one, they righted themselves back up to sitting, their breathing still laboured as they recovered from the pain. Steve heard a few of them whimpering or cursing quietly.

“There,” Bucky said. “Just a little taste of what you all shocked us with all the time. And at a significantly lower voltage, I might add.” He shot them a saccharine smile. “Any questions before we begin effecting justice?”

The guards shifted around, afraid. One of them blustered out angrily, “You’re making a big mistake! They’ll put all you dogs down for this!”

Bucky’s response was to roll his eyes. “Oh, a dog comment. How original.” He gestured at the man who’d yelled out, and one of the wolves standing nearby promptly went over and pointed his gun right at the man's head. “Thanks for volunteering to go first, Officer …” Bucky peered at the man’s work badge to check the name. “Rollins. Perfect. Come on up, pal. It’s your time to shine.”

The man was dragged up to the front of the room and forced down to his knees in front of Bucky, the gun still pointed at his head. He was shaking, his anger-fueled bravery having diminished. Bucky, for his part, seemed totally relaxed. Dum-Dum approached and handed the Alpha a tablet. Bucky took it, scrolling down the screen with his finger until he found what he was looking for. “Alright. Down to business. So here we’ve got Officer Jackson Rollins. Goes by ‘Jack’. How are you doing today, Jackie-boy?”

The man said nothing to Bucky, just held his gaze for a few tense seconds before going back to glaring at the floor.

Bucky ‘tsked’. “That’s okay. Everybody’s nervous their first time, huh?” He referenced the tablet again and read off, “Let’s see … Officer ‘doggy jokes’-Rollins has been a corrections officer with the Federal Bureau of Prisons siiince … ooh, twenty-eleven, impressive. So you’re old hat at this, huh? Twelve years on the job. And eight of those at our Pen? Hmm …” Bucky slouched back in his chair as he read through the man’s employment records, scrolling through the pages. “Looks like you’ve got a pristine record, never been written up. Even earned yourself a couple’a promotions.” Bucky whistled like he was impressed, making Rollins glower all the more. “And you’ve been assigned shifts to either the Hole or else D block exclusively since you got here. Says here you came on a requested transfer.” Bucky’s eyes flicked up to Rollins. “To work with were pop. Says you ‘specialize’ in it.” Rollins’ jaw ticked, like he was working hard not to snap anything back in response. Bucky’s mouth slid sideways. He let the tablet drop back to his lap. “Well, you didn’t get your defense off to the best start, calling us ‘dogs’. Is there anything you’d like to add before I let the prosecution take their whack at you?”

Rollins remained tight-lipped, saying nothing.

“Suit yourself. Does anyone else have anything to share about Corrections Officer Rollins?” Bucky asked loudly. “Could be positive or negative. Fellow officers, please don’t be shy, feel free to raise a hand. You’re welcome to participate in your coworkers' trials.” At the word ‘trials’ Rollins sneered and audibly scoffed. Bucky’s eyes sharpened back onto him. He flung his hand outwards. “Any of my men who’d like to testify, step right on up.”

Steve felt halfway ill as he watched some of the wolves muttering and nudging each other. A handful of them began to head for the front of the room to “testify.” Steve knew Bucky was only using all the hijacked legalese to mock the officers further, rub salt in the wound that he held all of the power now, and that he was going to mete out his own version of justice to the guards that’d done him and his kind wrong. One by one, the wolves stepped up and aired their grievances.

When it was all said and done, no less than a dozen stories had been told about how Rollins had hurt, abused, or otherwise mistreated them. A few weren’t much more than petty anecdotes and unfairnesses, but the rest, well … Steve could feel his faith in the criminal justice system crumbling faster than waterlogged sand, and Rollins himself looked ready to faint after the last two horrible stories were finished being told. There were accusations of crimes that Steve hadn’t thought a prison guard could get away with, and certainly not in this day and age. Rollins wasn't just cruel, he was creatively cruel.

Bucky ordered him brought to his feet. “Officer J. Rollins,” he said, referencing the tablet's screen. “I have here the complete federal crimes list, under titles 18 and 26 of the US penal code. And golly-gee, you qualify for a few of ‘em.”

Rollins screwed up his face and spat on the floor. “You’re not the judge of me, you fuckin’ filthy animal.”

Bucky blinked at him for a long moment, before he cracked up laughing. It was a hearty laugh and went on for a good few seconds, so it was all the more alarming when he very suddenly stopped, all emotion evaporating from his face. “You know it really kind of seems like I am.” He looked back down and read off, “This court finds you guilty of the charges of aggravated assault, felony sexual battery, extortion, federal civil rights violations against incarcerated citizens, perjury, hate crimes, obstruction—oh! and torture.” He looked back up and fixed Rollins with a steely gaze. “For the commission of these crimes, I hereby sentence you to death.”

Rollins looked sick, but after a few seconds his sweaty brow began to contort back into a panicked fury. He opened his mouth to say something—ostensibly nasty, but Bucky silenced him with nothing more than a somber shake of the head. “I want you to know that my associate over here,” he pointed to Dum Dum. “Is recording these proceedings. We’ve got video and audio going. After my men take you to be executed, complete records will be left behind of what you’ve done, and of what was done to you.” He sat back in his chair. “Drax, Killmonger. Take him.”

Two of the biggest—and scariest—looking wolves approached to grab Rollins’ arms. For a second, it appeared as if the guard would fight. But the men grabbing him were strong, and Bucky shut any further protest down when he warned, “You can go out one of two ways, Mr. Rollins. You go easily, you get a nice bullet to the back of the head. But if you make trouble? Well then you’ll get the honor of a traditional pack execution.”

Steve felt his guts sink with dread, while up front, Rollins scowled. “The fuck does that mean, you freak?”

Bucky smiled, his eyes flashing yellow and teeth partially shifting until they were large and wrong in his mouth. “It means I rip your stomach out in ritual slaughter,” he slurred around his too-big canines, “and my pack takes turns eating little bits of you.” His teeth shrank again, though not quite back to normal. There was still a sharpness to his grin as he asked, “Have you ever seen a gunshot wound to the gut, Officer? I’ll bet you have. I’ll bet you know just how nasty those can be. Now picture the same, but with teeth. A full disembowelment. Lying there, watching a bunch of dogs feast on your innards while you die. It can take minutes till you actually lose consciousness, you know.” His grin widened and he began to purr, the sound emanating up—low and inhuman—from somewhere deep in his chest. Steve had always thought of a purr as something sweet, but this one sounded anything but. “I’ll bet we could draw that out even longer,” Bucky threatened. “Since some of my men have always liked to play with their food, animals that they are.”

Steve inhaled sharply and the people around him gasped as Bucky did something with his face—something monstrous, some sort of seconds-long horror show that made his face roil and move like clay. His bones were shifting beneath the skin, disturbing and wrong, like the heave and pull of the earth before an earthquake broke ground. It was over as soon as it’d begun, the alpha’s face smoothing back out to normal, but it was still terrifying to witness. Up front, Rollins was stock still, his shoulders gone so tense that he almost seemed to vibrate in fear.

… And then the scent of piss hit Steve's nostrils. The two massive wolves at either side of Rollins began dragging him away. He didn’t fight, seeming to have gone into some sort of shocked state, legs moving like stiff rubber that would collapse at any second. Steve couldn’t blame him, not when the guy knew he was being hauled off for execution. Once Rollins was gone, Steve looked to the spot where he’d been standing. A small puddle of urine was on the floor. As messed up as that was, and as disturbed as Steve perhaps should’ve been by it, he still took a small amount of consolation from the fact that now he at least wasn’t the only one to have wet themselves in front of Bucky, in one manner or another.

He glanced down to his own lap where the spot from his release remained, dried and lightened but still there. He could still remember the way that Bucky’s pupils had dilated when Steve had lost control in front of him, how he’d leant forward and licked his lips, excited, nostrils flaring at the scent of Steve’s body’s submission. He’d cupped Steve’s face, spoken so tenderly: “Oh, Sweetheart. You’re going to be fun.”

Steve gulped as he felt his body reacting to just the memory of it. Fuck. That had been one of the most humiliating moments of his life. How on earth would he survive more? And what did Bucky mean, when he said he’d “claim” Steve in front of the pack? Steve had a few good guesses that he was trying hard not to think about, but there was no time to let the dread of anticipation build, because his attention was jarringly brought back to the present by the ‘bang!’ of a single gunshot ringing out.

It came from beyond the room, reverberating loudly through the prison’s corridors of steel and concrete. Minutes later, the two big men named Drax and Killmonger returned, sans Rollins. Apropos of his name, Killmonger had quite a bit of blowback on his body, Rollins’ blood sprayed on him from hand to head. This seemed to be enough to really drum the reality of the situation home in the rest of the captives’ minds. In front of Steve, a lot more of the bodies started to tremble.

By the time a second man named Rumlow, and then a third named Sitwell, had been hauled to the front and “tried,” there were a few captives in the circle who sat silently crying, a few visibly praying. Steve felt ill. Bucky was showing no mercy. Three people had been summarily executed within the past thirty minutes, and there were still almost two dozen prison guards plus the Warden left to go! Would he kill all of them? Even the women? Steve wasn’t sure he’d be able to sit still and keep his mouth shut through that. Not to be a misogynist or anything (the four female officers looked like they were doing a better job at keeping their shit together than many of their male counterparts), but Steve knew he wasn’t going to be able to sit there and just watch while women were hurt. Like he’d explained to his overprotective friends, back at the college: it wasn’t about whether you could win a fight, it was about being willing to try. Steve flinched as the third kill shot rang out from somewhere in the near distance of the prison. In front of him, one of the officers whimpered.

These people didn’t deserve to die this way. No one did.

It was hard to get past the charges though—the awful things that the werewolves all came up and testified to, one by one. The things that Rollins, Rumlow, and Sitwell had done went beyond mere harassment or dereliction of duty. They were crimes of cruelty and vindictiveness. Steve didn’t get the feeling that any of the wolves who stepped up to tell their stories of abuse were lying or even exaggerating. Their words rang true in their bitterness and contempt, their eyes seething with a darkness the likes of which only years of long-repressed, impotent fury could produce. It was an electric sort of anger, shared among them as a group, heavy in the air like static, like ozone. Enough to make the hairs on the back of one’s neck stand up. Steve thought that he’d probably be peeing his pants, too, if it were him on the receiving end of that anger.

According to the “charges” that were read and the stories that were told, Steve deduced that Bucky had purposefully chosen those three men to go first, as they were seriously abusive; their crimes ranging from beatings, to sexual assault, to what probably constituted torture, if Steve was remembering the statutes of US criminal code correctly. Either way, he heard a few nasty stories that he really wished he hadn’t, and that was about the time when he started trying to zone out. Maybe if he just looked down at his knees and focused on the in and out of his breathing, the rise and fall of his chest, maybe then he could drown some of it out.

He was more than a little surprised when, after that third gunshot and third return of the increasingly blood-spattered Killmonger, Bucky called off the executions and announced to the room that they’d gotten “the worst of the worst” out of the way, and that, barring serious misbehavior or disrespect now, all the other officers could rest secure in the knowledge that they would not lose their lives that day. Their crimes, he said, were not “capital offenses.”

Things moved faster after that. One by one, the guards were brought up to the front and accused of heaping various cruelties and indignities upon the inmates. All of them were found guilty and swiftly sentenced. Bucky had his men break a few bones and punch a few faces of the heavier offenders, but the majority of the remaining officers received only verbal abuse from Bucky and his men; tongue lashings about their character, taunts of the career-ending details that would soon be reaching the authorities.

Bucky’s plan, Steve learned, wasn’t just to get his men in this prison free, but also to negotiate the release of wolves held illegally in other prisons, or at the very least, improve the conditions of their incarceration. There were both audio and video recordings of this entire process, Bucky gleefully informed them, copies of which would not only be left on site at the prison to be recovered, but also taken along with the pack and disseminated to the media, afterwards. This wouldn’t be covered up, Bucky warned them. People were going to find out the truth, and no anonymity would be granted.

After each of their sentencings, each of the guards were led back to one of two barred holding cells. The women lucked out in being the minority, only the four of them had to share one cell. Whilst the men were packed into the second one like a bunch of sardines, nearly twenty bodies in a space meant for two. By the time the last officer had been locked up, it was just Steve and the Warden left sitting before Bucky, all of the wolves encircled around them.

Steve looked over and caught the Warden’s eye. The man was stone faced, his jawline tight and ticking from the clench of his teeth. He probably still expected to die. Steve expected it, too. After the first three offenders had been executed and the lesser offenders locked up, Steve just assumed that the Warden was being saved for last; a grande finale, so to speak. He had a niggling worry that he might be about to witness the so-called “ritual slaughter” that Bucky had spoken of.

The Warden was brought up and glared daggers at Bucky as he was forced to his knees in front of him. Bucky drummed his fingers against the armrests of his chair. “You’re the one responsible for these people,” he told him. “You knew about what was going on and did nothing to stop it. You erased our complaints, made sure that we had no avenue for recourse. You sat on your ass while your men raped and tortured us, beat us, humiliated us for shits and giggles.” The Warden didn’t say anything, didn’t try to deny it, and that seemed to piss Bucky off even worse. “I hear you have children huh?” he growled, eyes narrowed. “A family? I’ve got no idea what you tell yourself when you go home at night and eat your dinner, watch the game, fuck your wife, kiss your kids goodnight. Whatever it is, it ain’t gonna pass muster, now. Your face’ll be plastered all over the news in a few days’ time, right next to mine. Congratulations, Warden. You’re about to become the poster child for prison corruption in this country. Bigotry. Hate crimes. Ugly.” He leant forward and traced the side of the Warden’s face in a mockery of a caress. “When your family holds your funeral? When your wife wears mourning colors and sits and cries in the front row? It’ll be ten times worse. Because she’ll have to sit in the shame of what you were and what you did. I hope her skin crawls, when she’s given the chance to lay that folded flag on your coffin.” He sat back in his chair and crossed his arms, smug. “Not that there’ll be enough left of you to warrant a coffin. You have to pay for what you’ve done.”

“I never hurt anyone,” the Warden spat.

“Don’t play the culpability card with me. You’ve already lost the game and earned yourself the sfărâmarea morții.”

The Warden’s spine stiffened. Steve couldn’t see his face from where he was sitting, but he’dve had to be an idiot not to sense the terror radiating off the man. Steve could pretty much deduce what sfărâmarea morții meant. Only one thing worse than a bullet to the back of the head had been mentioned that day. The only thing worse than a sudden death, was a slow one, and Steve’s heart sank as he realized that there was going to be a grand finale, after all.

In front of him, the Warden was blustering, “What? No. Y-you can’t!”

Bucky’s men were already stepping in closer, the circle tightening. Steve gulped as they moved past him and closer to the Warden, snarling and rumbling deep in their chests. Bucky’s eyes turned yellow and stayed that way. He stood up from his chair and started to undress. He pulled off his undershirt and flung it aside, bearing his tattooed chest. All of him was corded in muscle, honed and thick in the way only years of jail yard exercises could do. All of the wolves copied Bucky, pulling off their shirts and going for their jumpsuit pants. That’s when Steve realized that they were stripping down to shift. They were going to shift right then and there and rip the Warden to shreds!

“Wait!”

His voice rang out, abnormally loud in the echochamber of the cellblock. Bucky looked at him, eyes still yellow and claws halfway formed on his hands. He looked a little … hairier, than he had been moments ago. He snarled at Steve through overgrown teeth. “He dies. I’ve been lenient to all the others. But he has to die.”

Steve’s heart was beating fast with panic. He didn’t know what to say, he just knew that he couldn’t sit by and let a man be eaten alive. He just couldn’t. “Keep him hostage!” Steve blurted, the first thing he could grab onto in his panicked jumble of thoughts. “Take him with you!”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed. “And why should I do that?”

“Y-you said it yourself: how he’s the poster child for corruption. You want to ruin his image, you can do that even better if you keep him alive. You can … you can use him for leverage! To get things to change at the other prisons!” Bucky paused at that argument, tilting his head thoughtfully. Steve felt buoyed. “You could still kill him any time,” he encouraged. “But it doesn’t have to be now. Not when he’s still useful.” Licking his lips nervously, he used Bucky’s own words against him: “‘Waste not, want not’, right?”

Bucky’s face smoothed over, though his claws and teeth remained out on display. Steve was trying very hard not to look at his naked chest, or lower. Bucky was sporting an erection beneath his clothes, as were many of the other wolves. Steve tried to console himself with the idea that it was part of an aggression reaction, but he wasn’t so sure about that. Around the circle, the wolves were growling, impatient, wanting revenge. Bucky held his hand up and stayed them all. “The boy’s right. Killing the guards is one thing, but the media’ll turn him into a martyr if we kill him. I don’t want the hassle of hostages. We’re going to be on the move, once we leave here. He’ll only slow us down. Better to let him rot with his buddies for a couple’a days.” Several of the wolves growled loudly in displeasure, gnashing their teeth in half-shifted faces. Bucky growled louder than all of them. “We leave him alive!”

“Boss!”

“At least let us break his legs!”

Bucky shut them all up with another growl. “You don’t give the orders here!”

Steve gulped, the dread in his stomach unknotting. His relief was temporary, however, because the wolves discarded the Warden like an old chew toy and turned on him, instead. Steve fell back with a yelp, scooching away on his butt and hands.

“What about him?” one of the wolves growled, another two right alongside him, leering down at Steve. “I think we found our new haită cățea.”

Okay, Steve did recognize that one, and he felt the blood leave his face at being called the pack bitch as these men cornered him. “Hey boy,” one of them said. “You ever sucked werewolf dick before?” They all kept coming closer, reaching for Steve, but before any of them could touch him, Bucky called out,

“Enough!”

The wolves stopped in their tracks and turned to face the Alpha. Bucky glared at them through his half-shifted face. “This one’s mine. Noone touches him but me.” Steve swallowed heavily, feeling faint from his relief.

“He’s fair game!” the same wolf growled, the others snarling their agreement. “You haven’t laid claim! That’s not Pack law.”

Bucky stood from his chair, furious. He looked like he’d grown taller, bigger. He stalked over to the three challenging wolves and got in the one’s face, the one who’d asked Steve if he’d ever sucked werewolf dick. “Back the fuck off, Batroc,” Bucky snarled, “Unless you’d like to get fucked, first.”

Batroc looked livid, but he did back down. He glanced at Steve and sneered. “You haven’t claimed him. You may be Alpha, James, but you still don’t have the right to deny us free meat when it’s available.”

“Yeah! Either claim him or hand him over!”

Bucky snarled so fiercely, Steve was halfway convinced that he’d attack the other wolf. Batroc shrank back at the threat and bared his neck in fear, the other wolves following suit when they could see how close Bucky was to getting violent. Bucky looked over his shoulder to where Dum Dum stood.

Dum Dum shrugged regretfully. “Pack has a right to ‘im if you don’t claim, Alpha.”

Bucky growled in frustration and grabbed Steve’s arm. He yanked him up to standing and dragged him back to the chair. He sat down and shoved Steve to the floor between his legs. “Make no mistake, then. This omega is mine.” He ran a rough hand through Steve’s hair. Steve fought not to recoil, but even if he had, he knew Bucky would just pull him right back in.

Bucky had his legs spread wide, and this close up, Steve could smell all of his aggression and arousal—the latter of which pressed angrily against the front of his jumpsuit pants, making Steve’s heart quicken in trepidation. He could see exactly where this was going, now, and figured he shouldn’t be surprised. He still remembered what Bucky had said to him before:

“You gonna make me suck you off, is that it?”

“Not quite yet, little guy.”

‘Not quite yet’ wasn’t exactly a ‘no’, now was it? Steve gasped without meaning to, when he felt Bucky’s fingers card through his hair and to hold on to it. He used the grip to force Steve’s face down against his crotch, and Steve whined in mortification as he felt Bucky’s erection through the clothes. Fuck, he seemed big. He couldn’t be that big, could he? The fact that Steve could feel his own body reacting to the treatment—warming, pulsing, getting wet—only made him whine harder. “Bucky,” he breathed, afraid to talk any louder, lest the other wolves hear him. “Please.”

“Shhh.” Bucky held his head down firmly, rubbing Steve’s face on his crotch even more than before. It was a show of his dominance, quite obviously. Steve didn’t have to be a werewolf to figure that much out. He knew it, just like he knew that the next words Bucky spoke were part of a display put on for his men, to show them who Steve belonged to. “I claim him now, in front of the whole Pack. This omega belongs to me, and anyone who challenges that, challenges me as their Alpha.” Around the room, the wolves all growled. But it had a different timbre to it this time, less angry and more satisfied. Eager. These were growls of agreement. Steve’s guts churned as Bucky pushed his face against the straining line of his dick. “Feel that?” he rumbled. “That’s all for you, boy.”

Goddamnit. It shouldn’t turn him on to hear that, it shouldn’t. But things low in Steve’s belly twisted and squirmed at Bucky’s tone of voice and his rough hold. He squirmed and fought back, because fighting back was in his blood and he couldn’t not do it, but his protests were only met with more dominance. Bucky grabbed his hair cruelly and wrenched his head to the side, smooshing Steve’s cheek against his thigh, head pinned and unable to do anything but watch as the Alpha used his other hand to shove his pants and underwear down. His cock sprang free, and Steve’s eyes all but bugged out of his head. “Oh … shit.”

Bucky’s dick was … fuck. He was ten inches if he was eight, stupid-big, veined and uncut, thick and dark and tapered at the head like a … like a …

Steve keened, the sound coming out of him unbidden; an omega reacting to an Alpha. Bucky purred smugly at the reaction and pet his hair while Steve tried to grapple with the reality that that thing was going to be going inside at least one of his orifices.

Above him, Bucky laughed. “Aw, is this your first time, baby? Never seen one’a these before?”

Steve grit his teeth to resist the next mewl that wanted to come. It ached where he held it back in his throat, trying not to let it out, not to let Bucky know how much he was responding to this. Steve had seen an alpha’s dick before, okay? He watched porn like everyone else. But he only knew a little bit about werewolf alphas. He had no clue if Bucky’s dick always looked like this, or if it went along with his aggression, with the partial shift that he was letting take over other specific parts of his body: eyes, teeth, nails … and apparently cock. The angry length of it rested heavy in his hand as he gave himself slow, easy strokes. The foreskin moved up and down over the tapered head, and at the base was the intimidating bulge of his knot.

Human alphas had them too, but Steve had only ever watched it in porn. He’d never been with an Alpha, because they were just as rare as omegas in the human population. And even then, Steve knew they didn’t have dicks like this. This was most definitely a werewolf thing. “Bucky,” he breathed, fearful and involuntarily turned on by the sight of the Alpha’s cock and what he knew it could do to him. If Bucky’s knot was this big while flaccid, how much bigger would it get? “Please,” he begged. “I–I can’t.”

“Sure you can,” Bucky purred down at him. He let go of himself to cradle Steve’s face, thumb swiping out and pulling his lower lip down. “You’ll take it like a champ. Cause you’re made for this. You’re made just right to take my big, fat cock inside of you. And you know it too, dontcha boy?”

That time, Steve didn’t hold back the sound that came unbidden. “Noo,” he moaned miserably, hating how weak and unconvincing the denial sounded. “No, no it’s not, I don’t.” Bucky chuckled at him and Steve whined and mewled as he tried one more time to pull away. But Bucky held firm, pulling him back in close with the grip on his jaw. He didn’t push Steve’s head back down against his thigh, but rather sat forward and bent over, putting their faces only centimeters apart.

“You do,” he whispered. “I know you do. Your body knows it too, Steve. I can smell that it does, can smell you wettin’ up back there.” Steve whimpered and Bucky hummed darkly. “Yeah. You know it’s been a while since I had an omega. I forgot just how sweet you all’s pussies smell when you get to creamin’ yourselves.”

In the watching group of werewolves, someone called out for Bucky to “Do it!” sounding enthusiastic.

“Breed him up!” another voice catcalled.

“Bitch ‘im!

Steve gasped as the hand on his jaw tightened its grip. Bucky sat back and took hold of his dick again tapping it against Steve’s cheek. It slid over his lips, musky and wet. The smell was overpowering, making Steve keen low in his throat and arch his back. In his underwear, he felt another gush of slick.

Bucky rumbled in satisfaction at the show of submission. He rubbed his cockhead firmly against the seam of Steve’s lips, spreading the precum around. “You like that, honey? Want more of that?”

Yes! Fuck it smells good. Wanna taste. Wanna feel it inside.

“Nnnh.” Steve squeezed his eyes shut to try and force the traitorous thoughts away, but it didn’t work. It was all just too much. He couldn’t stop his body from reacting. Bucky smelled too good—like alpha, like protector, like mate. The closer Steve pressed between Bucky’s thighs, the further away the jeering wolves at his back became. His inner omega wanted the safety it could find there, the warmth and the domination that this Alpha could give him. Instincts that Steve had spent years successfully ignoring came rushing to the forefront, clouding his mind and slicking his hole. He could feel it back there, just like Bucky said: underneath his clothes, aching for something to fill it, pulsing and leaking arousal to try and tempt the strong Alpha that it could sense was nearby.

Bucky spent a brief moment scenting him with his wrist, rubbing it on Steve’s neck. He gave Steve his scent and took Steve’s in return, and when he was done he played with the tender spot, kneading and pinching at the glands underneath the skin. Steve moaned at the feeling of it and found himself tipping forward without thought. He felt increasingly weak and helpless—just like he had the last time, right before he’d released in front of Bucky and all the others

Oh no, he thought. Please, please don’t let that happen again. Not here, not now. But his body continued to relax, and his mind continued to unravel into that loosened feeling of submission. As Bucky forced Steve’s face down and rubbed his cock and balls all over it, Steve could distantly hear the Alpha’s warm chuckle of, “S’allright, little one. We’ll getcha what you need.”

“Fuck, you smell ‘im? Little bitch is slicking up.”

“Look at his pants. Fuuck. He’s gushin’ for it.

“Can’t believe he hasn’t gone ass up already.”

“How much you wanna bet he squirts all over himself again?”

Steve’s eyes opened as some of the pack’s crude comments and jeers reached his ears. “Alpha,” he pleaded weakly up at Bucky. Bucky was stroking his cock from root to tip again, letting the tip brush over Steve’s mouth and chin. “Please,” Steve whispered, not even sure what he was begging for. “Don’t let them.”

“Not gonna let ‘em do a thing, Sweetheart. You just open up for me now, okay? C’mon, there you go. Open up for Alpha.” He held Steve’s jaw in one hand and guided his cock with the other, pressing, pressing, until Steve was forced to part his lips and take him inside. He cried out weakly, but the noise was hardly audible around the oppressive girth of Bucky’s cock. The fat head pushed over his tongue and soft palate, huge and overwhelming. Steve’s hands shot up to push away, but instead Steve somehow wound up holding onto him, grounding himself by digging his fingers into the meat of Bucky’s firm thighs, his thick waist. Bucky moaned as Steve took the first thrust into his mouth. “Oh, yeah. Good boy. Good fuckin’ boy.”

Steve struggled, choking on the full length of him buried to the hilt and invading his throat, but Bucky soon relented and kept his thrusts shallow. It was still a lot, and Steve drooled and moaned from how overwhelming and sloppy it was and how out of control he felt. Bucky held his head with both hands and murmured gentle encouragements the whole time, hips pulsing against Steve’s face. “Doin’ such a good job, ‘mega. Just keep it up, lemme in. Suck my dick so good, Sweetheart.”

“Mmphh.”

Bucky chuckled darkly. “That’s right. Go on and get your hand back there, now. Show me what I’m smelling. Show Alpha how good you’re feelin’.”

Steve was already lost in the pink-tinged haze of his submission, so it took him a minute to even figure out what Bucky was asking him to do. The flare of his embarrassment that came when he did realize what Bucky meant, was nearly eclipsed by the surge of arousal in his core. He whimpered and reached back, sliding his hand down the back of his pants and under his briefs, swiping through the mess between his cheeks. When he brought his hand back around for Bucky to see, Steve looked at it too. He groaned at the copious amount of slick on his fingers. Shame and heat curled together in his belly, intensifying when Bucky caught his wrist with a gutted moan and spent several moments just staring at it, his hips pushing deeper into Steve’s mouth and making him gag on tiny, wet little sounds.

“Oh God, baby. Lookit that. Fuck. Y’see? I told you. Body’s made for two things, boy; fuckin’ and puppin’.”

Steve keened with what little breath he had, pulling off of Bucky’s cock with a frantic whine, face burning, trying to get away. His mind was at complete odds with his body, and it terrified him how much the latter seemed to be winning. Steve wasn’t used to this kind of feeling. He was used to being able to control his urges, being able to put on a stiff upper lip and soldier past any behaviors that the occasional alpha on campus might throw his way. But this wasn’t the same as resisting alpha boys on campus. It wasn’t the same at all. Bucky wasn’t a boy, he was a man, a wolf, and Steve wanted the dominance that Bucky’s body could provide; that in itself was almost more upsetting than the fact that he was having his face fucked in front of an entire cell block of leering werewolves.

He tried again to pull back again, this time hard enough that Bucky’s cock actually slipped from his mouth entirely. But Bucky grabbed him—“Oh no you don’t. Get back here”—quickly pressing back inside, all the way to the hilt, until his knot was past Steve’s lips and Steve’s nose was buried in his pubic hair. “Shhh,” Bucky hushed, not letting up as Steve struggled and choked wetly on his cock. He kept his head forced down and petted his hair. “Sh sh sh. Just take it, little one. Calm down and let it happen. Let me in.”

Bucky’s unyielding hands felt so good, so right—and the moment Steve had that thought was about the same moment when he started to cry. Confused, sluggish tears began to trail down his cheeks, his mouth stuffed to the brim with cock and knot, his senses consumed by the scent of Alpha. He sobbed in humiliation, overwhelmed. He couldn’t do anything, couldn’t get away, couldn’t fight it. He was powerless.

His body sagged as he finally gave in, his sobs turning into pitiful moans. The release snuck up on him just like it had before. It rolled over him like a wave, growing more and more intense and then breaking and tapering back out, with only the wetness at the front of his pants left in its wake. He cried and moaned as he registered the warmth between his legs. All he could do was cry out little ‘ah ah ahn’ sounds as the release washed over him, and the Alpha responsible for it filled his senses completely.

Bucky suddenly gripped Steve tighter as his thighs tensed and his knot inflated. “Oh fuck, baby. Ohfuck …” Steve started to thrash in panic at the feeling, but Bucky leant over him and held him down, whispering calming words in his hair; telling him to breathe through his nose, that he could take it, that his body was made for this, just ride it out.

Steve shuddered at how overwhelming it all was, the tension relief from that second release still singing through his body. Between his legs, his cock was throbbing. He wanted to touch himself but didn’t dare make a move until Bucky’s knot went down. He just stayed there on his knees and kept his eyes shut, listening to Bucky’s voice as the Alpha touched him and praised him. “S’okay, s’okay. You’re gonna be okay, Stevie. So gorgeous. Just hang in there for me. Jus’ keep Alpha warm, keep Alpha right there inside. Feels so good, honey. So fuckin’ good … nnnh.”

He was buried too far back for Steve to really feel it when his dick started spurting, but Steve could feel the knot throbbing against his tongue as it pumped wave after wave of cum down his throat. He moaned and drooled at the feeling of being so small and trapped and possessed, the thought of Alpha using him, his belly filled with Alpha’s spend, body kept warm and wet, protected and wrung out for Alpha’s pleasure, always …

He was so deep in that primal, pink headspace that he whimpered in protest when it was over and Bucky was pulling gently out of his mouth. “Don’t swallow,” Bucky said firmly, an order which Steve obeyed mindlessly and blinked muzzy-lidded eyes up at him. Bucky held a hand out in front of his mouth. “Give me what you have.” Steve’s whole body flushed hot and his belly swirled as he obeyed and let what cum he had left fall to Bucky’s waiting palm. The Alpha rumbled deep in his chest. “Good boy.”

He proceeded to smear the cum all over Steve’s neck and shoulders, being sure to get the underside of his jaw and right his bonding glands. He seemed satisfied by his work when he sat back fully in the chair, eyes lazily raking over Steve’s kneeling form like he was considering what to do with him next. Against his thigh, his cock lay wet and soft … and human. Steve looked up: Bucky’s eyes had returned to normal, his claws were gone, the hair on his forearms and chest thinned back to normal. Steve sucked his bottom lip into his mouth and fought the urge to topple forward. If he hadn’t been so deep in his own head, he might’ve been outraged over the fact that Bucky had chosen to make him suck his dick in werewolf form. But as it was, Steve was having enough trouble just staying upright. He felt like needy, plaintive, overcooked spaghetti.

Bucky knew it too, reaching out and pulling Steve’s head in close again, encouraging him to rest his cheek on his thigh. Steve did, feeling just a little bit safer when he was right between the Alpha’s legs like this. He knew it made no sense, and he knew the good feelings in his brain were from chemicals and nothing more, but after such a long and stressful ordeal, he’d take what he could get. He wormed himself in closer so that he could sit comfortably and nuzzle at the crease of Bucky’s groin, nose into the soft weight of his balls.

“Close your eyes, Sweetheart,” Bucky murmured, petting a hand through his hair. “You just enjoy your buzz for a minute, okay? Stay soft for me. That’s what Alpha wants.” He waited until Steve was settled, and then looked up at the room of his assembled pack. “Anybody else got anything to say?” he challenged gruffly. Nobody spoke a word, and Bucky grunted in satisfaction. He looked over to where the Warden still sat on the floor, hands cuffed to the collar they’d put on him. Bucky sighed deeply. “There’s been enough bloodshed today. Toss him in with the others.”

“Boss?” Dum Dum looked uncertain.

“You heard me. Rough him up if you want, but stick him in with the others when you’re done. We don’t need any hostages complicating things at this point.”

“No hostages? So what about the omega?” the mouthy one, Batroc, said, nodding Steve’s way.

“The omega comes with us.”

It seemed like one or two of the wolves might argue over that, but before anything could be said, the ghost woman came through the wall at a run. She skidded to a halt in front of them, and Bucky stiffened in concern. “Ava. What is it?”

“Rescue is en route. We have to move.”

Masterlist

Part 3

If you liked what you read and feel so inclined, please consider dropping a tip in the Kofi🍵 cup. It's a big part of what allows me to take time to write. Thanks!

@stuckyversebingo

card: sarahyellow / sarah-writes-stucky

Square D2: Bestiality

@mcukinkbingo

card: sarahyellow

Square I2: Bestiality

[monocle-teacup]

Why I Low Key Ship Harvey and Barbara in Caped Crusader

This is been on my mind since I finished S1 so I thought I'd try to articulate my thoughts on why this pairing even became a thing in my brain.

First off, I admit that I can be a sucker for dynamics like the two had where they each give each other a hard time.

But there's more to it than that for me.

Basically, I like how they're foils for each other. Harvey let cynicism get to him while Barbara retains her optimism despite Gotham being what it is. He initially comes across as disdainful calling her 'Miss Goody Two-Shoes', 'stuck up little', and 'naive' at points when talking about how hopeless he finds his situation and Gotham itself. All words that have some element dealing with her having too much positivity while he refers to himself as weak.

Obviously Harvey is an ass most of the time, but IMO there's hints that he actually respects Barbara's talent as a lawyer. Of course he'd never admit that though.

He purposely sent one of Barbara's key witnesses away knowing that their testimony would help Barbara win the case. In the first screenshot above, he says that if he had things his way, Barbara would be working for him in the DAs office and calls her a Spitfire multiple times. Now, you could say that he's trying to flatter her since Jim is standing right there and he and Harvey would be working closely together if he was elected mayor. On the other hand, Barbara has a strong sense of morals and justice. For all of Harvey's sleazy/corrupt tendencies, he ultimately wanted the same thing that she does: a better Gotham.

He's initially combative about her being his lawyer and says "I don't deserve help. Not from anyone, least of all you." Barbara's upfront about not wanting to be there, but she knows it's the right thing to do. She even does the coin flip trick he did to her in E1.

I find it interesting that the camera makes it a point to linger on Barbara's face when Harvey returns the stuffed pig to an inmate:

Her expression when dealing with Harvey's shit most of the time is fed up, but here she looks surprised/curious. It's to the point that the security guy's voice snaps her back to reality. Then she's on the receiving end of one of his bad side rants and admits to Batman that while she never liked Harvey, seeing him like that unnerved her. It hits her that he's clearly suffering.

Her commitment to Harvey as her client both frustrates and impresses him. He's shocked that she refuses to give up on him and in general because of how much the odds are stacked against her. What's notable is that despite the fact he could easily overpower her after they're handcuffed together, he doesn't actually do anything until they're being hunted on the docks. He doesn't threaten her, but reasons that letting him go means he can lead Thorne's men away. He freaking BEGS her at multiple points and then's there's his expression when she refuses to leave him after he gets shot.

He's finally uncuffed and instead of running away, he takes a bullet for her. They're both confused as to why he did that. However, he said while they were in the warehouse that she needs to live. I feel like deep down, a part of him believes that she's what Gotham needs because he ultimately couldn't fulfill the role he wanted.

Her reaction at his death and his actions tells me that her opinion of him changed on some level. She saw that underneath the proud jackass exterior, Harvey had some good in him.

[aprylx]

I Bet On Losing Dogs

LawLight vignette ~ 753 Words

Lawliet had already accepted that his life was in the hands of Kira long before he met the man. 

A hard pill to swallow, perhaps, but it was some kind of karma he supposed; after all, how many times had a criminal's life been in his hands? 

But why did it have to be Light? - No, that was a stupid question. It had always been Light, Lawliet knew it from the start.

Light was Kira, Light will always be Kira. 

And Kira as a concept is wrong. No human - because regardless of what Light believed, that's all he was, human - should dictate who lives and dies. Justice had never been that simple. 

Lawliet knew this. He’d spent countless nights staring at Light as he slept, praying that the curtain of purposeful ignorance would rise and he could see the man for who he truly was. 

Begging whatever real god there was to cure him; to take this diabolical human and force Lawliet to see him as anything less than an equal. 

But then Light would wake up- glowing amber eyes would snap open and bore into his, and Lawliet seemed to forget that he was handcuffed to Kira. 

He wished he knew how Light had managed to escape from himself- how he’d managed to forget the thousands of lives he’d taken, and Lawliet hated himself for being grateful for it; because if the culprit had no memory of the crime, had it even happened in the first place?

Well… yes. But he could pretend. 

He could pretend that Light was Detective Yagami’s son, a student at To-Oh and the only person who’d ever matched his wits… It wasn’t like he had to pretend the last part was true though.

He could pretend that, when he stared back, he didn’t see a glimpse of red. 

Lawliet mourned his own death when the handcuffs were removed, and he mourned the death of Light Yagami. At least Light’s death had been quick, only a touch of the death note.

His own would have to wait, after all. 

He’d already made preparations with Watari, or, more accurately, he’d said his goodbyes; because L Lawliet was the greatest detective in the world and he knew what was coming. 

And once more as he stood on the roof, bells ringing in his ears, the rain sinking into his skin, he knew what was coming.

Because it was Kira’s eyes that looked back at him as they stood in the rain; he understood that now. 

Was he even pretending anymore? Lawliet couldn’t tell. Maybe for the rest of the task force, but not for him. 

He was grateful for that. 

In front of the task force, Lawliet could pretend that his suspicions for Light were only that- suspicions- and not painful truth. 

When Light pressed a towel to his wet hair, he could pretend that there was even an ounce of affection behind the action. 

When he felt Light’s eyes on him as he explained his plan to test out the thirteen days rule, he could pretend that it was because the case was so damn close to being solved that he could taste it. 

Even as Watari died on the other side of the screen, as all the data was erased from almost a year of non-stop work, a tiny part of Lawliet pretended that it was an accident. That he’d get another year to build back everything they’d lost, that he’d get another year with Light. 

And then his heart stopped. 

Even though Lawliet had long accepted that his inevitable death would be by Kira’s hands, it didn’t make the pain in his heart any less - whether that was from the heart attack he was suffering or not. 

When Lawliet felt an arm around his neck and a cotton shirt in his fist, he could almost pretend that his last moments wouldn’t be staring up at his murderer but rather the only person he’d ever felt close to loving. 

A brief thought crossed his eyes as he looked at Kira’s smile. 

Light Yagami and Lawliet were made for eachother. 

L and Kira were not. 

As bells rang in his head - the same bells that would be rung at his funeral in a few days - Lawliet could almost pretend that there was regret in Kira’s eyes. 

He hated that his life didn’t flash before him, like it was meant to. He could only see his eyes, whether they were amber or red. 

You better not forget me, Light Yagami.

Also on Ao3 ~

https://archiveofourown.org/works/57380617

[savage-rhi]

Duality

Chapter 8: The Fight

Summary: Sawyer Kiddo has walked a razor's edge as a hacktivist for several years, driven by the loss of her family in the Raccoon City incident. Haunted by past choices and fueled with desire for vigilante justice, Sawyer's work takes an unexpected turn when she ventures to Spain and crosses paths with Luis Serra—a man with blood on his hands long thought to be dead. Together they unravel a web of corruption and face an impending bioterror threat, fighting not only monsters but also the darker elements of their humanity. As they delve deeper into each other's pasts and the conspiracy at large, Sawyer begins to sense something unsettling about Luis—something that might be even more dangerous than their mutual enemies.

Read on AO3 Here

"You outdid yourself this time, Kiddo." 

The fluorescent lights above Sawyer buzzed with a frequency that felt like it was drilling into her skull, a relentless itch she couldn't scratch. Samuel's voice cut through the noise, but it couldn't pry her eyes away from the deep scratches etched into the wooden table before her—marks she had made but couldn't recall procuring. 

Samuel's brows knitted together. "Do you remember anything?"

The interview room was a lifeless box, cold and sterile, like a coffin: the dull gray and beige walls encircled her. Only the observation window offered a glimpse into the real world, a world that felt so far away, almost unreachable. Inside, Sawyer felt trapped--suspended between reality and oblivion. Her head pounded, and she could feel the alcohol coursing through her veins like venom, poisoning her thoughts.

"Why are you here?" Sawyer's voice was a mere whisper, weighed down by defeat. She lifted her head and met Samuel's gaze. "We barely know each other."

"True," Samuel nodded, offering a small, solemn smile. "But I think you could use a friend, and it just so happens I'm available."

Sawyer winced as a sharp pain shot through her head, reminding her of her current state. She looked down and realized she was handcuffed to the chair, the metal biting into her right wrist. She sighed through her nose, her breath shaky, and met Samuel's eyes again. "So, you know what happened...what I did?"

"The whole thing," Samuel said, his tone tinged with sadness. He leaned closer, his eyes searching hers, taking in the broken pieces. "I've come to take you home."

Sawyer's brow furrowed in confusion.  "What do you mean?" 

"Exactly what I said." 

"TerraSave isn't going to bail me out. Redfield told me as much from what I can remember. I ruined their image." A bitter laugh escaped her, harsh and hollow. "You might as well kiss their assess goodbye too if the Eagle Scouts catch you in here with me."

Samuel chuckled softly, a smile tugging at his lips despite the gravity of the situation. He knew he shouldn't be teasing her--not in this state--but he couldn't help himself.

"I posted your bail an hour ago," Samuel explained gently. "I also happen to have friends in the FBI who owe me favors. After they process some documents, you're free to go." 

Sawyer shook her head, the fog growing in her brain. Whether it was the alcohol or sheer bewilderment, she couldn't grasp what Samuel was trying to tell her. "I'm not following."

"It may become clear once we get you out of this place."

Sawyer squeezed her eyes shut, a low growl escaping her lips as her body trembled. Nausea pooled in the pit of her stomach, churning like snakes in a pit. "Please don't tell me you did this," she forced out, her voice cracking.

"Would you rather be in jail?" Samuel huffed.

"No, but…" Sawyer hesitated, her free hand—unshackled—tangling in her hair as she tried to find steady ground. "I know you and the survivors were saving for that damn memorial site."

Samuel softened and chuckled faintly. "You can relax. Not a penny of that went to your poor choices."

The silence that followed lingered, giving Sawyer a moment to catch up and let her frustration ebb into something more painful.

As Samuel watched her, thoughts of his own misery clawed at him, memories of when he was just like her—drunk and drowning in the grief of all he had lost. His eyes stung with tears that he tried to blink away, and he hastily wiped at his face. The ache in his chest was all too familiar.

"Our new bosses…they crowd-funded on your behalf," Samuel cleared his throat, his voice thick. "Once you sobered up, you should thank them."

"By new bosses, you mean—"

"Maestro and Foreman, the leaders—they approved of you."

Sawyer's retort died in her throat, her mouth half-open as her words turned to dust. She blinked, surprise spreading across her dazed features as tiny goosebumps prickled her arms.

"VITA…" she whispered. "It's…it's real?"

"I haven't been entirely truthful with you, Kiddo," Samuel admitted, his voice dropping to a near whisper as if worried the cops on the other side would hear them. "VITA wasn't just an idea I was ranting about after our meetings. We've been in full operation right under TerraSave's nose. Hunting bio-organic weapons dealers, using their tactics against them… and getting true justice. I didn't tell you because I needed to be sure—"

Sawyer's voice wavered as she interrupted. "Sure of what?"

"To make sure that even when you hit rock bottom, you had it in you to stop yourself, to hold on to restraint."

Samuel stood slowly and walked up to Sawyer, lowering himself to her level—his knees on the floor like a man preparing for prayer. He reached out, his fingers brushing against hers, cold and shuddering. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze, trying to offer some warmth. Sawyer's eyes fluttered, her body shivering as the alcohol surged through her, threatening to drag her down once more.

"I know you're drunk, but hold onto my voice," Samuel's words were controlled, like a lifebuoy thrown to someone drowning. His gaze was unwavering, like an anchor in the storm. "You've made mistakes, Kiddo, but your heart was always in the right place. You'll get better, and one day, you'll be the one locking up those Umbrella bastards in the cell meant for you tonight."

Sawyer couldn't feel the warmth of her tears as they streamed down her face, her consciousness slipping like sand through her fingers. She clung to Samuel's words, to the light he was in the middle of her darkness, terrified that she would disappear beneath the waves.

"I can't give you back your family or your cousin," Samuel continued, his voice softer now, like a hand resting on her shoulder. "No one can. But if you let me, I'll be your mentor and friend. And friends trust each other, right? I promise you, we'll get justice—our way. Just like we bitched every Saturday over coffee. So, what do you say? Are you in this with me?"

Sawyer's eyes flew open, head submerged in the bathroom sink. She screamed into the water, muffling her cries until her lungs demanded air. Pulling herself up, Sawyer gasped and coughed, her hands shaking as she swept wet strands of hair from her face. 

It had been hours since she and Luis made it to Toledo, but the flow of time was solemn as past years pressed down on her. 

As the memory of Samuel faded, leaving a cold emptiness in its wake, Sawyer bit the inside of her lip, forcing herself to meet her reflection. Her face was a canvas of bruises and cuts, and she wished she'd dared to tell Samuel how much he meant to her. He had been more than just a mentor; he was a friend long before VITA pulled her into its web. So many things were left unsaid between them, and so many conversations were lost forever.

Just like Carmen…

Her fists clenched against the bathroom counter as she stared at the filthy water swirling in the sink, stained with grime and blood. She needed a shower, but the thought felt almost sacrilegious. She remembered a priest from her childhood Sunday school, speaking of sins that couldn't be washed away—only through penance and action could one be absolved. The irony wasn't lost on her, and she let out a bitter laugh. Even though Sawyer walked away from those teachings, the sermons were etched into her mind, burns that would never heal.

She couldn't stop thinking about what she did— and didn't —deserve.

Sawyer touched the cut on her forehead, tracing the five stitches that held her together. Despite everything, Luis had done a remarkable job, his hands stable and precise. It hit her then how long it had been since they talked—since he had dragged her out of Soldado's hell house. When they reached the hotel, Sawyer locked herself in the bathroom, trying to scrub away the horror, but the events clung to her like a second skin.

She finally gave up the fight and snatched a black washcloth off a peg, turning it into a makeshift compress. The cool water ran over her fingers as Sawyer drained the sink, ran the cloth through the faucet, and then pressed the damp material to the back of her neck, trying to will away the grief that clung to her chest. There was no time to mourn Samuel, no space to let the cracks in her resolve show.

She could fall apart when— if —she made it back to the States.

In the next room, Two Legs sat on the edge of the bed, his fingers gingerly probing the bruises spreading like dark ink across his ribs. Every touch sent a fresh wave of pain through him, the adrenaline from the struggle with the Tusk finally wearing off. He hadn't felt it then, but now every muscle in his body screamed in protest, his nerves on fire--his host's body overexerted. Even the simple act of taking off his jacket felt like a monumental task. Two Legs lost track of how long he had spent trying to peel it off before finally succeeding. 

When he finally assessed the damage, Two Legs knew he needed to get out of his shirt to let his sores breathe. His hands shook as he reached for the hem, slowly rolling it up over his battered torso. Each movement was hell, as an ache forced whimpers from his lips. He almost smiled through the misery, nearly free of the fabric prison, until the bathroom door swung open. The sound made him flinch, and his shirt fell from his grasp.

"The bathroom's yours, " Sawyer murmured, walking past him to her bed, pulling a suitcase from underneath the mattress without glancing at him.

Two Legs sighed, a chuckle escaping despite himself. "You had me worried! I thought you died in there, slipping on a soap bar like one of those Looney Tunes."

Her glare is icy… Two Legs noted as she stared at him. He swallowed hard, his ill-timed joke hanging awkwardly in the air. Before he could stammer out an apology, something caught his attention. He frowned, studying her more closely. 

"What? " She asked, not bothering to look up.

"Nothing, just… " He hesitated, trying to disguise the fact that he was smelling the air— smelling her . "You didn't bathe?"

Sawyer shook her head. 

"How come? "  

"I'll worry about it later. " She went back to rummaging through the suitcase, oblivious to the alarm that crossed Two Legs' face when he spotted the handguns, ammunition, papers, and the laptop nestled among the clothes.

"So, " he said, trying to keep his tone light, "If I book another room, I won't find a complimentary gun under my bed, right?"

Two Legs chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. His eyes scanned the room, wondering what additional dangers were hidden from him in plain sight. 

"You'd be right, " Sawyer replied, forcing herself to focus on loading one of the pistols rather than the small, involuntary smile his remark had almost drawn out of her. "VITA pays certain hotel establishments nationwide to let members use rooms as safe houses."

" So, we shouldn't expect a bad guy to break through the door and come at us, right? " Two Legs asked, a hint of worry in his voice.

"Pretty much, " Sawyer said, though the confidence in her voice felt like a lie. "There's always a risk someone could track us down, but everything's done under the table—can't be traced easily. Why do you ask? "

" I'm just curious, is all. " Two Legs shrugged, observing her further. Despite the animation in Sawyer's movements, the weight of what they'd just been through was scratched into every tense muscle and every blink of her eyes as she loaded another gun. The thought of her being all right worried the plaga in a way that surprised him, and for a moment, he hesitated.

"Are you going to be okay? " he asked, his voice softer—the sincerity catching her off guard.

Sawyer paused, the question hanging in the air between them. She met his gaze for a moment longer than intended before nodding. "I'll be fine. You should clean up in case my two colleagues come knocking."

Two Legs nodded, lingering for a second longer as if considering her words. When the plaga finally walked past her, a small part of him was relieved at the thought of a hot shower. As Two Legs stepped into the bathroom, he imagined how good the warm water would feel against his host's flesh and how it would be a welcome distraction from the sudden unease in his chest. A contented sigh escaped him as he peeled off his clothes, tossing them carelessly outside the bathroom door before shutting it behind him.

"I'll try not to take up all the warm water, just in case you want to go after me! "  

Sawyer managed a small smile at the sudden pep in his voice, but the second he was out of sight, the mask she'd worn so well began to crack. She couldn't fathom how Luis seemed so unaffected and could act as if nothing had happened—like he hadn't been kidnapped or faced monsters together. It was as if the horrors they'd survived had barely left a mark on him.

"Don't worry about it. Take your time, " Sawyer called back, her voice steadier than she felt. Her focus began to slip.

"Can I use the conditioner? "

" Yes. "

" Would it be alright if I shaved a little bit? "

" Yes… "

" Are you going to eat the complimentary chocolates in here, or can I have them? My blood sugar is low! "

Sawyer groaned. "Luis, just take your damn shower! It's all free! "

" Okay, okay, okay!"

She heard him mutter in Spanish—no doubt a few curses aimed at her. Usually, she might have laughed, but now, she couldn't muster the energy. Instead, she turned back to loading the guns, clinging to the mechanical repetition like a rope, something to keep her mind from spiraling. But the second Sawyer heard the shower turn on, the dam she'd held back began crumbling. 

Her fingers trembled, and the gun slipped from her grasp, the bullets clattering on the floor. Everything came crashing down, stifling her resolve.

Sawyer broke. 

She pressed her hands to her face and cried—cried like she hadn't allowed herself to before, her sobs raw and jagged. The sound of her desperation scared her, and she tried to stifle it and keep quiet so Luis wouldn't hear. But the more she tried, the more it hurt until she could barely breathe. 

Kari and Mobley are probably dead...

Sawyer knew it, even as she told Luis they might show up tonight, clinging to a shred of hope that maybe— just maybe , someone she knew had survived. Samuel was dead, Soldado was gone—no justice, no closure. It was all pointless. This assignment, her fight, everything felt like a cruel joke--a waste of resources and lives. And yet, despite that, Sawyer knew she'd do it all over again. She'd throw herself into the fire until there was nothing left. She was addicted to this work as if it was the only thing tethering her to the world. 

The sound of Luis humming in the shower cut through Sawyer's coil of despair. Reality snapped back into focus, the fear of being discovered pulling her from the edge of her thoughts. Sniffling, she wiped at her eyes and nose, forcing herself to find a distraction, anything to stop the grief from consuming her. That's when she noticed Luis's leather jacket draped over the foot of one of the spare beds.

Sawyer rubbed the corners of her eyes with her right thumb as she got up and ventured over. Her hands carefully picked up the jacket. Her thumbs rubbed small circles into the worn leather, taking a strange comfort in the familiar texture. The brown color reminded Sawyer of the coat her mom used to wear in the fall. A bittersweet warmth tugged at her chest as her fingers traced the floral patterns decorating the upper half, something her mom would have adored. She made a note to ask Luis what kind of flowers they were.

Flipping the jacket over, her eyes landed on a middle stitch toward the upper back. The stitches were taut and showed signs of age. Her fingers traced the small brown bumps; her mind raced to imagine what could have caused such a precise, deep cut. 

Had Luis been hurt…?

The thought of him on the receiving end of whatever did this made Sawyer's heart clench, but maybe she was overthinking it. For all she knew, the jacket could've been cut by something less sinister. She let out a sigh, rolling her eyes at her macabre imagination.

As she continued to inspect the jacket, Sawyer's frown deepened. Blood, grime, and scratches marred large sections of the leather. Her gaze traveled to the bathroom door, where Luis was still showering. She didn't know what favor Luis would ask in return for helping her escape Soldado's hideout, but cleaning his jacket felt like a small, fitting way to repay him for stitching her head back together. Sitting down, she placed the coat on her lap, combed her pocket for an alcohol wipe, tore the package open, and began to scrub away the blood. 

The task was mind-numbing, but that was precisely what she needed. Each swipe of the cloth was a small step away from the edge, a way to ground herself in the present. Her tears slowly dried as Sawyer focused on the rhythm of her work, her mind drifting to how Luis might react to seeing his jacket cared for.

Thunk. 

Sawyer's heart leaped into her throat. She glanced around the room, her breath catching, until her eyes landed on something shiny near her feet. A lighter—golden but weathered with age. Curiosity piqued, she searched an inner pocket of the jacket and found a few cigarettes, bent and misshapen, hidden away like dirty secrets.

I didn't peg him as a smoker…

Sawyer shrugged, pushing the thought aside. She had no room to judge his habit. She'd only quit herself after Samuel's relentless nagging.

She set the jacket aside. Bending down, Sawyer picked up the lighter, absently rolling it between her fingers. When her thumb grazed over an unfamiliar indentation, her eyes widened. 

Oh shit…! 

Her heart skipped, wondering if the lighter was damaged during the fall—or worse—in the struggle with Samuel. With cautious hands, Sawyer carefully brought it closer, flipping it over in her palm. 

The sight of the Umbrella Corp logo made her blood turn to ice.

Time seemed to crawl as Sawyer stared, blinking as if it would change what she saw. Her pulse pounded in her ears when she noticed faint inscriptions near the bottom left. She grabbed the alcohol wipe she'd used on the jacket and gently cleared away the grime.

As the names became legible, Sawyer whispered them under her breath, each word laying down her soul. When she reached the third row, an unspeakable dread squeezed the air from her lungs.

“Jean-Jaques Clouret…”

Soldado's real name.

Her fingers shook as her eyes drifted to the top inscription—the word burning into her mind like a brand.

"U.E. Lab 6. Dream Team."

Slowly, Sawyer lifted her gaze toward the bathroom door, a deep and terrible rage building up inside as she squeezed the lighter until her nerves went numb. 

Almost an hour later, Two Legs emerged from the bathroom, dressed in a black t-shirt and grey sweatpants. He sighed happily, running a towel through his damp hair, making a note he needed to get it cut soon given how long it had become.

" Sorry that took so long! Had a lot of nasty stuff to scrub off. " Two Legs chuckled, oblivious. "I hope you don't mind I snagged these clothes from under the cabinet. You might want to think twice before showering after me. I'm not sure the hot water's gonna last you long enough—"

Two Legs yelped as something hard slammed into his chest, the towel slipping from his grip. His eyes darted down to the floor, where Luis's lighter lay at his feet.

"What the—? "

"I don't know why Soldado kidnapped me, huh? " Sawyer's voice was a low, dangerous growl. She stormed toward him, gun drawn, her aim unwavering.

Two Legs's eyes widened in panic as he stumbled back. "Whoa, whoa, wait a second—! "

" You worked with him, you son of a bitch!"

Two Legs released a pained grunt as his back slammed against the wall, the impact jarring him to his core. Sawyer's left arm shot up, pinning him in place, her elbow digging into his throat while her right hand pressed the cold barrel of a gun against the side of his head. His chest heaved as his eyes locked onto hers—wild, blazing with fury that bordered on madness.

"Kiddo, you're—hurting me! " he gasped, his voice breaking under the pressure.

"Do I look like I give a shit? " Sawyer's voice was hurt, every word laced with betrayal. "I found your lighter! Umbrella Europe 6 Dream Team, right? You lied to me—pretended to be some nobody off the street! Is your last name even Navarro, or is it Serra? What the fuck was this to you, a game?!"

"You were going through my jacket?" Two Legs was caught off guard, but before he could piece his confusion together, Sawyer's arm crushed harder under his throat, cutting off his breath.

"And through your damn pants while I was at it! " Sawyer's shout echoed in the narrow space, her rage boiling over. "I found Soldado's notes—the ones you stole! You said you knew Samuel was infected because of them, but I combed through it. There wasn't a goddamn thing! How did you know, Luis? How did you know Sam was infected?!"

The walls seemed to close in on Two Legs as his back pressed fully against the cold surface, blocking his secondary source of breathing through Luis's spinal wound. The plaga strained, struggling against the rising swell of his host's panic.

"Wait—wait—please, I can't breathe—! "

"I don't care! " Sawyer's grip tightened, her outrage refusing to give him any quarter.

"Alright— " Two Legs gasped, desperation clawing at his voice. "I haven't been…entirely truthful with you, but—I can explain! Just give me a chance! "

" How do I know you won't turn this around and harm me? " Sawyer snarled.

"Well obviously, I'm a little tied up—at the moment. " Two Legs forced out a weak laugh, but the effort cost him. Sawyer's arm pressed harder before loosening just enough for him to catch a breath. "Mierda! " (1)

" Do you seriously think this is funny? " Sawyer's voice cracked with disbelief, her eyes searching his for any hint of earnestness.

"No—no— " Two Legs shook his head frantically. "Humor is—a bad coping mechanism of mine—I know, but hear me out! Look—if I were going to hurt you—I would've done so already. I meant what I said—back in the cells—we can help each other!"

The click of the gun's safety release froze him in place. Two Legs breaths came in shallow, uneven gasps—his pulse throbbing behind his ears. 

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't blow your brains out, " Sawyer sneered, her voice shaking.

Because I could kill you right now... Two Legs thought, the words clawing at his throat, but he didn't dare let them out. He knew that despite Sawyer's strength, she wouldn't stand a chance against the ferocity of his true form if he put the facade of Luis down. His hunger for her—to finally put his prey to rest—grew with every passing second. Instinct urged him to act, take what he desired, and satisfy the gnawing ache that his species thrived upon. But something held him back—something more powerful than his primal urges. 

As he stared into the fire in her eyes, the same fire Two Legs had seen in those who had tried to kill him before, he felt an exotic flutter in his chest. It wasn't just fear or hunger—it was something more serious, something that made him hesitate, even as his body screamed for escape. The sensation was strange, almost… thrilling .

"You won't get any answers if I'm dead. Put down the gun at the very least, " Two Legs pleaded, his voice quaking vulnerably. "You can keep me pinned for insurance, but…please, just put it down. "

His eyes bore into hers, desperate and genuine, as he swallowed hard, trying to control his breaths. "C'mon…you don't want to do this. Not after everything that's happened today."

Sawyer's grip on the gun tightened, the plight of his words conflicting with the wrath roiling inside her. The room fell into a tense silence broken only by her and Luis's labored breaths, mingling in the thin space between them. The closeness— the unwanted intimacy —made her skin crawl, and she grimaced with disgust before finally nodding, her movements slow and deliberate as she lowered the weapon, her eyes never leaving his.

Backing away slightly, Sawyer eased the pressure her left arm exerted on his neck. She gave him a sharp shove when he gasped for breath and coughed.

"Start talking. Now. "

" Alright, alright, " Two Legs nodded quickly, cursing silently at his host—Luis—for their mess. He felt the strain of Luis's memories, the dangerous knowledge that threatened to spill from his lips. Two Legs didn't want to keep Sawyer waiting, not with the gun so close, but he had to tread carefully. As much as he appreciated her in some weird way, the plaga couldn't afford to reveal his secret nor the ones Luis had buried deep.

"My full name is Luis Serra Navarro, " he began, his voice composed but his heart racing. "I was…a researcher for Umbrella. I specialized in generic drugs and the study of parasites—the Plaga. Jean-Jacques was one of my peers. "  

Two Legs hesitated, seeing the anger and sadness flash in Sawyer's eyes. The sight of it tugged at him, a pang of guilt he hadn't expected.

I disappointed her…

The thought hit him like a punch to the gut, and Two Legs struggled to hide his confusion. She must have seen the way he faltered because her expression hardened. Pressing on, he continued.

"I left Umbrella years ago. I haven't been in contact with anyone from Team 6 since, " Two Legs insisted, shaking his head as if trying to convince himself as much as her. "I had no idea Soldado was Jean-Jacques until I found his body. I swear to you, I have no clue why he had me kidnapped. I thought I left on good terms. And knowing Jean…I never thought he'd get mixed up with the black market. It's been…eating at me. "

" And Samuel? " Sawyer's voice was barely a murmur, but it sliced through him.

"What?"

"That's how you knew, right? You knew what those bugs could do. "  

Two Legs flinched, the anger he'd been holding back threatening to break free at her tone. He forced himself to nod, trying to release the tension coiling in his muscles. Then he saw the doubt creeping into her eyes and couldn't let it grow. Shaking his head, Two Legs interrupted her thoughts.

"There was nothing we could have done, " Two Legs said softly, his voice carrying a rare tenderness. "Even if we had time, extracting the plaga at that stage would've only killed Sam faster. "

" How can you be so sure?"

Because my "cousin " threatened to rip me apart… Two Legs thought bitterly, biting his lip to keep the dark humor from spilling. The last thing she needed was a joke, especially at the expense of her dead friend. He knew it would push her over the edge.

"I've studied the Plaga for years, Kiddo, " Two Legs sighed. "I know the symptoms too well. But this…Type E, the one Jean was working on, is new to me—more dangerous and unpredictable. "

Sawyer shuddered, the horror of his words sinking in. "Did you have anything to do with Raccoon City?"

Two Legs blinked in surprise when she abruptly changed the subject. "Pardon? "

" Raccoon City, " Sawyer repeated, her eyes flaring. "Did you or did you not have anything to do with the outbreak? "  

Luis hadn't directly interfered, but Two Legs knew from "the other place " that it didn't change the fact he still had blood on his hands—too much to explain away. The plaga could see the resentment building in Sawyer's eyes. It was better to bestow a beautiful lie than a painful truth, especially with her gun still pointed at him.

"No, " Two Legs said, shaking his head. "No, I had no part in it."

He could hardly believe it when Sawyer's arm slowly retreated, the cold barrel of the gun pulling away from him.

Two Legs heart palpitated as he watched her lower her gaze, walked over to the bed and sat down on the mattress, the gun slipping from her hand to rest at her side. Sawyer's fingers tangled in her hair as she exhaled a deep breath, as though she'd been holding it in for far too long. Two Legs couldn't read her expression now, but the mention of Raccoon City had struck a nerve. He didn't like this, the unknowns of the situation. 

"What was that favor you wanted? " Sawyer interrupted, her voice sounding distant.

"The favor? " he echoed, confused.

"Look, " Sawyer pinched the bridge of her nose, her voice buried with exhaustion. "I'm going back to the States tomorrow. I want nothing to do with you, but I don't like having IOUs."

Her words struck like a blow, fracturing him.

"Nothing to do with me? After everything we've been through? "

" You worked for Umbrella, " Sawyer spat, finally forcing herself to meet his eyes. "I sure as hell don't trust anyone associated with that company. Not to mention you played with bio-organic weapons—the plaga or whatever the hell they're called. So, what did you hope to gain from partnering up? What could I offer someone like you? The sooner we figure that out, the sooner we can part ways."

" Someone like me , " Two Legs repeated, the words dripping with the contempt he heard in her voice. It shouldn't have made him mad, but something instinctive inside him bristled, as if her words had clipped him. "You don't know my story. How can you pass judgment so easily? "

" Because I know how you people work. "  

" You people? " Two Legs ' voice rose, and he gestured sharply at her. "Well, what about you, huh? "

Sawyer's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean, what about me? "

" Just seconds ago, you were ready to put a bullet in my head! Now you're acting like some righteous saint, casting me as this evil creep when you don't know what I went through. "

" You said enough! " Sawyer shot back, her voice shaking with anger. "Umbrella ruined my life, and you worked for them. That's enough for me! "

" You can't pin that on me! " Two Legs defended, his voice tight with frustration. "Yes, I worked for some shitty people, but you're not going to use me as a scapegoat for your poor choices! "

" Excuse me?! " Sawyer shot up from the bed as Two Legs instinctively stepped back. " My poor choices ?! "

" Yes, your poor choices— malas decisiones ! " Two Legs spat, his anger bubbling over. "This…hacktivist crusade you're on, putting yourself at risk, getting your friends killed—I'd call those poor choices! I didn't make you sign up for that! You did that on your own! " (2)

" You son of a— "

" Before you finish that, let me finish! " Two Legs interrupted, his voice lowering. "I had nothing to lose leaving you behind, but I didn't. When you pulled that gun on me, I should've fought back, but I didn't."

"What's your damn point, Luis?! " Sawyer shouted, her voice breaking.

"The point is, I don't appreciate being dehumanized! " Two Legs ' voice cracked. "Not after everything I've done to keep you safe, not after risking my neck for a stranger!"

"It's like you said, you didn't have to do that! Maybe it was a poor choice on your end!"

Two Legs laughed, a bitter grin twisting his lips. If he wasn't so angry, he might've found Sawyer's retort amusing, even clever. But his emotions were chaotic, swirling between outrage and powerlessness. The animosity in the room was stifling. He bit back his words, clenching his jaw as he marched to the bed, yanking Luis's jacket and shoving his feet into his shoes.

Sawyer sighed, her voice barely concealing her frustration. "What are you doing? "

" Me estas agotando, " Two Legs muttered through clenched teeth, zipping up his jacket with sharp, jerky movements. "I need some air, and it sounds like you need space. " (3)

"We're not finished! " Sawyer's voice cracked with urgency. "It's dangerous out there. People could be looking for you!"

Two Legs froze at the door, his hand grasping the knob. A bitter chuckle escaped him as he turned to face her. "Wow, you suddenly care about me? Are you one of those bullies who are mean to their crush as a sign of affection? You should work on that, senorita." (4)

" Don't flatter yourself," Sawyer snapped.

" In that case, " His grin was more of a scowl as he opened the door, stepping out into the hall with a half-hearted wave. "Adiós, cariño!" (5)

Two Legs barely had time to close the door before something heavy slammed against it with a loud thud. The plaga winced, knowing whatever it was had been aimed at his face. He hesitated momentarily, his hand hovering over the doorknob as the urge to go back and finish the fight gnawed at him. But then Two Legs shook his head, dismissing the thought with a growl under his breath.

"Joder eso! " Two Legs muttered out loud as he determinedly strode, trying to put enough distance between himself and the hotel room. (6)

Notes:

1. Mierda = Shit 2. Malas decisiones = Poor choices 3. Me estas agotando = You're exhausting me 4. Seniorita = Miss 5. Adiós, cariño = Bye darling 6. Joder eso = Fuck this

[mysteriouslover1516]

Turbulence (Richy x MC) 4

Based on Jonah Kagen's song Turbulence. Here are the links to Part 1, Part 2, and Part 3 if not already read.

I know you don't really need me

But lately you've been feeling like you're okay alone

The young mechanic sat perched on the cold, hard bed. Holding his head in his hands, sobs threatened to rack through his body. The noise of the other occupants was deafening, making his skull pound and his nerves kick in. Continuing to run one of his hands through his blonde hair in an attempt to comfort himself, a shaky sigh escaped his lips.

But we're not gonna crash, go down in flames and broken glass

'Cause you and I are built to last, if you want

Richy and MC had survived the fire, barely making it out right before the mine collapsed, the explosion throwing them forward by sheer force into the rocky terrain. A strong, helping hand pulled him to his feet, and a voice reached his ears. “Richy, thank god you’re okay!”

His brown eyes met the police chief’s relieved expression, but then he noted the sudden shift in demeanor. “Alan.”

The man took a step back, “Your shoulder……what happened to your shoulder?”

“I-” the blonde’s voice trailed off. “I am the Man without a Face, I kidnapped Hannah.”

It's just a little turbulence, turbulence

To know we will find our feet again so fast

Everything had gone by in a blur, as he was ripped from MC’s side, immediately handcuffed. He had found himself sitting on a bed covered with paper, a gurney.

Alan Bloomgate stood by the door, the sorrow evident on his face. “Richy…..you know what this means, don’t you? You know you will be facing charges, admitted into prison, perhaps even a psych ward. And I am forced to issue it out, insure you get the justice that your actions warranted.”

And all these arguments, and self-defense

You don't see it now, but I promise it'll pass

“Richy Rogers, you have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”

The mechanic continued to stare down at the table in front of him, too ashamed to lift his head. He was at a loss of words, how could he ever explain how his fear led him to such drastic actions? No one would believe him, and no one would WANT to believe him, much less forgive him. He was all alone now, his friends had turned their back on him, and he couldn’t blame them, no, not really.

It's just a little turbulence

Oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh

Tear-filled emerald colored eyes looked at the blonde softly, the wrinkles near her eyes reminding him of those of the mechanic’s own mother. Iris Hanson.

'Cause maybe, we could be like trees

Bending in the breeze, so we can take a storm

That was when Richy broke down, unable to hide and bury the guilt any longer. “Iris, I’m so sorry. I could have prevented her death. I was drunk, I didn’t want to drive…I-”

“It’s not your fault.” The woman smiled softly, tears trickling down her cheeks. “It never was, Richy.”

'Cause feelings only last about a minute-and-a-half

90 seconds and you'll laugh 'cause they're gone

He shook his head, “No, but it was, Iris. I should have driven them, Hannah and Amy, they asked me to drive them back to the waterfall. But I said no, and gave them the keys to the AMC Gremlin. I should have driven them……I should have never given them the keys.”

It's just a little turbulence, turbulence

To know we will find our feet again so fast

“You didn’t know, Richy. You didn’t know that Jennifer would be…..was walking along the forest edge. You couldn’t have prevented it,” her eyes glistened.

And all these arguments, and self-defense

You don't see it now, but I promise it'll pass

“If I had driven them, this would have never happened. If I hadn’t been drinking, if I had been sober, I would have driven the car myself, and the accident, it would have never taken place.”

It's just a little turbulence

Oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh

“Richy Rogers, you are hereby sentenced to a minimum of twelve years in prison.” The judge said, his stormy gray eyes filled with sorrow. “In four years depending on your behavior, you may be eligible for parole.” Casting his eyes away from the mechanic's, he addressed the rest of the people before him, “Thank you jury for your service today, court is adjourned.”

Mmm-mm

Mmm-mm

Suddenly the cell door swung open, causing Richy to flinch in reflex at the loud noise, brown eyes taking in the sight of his correctional officer, Jonas Martin.

“You have a visitor,” Jonas said softly. “MC.”

Mmm-mm

Mmm-mm

The mechanic’s breath quickened as more thoughts infiltrated his head. The last time he had seen her was in the courtroom, he could still see the betrayal swarming in her eyes. But he could also see a faint glimpse of hope in them, as if she still allowed herself to envision the future together. Who were they kidding, though? It was impossible, he was in prison, had been for five months now. She needed to move on from him, she didn’t deserve life with a criminal and a felon.

“I don’t want to see her,” Richy said as he stood up, fingers running over a small portrait that was taped to the stone wall above his bed……..her beautiful smile and eyes, god, he loved her.

It's just a little turbulence, turbulence

I know we will find our feet again so fast

“She traveled all this way to see you,” Jonas commented. “It’s been five months, Richy. It’s obvious you still have feelings for her, and from what I saw when she signed in, she still reciprocates those feelings for you as well. Why not see her?”

And all these arguments, and self-defense

You don't see it now, but I promise it'll pass

“It is because I love her,” his voice trembled, “that is why I need to let her go. By the time I get out of here, if I get out, it’ll be too late. She doesn’t deserve being forced to wait, she doesn’t deserve life with a convict, the constant scowls and murmurs that will be cast upon her just for being with me. As much as it may hurt both of us in the process…….” He trailed off, the gloominess of reality settling in.

It's just a little turbulence

Even if he did make it out, he could never bring himself to jeopardize her reputation, life with a felon would be hard, and she didn’t deserve being casted out just because of who she loved.

Hey lovelies! Thanks for sticking with me on this journey! Please like and comment, I love to hear from all of you! <3 <3 Part 5, the final piece, is on its way.........